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better.”
    When the knock came at her door, Sheridan quickly typed “Gotta Go” on her computer screen, ending the stupid IM conversationshe was having with Jarrod Haynes, and turned back to her biology book as if deep in thought. Jarrod, she thought, liked to talk about Jarrod. Too bad she wasn’t as interested in the subject as he was.
    “Yes?”
    “Can I come in for a minute?”
    “Sure, Dad.”
    Her father entered and shut the door behind him.
    “I tried to use the phone,” he said. “The line was busy. I need to make a call.”
    Caught, Sheridan said, “I was on the Internet for a minute.”
    “For an hour, you mean.”
    “I’m off now.”
    “I thought you were studying.”
    She gestured to her open book. But she could tell that wasn’t really why he had knocked.
    “Sheridan, I want to tell you that the governor offered me a job today. I’m going to be a game warden again, sort of.”
    Her first reaction was a mixture of joy and desperation. She was thrilled that her dad had gotten his job back because, well, that’s what he was: a game warden. The game warden, as far as she was concerned. She had been with him many times while he worked, and she knew how dedicated he was.
    Sheridan remembered when she had been an apprentice falconer to Nate Romanowski. Nate had been given a prairie falconthat had been hit by a car. The bird was either aggressive— likely to bite or strike out—or moody, sulking for days in the mews and refusing to eat. It was her opinion that the bird should be set free, that it would never be any good. Nate proved her wrong by taking the bird out and working with it, letting its naturalinstincts reemerge. The falcon soon became swift and efficient,eager to fly, hunt, and return to Nate. “He just needed a job,” Nate told her. “He needed to do what he was born to do. Falcons, like some people, need to do things. They can’t just exist.”
    “Does that mean we have to move?” she asked.
    “Not this time,” he said.
    “So will that ass Jason Kiner go away?”
    Her dad seemed confused for a minute. He said, “No. Phil Kiner will still be the Saddlestring game warden. I won’t really have a district. I’ll sort of be working freelance.”
    “Like a secret agent or something?”
    He smiled. She could tell he liked that characterization but didn’t want to admit it. “No, more like I’m on loan for special projects.”
    She felt good about this news, but didn’t want to show it too much because that would betray the embarrassment she’d kept hidden since he lost his job.
    “Sheridan,” her dad said, “I know it’s been tough on you with me being out of work and all.”
    “You’re the ranch foreman,” she said quickly. “Nothing wrong with that.”
    “The governor said the same thing. But we both know it’s bothered you. With Jason Kiner saying things and all. It’s bothered me .”
    She couldn’t deny it outright. She said, “Dad, it doesn’t matter . . .”
    But he waved her off. “Don’t say it. It’s not necessary.”
    She found herself beaming.
    “So you’re back,” she said.
    He grinned. “I’m back.”
    Her dad, she thought, needed to do things.
    Joe stumbled over something in the dark kitchen of their home and nearly crashed to the floor. He righted himself on the counter, turned on the light, and beheld Lucy’s project. Three cardboard boxes marked PAPER, GLASS, and METAL. On each, she had written “To Be Recycled.” And beneath the writing, she’d drawn a stylized globe with a word balloon reading “Save me.”
    “Save me from falling on my face,” Joe grumbled, and moved the recycling boxes into the mudroom so no one else would trip over them.
    He dialed the governor’s residence in Cheyenne. Spencer Rulon listed his number in the telephone book, something he never tired of announcing to his constituents.
    Voice mail: “This is Gov Spence. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you. I’ll only return calls to