It’s a grainy picture, dark and blurry, but the unmistakable silhouette of a large cat shines darkly, running through a field of grass.
“Oh, shit.” I purse my lips, already sure it’s Bruce. “Who took this?”
“Whoever posted it on that Face-booger site everybody uses. Probably Thelma Simon, the town’s biggest gossip who runs the Earhart Bed and Breakfast. Drake said she reported him skulking around her property,” he says. “It’s blowing up the Dallas Community forum, too, and making its way to other sites. People are forming search crews to look for it. A lot of folks are supposedly debating whether it’s the biggest damn cougar they’ve ever seen or something else.”
Oh my God.
My heart beats like mad as my worst fears come true.
He snatches the phone back as my hands go limp.
“Drake showed it to me,” he continues. “People are tagging the police department’s page and county officials, asking what they’re doing about this.”
“Crap, crap, crap,” I mumble, rubbing my temples furiously, knowing how crazy people get on social media.
The tiniest rumor can take on legendary proportions.
This is so not good. We’ve just entered disaster territory.
“There’s more. Power’s blown out all over the county,” he says. “Crews have already been dispatched. It’s only a matter of hours before they show up to fix the downed poles, including my yard light.”
“You called them?” Even before he shakes his head, I know he hasn’t. It’s just an impulsive question.
“No, but it’s a big enough light, and their system will tell them the power’s disabled. They’ll show up to fix it sooner or later. We have to get Bruce back in that barn ASAP.”
Forget sleep, I’ve got plenty of motivation to stay up for the next week.
“What can I do to help?” I ask, feeling another gut-punch of guilt.
“Do you know how to drive a tractor?”
“Sure do! Dad took me around a lot of farms on our travels.”
“Okay. Once I get this trailer backed into the pole shed, we have to take the door off the barn. We’ll use the bucket on the tractor to lift the door off, then fix the track and the rollers, and get the door back on.” He ticks each task off his fingers, a mannerism that makes me grin.
By the time Hank returns, Grady already has a chain around the barn door, standing in the bucket with me lifting him high enough to get the chain hooked on.
He gestures to lower the bucket.
I do, and he jumps out and climbs in the tractor next to me.
“I’ll lay the door on the ground!” Grady shouts to Hank.
Hank gives a thumbs-up and opens the tailgate on his pickup.
Over the next couple hours, while the men work like fiends on the repair, I use rakes and a flashlight to find and erase the paw prints Bruce left in the mud.
When they’re ready to lift the door again, Grady puts me back on tractor duty.
I’m pleasantly surprised at how smooth it goes, getting the door’s rollers back in the fixed track.
It’s still dark out, barely a slash of sunlight twinkling over the horizon, but from what I can see, the door looks like it’s as good as new.
“Now how do we get that tiger back in the barn?” Hank asks after I’ve parked the tractor out of the way.
Grady looks at me, waiting for an answer.
Fingers crossed, I say, “We’ll back the trailer in as close to the opening as possible, and I’ll coax him inside.”
“Coax or scream?” Grady asks.
The good-natured glint in his eye gives me the first sense of relief I’ve had since finding Bruce and scrambling our way through this makeshift cover-up all night.
“Whatever works best,” I answer with a wink.
Before he gets in his truck to swing the trailer around to the barn, Grady tells Hank to go inside the house and make sure the girls are still asleep. He’s happy to oblige, looking more than a little worn out from the surreal situation he’s been tossed into.
Once the trailer is backed in as close to the barn as possible—still leaving just enough room for me to put down the back door—Grady climbs out of his pickup.
“Let’s go. I’ll pull my truck on one side, unhitch the trailer, and let him rip. Already got Hank’s truck on the other side. Bruce should be walled in.” He looks at his setup, using the trucks as extra barricades since the Larkin’s trailer is too tall to back right into the barn.
“Good idea.” I’ve already laid out a slab of meat in the center of the pen, hoping Bruce will go for it.
If we’re lucky, maybe his nighttime excursion worked up an appetite.
Our plan works perfectly.
Within minutes, Bruce is settled back in the barn, with the meat devoured and the new sliding door closed and locked. My last look inside shows him licking his chops.
A short time later, Grady leaves to take the stock trailer back to Drake’s house, and Hank heads home.
I peek in on the girls, both still fast asleep, and then flop down on the sofa.
It’s after five in the flipping morning and I’m so tired I feel emptied out.
Even so, I wait until I hear Grady’s truck pull in closer to the house before drifting off.
There’s no doubt now—not that there was much before.
This damaged, growly man with a gold-plated heart is the hero I need, and the savior I deserve.
God help me.
“It’s utterly pathetic, Niles. Why, you should’ve seen the look on that cretin’s face when I told him if he didn’t want to pay in full, I’d take our lovely furball and march him right back to—”
I’m standing in the doorframe to the Fosses’ office with my heart drumming in my throat.
“Don’t you ever knock?” Priscilla snarls, twisting angrily in her seat, her heels so tall she might snap her neck if she tries to stand up abruptly and falls.
“Um, sorry. I just came to let you know Bruce seems extra restless today...” I’d noticed him pacing his enclosure since morning, and then the low, mournful sounding growl when I fed him in the evening.
He was slow to eat, which was way weird...
Almost like he’s expecting something.
“Oh, posh, not the upset tummy again.” She sighs, clicking her long pink nails on her desk. “Don’t tell me—we need another look from the vet?”
“Dear.” Niles gives his wife a stern look, his lantern jaw clenched. “I believe he’s scheduled for a checkup within the next week. Remember?”
This weird, sinister looking energy darts back and forth as they make eye contact, and then both turn to face me again.
“For such a talented, highly observant young woman, you sure do worry a lot,” Priscilla says, her tone oddly flat. “Tell you what, missy. Seeing how Niles and I have both got twenty years in with big cats—even if we don’t have one of your fancy degrees—how about you trust us on this one, hmm?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I’m not sure what the hell to say to that. I just know the way they keep looking at each other implies there’s some seriously bad vibes coming.
Bad news for Bruce.
“Understood. I’ll keep an eye on him and I’m sorry to have bothered you,” I whisper, slowly backing out.