Cougar Chaos Read online

  Cougar Chaos

  By A.J. Marcus

  Mountain Spirit Mysteries: Book 4

  Parks and Wildlife Officer Brock Summers-Weir and his new husband, wildlife rehabber Landon Weir-Summers, are on their honeymoon high in the northern Colorado Rockies when they find an orphaned cougar cub. They quickly discover that there have been a number of cougars injured or killed in the area around Steamboat Springs. Although they are supposed to be on vacation, they work with local officials to try to find out what’s happening to the big cats.

  When they get too close to the answers, their camp is ransacked and an ominous message is left. Rather than letting this intimidate them, they step up their investigation in the hopes that they can find the people responsible for the carnage and still manage to have a happy honeymoon.

  This one goes out to Heidi Krahn, for all the wonderful work that she does through CARE helping big cats have long, happy lives.

  Chapter 1

  LANDON WEIR-SUMMERS caught his breath at the vista that spread out before them. “Wow.”

  At his side, Brock Summers-Weir hugged him. “That’s what I say every time I see this.”

  “And now you’re sharing it with me.” Landon hugged him back. The past few days had been a major emotional rocket trip with things just getting higher and higher for him. The honeymoon Brock had planned for them wouldn’t have excited a lot of people, but for him, it was the best thing ever. They stood a couple of miles from their camp in the heart of the Colorado Rockies, looking down at the untamed wilderness spreading out below them. A thin layer of clouds darted between the peaks to the east where the sun had risen a short time earlier.

  After pulling his camera from the backpack he wore, Landon snapped a series of shots. “I never get tired of mountain vistas.” He grinned at Brock. “Particularly when my husband is with me.”

  Brock mirrored his grin back at him. “I love hearing that.”

  “I love saying it.” Landon leaned in and kissed him.

  A loud bark brought them out of their momentary embrace.

  “What’s up, Bear?” Brock stepped away from Landon and glanced around.

  Landon paused and waited for another bark to let them know where the big dog had gotten off to. It came moments later, followed by Bear bounding up the rugged trail toward them. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, his tailed wagged, and he still bounced around, tired, but every fiber of his being shouted his happiness at being on yet another hike with them. The past two days had been spent hiking and camping in the mountains outside Steamboat Springs. It had been a perfect change of pace for them all. The fact that the wound Landon had suffered at the talons of a great horned owl was healing enough to allow him to hike was just icing on the cake. But even if he’d been confined to camp with Brock and Bear, he’d have still been happy.

  Bear ran up to Brock and pushed his huge head under Brock’s hand, demanding a pet.

  A happy laugh escaped Brock. “You’re having fun up here, aren’t you? Just watch out for meaner critters than you.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to have to haul you down the mountain if something happens to you.” Landon didn’t need to lean over to rub Bear’s head as the dog squeezed between them, demanding more attention.

  After a moment, Bear ran ahead of them. They were high enough up that the trees were rapidly thinning out, and their breath was visible in the bright August morning air. It was cold enough that Bear’s breath was a nearly constant plume of white as he charged on upward.

  “There aren’t a lot of animals up here that would mess with him,” Landon said as they followed Bear up the slope.

  “No, but you never know. This high up there might be mountain lions, but not much else that’s going to go after Bear. In the fall some of the mountain goats or bighorns might get agitated enough to treat him like an intruder that needs to be driven off, but I doubt it.”

  Landon trusted Brock’s judgment. As a Colorado Parks and Wildlife Officer, Brock tended to see more of animals’ natural behaviors than Landon did in his capacity as a wildlife rehabilitator. Plus most of the larger animals like bighorns and mountain goats were creatures he hadn’t had a lot of interaction with.

  A high-pitched crying caught Landon’s attention. He held up a hand for Brock to be quiet. The mewing continued.

  “There’s something over here.” Landon moved off the well-traveled trail toward the sound. “Do me a favor and keep Bear up here for a couple of minutes.” From the trail, the terrain quickly dropped off. Landon moved as quietly as he could toward the sound. A tiny game trail wound down the steep hillside. If he hadn’t been a good hiker, he wouldn’t have wanted to tackle it. The loose, degenerating granite made the going rough. Several times he scrambled for purchase as he nearly slipped and kicked a cascade of rocks down into the thick trees. Watching his footing, he didn’t see any recent animal tracks on the loose ground.

  The trail ended at a couple of large boulders. The crying grew louder and distinct enough that Landon was fairly sure it was a cat of some kind, and it was either in the rocks or behind them. He crouched down and peered in the crevice where rock rested on the side of the hill, covering the trail. There was the sharp smell of ammonia, reminiscent of a cat box.

  The crying stopped, and a shadowy shape disappeared farther into the darkness. Struggling to find secure handholds on the boulder, Landon crawled across the first rock to look in between the two stones. His injured shin rubbed against a sharp rock, and he drew in a tight, pained breath. He pushed the harsh sensation back, intent on finding out who was mewing so pitifully.

  Small eyes looked up at him from a tawny face. The little mountain lion hissed at him, then cried again.

  Landon glanced about, trying to see any evidence that a mother mountain lion had been in the area. There aren’t any tracks on the game trail. Even with loose scree, there should be at least a partial track. If the area’s starting to smell of cat scat, it’s been here a while.

  “What’s down there?” Brock shouted, breaking the silence for the first time.

  “A mountain lion cub. In between these boulders,” Landon called back. “See if you can find any sign of a lion up there. It should be using the trail. I’ve got nothing down here.” He tried to decide what he wanted to do. If there had been tracks or other signs, he’d leave the cub be. But mountain lion cubs were normally as quiet as the adults, particularly cubs that had made it through the spring and summer. Something didn’t feel right. He scrambled around the second boulder and continued looking for footprints, fur, large scat, or anything that would indicate the mother lion had been in the area. Nothing.

  “I can’t spot anything up here,” Brock yelled. “Do you need me to come down?”

  “It’s a tricky trail. Stay up there. Let me see if I can get ahold of it and bring it out.” Landon worked his way back across the boulders. He didn’t like the way pebbles, dust, and lichens fell as he climbed. By the time he reached the game trail again, sweat coated his palms and his heart pounded like a sledgehammer.

  Lying down on the trail, Landon reached under the boulder. A set of sharp claws embedded themselves in his hand, and he bit back a yelp. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the owl had been less than a week earlier.

  “You okay?” Brock shouted. “I’m coming down there.”

  “Brock, hold on.” Landon grabbed hold of the cub’s leg. It was too thin, mostly skin and bone. It was a bit of a challenge to work his hand up the cat’s leg and get hold of the scruff of its neck. It bit weakly at him. Its teeth didn’t have enough force behind them to break his skin.

  Once he had the struggling cub out of the cleft between the boulders, it was easy to see that its ribs stuck out of its sides, its coat was dirty, and its eyes were dull. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a meal, hasn’t it?” Landon shifted the cub in his grip so he could safely carry it back up the trail to Brock. His heart ached at its condition. “We’ve got a bit of a job set out for us to get you on your feet, little guy.”

  “I’ve got it!” he called to Brock. “It’s in really bad shape.”

  “Has it been attacked by something?”

  “Starvation. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been at least a week, maybe ten days since he’s had anything to eat. He’s too small to hunt anything more than mice, but up here there aren’t many of those.” Landon focused on his footing, his gaze darting from the cub in his hands to the trail and back as he walked slowly to the main hiking trail. “He’s probably been drinking what little water accumulates in the rocks in the morning. Otherwise he’d be dead by now.”

  “Bear, heel.”

  A loud whine came from the big dog. Landon glanced up. Bear sat at Brock’s side but looked eager to rush down and see what was going on.

  “We might have to cut our honeymoon short,” said Landon as he set foot back on the well-traveled trail.

  “Do you know any local rehabbers up this way?” Brock glanced from Bear to Landon before looking at the cub. His brow furrowed. “He really is in bad shape.”

  On more stable footing, Landon took the time to look over the listlessly wiggling cat in his grip. There were no signs of physical damage, other than the animal’s skin-and-bone appearance and weak movements. “Yeah, but he’ll probably bounce back. I think there are a couple of folks down around Steamboat, Vail, and Aspen. When we get a signal, you can call the house and get Shelia to look them up for us. The problem is, not everyone is set up to deal with big predators.”

  “Then maybe we can find someone to keep i
t a few days until we head home?” Brock stifled a sigh. “Man, that sounds pathetic. I’m trying to put our honeymoon before this little guy’s recovery.”

  Landon walked over and awkwardly leaned his head against Brock’s shoulder, trying to keep the cub’s claws from Brock’s body. “We spend most of our lives caring about the critters. It’s okay to want a little bit of time to ourselves once in a while. Yeah, if nothing else we’ll see if someone can take care of him for a few days while we finish up our honeymoon. Then we can pick him up and take him back to Divide with us.”

  Brock kissed Landon’s forehead. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The cub suddenly jerked and cried.

  Bear pulled back with a huff.

  “Bear.” Brock gave him a hard look. “Leave him alone. Go on, back to camp.”

  Bear glanced between the two of them, then plunged down the trail, his big fluffy tail wagging.

  Chapter 2

  BROCK DID his best to keep the truck steady on the rough dirt road as they bounced along, heading to a rehabber Shelia had found for them to take the cougar cub to. “Is it a prerequisite for wildlife rehabbers to live on dirt roads?”

  Landon chuckled from the passenger seat. “No, but a lot of us do. Particularly ones who live in the country. I don’t recall you complaining about the drive to the house.”

  “Apparently Teller County keeps up the dirt roads better than Routt County does.” Brock slowed down to go over a huge bump. “This road is worse than some of ours after spring thaw.”

  “Maybe they just haven’t gotten to doing anything with this road since then. I bet there’s more dirt roads in Routt County than there are in Teller.”

  A wooden sign, about three feet square, declared High Mountain Wildlife. Brock slowed down to make the driveway at the inside edge of a sweeping turn. After a few feet on the driveway, he slowed even more to keep from jarring everyone in the truck. Even Bear whined from the backseat about the vehicular abuse.

  “I guess they don’t get a lot of people bringing critters in.” Landon grabbed hold of the armrest as Brock white-knuckled the steering wheel.

  The driveway wound around, up, and over a low hill. The view from the top of the drive down to the small cabin, expansive metal shop, and a multitude of recovery pens was impressive. The entire area sat in a small valley surrounded by a thick mix of aspens and evergreens. A tall chain link fence enclosed everything. The gate across the driveway stood open like it was waiting for them.

  “Nice pretty place,” Landon muttered. “I wish I could’ve afforded something on this much land. I had to settle for what I could pay for.”

  Brock patted his leg. “Don’t worry about it. Mountain Spirit is great. Exactly the right size for the area.” Before he’d moved in with Landon, several months before they got married, he’d often wondered how Landon managed to keep everything going at the center. Afterward he’d soon found out how busy Landon always was, and he understood that Landon stayed going from dawn till nearly midnight most days. With a larger piece of property, there would be more critters and more work.

  “Thanks.”

  As Brock pulled up next to a couple of Jeeps and a minivan, the door to the sheet metal building opened, and a tall athletic woman walked out. Her dark hair was in a bun tight enough so the breeze didn’t blow it around. She waited until Brock turned off the truck before she approached.

  “You Summers and Weir?” Her hard voice had an impatient tone to it.

  Brock got out of the truck and extended his hand to her. “Brock Summers-Weir.” He was still getting used to the hyphenation of their last names that they’d decided to use instead of getting an entirely new last name for both of them. It was going to make official things easier in the long run, particularly with his job.

  Landon came around the front of the truck. “Landon Weir-Summers.”

  She shook Brock’s hand first. “Elisabeth Bradley.” Her grip was firm and callused. When she turned to Landon, her eyes widened. “I know you. Weren’t you at the big rehabbers’ conference in Santa Monica a few years ago?”

  “Yes.” Landon extended his hand to her as a thoughtful line crossed his brow. “Wait a minute. You were there talking about a new kind of enclosure you’ve been trying for squirrels. Basically enclosing an entire tree in a pen. Weren’t you having trouble with your local inspector over it?”

  “Exactly. That was when I was down in New Mexico. Fish and Wildlife didn’t like it because they weren’t able to come out and run a tape measure across it and do simple grade-school math and come up with the dimensions. That was one of the biggest reasons I moved up to Colorado. Folks here used to be a little more on the ball. Can’t say as I’m impressed with the new folks, though.”

  Brock stayed quiet. He wasn’t in his Parks and Wildlife uniform, and he was driving his older beat-up truck as opposed to his work truck. Since they hadn’t identified him as an officer on the phone, he decided not to let on even as she complained about his local coworkers.

  “Well, I guess I’m lucky.” Landon gave him a soft wink. “My local folks in Teller County are really easy to get along with, and on the ball.”

  “Good. I’m hoping I can break the new guy in so he understands more than he does now.” She glanced around them. “So, you said something about having a malnourished cougar?”

  Landon nodded. “We’ve got him in a box in the truck. I’ll get him.”

  Bear stuck his head out of Brock’s open window.

  “That’s a big dog,” Elisabeth said. “What is he?”

  “Foundling.” Brock took a couple of steps closer so he could rub Bear’s head and keep him distracted from trying to get out when Landon opened the passenger-side door.

  “Was he this big when you found him?” Elisabeth walked over and joined him in petting Bear.

  “No. He was just a pup. But I could tell he was going to be big. I just didn’t realize big meant massive.”

  “I think there’s a bit of Irish wolfhound in him.” She seemed to study Bear.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “At least he’s a big softy,” Landon said, coming back around the front of the truck with the box containing the cougar cub in his hands.

  Elisabeth’s face lit up. “Ah, let’s get this one inside and see what we need to do with him.” She started for the door she’d appeared out of.

  “Like I said over the phone, he’s in really bad shape.” Landon followed her. “I’m betting something happened to his mother, and he’s too small to really know how to hunt yet.”

  “Yeah, this time of year, the cubs are just getting comfortable with things like mice and small birds. If they are really advanced, they might be going after rabbits.” She held the door open for them.

  Concrete floors and unpainted wooden walls greeted them as they walked past her and into the building’s interior. They were in a narrow hallway that looked like it extended the length of the structure. There were a number of doors along the hall, all as unpainted as the walls.

  Elisabeth gestured to the first door on the right. “In there. That’s my examining and triage room.”

  The room they entered had a padded floor with stainless steel tables and sinks. White acrylic sheeting, like what was often used in showers, lined the walls. Stainless steel cabinets covered one wall.

  Landon carried the box over to one of the examining tables and opened it up. The cub made a pitiful chirping sound as the light hit it, and Landon pulled it out of the box.

  “I gave it a once-over when we reached camp,” Landon explained as Brock hung back, trying to stay out of the way and let the professionals work. “I can’t find anything wrong with it, other than dehydration and starvation. I did manage to get some water down in, but I would’ve preferred to have some Pedialyte.”

  “Since it’s not dead from dehydration, it must’ve found a water source somewhere.” Elisabeth tsked as she ran her large fingers over the cub, who didn’t even try to move away from her. “I really wish someone around here could find out what is happening to our cougars.”

  Brock perked up. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve had a lot more through here the past couple of years than I should.” She glanced at Landon. “You know how it is. You get to the point that you can almost project how many of a certain species are going to come in each year, unless something major like a fire happens to alter the numbers.”