It wasn’t an easy trail to follow. Several times he had to backtrack to the last spot he’d seen blood and circle out to pick up the trail again.
The sun rose higher overhead, breaking through the canopy of trees and whisking away the damp coldness that morning had brought. Duncan unbuttoned his jacket as he walked on.
He followed the spots of blood to an area where brush was thick and bushes huddled, their leaves and limbs twining together. He glanced ahead, hoping to find the animal rather than wade through the thick growth. A warning hiss stopped his foot in mid-air.
He stood there a moment, paralyzed by what he’d almost done. Feral eyes stared up at him, glazed with pain and warning.
Holy mother of God.
He scrambled back, putting at least ten feet between him and the…what exactly was this animal?
The cat lay panting, an arrow protruding from the left haunch. Light chirping sounds ripped from the cat’s mouth, intermixed with hisses and growls.
His mind raced to absorb the scene. A tawny cat with black spots. It wasn’t a bobcat. The tail was too long. Was it some bizarre mountain lion hybrid? No, the body structure was all wrong. God, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was a cheetah.
What the fuck was a cheetah doing in the Rockies? Had someone’s exotic pet escaped? Suddenly the reports of a tiger and a lion didn’t sound quite so far-fetched.
He frowned as a possible solution occurred to him, one that fit the scene he’d interrupted just a while earlier. Could the animals have been illegally imported for the specific purpose of hunting? Or could someone merely have spotted the escaped cheetah and decided to hunt it down?
There had been no reports of any missing animals from the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo or the zoo in Denver, and he wasn’t sure either housed any cheetahs.
The cat continued to stare at him just as he stared at it. It looked to be a female. Her stare eased and her eyes lost some of the wildness. Her lids relaxed, though she continued to observe him cautiously.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said soothingly and then felt like a dumbass for cooing at a wild animal. One that could outrun his damn truck. She could chase him down and have him for lunch in ten seconds flat. If that long.
He reached for his rifle. The stock cradled in his hand gave him a measure of confidence.
But she didn’t move. A low sound emanated from her, and after a moment he realized she was purring. The vibrating rumble grew louder as he stared at her in amazement.
He had no idea what to do with the cat. She didn’t seem threatening, but then, only a moron would assume a wild animal could be reasonable.
If he left her to go back and get help, he risked the hunters coming back and finding her. If he could get her to a vet, he knew she could be saved. She hadn’t lost an enormous amount of blood, and the wound wasn’t mortal.
What he needed was a tranquilizer dart, and gee, it just so happened that wasn’t standard issue for a sheriff to be carting around in his backpack. Water, bandages, flares, basic survival gear? Yes. A buttload of kitty valium? No.
He circled around the cat who still hadn’t moved so much as a muscle. Maybe she was conserving her strength to attack him. Not a very comforting thought and one that had him backing away even further.
Then she moved. He froze, not wanting to excite her. She struggled to her feet, collapsed back to the ground then pushed herself up again.
He gripped his gun tighter as she limped very slowly in his direction. His thumb flicked over the safety, and the click echoed loudly in the stillness. The cheetah stopped and stared at him, her big golden eyes dripping with sadness. And fear.
His eyes narrowed as she started forward again, her steps measured as if not to startle him. Yep, he was losing his mind. He was standing in the middle of nowhere having telepathic communion with a cheetah.
She bumped her head against his leg and rubbed the side of her jowls over his jeans. She circled around him, rubbing up against him just like a domestic cat begging to be petted. She kept the arrow pointed outward, but she circled him three times.
Still keeping the rifle gripped tightly in his left hand, he reached down with his right, tense and prepared to fight for his life. His fingers touched the top of her head, and her fur, coarse and downy, spread over his skin.
She stilled and arched into his hand. He relaxed just a bit as her purrs filled the air. She twisted her head and licked his palm then scrubbed her face against his hand once more.
Was she tame? Had she been someone’s pet? It seemed the only reasonable explanation.
Her back leg buckled, and she sank with a thump onto the ground. His chest tightened with compassion. Such a beautiful, regal animal.
“I need to get you back to my truck,” he murmured.” Any bright ideas on how to do that?”
She continued to stare at him, her throat rumbling with her soft purrs. It was an intoxicating sound. But deceptive. It made her seem less wild, and Duncan couldn’t afford to underestimate the cat.
He shrugged out of his coat, careful to keep his movements measured and non-threatening. Maybe if he spread the jacket on the ground beside her, she’d crawl onto it and maybe he could drag it back to the truck. Or maybe he was losing his mind.
Still, he crept forward and gingerly arranged the coat on the ground next to the cat, who still regarded him with half-closed eyes.
“Go on then,” he muttered. “Get on the coat.” He could grab the sleeve and still position his body as far away from any teeth or claws as possible.
To his surprise, the cat heaved herself up and padded onto the jacket. She made a tight circle before settling down.
Well, that had been easy.
The cat watched him with uncanny intelligence as he gathered one sleeve in his free hand. The other grasped his rifle, but he knew dragging the heavy cat off the mountain was going to take more effort. He was going to need both hands.
He stood there for a long moment, judging the cat’s mood. She seemed complacent enough, but what would she do when he started pulling on the jacket?
The cheetah extended her front paws then laid her head down on the tops and closed her eyes. There was trust in that gesture. Even as the absurd thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t discount it.
He took the strap of his rifle and pulled it over his shoulder. He reached behind him to touch the stock, positioning it so he could reach it quickly if needed. His pack would have to stay.
Keeping a wary eye on the cheetah, he bent down and picked up the sleeves of the coat. He gave them an experimental pull, but the cat never stirred.
This was going to be one long-ass walk.
CHAPTER 2
Duncan stopped to rest and catch his breath. It wasn’t that dragging the cat was too arduous, but having to bend over while pulling and navigate all the rocks and rises was hell on his back.
Just as he bent to pick up the sleeves and resume the hike to his truck, he heard the snapping sound of someone stepping on a twig.
He automatically reached for his rifle.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Duncan turned warily to see one of the poachers ten yards away, looking at Duncan down the barrel of a rifle. Fuck. He glanced down at the cheetah to see she was still undisturbed, either sleeping or unconscious.
“I just want the cat. Cooperate and you won’t get hurt.”
Duncan scowled. At least his badge was shoved into his pocket and not visible. That little piece of information would probably get him shot on the spot.
“This your kill?” he asked casually. “I found her about a half a mile back. Wondered how a cheetah got in these mountains.”