by Clara Moore
“Don’t know,” the man answered, rubbing the sweat from his forehead. In the dead heat of the summer, the lion’s den was sweltering. “Got a call from the director this morning to say a new lion was on its way. Something about an emergency transfer. I was to move the other lions outside and prepare the den for this one. Never imagined he’d be a white lion. He seems like a pretty tamed fella, but there’s something about him that seems... odd.”
Cassie nodded her head. She couldn’t agree more. Tenderly, she put her hands against the metal gate that separated her from the beast. “What have they done to you?” she asked.
***
In the aquarium, Cassie tried to focus on the bioluminescent jellyfish, which looked like an infestation of tiny parachutes floating in the giant floor-to-ceiling tank, but her mind kept wandering back to the new lion.
Out of fear he wouldn’t interact well with the other lions, he’d been given his own enclosure. The public was delighted, fawning over him like bees to honey. The gift shop sold out of white lion plush toys his first day out of his den. He was the star of the zoo. But to Cassie, his newfound celebrity made his situation all the sadder.
“Another late night?” Doug, the security guard, asked as he passed through the aquarium.
“Night time is the best time for a researcher,” Cassie replied with a smile. “I’ll check in with you before I leave.”
“So sunset, then?” he surmised, familiar with her routine. “I’ll have the coffee waiting.”
“Thanks,” she called as he left, leaving her alone to observe the behavior of the hundreds of glowing turritopsisdohrnii.
“Another time,” she said to the jellyfish and went to see the lion.
With the zoo closed, he was back in his den behind the enclosure, lying in a corner with his head tucked in his paws, defeated, but as soon as she drew near, he stood and moved closer to her.
This was not the first time she’d visited him. It was one of many nightly visits. She felt drawn to the lion, as if he had some meaning to her life. It was her hope that if she spoke with him nightly, if they became friends, the sadness in him would recede. But it didn’t. If anything, he seemed to be getting worse.
“You’re not happy here, are you?” she asked, sitting on the ground with her side against the gate. He edged closer to her, the bulk of his body twice the size of a human’s, but he didn’t come too close. She got the sense he didn’t want to scare her off.
“You know, white lions have a place in mythology,” she told him, strumming her fingers along the gate. “They are believed to be children of the Sun God. You’re a gift to Earth. I’ve done a lot of reading since you’ve arrived. A lot. You’ve been a distraction,” she teased. Then she sighed. “But no books can tell me why you look so haunted. None of the scientific ones, anyway.”
Suddenly feeling tired, she closed her eyes and began drifting into sleep, staying awake long enough to feel his fur stick between the gate as he laid beside her.
…
You can read the rest of the book at the following address:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013726MS6
There were fifteen pickup trucks parked in front of Loma Rita’s tiny town hall. It had been a long time since any of those trucks had seen a dealer’s showroom. They were dented and scratched from long years of working in South Texas. There was scraps of hay and gravel in nearly every bed; a few had lost their tailgates.
The cowboys standing in a cluster near these trucks didn’t look much better. Years spent in the saddle had turned their skin leathery-brown; most had a perpetual squint lurking in the shadows underneath their Stetsons. They wore blue jeans that had seen much better days and faded t-shirts.
“It’s just bullshit, that’s what it is,” Millet Baynard proclaimed. He was one of the bigger cowboys, although far from the brightest. His t-shirt proclaimed his Longhorn pride. He was known in town for his ability to flatten beer cans against his forehead; his record was sixty cans smashed in a single minute. “Who cares about frikkin’ bats, anyway?”
“They’re an endangered species,” Danny Russell, tall, soft-spoken, and acting chair of the town board sighed. “That means the feds have got their nose in it, and there’s really nothing we can do.” He looked slowly around the assembled crowd, making sure to catch each cowboy’s eye in turn. “Roger can spend years appealing this decision, but the law is what the law is. They’re not going to let him develop anything down there. It’s all protected land.”
“As long as the bats are there,” Millet countered. He shrugged his sloping shoulders. “If they decide they want to nest somewhere else, then Roger will be able to build.” His nod was emphatic. “That would mean jobs for all of us. Good jobs.”
“If you mess with them bats, Millet, your ass is going to wind up in jail.” Danny’s best friend, Jorge, had recently retired from the Sherriff’s department. He knew Millet very well. “And it won’t be a weekend in the drunk tank. The feds take this environmental protection thing seriously. Are you really willing to spend five years inside on Roger’s say so?”
Before Millet could answer, a red Mazda 626 pulled up in front of the town hall. Every head turned to watch the door open. Janelle Washington had been sent by the Fish and Wildlife Service to represent the government’s side in the forthcoming debate. No one in Loma Rita had met her before, but more than a few sets of eyes widened appreciably at the sight of her lush, curvy form.
“Gentlemen,” Janelle said with a smile. “I assume you’re all here relevant to the Wilson appeal?” A few cowboys nodded, but no one said anything. Janelle flipped her long braids back over her shoulder, and adjusted her grip on her briefcase. “Well, then, let’s go in and get started.”
She stood back, allowing the assembled cowboys to lead the way. Danny Russell hung back as well, taking the moment to introduce himself. “I’m afraid Roger Wilson isn’t here yet,” he said, “so we may have some waiting to do.”
“Perhaps he realized it’s a lost cause,” Janelle said. “and decided to bail on us.”
“If that’s the case, you’ve driven a long way for nothing,” Danny said. He took a long moment to enjoy looking at Janelle. She was nearly as tall as him, with quick brown eyes and caramel colored skin. Her blue blouse and business slacks weren’t designed to be sexy, but they clung to her curves in all the right places. The three inch heels she was wearing didn’t hurt matters, and he noticed there was no wedding ring on her hand.
She noticed his interest and smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t stay for nothing,” she replied. “Meeting you has been a pleasure. Tell me about yourself. You work on one of the local ranches?”
Danny nodded. “I’m with the Lost King, just on the other side of town here.” He was about to tell Janelle about the outfit when Roger Wilson came squealing into the parking lot, sending gravel flying every which way with his arrival.
Janelle winced, moving to avoid the flying stones. Roger stopped his truck less than a foot from her, and flung his door open. “So you’re who the government sent down to tell me I have no rights to my own land?” he sneered at her. He turned toward Danny. “I assume you’ve told the lady we’ve got more important things to worry about than where some stupid-ass bats decide to bed down at night.”
… to be continued
You can read the rest of the book at the following address:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013TELNKO
Other books in our collection that you may like:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013XNYESO
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013XNYEIE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Clara Moore is a Canadian born Romance writer that currently lives between Toronto and Albuquerque. She has always had an interest in animals as well as love stories. She started her career as a reporter for wildlife magazines and decided that the stories needed a little enhancement to become truly hers. Since them she writes paranormal romance books.
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