by Erin Marsh
Clay blinked. He didn’t like Linus Forrester, and he didn’t have any difficulty imagining the kid hurting an animal. But the scrawny, self-indulgent teen didn’t seem the type to successfully stalk and kill an alpha predator like a Mexican gray wolf. At least not on his own.
“Do you think Linus would do something like this?”
Zach swallowed. “Yeah. He snuck into the zoo a couple days ago. Scamp bit down on his ankle, and I think Linus would have killed him if the adult honey badgers hadn’t appeared.”
Clay scrubbed his hand over his mouth as he tried to process what Zach was telling him. He wanted to ask more questions about what had happened between Linus and Zach to make Scamp attack the older teenager, but they didn’t have the time at the moment. They needed to focus on the current problem. “Is Linus a good shot?”
“Very. We fooled around with his dad’s guns a lot. Mr. Forrester is really, really into hunting. He’s got all kinds of rifles and gear. There’s a shooting range on the property. I’ve only been there once when Linus’s dad went away for a long weekend. He doesn’t like his son to bring friends onto his ranch. I think it has something to do with the dogs he raises. There were a lot of empty cages. I didn’t see any, but I heard howling.”
“Howling?” Clay asked sharply.
“Yeah. I thought it was a wolf or something, but Linus said it was a hunting dog.”
“Zach, what exactly did you see on the property? You said hunting gear. What type?”
“The normal stuff and then some really weird rifles. Lots of my friends in Ohio were hunters, but they didn’t have stuff like that. It almost looked like a fake gun with a really skinny barrel. One of my friends actually thought it was for paintball, but when he touched it, Linus freaked.”
Clay whipped out his smartphone. If they’d been any closer to the national park, it would be useless, but the signal was just strong enough. Pulling up a picture of a tranq gun, he showed it to Zach.
“Is this it?”
Zach leaned close, studying the picture for a moment. “Yeah. It was. What would Mr. Forrester be doing with one of those?”
Clay pushed back his cowboy hat and jammed his hand in his hair. “At first, I thought you might be talking about an illegal hunting operation, but maybe Forrester is selling the lobos to people who want exotic pets. Gray wolf hybrids exist, but Mexican wolves are rare.”
“Why would someone want an endangered species?” Zach asked.
“Power. Bragging rights. Exclusivity. For the same reasons someone would trophy hunt or buy a stolen painting he couldn’t display. And Tim Forrester would have a lot of connections with people like that.”
“Still seems pretty dumb and mean to me.”
Clay began to pace as he arranged all the details in his mind. “It makes sense now.”
Ace noticed his movements and started to prance around him, oblivious to the enfolding human drama. His tongue lolled out, his wide mouth stretched in perfect doggy bliss as he tried to weave his big body through Clay’s legs.
“What makes sense?” Zach tugged on Ace’s collar to keep him from tripping Clay.
“Every alleged wolf sighting was by Tim Forrester, but we never saw a single one. Hell, he purposely sent us on wild-goose chases.”
“Why would he do that?” Zach asked.
“I was his fall guy,” Clay said. “Everyone knew I didn’t want the pack on my land. When the lobos started disappearing, people would naturally blame me. But then Lacey and I started to date, and his plan suddenly had problems. So he wanted to rile me up, rile her up.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“No,” Clay said. “He must have escalated by injuring my cow. When I didn’t go nuclear on the wolf pack, he switched tactics and arranged for Lacey to distrust me.”
“That kinda all makes sense,” Zach said. “What are we going to do next?”
“We aren’t going to do anything,” Clay said. “You’re going back to the ranch with Ace.”
Zach’s eyes narrowed in stubbornness. “What are you planning?”
Clay ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t like this part of the scheme, but he didn’t see how else he could convince the town of the truth. “I still need evidence. By the direction they’re headed, it looks like they might be hunting tonight. Maybe the wolf in the photo escaped, and they’re going after the lobo. If I can snap some pictures before it’s too dark, hopefully that will convince folks.”
“Your idea is sort of crazy, Uncle Clay,” Zach said. “The Forresters have nasty tempers.”
“That’s why you’re staying back. If I run into trouble, you can alert the authorities.”
Zach crossed his arms. “You don’t have to treat me like a little kid.”
“One of us has to stay behind in case this goes south,” Clay said. “This is my fight, Zach.”
“I’m the one who’s been working at the Sagebrush Zoo doing time that Linus should be.”
Clay gave his nephew a dry look.
Zach shifted and scowled. “Okay, maybe I’m not completely blameless.”
“Zach.” Clay paused, choosing his words carefully. He doubted the Forresters would shoot him over an illegal animal trafficking operation, but his plan wasn’t without danger. He needed to ensure that Zach didn’t follow him. Although the teen might not want to be protected, Clay had every intention of making sure he stayed safe. “This is something I have to do. It’s my reputation, my business, my world Tim Forrester is trying to destroy.”
“Okay,” Zach said reluctantly, “but if I don’t hear from you within a couple hours, I’m calling the police.”
“Fair enough,” Clay said as he headed to his horse.
“And Uncle Clay?” Zach asked.
“What?”
“Be careful. It took me a long time to find someone who gave two shits about me and who I gave two shits about back. I don’t want to have to try to find someone else.”
Clay paused in getting up in the saddle. It was odd, not being completely alone in a crisis. Even though he’d never been a natural loner, through the years, he’d learned to live by himself. But now it looked like he needed to figure out how to be part of a real family. “I won’t take any unnecessary risks, Zach. I promise.”
* * *
Lacey and her grandfather found Pete Thompson at a dive bar just outside town. The place reeked of stale smoke, spilled beer, and the vague smell of horse. Pete was seated on a stool when they took one on either side of him. He glanced up belligerently before staring back down at his drink.
“Told you Clay Stevens was no good.” Pete slurred his words.
“Clay didn’t shoot that wolf,” Lacey said. She was certain of that now. She shouldn’t have doubted him. Her distrust had hurt him, and she might have even irreparably damaged their relationship. The pain of that loss would come. It lurked inside her, ready to knock her down. But she couldn’t allow that. Not yet. She needed the truth. For her sake. For Clay’s. And for the wolves.
Pete snorted. “Are you really that naive, Lacey?”
It was her grandfather who spoke. “My granddaughter has her head screwed on a lot better than you.”
Pete took a long drag on his beer. “Never thought I’d see the day you championed a Stevens, Buck.”
Her grandfather shrugged off the statement. “Neither did I, but I also never thought I’d see you like this either.”
Pete sloppily lifted his glass in a mock toast. Alcohol sloshed from the rim, landing on the wooden bar. “Getting fired will do that to a man.”
“So will bitterness,” Buck said, “and something tells me you’re starting to rot with it.”
Pete gave a mirthless laugh that ended in a sneer. “Don’t mess with me, Montgomery. I’m not in the mood.”
“Who sent you the pictures of the dead wolf?” Lacey asked.
Pete glared at her, his eyes streaked with red. “Who says I didn’t take ’em myself?”
“The stench of beer. You smelled like a walking, talking brewery at June’s wedding reception,” Buck said. “There’s no way you hiked to Stevens’s back pasture.”
“That land should’ve been mine,” Buck growled. “Frasier should’ve left it to me, not to a whiny city boy.”
“Clay’s ancestors worked that land for just as long.” Buck’s gaze held Lacey’s as he spoke. “According to my granddaughter, he’s a good rancher. He cares about his cattle and the land too. Heard he’s trying to make improvements.”
“He wants to turn the spread into a damn swamp.”
“It makes ecological sense to bring back the ciénegas,” Lacey argued.
Pete snorted, but Buck said, “Something has to be done about the water shortage. The kid is trying something new. Maybe we should all give him a chance.”
Pete’s expression turned deadly. Clearly, he didn’t agree with Buck. Lacey sighed. She’d respected this man, and she had to believe the old Pete Thompson lurked somewhere underneath a decade worth of resentment.
“Someone deliberately chased one of Clay’s cows into a steep ravine,” Lacey said. “It was reported as a wolf attack, but I found a shoe print, not paw prints, at the scene.”
Pete jerked into a sitting position. His arm bumped his beer, but luckily, the glass didn’t fall. His expression looked sharper and more aware as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t hurt the animal.”
“No,” Lacey said, “I don’t believe you’d attack a cow. But I think the person who sent you the photo would. Clay didn’t shoot that wolf, Pete, but someone did. Someone who isn’t afraid of forcing a defenseless animal into a potentially deadly situation. Do you really want to protect a person like that?”
Pete shifted awkwardly in his stool. “I don’t like Clay Stevens.”
“You don’t have to,” Lacey said. “I just want the name, Pete.”
“Tim Forrester. Tim Forrester sent me that picture.”
* * *
The purplish tones of dusk had just begun to mix with the golden evening light when Clay found Forrester and his son in a box canyon. The duo had cornered a snarling wolf, her lips pulled back, her ears flat against her head. When the lobo leaped toward the riders, the men revved the engine.
Clay stiffened. He didn’t like how the men were toying with the animal. They’d been taunting the lobo so long that he’d had time to sneak into the canyon and snap pictures. The four-wheelers had drowned out the sound of his descent while the men’s attention had been focused on their target. From what Clay could tell, the wolf’s tranq had worn off, and she had escaped before the Forresters could cage her on their property…or they’d let her go to extend the chase.
Over the hum of the motor, he could hear their laughter—cruel and triumphant. It was clear this wasn’t even about the challenge of the hunt. This was about the trophy…and power. And that caused a sick feeling to twist through Clay like a thrashing bull snake. None of this was right, but he had no idea how to stop them. He had no gun, and his cell phone didn’t have reception. He doubted his mere presence would cause the men to retreat.
That was when he saw it—a flicker of movement on the opposite side of the canyon. The light had grown dim, but he could still make out the two people cautiously making their way to the edge. Even if he’d only spotted her silhouette, he would have recognized the energetic way her small form moved. Lacey. And the other figure with his uneven gait was her grandfather.
Clay sensed the exact moment Lacey witnessed what was happening. Her whole body went rigid, her hands clenched at her sides. He watched as her muscles began to coil. She reminded him of a mountain lion, ready to pounce.
The cliff on her side was steeper than the one Clay had descended. Most people wouldn’t even consider climbing down the jumble of sandstone rocks and outcroppings. But Lacey had also rushed headlong into a collapsing cave to rescue wolves. And she’d grown up clambering over surfaces like these.
Just as Clay feared, Lacey started a rapid descent down the slope, heedlessly sending stones hurtling into the valley. The men on the ATVs didn’t notice, but Clay did. Her grandfather rushed forward, but he had no hope of stopping her.
Clay didn’t think. He just knew he couldn’t let Lacey risk the dangerous cliff. He stepped from the rock sheltering him, right into the view of the Forresters…who were armed with more than just tranq guns.
* * *
Protective fury propelled Lacey over the edge of the cliff. She acted blindly, ignoring her grandfather’s cusses. Her foot slipped a couple of inches before she grabbed a tree root. She turned her head to check on the scene below, and every organ in her body petrified. Clay walked calmly out in front of the line of ATVs blocking the narrow entrance to the canyon. Behind him, the miraculously still-alive female wolf made a low, threatening sound deep in her chest. Only the noise of the vehicles kept the frightened predator in her crouched position.
“What the hell are you doing here, Stevens?” Tim shouted.
“Trying to stop you from committing a federal offense on government land,” Clay said, his voice steady and easy as he walked toward the four-wheelers. Linus reached down and pulled out a rifle, leveling it on Clay. Mindless rage suffused the younger man’s face, twisting it into an ugly mask. A chill tore through Lacey as she realized she hadn’t put all the pieces together properly. Tim Forrester hadn’t attacked Clay’s cow. His son had.
As she stared at him in his gray hoodie, another horrible realization struck. He was the one who had intentionally collapsed the unstable wolf den. It hadn’t been an awful, youthful mistake. Possessed with a cruel streak, he’d intended to bury the mother and pups. And now he had a gun pointed at Clay.
Lacey’s muscles moved before her brain even formed a plan. She scrambled up the cliff and rushed to her mount. Both she and her grandfather had rifles on the backs of their horses, but his eyesight wasn’t great in low light. Although she didn’t particularly like guns, she was an excellent shot.
“Put the weapon down, Linus,” Tim said, his voice tight. “We can’t shoot him.”
The sound of the rifle cocking bounced off the tight canyon walls, funneling it up to Lacey.
“Why not? Nobody likes him. The police wouldn’t look too hard.” Linus had taken up a hunter’s stance as he looked straight down the barrel.
Lacey exchanged a look with her grandfather. He gave a slight nod, and she fired off a warning shot that buzzed over the men’s heads. A new chorus of profanity ricocheted off the cliffs. Clay used the distraction to drop to the ground and roll toward the canyon wall.
“Linus,” Lacey said, trying to infuse her voice with calm authority while also shouting to be heard, “put your weapon down. Now.”
The eighteen-year-old wavered, his eyes flicking from side to side as he tried to locate her. It was clear he didn’t completely view her as a threat.
She fired at the ground near them. “That was another warning. If you keep holding the gun, I’ll adjust my aim.”
“You couldn’t hit me if you wanted,” the boy said, but his bravado sounded hollow now. His father’s gaze swept the canyon nervously.
Lacey’s grandfather spoke next. Despite the fact that he had to raise his voice to be heard, he still managed to sound like he did when he quieted a spooked horse. “Tim, my granddaughter’s a crack shot, and your boy is threatening to kill the man she loves. I suggest you do something about your son.”
Tim bit off some more colorful language as he yanked the rifle from his kid’s hands. A bullet went into the dirt, which thankfully didn’t land anywhere close to either Clay or the wolf. With Linus disarmed, Clay began to scramble up the cliff to escape both the Forresters and the cornered lobo. His feet slipped a couple of times, but he didn’t slow down.
“Tim, it would be a good idea for you to leave now,” Lacey said.
As if to punctuate her words, the wolf emerged from the crevice where the animal had managed to wedge herself. Her snarl turned into a full-fledged growl.
“Linus, we better go.”
“But—”
“Now, Linus.” Either the parental command in Tim’s voice or the low rumble coming from the lobo finally got through to the eighteen-year-old. He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, but he spun his four-wheeler around and sped from the canyon with his father close behind. The wolf bounded away, her body a dark blur in the gathering shadows.
From her vantage point on the opposite cliff, Lacey watched as Clay finished making his way up the side of the canyon. He moved carefully now, but then he hadn’t grown up scurrying around the rocks out here like she had. She doubted he had much climbing experience. He slipped a few more times, and each time she saw him fumble, pain seized her heart, threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. Finally, he pulled himself onto solid ground. He sat there for a moment, his head resting on his knees. By the way his shoulders heaved up and down, she could tell he was breathing heavily. She wanted to run to him, but there wasn’t an easy path to the other side of the ravine, and it would take time to reach Clay. Before she climbed on her horse, she needed to make sure he was all right.
Using his hands to push himself from the ground, Clay stood stiffly. The incident had clearly left him shaken. Lacey understood completely. If her knees weren’t locked in place, she might have collapsed too. Ever since he’d reached safety, her body had begun to quake. She’d managed to keep the tremors outwardly in check, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel more unstable than an active fault line under pressure.
Clay gave her a wave, and tears sprang to her eyes. He was okay. The man she loved was okay.
* * *
Evidently, standing between a loaded rifle and an irate wolf took all the stuffing out of a man. Clay felt as eviscerated as one of Ace’s plush chew toys. Despite his legs feeling like a gelatin salad at a picnic on a hot summer’s day, he managed to pick his way back to his horse. When he swung his legs over Midnight, he just sat there for a moment, patting the gelding’s neck. The horse whickered softly, and Clay forced himself to relax. He’d made it out of that canyon alive thanks to Lacey.