The cabin was on federal land, and the National Park Service had taken over the hundred-year lease, as there was a housing shortage inside the park. A summer place, uninsulated, but Katie had replaced the barrel stove with an efficient woodstove and routed vents to the bathroom and bedroom. They drank coffee and ate some kind of a venison hash Katie reheated and cracked a couple eggs over, not Stranahan’s idea of breakfast, but better than the dog biscuit of hers he’d sampled last summer. Her manner was direct and friendly, but the underlying flirtation was absent and Stranahan felt relieved. It was one thing to tease each other in a public meeting room; standing under her roof, the same conversation might have been awkward. They were going to take Katie’s park vehicle, so Stranahan got his daypack out of the Land Cruiser and climbed into the shotgun seat alongside Lothar. At the park’s west gate, Katie took the lane reserved for official vehicles and kept up a mile-by-mile commentary as they headed for Madison Junction.
