“The guys broke up the dam yesterday before they flew out,” Lexie says, steering around a rock sticking out of the dirt. “So we need to scout the area for beavers and other wildlife that could be affected by the removal. If we find any, we’ll need to alert the Fish and Wildlife Service and have them relocated.”

“Well, obviously the beavers will be affected,” I say. I watched a documentary once about how beavers are environmental engineers, changing the natural landscape unlike any other animal.

“Not necessarily.” Lexie takes a swallow from the water bottle she brought along as she expertly steers with one hand. “The dam was old, as I understand it. We haven’t had any beavers on any of the creeks through Bridger land for the last few years.”

“Any interaction with grizzlies?”

She shakes her head. “Not on our ranch. They’re still farther north. I saw some when hiking in Glacier National Park last summer. They’re gorgeous but dangerous—and also endangered. Sometimes I don’t understand why the most beautiful things seem to be fading out of existence.”

Her words strike me hard, right in the gut.

Fading out of existence.

For so long, while I was on the island, I felt like I was fading out of existence. Even after I was rescued, during that first year of intensive therapy, I felt like a shadow. Like a two-dimensional cutout of Carly Vance.

Like an endangered species.

But not anymore.

I can’t let myself go there anymore. Working here on the ranch with Lexie helps a lot.

Being with Austin helps even more.

It’s ironic though, that I love the ranch of the man who may have been involved in my kidnapping.

Lexie pulls the ATV to a stop. “Here we are. From the directions Chance gave, we’ll walk the rest of the way following the creek. The site of the dam is about a half mile up.” She points as she slings a backpack over her shoulder.

I nod and follow. Together we trudge, following the creek, until we find the remains of the dam. Rotting logs and rocks are strewn along the bank on both sides. I could imagine the three brothers wet and muddy working on this project.

Lexie steps into the creek, the water sloshing around her ankles now that it’s no longer blocked.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Walk along the bank. I doubt there are any beavers, but look for scat. It looks kind of like wood chips. If you find any, that means we’ll need to have the animals relocated so they don’t rebuild.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Very reasonable. I don’t want my father to have any further reason to be upset with the Bridgers, though they can hardly be blamed for what a beaver does.

“Our responsibility is to notify the Fish and Wildlife Service and the Montana Fish and Wildlife Commission if we find evidence of them,” Lexie continues. “They’ll take care of the relocation.”