Aspen in Moonlight

by Kelly Wacker

  Sula stopped by the Blue Mountain Diner for breakfast before going in to the office. She’d been there only once in recent weeks, and that was the morning she took Melissa. Sula remembered it well.

  They had stayed up late the night before. Sula smiled to herself recalling their lovemaking. It had left her feeling energized and not ready for sleep. When she had asked Melissa if she’d like to play a game of pool, Sula expected she’d rather stay in bed. Instead, Melissa laughed and said yes with enthusiasm. They played three rounds, Sula won the first one, Melissa the next, and the third round they called a tie. Expertly, Sula had sunk her last two balls but accidentally clipped the 8-ball on the last shot. It rolled slowly across the table and dropped into a corner pocket. They had agreed that finishing in harmonious balance with one another seemed a fitting way to conclude the evening. In the morning Melissa was groggy and wanted to sleep in. Sula thought she was adorably cute in her sleepy state and had coaxed her out with the promise of a decadent breakfast at the diner. Melissa hadn’t really perked up until she finished a cup of coffee and was halfway through devouring a stack of blueberry buckwheat pancakes.

  “Hey, stranger,” Danni, the waitress, said with a smile, filling Sula’s cup with coffee. “Haven’t seen you lately.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a little while.”

  “Uh-huh. Like since you’ve been hanging out with that cute blonde.”

  Sula opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

  Danni laughed and saved her from formulating a response. “Would you like your usual?”

  Sula nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “You got it, hon.” With a grin, Danni took her order to the cook.

  Sula sipped her coffee while reflecting on her morning. Not yet twenty-four hours had passed since she left Melissa and her parents at the cabin. Sula had awoken alone in her bed, feeling a restless pang of longing. Having been comfortable in her solitary lifestyle, it was an unusual and unpleasant feeling. She sighed, stirred cream and honey into the coffee, and scanned the headlines of the local paper she’d picked up from the stand by the front door of the diner. Beneath the fold was an article titled “Are there Grizzlies in Colorado?”

  Sula knew the consensus of the scientific community was that there were no grizzlies in the state and hadn’t been since the 1950s. The closest populations now lived in the Wind River Range, below Yellowstone in Wyoming. The newspaper story began by retelling the story of the so-called Wiseman Grizzly that had attacked Ed Wiseman, a hunting guide, in the rugged wilderness of the San Juan Mountains along the New Mexico border in 1979. The old female bear, killed in the fight, was an anomaly and might have been the last of the southern population of grizzlies. Regardless, it provided fuel for those who refused to believe that grizzlies had been hunted out of existence in the region.

  With a soft grunt of irritation, she continued reading the story that drew upon nebulous recent grizzly sightings. They were reported with regularity but were most likely black bears that weren’t black. Many had light coats and even cinnamon-colored fur, not unlike their bigger, more aggressive relatives. What irritated her most about the article was the way it was written. It made the inaccurate sightings seem plausible and undermined respected biologists. It read like a conspiracy theory, and like such inventions, it defied good sense.

  Sula did sometimes wonder if an unknown shifter could have passed through, been seen, and misidentified as a grizzly. While possible—anything was possible—it seemed improbable. The only shifters she knew were members of her family, and they weren’t a big group. Naturally circumspect, they took great pains not to be seen.

  Sula began to mentally formulate a letter to the editor about the thoughtless article. She would write it as soon as she got to the office and send it out. She put the paper aside when Danni set breakfast in front of her, a mound of eggs and potatoes smothered in peppered gravy. While eating she considered other ways to counter the misinformation and unmerited fear of bears that the story disseminated. When she got to the conservancy, she’d talk to her media director about it and wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t already at work on it. She was admirably proactive that way.

  But Sula never made it to her office. Leaving the diner, she received a call from Betty. There was a situation at the ranch, and Betty needed her help.

  Sula turned on to the tree-lined drive leading up to the Ponderosa cabin. Betty had told her to meet her there but hadn’t explained the problem. Betty’s old blue Ford pickup was parked along the road, not in front of the cabin as Sula expected. She pulled up alongside it and lowered the passenger-side window. Betty was behind the wheel with the tip of a rifle resting against the dashboard. She cranked down the window.

  “Hey, Betty. What’s up?”

  “Be quiet, park behind me, and get in the truck. I’ll explain,” Betty said and rolled the window up. Her tone and facial expression were humorless.

  Sula did as directed, sliding into the passenger side of the truck and closing the door quietly. Betty’s behavior perplexed her as much as the presence of the gun did.

  “All right,” Sula said quietly. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a mountain lion in the cabin,” Betty said, not taking her eyes off the single-story log cabin about thirty yards in front of them.

  “What?”

  “Here. Look at my pictures.” Betty pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her denim shirt and handed it to Sula.

  Sula tapped and swiped the screen, scrolling through the images. Her jaw dropped when she saw a mountain lion sprawled on a leather couch. In the next photo it was sound asleep and looked remarkably like a domestic cat, an enormous, honey-colored house cat with very large paws. Its head rested on a pillow with a pattern of pine trees, bear, and elk silhouettes.

  “Bears, and elk, and lions…oh my!”

  Betty took her hand off the rifle and bumped Sula’s shoulder. “Not funny.”

  “Oh, come on. It is kind of funny. A quandary, for sure, but still funny.” Sula swiped the screen of the phone one more time and audibly inhaled when she saw the shape of the mountain lion’s ear, light against the dark fabric of the pillow. It was torn, an old injury in the shape of a notch. “Hey, that’s my lion!”

  “Your lion?”

  Sula hadn’t told anyone, including Betty, about chasing a mountain lion around, trying to keep him out of trouble. “It’s the lion that bumped into Melissa on the trail ride. He’s got that distinctive notch in his ear.”

  “So how does that make it your lion?”

  Sula decided she’d better confess. “I’ve been chasing him around a little, trying to push him away from houses and cattle.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like it worked.”

  “Apparently not.” Sula handed the phone back to Betty. She took it and tucked it into her pocket. “How’d he get in there?”

  “That open window on the side of the cabin, I think,” Betty said, pointing to it. A window sash was pushed up, and the screen lay on the ground below, the metal frame bent.

  “How’d you find him? Did a guest report it?”

  “Thank God, no. The couple staying there checked out late yesterday. They called me this morning to see if they’d left their Kindle in the cabin. It hadn’t been cleaned yet, so I drove over to see if it was in there. When I walked in, I heard an odd sound and looked up to see a damn lion in the hallway walking toward me. I might have yelled a little.” Betty laughed. “I’m not sure. It all happened so fast, it’s kind of a blur. Anyway, he turned and ran into the kitchen, and I ran back out the front door—”

  “You know, you should never turn your back and run from a mountain lion.”

  “Yes, I know that, Ms. Conservancy Director. He ran away from me first.” Betty glared at her. “You want me to continue my story?”

  Feeling chastised, Sula nodded.

  “I got in the truck and sat there for a minute. Needed to catch my breath and regain my wits. That’s wh
en I noticed the window. I went back up on the porch and peeked in it, and there he was, standing on the couch. Sizing it up for a nap, I guess. Took those pictures, then drove back to where I could get a cell signal and called you. Then came back here to wait for you. Last I checked he hadn’t budged from the couch.”

  “You think he went in through the window this morning?”

  “Yeah. Guests don’t follow the rules. We want them to keep the windows closed for a very good reason, and there’s a damn four-footed reason in there right now.” Betty pointed to the cabin, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Not sure.” Betty glanced at Sula. “That’s why I called you. Figured you could help me problem-solve this. I don’t want to call any wildlife officers. When they show up, word will get out, and that’ll scare the guests and create a media hoo-ha. Plus, I don’t trust that they wouldn’t kill him.”

  “All good reasons.” Sula was glad Betty hadn’t called it in as she should have. If they knew about a nuisance mountain lion, the Wildlife Services agent would probably know about it, too. She stroked her chin as she considered the situation. “You know, his behavior is unusual, but he doesn’t look sick. In fact, he looks pretty healthy, in good weight.”

  “I’m recently missing a couple of barn cats.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” Betty sucked her teeth. “All creatures great and small got to eat. But I’d prefer that my barn cats not get eaten.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry, Betty. I was thinking he was eating deer, not cats. Since there’s no hunting on the ranch, the deer feel safe here and let their guard down.”

  “So how do you figure we get him out of the cabin without making too much fuss?”

  “Well, they’re most active at night, that’s when they usually hunt, so unless something spooks him, he’s most likely expecting to sleep here until dusk.”

  “And…what? We’re going to let him do that?”

  “Well, not all day,” Sula said. “But it buys us some time to make a plan. Let me think on it.”

  Betty was quiet, but after few minutes she began tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “You said it was a male mountain lion?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If he sprays that couch, I might just shoot him.”

  Sula tried not to laugh. “I have an idea. You don’t want him coming back, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’d rather not have anyone know he was here.”

  “That, too.”

  “Let’s make sure no one is too close to the cabin, especially up the hill behind it. I think he’s a young male trying to establish his own territory. We can impress upon him that this is not a good place to hang out and that humans are not his friends.” Sula paused. “If we chase him out the right direction, I think he’ll want to head toward the ridge, which would take him away from the other cabins.” Sula paused and puffed her cheeks. “I wish I could chase him on four feet instead of two.”

  “But you’re not going to do that, right?” Betty gave her a sideways glance.

  “No. I don’t think engaging the hamask here is a good idea.”

  “Good. You’d risk the chance of someone seeing a big brown bear and thinking it was a grizzly. Jesus, that’d be worse than a mountain lion sleeping on a couch, for sure.” Betty laughed. “How do you want to chase him?”

  Sula made a mental map of the area around them. “This cabin is the farthest one back from the main road, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I have an idea, but I’m going to have get something from my office. You good to wait here a little while longer?”

  “Sure.” Betty nodded. “If you’ll do me a favor.”

  “Another one on top of helping you deal with a mountain lion in a cabin?” Sula teased.

  “Your mountain lion,” Betty quipped back with a lopsided grin. “You said it’s your mountain lion. Therefore, I’m actually helping you with your problem.”

  Sula laughed and decided not to argue the point. “Okay, what do you need?”

  “Coffee. Cream, no sugar.”

  “You got it.”

  “Hey, Boss…you’re a little late this morning.” Anna spun around in her office chair and beamed at Sula as she walked through the door. “Have a good weekend with Melissa and the parents?”

  “Yeah. It was great.” Sula knew Anna wanted the scuttlebutt on how the family meeting had gone, but she really just wanted to get in and out of her office quickly. Still, she didn’t want to be rude. “You?”

  “I went down to a concert in Fort Collins, and—”

  “I don’t mean to cut you off, Anna, but I talked to Betty on the way in, and she’s got a little situation she asked me to help her with.” She pointed down the hall. “I need to grab a couple things and head out to the ranch. Can you tell me about it later?”

  “And you’ll tell me about your weekend in return?”

  “Yes, of course,” Sula said over her shoulder as she strode down the hall.

  “Deal. Hey, is everything all right with Betty?”

  “Yeah, she…uh…she’s got some raccoons…big ones…in an attic. I’m going to help her get them out.”

  “Oh, raccoons can do some damage, for sure. My aunt in Albuquerque had raccoons in her attic once and—” The look on Sula’s face must have reminded Anna that she was in a hurry. She stopped speaking and pointed her thumb at her computer screen. “I’m going to get back to my report and let you deal with that.”

  “Thanks, Anna,” Sula said with relief and headed for the supply room. She opened the door and flipped on the light to reveal a space that looked like a supply closet for an outfitter. Rows of sturdy metal shelves held hand tools, outdoor equipment, and camping gear. Sula grabbed an empty duffel bag and marched to the gun safe in the back of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Melissa yawned, wrapping her fingers around her almost empty coffee cup, and watched her mother clear the breakfast dishes from the table. “When did Dad get up this morning?”

  “I’m not sure exactly,” her mother said, returning from the kitchen with the coffee carafe. “It was still dark out. He said he’d be back before lunch. More coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Melissa held out her cup. Her mother refilled it and went back to the kitchen. The night before, her father had talked about his plans to fish the creek that ran through the meadow in front of the cabin.

  Her mother returned to the table but didn’t sit down. “I know you just got up, but I’m ready to take off these pajamas and put on some clothes.” She ruffled Melissa’s hair playfully as she passed her on the way to the stairs.

  Melissa took her cup and shuffled back to the couch, where she’d been sleeping since her parents arrived. Propping herself against a few pillows, she stretched her legs out along the length of the sofa and sipped her coffee. She hadn’t minded sleeping on it. It was comfortable enough, and she was more than happy to host her parents. But she missed Sula’s big, cozy bed, and even more than that, she missed Sula.

  Her mother came down wearing jeans and a fleece pullover. In one hand she carried a book and, in the other, a buff-colored box imprinted with the elegant logo of the long-defunct Denver Dry Goods Company. She placed the box on the coffee table.

  “What’s this?” Curiosity raised, Melissa sat up and swung her legs off the couch to make room for her mother.

  “Things that belonged to your great-grandmother.” She sat beside Melissa.

  Melissa lifted the lid and peered inside. It contained postcards, photographs, and a book. “Have you looked through this?”

  “Enough to see what was in there, and then I set it aside for you.”

  “You want to go through it with me?” Melissa felt as excited as a kid at Christmas.

  “Honestly?” Melissa’s mother laughed and held up a paperback book with a cover depicting a muscular dark-haired man groping a buxom woman, a large sword dangling between them
. It was, undoubtedly, a romance—her mother devoured them. “I’d rather go sit on the deck and read.”

  “Okay.” Melissa laughed, shooing her away. “Go read your book. I want to see what’s in here.”

  Melissa removed the postcards first and laid them out on the coffee table. Photographic images printed on thick linen paper, they depicted well-known places and mountain peaks. They must have been kept as souvenirs, as none had been written on or mailed. She gathered them up and put them aside, turning her attention to the photographs. They felt flimsy and fragile in comparison. Melissa wondered if these were ones that didn’t make the cut to be included in the photo album.

  There were more mountain landscapes, views of mountain peaks, dark trees silhouetted against the sky, rocks and boulders, blurry elk grazing in the distance, and fat chipmunks eating peanuts that someone must have tossed on the ground for them. Some had notes written in pencil in Evelyn’s distinctive handwriting on the back. Melissa recognized the names of places that tourists commonly visited, like Bear Lake and Old Fall River Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. But as she worked her way through them, the images ceased being the easily recognizable vistas in the park. They were still strangely familiar, though. Perhaps it was just because she had seen so many similar photos tipped into her great-grandmother’s album.

  When Melissa turned over a photo of a narrow unpaved road and read the note on the back, she gasped. It said, “On the way to Icy Creek.” That was where she and Sula had picnicked…and had kissed for the first time. She reached for the next photo of a rocky creek and meadow. Her heart skipped a beat when she read, “Ursula painting.” Ursula painting!

  She hadn’t seen any people in the photo. She inspected it more carefully. In the distance, in front of a line of trees, a blurry form resembling the shape of a person stood next to something, possibly an easel. A quick succession of questions ran through her mind. Would it be too far-fetched to consider that she had found a photo of Ursula painting the picture that hung in her grandmother’s house and was now in her own home, in Georgia? Was this how her great-grandmother, Evelyn, came to own the painting? Were they lovers at this point? Or did that happen later? What if they kissed by the creek on the day this photo was taken? Sula’s comment about having a genetic predisposition for each other reverberated in Melissa’s head.