Page 109 of High Frequency

“We agreed no presents,” I remind Sloane.

We had this conversation last month when she asked what I wanted for my birthday, which was last week. I told her I already had everything I could want, and to keep her money in her pocket. She agreed on the condition I didn’t buy her anything when hers comes around either.

“We agreed nobirthdaypresents,” she corrects me, a smile on her face. “And before you bring up the money thing, River is a rescue.”

“River?”

“He already had the name,” she clarifies with a shrug.” I thought it was kismet.”

The dog is getting impatient and starts gnawing at the metal bars. The moment I slide back the lock, he shoves the crate door open and launches himself at me, leading with his tongue.

“He’s house-trained and Jillian says he’s good with kids and with other animals,” Sloane adds.

I lift the dog out of the vehicle, holding him up in front of me. He’s going to be a big boy, he’s heavy already. When I put him down, he immediately moves to greet Sloane, his whole body wiggling with excitement.

This morning I would’ve told you there’s nothing more I could wish for, but Sloane managed to find the one thing our house was missing.

I slide my arm around her, and with my other hand, turn her face to me.

“You realize my promise to you is null and void now, right?”

She rolls her eyes and I press a hard kiss on her mouth.

Little does she know I already have my eye on a pretty paint filly at High Meadow.

With the pup already stumbling up the porch steps ahead of us to meet the rest of the family, I lead Sloane back to our very full, now even more chaotic house.

Damn, how’d I get so lucky?

Jillian

“You guys be good, okay?”

I get whines and whimpers from Hunter and Murphy, who are crowding around my legs as I try to get out. Emo is being her aloof self, curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace, pretending not to care whether I come or go, but I know the moment I walk out the door, she’ll be up on the chair by the window to watch me go.

I already put Peanut and Nugget in the back of the SUV. They have their noses pressed against the glass, tongues lolling, excited to be the ones to come with me this time. More often than not it’s one of the others, needed for their specialized noses. Today, however, it’s Peanut’s sweet disposition, and Nugget’s cuddly nature that are important. Where we’re going no one will care Peanut is partially blind or Nugget has deformed hind legs.

This will be our first visit to Wellspring Senior Living, an assisted living facility in Kalispell. I got this gig through my friend Sloane, who is also the one who suggested I move up here from Missoula in the first place.

It was less than five months ago, I was called out to Libby with Emo to search for human remains in the mountains. I still have occasional nightmares about the boneyard my dog sniffed out; a dumping ground for what turned out to be a pair of serial killers.

That’s when I met Sloane, who was a detective for the Lincoln Sheriff’s Department, and my local contact. She and I connected right away and stayed in touch after I returned home, forging the kind of friendship I’ve been lacking in recent years. All my old friends have slowly disappeared over time, and I haven’t exactly done much to hang on to them. They’d all been part of a life I no longer fit into.

Connecting with the dogs had been the first tentative step on a new path. The friendship with Sloane had been the next one. If not for her, I wouldn’t have been able to gather up the courage to pull up stakes in Missoula, and seek out a fresh start here.

When I was up here to celebrate Thanksgiving with Sloane, her fiancée Dan and their families, the subject of relocation came up. It was over a cup of tea on her front porch early the morning after. She asked why I’d seemed preoccupied during dinner, and I mentioned toying with the idea of a fresh start, even though I didn’t give her the background. She didn’t ask why—which is one of the reasons I like her so much—and simply suggested moving closer to her. She pointed out there would be likely be plenty of work for me and the dogs here in the mountains, since I already had connections with law enforcement in the region and left a good impression.

The idea had been churning through my head the entire drive back home that afternoon, and by the time I got to Missoula, I’d mostly had my mind made up. The next day I called the realtor who helped my buy my property on the outskirts of Missoula five years prior, and set the wheels in motion.

Two months later, and here I am; just settled into the dog’s and my new digs, off Terrace View Road, halfway between Libby and Sloane and Dan’s place. The single-story, rustic ranch house came with a couple of acres of property backing onto the banks of Big Cherry Creek. The place even had an outdoor run and kennels since the previous owner had hunting dogs.

As I drive away I glance back at the house and catch sight of Emo’s shadow in the large front window. Then I notice the cutter hanging down from the corner and the missing downspout, and realize the term ‘rustic’ may be giving the place more credit than it deserves.

The bones of the house are good, and the previous owner had made a good start on renovations, but ran out of money and steam, which is why I was able to pick it up for a relative steel and on very short notice. And the property itself is amazing, with beautiful views from the back deck, which had been put in new in the past two years.

Most of the windows have been replaced, but the roof definitely needs work, as does some of the stonework on the big river-rock chimney. The siding is actual wooden boards that were stained a gray-blue color. I don’t hate it, but it’s looking a little weathered.

Inside isn’t too bad; the only thing left to do are the extra bedrooms and main bathroom. The kitchen cabinets and concrete counter look fairly new, and so do the floors; nice light, extra wide, hardwood boards. The focus in the living space is the large stone fireplace, which—along with the view—is what sold me on the house.

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