Cougar Chaos, page 4
“And we’re going to do our best to make sure that doesn’t happen to you.” Landon squeezed Brock’s leg. “I don’t want to lose my new husband anytime soon.”
“I don’t want you to lose me either.” Brock patted Landon’s hand as he slowed down to make the turn into the driveway.
It was a fairly short drive; the house sat just a hundred yards or so off the road. The place looked relatively new, or maybe the logs had just had a fresh coat of lacquer applied recently. Someone had been spending a lot of time on the little details, and the flower beds that ran along the walk were all pristine. The colorful flowers themselves must’ve been watered every day to be so full of life in the middle of August. There wasn’t even much dust on the pavestone walkway.
Brock rolled down the windows so Bear would get plenty of air. As he stepped out of the truck, a fat black lab came running toward him, barking frantically. Behind Brock, Bear growled. “Easy, Bear. It’s okay.” Brock held his hand out for the lab, who stopped a couple of feet from him and continued barking.
“Sinbad! Get back here!” a gruff voice called from the side of the house.
Turning toward the voice, Brock spotted a tall, lanky man with a head full of gray hair. The lab, Sinbad, turned and dashed away, faster than Brock figured it should’ve been able to move, given its girth.
Glancing across the back of the truck at Landon, Brock jerked his head toward the man and dog as he started walking.
“You Summers?” the man called out. Sinbad sat at his feet, and the dog’s tail was stirring up a small cloud of dust.
“Yes, sir.” Brock continued walking toward him.
The man came forward. “Stewart Loring.” He offered his hand. “You got here faster than I expected.”
Brock returned the handshake. “Brock Summers. I didn’t have any problems finding the place.” He glanced at Landon. “This is Landon Weir.”
Landon and Stewart shook hands.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Loring,” Landon said.
Loring huffed. “Still getting used to just being Mr. Loring.” He glanced at Brock. “I was Officer Loring for over forty years. But I ain’t an officer anymore. I wonder if the new kid’s going to last as long as I did. I kinda doubt it. Kids these days don’t have careers. They have jobs they do for a little while until they get bored.”
“Depends on the kid.” Brock glanced around the building. Even outside everything appeared either new or recently repaired. “I just met Officer Cunningham. I got a good feeling from him. He’s still figuring himself and the job out, but he might stick around for a while. It takes a special person to stay with it long. You’ve got to have the right reasons. He might be figuring out his reasons.”
“And what are your reasons, Officer Summers? Why are you with Division of Wildlife…?” Loring sighed. “Sorry, Parks and Wildlife. I’ll never really understand why they had to merge us with the Parks department and change our name. We were perfectly fine as the Division of Wildlife.”
Brock chuckled. He knew a fair number of people still stumbled with the name change, folks who, like Loring, didn’t understand, or just flat didn’t like the change. “I hear you about the name change. Anyway, I do it for the land and the animals. They need someone out there with their best interest at heart.”
Loring nodded slowly. “That’s the right attitude.” He glanced at Landon. “So where do you fit into all this?”
“I run a wildlife rehab center in Divide,” Landon explained. “Brock and I had come up here to go camping.”
A wide smile spread across Loring’s wrinkled face. “If you both spend your on time handling nature, and you want to spend your off time out in nature, you’re good people. What can I do for you?”
“Like I said on the phone, we found a mountain lion cub while we were hiking yesterday. When we took it to High Mountain Wildlife, Elisabeth there said something about getting more mountain lions in than normal in the past. We’re wondering if you’d seen an increase in cat incidents before you retired.”
A thoughtful crease formed on Loring’s forehead. “I’d been a little busier than normal, period, the past couple of years. That’s one of the reasons I retired. I could’ve stopped several years ago, but I loved it so much. It just got to be more than I could handle, and I figured it was time to let younger hands take over.” He chuckled softly. “I didn’t figure it would be as young as Cunningham. But you’re wondering about lions. Yeah, there were a few more, but with all the people moving this way of late, that’s bound to happen.”
Brock nodded knowingly. He faced similar issues in Teller County. With more and more people trying to get away from the city and moving into the mountains, encounters with wildlife were ever-increasing.
“How about anything odd?” Landon asked. “Elisabeth said she’d had cats in that looked like they’d been caught in leghold traps. Cunningham said he’d had a cougar hit on the highway that was missing a paw. He thought maybe the cat had chewed it off.”
“They’ll do that, you know.” Loring paused. “What do you two say we go around back and have a sit-down? Got some chairs set up to take advantage of the view.”
With a quick glance at Landon, Brock agreed.
Behind the house, the yard was immaculately landscaped, with a stone walk meandering down to a creek. There were several bird feeders and a stone birdbath that had a pair of Steller’s jays splashing around in it. The flower beds looked very similar to the ones around front, except for one that had a small stone cross in it. The flowers there were more subdued than the others. They passed close enough that a name and dates were readable. Val Loring. From the dates, Brock figured it must be Loring’s wife. The date of death was less than a year old. The plot isn’t large enough for a coffin. It must just be her ashes. I wonder if she’s the real reason he retired.
Once it was obvious which chair Loring was going to sit in, Brock carefully lowered himself into an old metal chair he hoped would support him. Next to him, Landon did the same.
“You two want to know if there’s something going on up here with the cats.” Loring pursed his lips and rubbed Sinbad’s head. “To be honest, I was beginning to wonder that myself. Like Elisabeth said, we’ve had a larger number than normal of strange cases. I’ve probably seen more than she has. She only knows about the live ones that make it to her center. Over the past couple of years, I’ve probably seen a dozen or more lions that made me pause and wonder what had happened to them. Some of the newer hunters report anything strange they find. I think they keep hoping to find a chupacabra or bigfoot. There ain’t nothing in these mountains that ain’t been here for thousands of years.” He guffawed softly. “Well, other than white folks.”
“What kind of things have you seen?” Landon asked.
“Nothing that couldn’t have been explained by either carelessness or poachers or both.” Loring continued to pet Sinbad. “Poaching’s never been a huge problem up this way. I used to be really good about finding the guys and putting a stop to it. There’s also a good chance that it’s fur trappers who forget where they’ve put their traps, or for one reason or another don’t make it back to their traps.”
Brock didn’t buy “forgot where they’ve put their traps.” The couple of fur trappers he knew in Teller County used GPS to keep track of where they put their traps. They’d record the location so they could get back to it, even if snow or mud had hidden it. “So you don’t think there’s an organized anything going on?”
“Probably not.” Loring shook his head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t really worry about it. It ain’t like lions are protected. Don’t forget we have a hunting season on them. Most people nowadays don’t really care about them until they start eating sheep or pets or something.”
“Just because something isn’t protected doesn’t mean it doesn’t need our help in staying alive.” Landon sounded a little irritated by Loring’s words. Brock opted to let him take point and voice the concerns he was having as well.
“I’ve rescued my share of cougars,” Loring defended himself. “Cubs mostly. The adults are a little more dangerous than I was willing to deal with, even when I was younger. Not that we had as many rehabbers around then.” He huffed. “We didn’t really even have vets who would look at injured wildlife. I’ve patched up my share, and the wife, she was good at it, particularly bears. She loved nursing bear cubs back to health and then watching them go frolicking across the fields.” His wrinkled face brightened as he talked about his wife. Brock understood; he’d felt his face doing the same thing when he talked about Landon. “I think she liked the bears so well because we couldn’t have kids, and more than a few of them were like our kids, particularly by the time they went back to the wild.”
Landon smiled at Loring. “I know what you mean. After raising a couple of bear cubs a few years back, I understood why so many of the native tribes referred to them as brothers. They’re a lot like little people in fur suits. The problem is they can kill us without really trying.”
Loring closed his eyes and rested his pointed chin on his thin chest. “Exactly.”
At his reaction, Brock wanted to ask him what happened to his wife, Val, but didn’t want to bring back the man’s obviously recent grief. They weren’t there to dig into the man’s personal past, but to find out about mountain lions. An eerie silence settled on them, broken occasionally by the splash of the jays in the birdbath.
Finally Loring took a deep breath and looked up at them. “So, Summers, what interesting things have you done in the force? It’s been too long since I talked with a wildlife officer.”
Remembering Cunningham’s warning about Loring being old-fashioned, and not wanting to do anything to disrupt the easy feeling that was settling over them, Brock resisted the urge to glance at Landon for permission to stay awhile. He enjoyed talking about his work, particularly with more experienced officers. They settled into a comfortable conversation about things they’d both done over the courses of their careers, with Landon throwing in bits of rehabber knowledge from time to time. It was a nice quiet way to spend the afternoon.
Chapter 7
LANDON LET out a long, slow breath as he got comfortable on the air mattress in their tent. The August night was warm enough that even near the summit of Rabbit Ears Pass, neither he nor Brock were cold enough to warrant sleeping clothed. The day hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped their honeymoon would go, but it had proved interesting nonetheless. Stewart Loring’s tales of being a wildlife officer in Routt County had been fun to hear, and he could tell by the way Brock had sat in rapt silence through a lot of it that Brock enjoyed listening to the older man’s stories, trying to learn more about the job he loved.
“Are you comfortable?” Brock asked as he eased down next to Landon. The blond hair on his chest sent tingles of excitement through Landon as it brushed against his arm.
“As comfortable as one gets on an air mattress.” Landon pulled Brock close and kissed him. “More so now that you’ve finally come to bed.”
“I didn’t want Bear having his last out of the night on his own.” Brock hugged Landon as they kissed and warmth and love flooded out of him. “We don’t know this area like we do home. Even Bear could get into trouble if we’re not careful.”
Bear flopped down on the floor next to Landon’s side of the mattress and, with a soft whine, laid his cold wet nose in the small of Landon’s bare back.
Landon scooted closer to Brock to get away from the sudden dampness. “We don’t want anything to happen to Bear.” He kissed Brock again.
“How’s your leg doing?” Brock rubbed his hands across Landon’s back.
“Good.” Landon rubbed his leg across Brock’s, enjoying the little tingles that ran between them. “I didn’t even need any painkillers today. But then we weren’t pressing things like we have been with all the hiking.”
“But a day without painkillers is good.” Brock laid his head on Landon’s shoulder. “I know from my injuries, that first day without drugs is a sure sign that things are getting better. Heavy activity or not.” He ran his hand down Landon’s chest and stomach, leaving a line of heat as his fingers passed. “Maybe we can work on some heavy activity to close out the night.”
Landon kissed Brock’s forehead. “We might. We are on our honeymoon, after all. I think we’re supposed to be doing certain kinds of heavy activity.”
Brock turned his head and claimed Landon’s mouth. Their kiss lingered as Brock shifted so he lay across Landon’s torso. Brock’s now familiar weight comforted Landon while it stirred his body in excitement. Landon had never been with another man who fit him so perfectly. That perfection was more than just physical; they matched equally in nearly everything. Sure, Brock was prone to leaving socks on the bedroom floor and occasionally forgot to rinse out the sink after hurriedly shaving some mornings, but there wasn’t anything Landon had discovered to that point that caused him any worry they weren’t going to be a lifelong fit.
Brock pinched Landon’s left nipple, then pulled softly on the silver ring that hung there. Landon let out a low moan as the sensation, a cross between pleasure and pain, coursed through his chest and then spread out, causing his cock to finish hardening in a surge of excitement.
An eerie scream split the night.
Landon pulled away from Brock’s mouth. “Quiet.”
“What was that?” Brock whispered.
“Mountain lion.” Landon froze, not wanting to move, listening for more sounds.
The mountain forest around them was completely still. There wasn’t even the rustle of the tent fabric in the soft breeze. For a moment it felt like every living thing in the area stopped and listened for the next scream.
It didn’t take long, seconds really, for another scream to rend the still air.
Landon pushed Brock off him. “That cat’s in pain.”
Brock rolled off him and scrambled for his clothes as Landon found his pants. “How far away do you think it is?”
“Not sure.” Landon stood and pulled his jeans on, not bothering with underwear. “Sound travels oddly in the mountains. You know that.”
“So we’re going on a wild mountain lion chase in the dark, in mountains that we’re not familiar with.” The sound of Brock’s zipper going up reached Landon in the darkened tent.
Landon found the battery backup solar lantern and flipped it on. The light helped him find his shirt and shoes. He didn’t want to take time to pull on his socks. “Basically yes. It’s what we do.”
Brock sat down in one of the bag chairs next to the closed tent flap. “I know. I just wanted to confirm that was what we’re doing.”
Another scream from the cat tore at the night.
“How can you tell it’s in pain?” Brock asked as he yanked on his socks before shoving his feet into his boots.
Landon tied his hiking boots. “I had a mountain lion come in a few years back that had a busted hind leg. It screamed in that same tone for a week until the pain dropped to the point it could stand to move around on the leg.”
“You don’t think we’re hearing a cat caught in a leg trap?” Brock pulled on his shirt and grabbed his service pistol, along with two headlamps and a backup flashlight for each of them.
“I hope not.” Landon straightened from tying his shoes. He glanced around the tent, and a heavy frustration filled him. “We don’t have any tranquilizers with us.”
Brock shook his head as he handed Landon a headlamp and flashlight. “We’re on our honeymoon. Next time we take a camping vacation, I’ll remember to pack a little bit of everything from the center, so we can rescue anything we come in contact with.”
Landon leaned in and kissed him quickly. “Thanks.” Then he squeezed Brock’s cock, still hard under his jeans. “And thanks for understanding about this interruption. I’ll make it up to you.”
A wide, wicked grin spread across Brock’s handsome face. “I know you will. Besides, this is what we do.” He walked past Landon and turned out the lantern. For a second, darkness filled the tent before they both clicked on their headlamps, and Landon unzipped the flap so they could head out and follow the screams that continued to upset the peace of the mountainside.
“Come on, Bear,” Brock said. “You need to be with us. You can warn us of anything that might be stalking us.”
Bear pushed past Landon and bounded out into the night, moving as silently as he could, like he understood the urgency of the situation.
Before they cleared the camp, Brock grabbed a rifle out of his truck, and handed it to Landon. “Just in case. I’ve got my pistol. We don’t know what’s out there. We both need to be armed.”
His face grimly set, Landon accepted the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He’d have felt better if it was his tranquilizer rifle that was several hours away at the clinic. But going off into a night-shrouded forest with no protection other than a large dog was not a smart thing to do. The mountain lion wailed again, urging him out of camp and down the rugged slope in the direction of the screams.
Chapter 8
BROCK TRIED not to kick off any loose rocks as they worked their way down the ever- steepening trail. Ahead of him the beam of light from Landon’s headlamp showed another bend in the path they followed down the side of the mountain. In recent minutes the mountain lion’s cries had turned from pain to fear.
“Something’s happening.” Landon picked up the pace.
Somewhere in the darkness ahead of them, Bear growled deeply.
“Careful,” Brock urged. “He’s not one for growling without a reason.”
“I know.” Landon pulled the rifle off his shoulder. “No telling what’s out there. I’ve heard things around us several times while we’ve been heading out here.”
