Peggy Nicholson - More Than A Cowboy

“One of these days, if the DOW ever gets its act together and provides you with a boyfriend, this would make a perfect den for kittens,” Tess told the cat. “Which reminds me, Liza meant to check you again, to make sure you aren’t in a family way.” The vet had intended to palpate the lynx after she’d sedated her.

“I remember tucking you into your basket while we were jabbering away about rifles and bears. But I don’t remember Liza examining you. Did we just get distracted? Or did she do it while I was fussing with the pack mare?”

The lynx turned to give her a haughty stare over the wonderful double-points of her neck ruff, which resembled a Victorian gentleman’s gray-and-white-barred side whiskers, edged in formal black.

“Guess you wouldn’t remember, since you were asleep,” Tess reflected. “And I reckon you figure it’s none of my business anyway.”

The lynx stood to stretch magnificently, forelegs, then back. She stalked away on her oversize paws—furry snowshoes that were designed to let the cat run atop the fluffiest powder. Her black-tipped stub-tail stilled as a gray jay swooped low past the cage, then quivered with furious attention when the bird landed on a nearby branch.

“Soon,” Tess assured her, standing and stretching, too. She could have chatted happily for hours, but it was safest for Zelda if she lost her tolerance for people. Her best chance for a long, healthy life in these mountains was to shun all humans, friend and foe alike. For that reason, Tess had pitched her tent fifty feet to the west, within easy earshot if a bear came calling, but otherwise out of sight.

She shouldn’t linger now. She sighed as she collected her rifle and her kit. “Better get ready,” she advised the lynx. “Today’s the day.”

She’d wait till noon, when a lynx normally would be dozing. This time, instead of giving Zelda her chicken inside the cage, she’d show it to the lynx—then set it at the entrance to her proposed den. She’d open the cage door and walk away.

If all went as Tess hoped, Zelda would step out timidly into freedom. Then, overwhelmed by the sudden expansion of her world, made nervous by the too-bright light of noon, she’d snatch up the chicken and scuttle into cover beneath the fallen tree. She’d spend the rest of the day there, eating and gradually growing accustomed to a feeling of safety and rich possession. The den would begin to take on her scent.

Meantime, Tess would collapse Zelda’s cage and carry it away.

By twilight, when her instincts urged Zelda to come out and prowl, maybe the burrow beneath the tree would already feel like a haven, a home to return to. A place where food had been provided before. Where she’d find it again and again, in the following days, thanks to Tess and her cache of frozen chickens.

And so her life in the wild would begin.

Ducking under and around ancient trees, then between head-high thickets, Tess came at last to the stream, which angled across the slope. For most of its course, the brook ran shallow and clear—icy-cold from the snows above, narrow enough to step across. But at this point it paused in its chuckling journey and widened to a pool—another reason Tess had chosen this site for Zelda’s den.

She set the rifle and her kit to one side and knelt, then unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. Then the next. An absent smile curved her lips as she pictured Zelda’s spotted, big-footed kittens crouching on the rocks beside her, peering fascinated into the pools. Ears pricked as they searched for minnows.

An excellent place to raise a family.

YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, Adam had driven his truck up to the trailhead north of Sumner line camp. From there he had made several trips, backpacking a summer’s worth of books and supplies two miles downhill to the cabin.

Too tired to head back at the end of the day, he’d stoked the wood-burning stove and stayed on, figuring he’d return to the valley in the morning. There was still plenty to be done before the cattle drive started. Plus, tomorrow night he’d meet Gabe in Durango—go over final thoughts and plans for this investigation.

Sumner line camp was Adam’s old stomping ground from three summers ago. Last time he’d lived at this cabin, he’d been mourning Alice. A two-year engagement that should have ended with a wedding had ended instead in betrayal. His ring returned with a pretty apology, and her lukewarm hope that they could still be friends.

But if Alice didn’t want to build a home and family with him, Adam could do without her friendship. Without any reminder of her—or what might have been.

Stung by her loss and the part his job had played in their breakup, he’d even considered quitting the police, going back to his Colorado roots to start life over again as a cowboy. He’d spent that summer up here in the high country, relearning that he needed more of a challenge in his life than a herd of cantankerous cows.

That September he’d gone back to New Orleans, back to the force, with a renewed dedication.

And with his heart on the mend, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never risk it again. Since Alice, Adam had devoted himself to loving women well—but never seriously.

Still, sleeping in his old bunk, he found a ghost of that summer’s loneliness had crept upon him in the night. Flooded with memories both painful and pleasurable, he’d woken at dawn. Instead of heading back, he’d gone out walking. Wandering miles farther than he’d intended, he came at last upon a stream.

And heard a woman’s voice.

Pure wistful imagination, Adam assured himself. Nothing but the babble of running water weaving around the remnants of last night’s dreams.

Whatever its source, it trailed off after a minute. He shrugged and walked on, eyes on the stair-stepping run of narrow pools. If a lover was too much to wish for, then maybe there were trout?

A movement ahead caught his eye and he looked up.

And there she was.

A dark-haired woman kneeling on a rock, both hands cupped as she dipped them to the pool.

He sucked in a startled breath and froze.

Her hands scooped water and splashed it on her face. She made a muffled, laughing sound—it had to be freezing—then smoothed her palms over her tousled hair, brushing it back off her brow. Her fingers met at the nape of her neck—she laced them and stretched her spine. Small, high breasts rose with the sinuous movement and Adam bit back an instinctive groan.

Again she bent to the pool. Bathed her face and swan neck. “Yow!” Drops of water glistened on her throat and the curves that the flaring halves of her shirt revealed.

Enchanted, he moved closer—

And stepped on a branch. Crack!

She didn’t glance toward the sound, but turned smoothly away, reached—and swung back again. A rifle swung with her, rising, seeking…

At the sight of that rounding bore, years of hard-earned reflexes kicked in—Adam dived for cover. He hit the ground good shoulder first, then rolled. A bolt of lightning slammed across his chest, sizzling sternum to shoulder point. “Shit! Merde!” If he’d rebroken his collarbone! Or had she shot him? But no, he’d heard no retort.

“You’re…not a bear.” She’d risen to peer into the bushes where he’d landed.

“Dammit!” One minute he’d been whole and well, nothing but flirtation on his mind.

And now? Adam drew a shaking breath and pushed up out of a drift of last year’s leaves. Pain played a savage piano riff down his ribcage. “Hell!” He hated feeling helpless. If she’d shoved him back to the bottom of the hill he’d been scrabbling up with such effort…

“Or maybe you are.” She’d shifted her rifle up and away, but not so far it couldn’t quickly swing back. “Did you hurt yourself?”