The Meadow
The Alpha Beneath the Chinook Sky - Book 5 of The Wild Crown Legacy Series
Chapter 1
The Meadow
The wind changed before the road did.
One moment, winter still owned the foothills.
Snow lay hard and white along the shoulders of the highway, packed into the ditches and caught in the black-green branches of spruce. The mountains rose to the west beneath a pale February sky, sharp enough to look carved from the cold.
Then the Chinook came over the Rockies.
Warm air slammed into frozen country with the subtlety of a freight train.
Within an hour, the temperature climbed. Snow softened. Ice began loosening from rock and pavement. Water ran beneath surfaces that had been solid since December, and every shaded curve became a question no driver knew they were answering until their tires touched it.
I had been watching the temperature display in the cruiser climb when dispatch came over the radio.
“Single vehicle off the highway. Possible injuries. Two adults, two children believed inside.”
Titan lifted his head.
I reached for the radio.
“Kingsley responding.”
The next words came before I’d finished turning around.
“Update. One child is unaccounted for.”
Titan went completely still.
Child.
I heard.
I accelerated.
The SUV had gone through the guardrail on a long descending curve and landed nose-first against a stand of spruce thirty metres below the highway.
By the time I arrived, two vehicles had stopped on the shoulder. One man stood near the broken rail waving both arms as though I might otherwise miss the wreckage below.
I parked well back from the curve, angled the cruiser to shield the scene, hit the lights, and stepped into wind strong enough to shove at my body armour.
Warm by Alberta winter standards didn’t mean warm.
The Chinook had pushed the temperature above freezing, but the wind tore heat away faster than the thermometer could measure it.
I grabbed my outer jacket.
Titan paced beneath my skin.
Child.
“I know.”
The civilian nearest me stared.
I gave him a quick nod. “Talking to myself.”
His expression suggested he had already decided Mounties were stranger than advertised.
Fine.
“Anybody go down there?”
“My brother did.” He pointed. “The lady’s hurt. The guy’s bleeding, but he’s awake. There was another kid in the back, but—”
“How old?”
“What?”
“The missing child.”
“I don’t know. Little. Five? Six?”
Titan pressed forward.
Cold.
“I know.”
This time I kept it in my head.
The man continued. “They said she was in the car. Then she wasn’t. We looked around, but—”
“You did the right thing stopping. I need you behind the cruiser now, away from the guardrail.”
“But my brother—”
“I’ll get to him.”
A gust hit us broadside.
The man looked toward the wreck.
I lowered my voice. “I need you safe so I don’t have two emergencies.”
That worked.
It usually did.
He moved.
I radioed an update, confirmed EMS and fire were coming, requested additional traffic control, then headed down the embankment.
The snow had become a treacherous crust over slush. Every third step threatened to send me sliding.
Titan hated my boots.
He had opinions about most human footwear.
Slow.
“You were the one who said go.”
Go. Slow.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
The SUV had struck two smaller trees before the spruce stopped it. The passenger side was crushed inward. Steam curled from the front end.
A man crouched beside an open rear door.
“Officer!”
“I’ve got you.”
He moved aside.
Inside, a boy of maybe ten sat strapped into the rear seat, crying silently. Blood ran from his nose, but he was conscious.
“Hey, buddy.”
His eyes found mine.
“Where’s Mia?”
There it was.
“What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
“Okay, Jacob. I’m Gideon.”
Titan shifted at the name.
He didn’t care that I had omitted Constable, officer, Kingsley, or anything else humans considered important.
There was a child missing.
That was the entire world.
“Is Mia your sister?”
Jacob nodded hard. “She was right there.”
He pointed to the empty booster seat.
“How old is she?”
“Six.”
“Was she hurt?”
“I don’t know. She was screaming. Dad got the door open and then Mom was bleeding and—I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“But she was here.”
“I believe you.”
I looked toward the front.
The father was conscious, one hand pressed against his forehead. The mother was slumped against her seat belt. Her eyes were open, but her face had the gray, unfocused look I didn’t like.
The civilian who’d climbed down had wedged himself near the front passenger door.
“She’s breathing,” he said.
“Good. Don’t move her unless we have to. EMS is coming.”
The father twisted around.
“My daughter.”
“I know.”
“She got out. I thought she was with Jacob. I was trying to get to my wife and then—”
“How long ago?”
“Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen.”
Too long.
Titan pushed against me.
Go.
Not yet.
I crouched beside Jacob.
“Mia have a coat?”
He pointed toward the floor.
A small purple parka lay half under the front passenger seat.
Damn it.
Titan growled inside me.
Cold.
Yes.
I pulled off my gloves for three seconds, touched the seat where she’d been, then the open door.
Nothing useful.
Too many scents.
Blood. Antifreeze. Wet upholstery. Fear. Four family members. Two civilians. Me.
Titan sorted through them anyway.
Not like a police dog.
Not magic.
Just senses that had never belonged entirely to a human body.
Strawberry shampoo.
Something sweet.
Wool.
Fear.
There.
Faint.
Leading away from the vehicle.
I stood.
“Jacob, what was Mia wearing?”
“Pink sweater. Unicorn boots.”
Of course she had unicorn boots.
“Hat?”
He shook his head.
“Does she know to stay near the road if she gets lost?”
“She doesn’t like roads.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“Cars are loud.”
The father groaned.
“She has sensory issues. When she gets scared, she hides.”
That changed everything.
A frightened six-year-old wasn’t necessarily trying to get back to the highway.
She might be trying to get away from it.
I looked uphill.
The highway noise rolled over us with every passing vehicle.
Then I looked downhill.
Trees.
Snow.
A drainage cut.
Beyond that, thicker spruce.
Titan chose immediately.
There.
I saw it a second later.
A small break in the crusted snow.
Another.
Then the partial imprint of a boot.
A unicorn-shaped tread would have been helpful, but apparently footwear manufacturers didn’t design for search-and-rescue convenience.
I radioed again.
“Missing child confirmed. Female, six years old, pink sweater, no coat. Last seen approximately fifteen minutes ago. Tracks leading southeast from the vehicle into the trees. I’m beginning immediate search.”
The answer came back with instructions I was already following and confirmation that additional members were enroute.
Good.
More people.
More eyes.
I looked at the civilian.
“Stay with them until EMS reaches you.”
He nodded.
The father tried to move.
“Find her.”
“I will.”
I didn’t make promises like that.
Not usually.
Titan heard it.
So did I.
Then I went.
The first fifty meters were easy.
Mia had broken through the snow crust often enough to leave a clear trail.
Then the trees thickened.
Wind had been driving loose snow across the ground, filling shallow impressions almost as quickly as she made them.
I stopped.
Listened.
Highway behind me.
Wind above.
Branches knocking together.
Running water somewhere ahead.
Titan pressed close.
Not asking out.
He knew better.
There were responders coming. Civilians above us. Traffic on the highway. A six-year-old who had already been through a crash.
A very large wolf appearing in the trees would solve none of those problems.
But Titan didn’t need four feet to help me.
I let him closer.
The world sharpened.
Cold air burned through my nose.
Wet bark.
Meltwater.
Vehicle fluids behind me.
Rabbit.
Deer.
Human.
Strawberry.
There.
I turned left.
Child.
“Yes.”
I moved faster.
The ground dropped.
That worried me.
A Chinook didn’t just warm the air. It changed snowpack. Meltwater ran beneath ice. Creeks opened where they’d been frozen. Banks softened.
A child could fall through something that looked solid.
“Mia!”
No answer.
I kept moving.
“Mia! My name is Gideon. I’m a police officer. Your dad sent me to find you.”
Nothing.
Titan listened.
Water.
“I hear it.”
Near.
The drainage cut I’d seen from above had widened into a creek swollen with meltwater.
Not deep.
Deep enough.
I reached the bank.
One small footprint ended at the edge.
My stomach tightened.
Titan surged so hard my vision sharpened.
Child.
“I know.”
I scanned downstream.
No pink.
No movement.
Upstream.
Branches.
Snow.
A flash of purple—
Not purple.
Blue plastic caught in brush.
I crouched at the edge.
“Mia!”
A sound came from across the creek.
Not a word.
A whimper.
Titan froze.
There.
I looked.
A spruce had fallen across the far bank, roots torn from thawing ground. Beneath the lifted root mass was a dark pocket where snow hadn’t reached.
And inside it—
Pink.
I exhaled once.
“Mia?”
Silence.
Then two enormous brown eyes appeared between the roots.
There you are.
I didn’t move toward her.
Not yet.
“Hi.”
She disappeared.
Titan objected.
Go.
“No.”
Child.
“Scared.”
He went quiet.
He understood fear.
I crouched instead, keeping myself low.
“My name is Gideon.”
Nothing.
“Your brother Jacob is really worried about you.”
A little face appeared again.
“Jacob?”
“Yep.”
“Is he mad?”
That wasn’t the question I’d expected.
“No.”
“Daddy?”
“He’s worried too.”
“Mommy’s hurt.”
“I know.”
Her chin trembled.
I wanted to cross the creek, pick her up, put my coat around her, and get her back to the road.
Titan wanted the same thing with considerably less patience.
Cold.
Very.
Her sweater was wet at one shoulder. No hat. No gloves.
But she was conscious, talking, and sheltered from the worst of the wind.
So, I stayed where I was.
“Mia, can you tell me if anything hurts?”
She shook her head.
“Your head?”
Another shake.
“Arms?”
“No.”
“Legs?”
“My knee.”
“Does it hurt a little or a lot?”
She considered this with the gravity of someone being asked to provide expert testimony.
“A medium.”
“Okay. Medium I can work with.”
She stared at me.
“Are you really police?”
“I really am.”
“You don’t have the hat.”
Of all the problems I had anticipated today, failing an RCMP identification check because I wasn’t wearing the iconic hat hadn’t made the list.
“No hat today.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Suspicious.
Titan approved.
Smart.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I slowly reached toward my jacket.
Mia vanished again.
I stopped.
“I’m getting my identification. Is that okay?”
After several seconds, her eyes returned.
“Okay.”
I showed her.
She couldn’t possibly read it from across the creek.
Apparently the gesture was enough.
“Gideon?”
“That’s me.”
“That’s a weird name.”
Titan went very still.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“My unicorn is named Gerald.”
“Then you understand.”
That got me the smallest smile.
Progress.
I radioed my location and the child’s condition, keeping my voice quiet.
Then I looked at the creek.
Crossing directly wasn’t smart. Water moved quickly over ice and rock. Ten metres upstream, the channel narrowed.
I stood.
Mia immediately stiffened.
“Where are you going?”
“Right there.” I pointed. “I’m coming around to your side.”
“No.”
I stopped.
“Okay.”
“You’ll leave.”
“No.”
“Everybody leaves when they say right there.”
That sentence didn’t belong to the crash.
I filed it away.
“I won’t.”
She watched me.
I pointed upstream again.
“See that big rock?”
A nod.
“I’m going to walk to that rock. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”
She considered.
“Then what?”
“Then I’m going to cross.”
“Why?”
“So, I can give you my coat.”
That made sense to her.
She nodded.
I moved slowly.
Titan practically vibrated.
Faster.
“She needs to see me.”
Cold.
“I know.”
Faster.
“Titan.”
Silence.
Then:
Slow.
Good.
I crossed where the creek narrowed, boots slipping once on submerged stone.
Mia gasped.
“I’m okay.”
“You almost fell.”
“I did.”
“You’re not very good at this.”
Six years old and already evaluating my performance.
“Apparently not.”
She smiled again.
When I reached her side, I crouched several feet away.
Up close, she looked colder.
Her lips had lost some color.
“Can I come closer?”
She nodded.
“Can I put my coat around you?”
Another nod.
I moved carefully, wrapped her in it, and felt her begin trembling harder as soon as warmth surrounded her.
Titan settled slightly.
Better.
Not safe yet.
I checked her knee. Scraped, bruised, but nothing obviously broken.
“Can you walk?”
“I think.”
“Want to try, or do you want me to carry you?”
She looked at the creek.
“Carry.”
“Good choice.”
I lifted her.
She weighed almost nothing.
Her arms went around my neck.
Then she whispered into my shoulder.
“Are there wolves here?”
Titan became intensely interested.
“Yes.”
“Bad wolves?”
I looked toward the trees.
“No.”
That answer came easily.
“No bad wolves.”
“Have you seen one?”
A laugh almost escaped me.
“Once or twice.”
“Are they big?”
“One of them is.”
Titan approved.
Big.
Yes, you’re enormous.
Strong.
And humble.
He ignored that.
Mia tucked her face against my neck.
“Would he eat me?”
Titan recoiled with such profound offense that I nearly stumbled.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“What would he do?”
Titan answered before I could.
Protect.
I tightened my hold on her.
“He’d probably make sure you got home.”
EMS had reached the SUV by the time I climbed back through the trees.
A paramedic spotted us first.
“Found her!”
Everything changed at once.
People moved.
Jacob started shouting his sister’s name.
Her father tried to get out of the vehicle again.
Mia lifted her head from my shoulder.
“Daddy!”
I carried her the rest of the way.
Her father was being assessed beside the SUV now, blood cleaned from his face. He reached for her, then hesitated because the paramedic was working on his arm.
Mia reached back.
I handed her over carefully.
Titan went quiet.
Not gone.
Just watching.
The paramedic wrapped Mia in a thermal blanket over my coat.
Her father held her with his uninjured arm.
Jacob leaned across from the back seat and grabbed his sister’s hand.
I stood there long enough to make sure all three were stable.
Titan asked the question.
Safe?
I looked at Mia.
At Jacob.
At their father.
Then toward the front passenger side, where firefighters were working around the mother.
Not yet.
Titan saw her too.
Other.
Exactly.
I turned.
The mother needed an air ambulance.
That became the next problem.
Then traffic became another.
Then the changing weather.
A second collision happened two kilometres east when a pickup hit meltwater and spun into the median.
No serious injuries.
Still needed handling.
One of the newer members arrived to take over scene documentation from the first crash.
“You can head out, Kingsley. We’ve got this.”
I looked toward the helicopter lifting from the temporary landing zone.
Mia’s mother was aboard.
Her father and the children would go by ambulance.
The scene was contained.
Traffic control was in place.
He was right.
They had it.
My phone vibrated.
Kane.
Of course.
I pulled it out.
Three missed calls.
Kane.
Marta.
The lodge.
A fourth notification appeared while I looked at it.
Kane again.
The constable beside me glanced at the screen.
“Busy man.”
“You have no idea.”
I answered Kane.
“What?”
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re always working.”
“I am literally wearing the uniform.”
“Which means absolutely nothing to the rest of us.”
Titan approved of Kane’s assessment.
I didn’t.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
I waited.
Kane waited.
“You called me.”
“I wanted to see if you’d answer.”
I looked at the phone.
“Are you twelve?”
“Slate says no.”
I rubbed a hand over my face.
“What happened?”
“Fence down on the north section.”
“Send two hands.”
“Already did.”
“Then why,”
“Lodge has three wolves coming in from Saskatchewan tonight. One’s injured.”
“What kind of injured?”
“Knew you’d ask.”
“Kane.”
“Recovering from surgery. They’re traveling home. Weather changed their route.”
“Put them in the west cabins. Closer to the service road if they need medical transport.”
“Already done.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Because you always answer.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
Titan offered nothing.
Traitor.
The lodge called next.
I answered.
Kane had already solved it.
They needed approval to keep one of the kitchen staff on overtime because the unexpected guests had dietary requirements.
“Approved.”
“You sure?”
“Feed them.”
Titan stirred.
Hungry?
“Apparently.”
“Sorry?”
“Not you. Yes. Keep the kitchen open.”
I hung up.
Marta’s call came before I could put the phone away.
I considered ignoring it.
Titan waited.
I answered.
“Marta.”
“Gideon.”
Her tone told me this was not about carpeting.
“What happened?”
“Nothing yet.”
I started walking toward the cruiser.
“Marta, I’ve been standing beside a highway for three hours. Define nothing.”
“A records request came into Kingsley Holdings.”
That wasn’t unusual.
“For?”
“Land transactions.”
“Which ones?”
“Several.”
I opened the driver’s door but didn’t get in.
“Conservation?”
“Some.”
“Development?”
“Some.”
“Ranch?”
“One parcel.”
That got my attention.
“Which parcel?”
“Northwest corridor.”
I frowned.
That land had been in conservation status for years.
“From whom?”
“I’m still determining that.”
“Send it to legal.”
“Already did.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
Silence.
Wind buffeted the cruiser.
A sheet of wet snow slid from the roof and landed beside my boot.
“Marta?”
“Because your name is on the request.”
“My name is on half the company records.”
“No.”
Her voice changed.
Small difference.
Enough.
“Your name is on the request, Gideon.”
I looked west.
The Chinook arch had begun forming above the mountains, a long band of clear sky beneath heavy cloud. Sunlight cut through the gap and touched the snowfields in the distance.
Beautiful.
Unsettling.
The kind of sky that told you the weather had already changed before you understood what was coming.
“What exactly are they asking for?”
“Your involvement in the transactions.”
“Which transactions?”
“All of them.”
I stopped.
Traffic hissed over wet pavement behind me.
Titan rose.
Not alarmed.
Alert.
Problem?
Maybe.
“How far back?”
“I’m checking.”
“Marta.”
Another pause.
“Twenty years.”
I said nothing.
Neither did Titan.
Twenty years reached back before some of the current Kingsley corporate structures existed.
Before I’d joined the RCMP.
Before Kane became my Beta.
Before I’d inherited responsibility for half the things people now associated with my name.
That wasn’t a records request.
That was someone drawing a map.
“Send me a copy.”
“I was going to.”
“And Marta?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t call anyone else yet.”
Her silence sharpened.
“You think this matters.”
“I think I don’t know what it is.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
No.
It wasn’t.
Titan paced once beneath my skin.
Threat?
I didn’t know.
Not yet.
Across the highway, emergency crews were clearing the last debris from the collision. Somewhere east of us, a little girl in a thermal blanket was probably telling her brother that the Mountie who found her had a weird name and knew a very large wolf.
That problem had been simple.
A child was missing.
Find her.
Someone was hurt.
Help them.
Someone was cold.
Warm them.
Safe?
Not yet.
Then go.
This was different.
Twenty years of land.
Conservation holdings.
Kingsley transactions.
And my name.
Someone had asked a question.
I just didn’t know why.
“Marta.”
“I’m here.”
“Find out who asked it.”
“I already am.”
Of course she was.
I looked toward the mountains again.
Above them, the Chinook sky stretched wider.
Titan watched with me.
Then my phone buzzed.
Kane.
Again.
I answered.
“What?”
“Just checking.”
“On what?”
“To see if you’d answer.”
I closed my eyes.
“You need a hobby.”
“I have one.”
“What?”
“Calling you.”
I hung up.
Titan’s amusement rolled through me.
I opened the cruiser door.
“You’re not helping.”
Others.
Yes.
There were always others.
I got in.
And answered the next call.
