A Montana Christmas Reunion. Roz Fox Denny

She reminded herself she’d come to Washington, DC, to convince members of the Natural Resources Committee to authorize a refuge for snowy owls. Focusing, she merged with a stream of travelers rushing to the baggage area.

      Her good friend Tawana Whitefeather was supposed to come, too, but she had ended up needing emergency gallbladder surgery. Because it’d taken months to secure the meeting, Jewell had to come alone. She was the owls’ biggest advocate—starting at age ten when she’d found a chick with a broken leg who’d blown off course and she’d nursed it back to health.

      Oh, boy! If she thought traffic inside the airport was chaotic, driving her rental car in a virtual rabbit warren of whizzing vehicles gave her heartburn.

      It was with profound relief that she arrived in one piece at the hotel’s parking garage—thanks to her GPS.

      After collecting her bag, Jewell checked in.

      In her room at last, she toed off her shoes and flopped down on the bed, grateful she had a whole night to unwind before the meeting. While it was the most important part of her trip, the meeting wasn’t her only mission. A client had asked her to make a side trip to Maryland to check a stallion and possibly ship sperm home. And fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on her wavering point of view, her closest neighbor had also begged her to hand-deliver a letter to his nephew, who was headlining a nearby country-western concert.

      Leland Conrad’s request had come as a shock. Given how long he and his nephew had been estranged, Jewell wouldn’t have thought he had any idea of Saxon’s performance schedule. Saxon had lost both of his parents in a car accident at age twelve. He’d been sent to live with his bachelor uncle, for whom he’d always seemed a burden. And he’d been Jewell’s first love.

      As memories crowded in, she surged to her feet to go hang a few items in the closet. If only Leland had let her women’s group buy his forest to use as an owl refuge, this entire trip would’ve been unnecessary.

      She sank down again, rubbing her temples. Knowing she was a scant few miles from where Saxon Conrad was due to perform made her head ache. But those counting on her to secure a refuge would expect her to be at the top of her game tomorrow instead of mooning over a lost love.

      Not lost. She had broken up with Saxon. It shouldn’t still affect her. But it did. Maybe seeing him onstage in all his trappings would let her purge him from her soul.

      * * *

      IN THE MORNING Jewell collected her notes and checked to be sure she had the credentials the committee had sent her to gain entry into the government building. Her contact recommended taking a cab, so she did.

      Once she gave the driver the address, Jewell brought up the weather. “It’s awfully cloudy. Is it supposed to rain?”

      The cabbie glanced at her. “Are you not tracking Althea’s progress?”

      “Who?”

      He laughed. “Our first named Atlantic storm of the season. It’s anybody’s guess where she’ll come ashore, or if she’ll be a hurricane. June’s early, but lately our weather’s been screwy.”

      “A hurricane?” Feeling like a parrot, Jewell ducked down for a better look at the murky sky. “I was planning to drive to Maryland this afternoon. Should I worry?”

      “Listen to advisories.” He pulled up to a guarded gate, indicating this was where she should get out.

      Rattled by the storm news, Jewell was almost too discombobulated to dig out her phone to take a photo of the Capitol to show her friends in Montana.

      A guard checked her pass and handed her off to an intern, who set Jewell at ease as they traversed corridors. Once inside the meeting room, she was surprised that instead of everyone being seated around one table, she sat alone facing three men and three women. They were elevated, making her feel a bit on trial. But one woman smiled and, following introductions, invited Jewell to state her case.

      “As I explained in emails, our ranch community was renamed for the snowy owls that migrated to our area. Everyone loves them. Local Native Americans adopted them as a talisman. The man who owns the timber I told you about has his property listed to sell. We worry a buyer may log off the trees, leaving our snowies homeless.”

      “We expected a tribal representative,” said a bespectacled man.

      Jewell quickly explained Tawana’s absence.

      “Sorry,” one of the men said. “But you seem to be the owl caretaker.”

      “Yes, I band chicks and keep a tally. Our owl numbers aren’t huge, and of course, the tundra is their normal habitat. I worry about decline.”

      Members discussed possible reasons, such as mining, logging, changing weather and food depletion, all of which Jewell knew. Then a representative who kept glancing at his watch said, “There’s a waterfowl preserve near you. Just relocate the owls.”

      “They settled of their own accord in abandoned eagles’ nests or atop boulders. The lake isn’t close. Like I said, the owner of the land where they live wants to sell. If you’d purchase that portion as a refuge, my friends and I will gladly maintain it.”

      The members glanced awkwardly at one another. The chairwoman closed her notebook. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hyatt. We thought your group had land. We post privately owned parcels or work with wildlife defenders who buy areas that we then make federal reserves.”

      “We have some funds. Far from enough to buy Conrad’s ranch. And he’s not inclined to divide his property for us. We hoped your leverage...” She didn’t finish as all the members shook their heads.

      “It’s too bad he won’t work with you,” a man said. Others rose and began leaving. The chairwoman waited. “I’ll have one of our wildlife biologists inspect your nesting site when he’s out west. We’re aware snowies are migrating and adapting. In fact, we’re following a group in Michigan. I’ll email you a list of birder groups to contact.” With that she opened the door and called the intern to escort Jewell out.

      Numb with disappointment, Jewell trudged out. Why hadn’t the person she’d emailed with told her this? It would’ve saved money and time spent on this useless trip.

      Out on the street she caught a cab. Frankly, she was so disheartened she wanted to catch the next flight home. But she’d promised Mark Watson she’d check the stallion. And while more than ever she’d prefer to skip Saxon’s concert, it was probably not the time to let Leland down.

      Not until after she changed into clothes suitable to visit the horse farm did Jewell remember her first cab driver’s warning about the weather. It was one o’clock. The sky looked the same. She took a moment to phone Tawana to share the bad news and see how her friend was doing.

      “I hope I’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow. Gosh, Jewell, I can hear how upset you are. When you return, let’s call the Artsy Ladies together and figure out a next step. Hey, I saw on TV that DC may get socked by a hurricane. Are you in danger?”

      “It’s not certain where or when the storm will land. Don’t worry.”

      “Okay, be careful.”

      Jewell said goodbye and turned on the TV as she donned her boots. A local station showed three places the storm might make landfall. But they said Althea had slowed and it’d probably be midnight before she came ashore.

      Jewell snagged her jean jacket, then hurried to the parking garage to reclaim her rental. She hadn’t driven far before she fervently wished for the wide-open spaces of home. However, once she reached Maryland, the countryside became awash with fields of lush grass and white rail fences, and she relaxed.

      But even with a GPS, she somehow got off on a wrong freeway and ended up in West Virginia. She had to stop and phone the owner of the horse farm. Thankfully, he provided her better directions.

      As it turned out, the owner and his wife were delightful. They had beautiful horses. Jewell had completed ordering the sperm