Chapter 3
Chapter 3 - WHERE THE WILD THINGS HEALThe transition from the towering concrete canyons of Chicago to the endless, rugged peaks of western Montana was like stepping into another world. The air in the small mountain town of Pine Crest was crisp, smelling of pine sap, damp earth, and clean snow. It was a place where the mountains rose like ancient giants, their peaks dusted with white even in the late spring.Iris had shed her old identity like a dead skin. She was now Wren, a quiet, reserved woman with short-cropped dark hair and a wardrobe consisting of flannel shirts, sturdy canvas pants, and worn leather boots. She had rented a tiny, rustic cabin on the edge of the national forest, paying the elderly landlord in cash three months in advance.
She needed a job, not just for money, but to keep her mind from spinning into the dark, paranoid corners of her past. That was how she found herself standing in front of the Pine Crest Wildlife Rescue Center.
The center was a sprawling, slightly run-down facility made of log cabins and large outdoor enclosures, nestled at the base of a towering mountain ridge. As Wren walked through the front gate, she was greeted by the loud, chorus-like howling of timber wolves and the sharp cry of a bald eagle from a flight cage.
"Can I help you?" a deep, gravelly voice asked.
Wren turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man walking out of the main clinic cabin. He looked to be in his mid-thirty-somethings, with a rugged, handsome face, a thick stubble jawline, and eyes the color of forest moss. He wore a faded Carhartt jacket, his flannel sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, scarred forearms.
"I'm looking for the director," Wren said, keeping her voice soft but steady. "I saw the flyer in town. You’re looking for a volunteer assistant."
The man assessed her with a long, evaluating stare that made her instinctively want to take a step back, but she forced herself to stand her ground. "I’m Jaxson Vance," he said, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag. "I’m the veterinarian and director here. You got any experience with wild animals?"
"Not wild ones," Wren admitted truthfully. "But I’m patient. I can clean cages, prep food, handle administrative work, and I don't mind hard labor. I just... I need a quiet place to work."
Jaxson’s eyes lingered on her hands—noticing the small, delicate fingers that looked more suited for holding paintbrushes than hauling hay, but he also saw the raw determination in her eyes. He recognized that look. It was the look of a creature that had been hunted, a creature that had finally found a safe thicket to hide in.
"We don't pay much for volunteers, just a small stipend for food," Jaxson said, tossing the rag onto a nearby wooden table. "But if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you can start today. We just brought in a young red fox with a shattered leg. Needs her cage cleaned and her food prepped."
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"I can do that," Wren said, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips for the first time in months.
As she followed Jaxson into the clinic, she felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in her chest. For the first time in four years, the air didn't feel heavy. She could actually breathe.
