Aspen in Moonlight Page 8

  “Here. Hold the reins for me.” Kerry handed them to Melissa and then placed the pad back on Tucker’s back and tossed the saddle up. She pulled the cinch back under his belly and then tightened and secured it. The strap that went across his chest seemed to be broken.

  “Hm. Looks like he busted the collar.” Kerry untied one of the saddle strings attached to the back of the saddle, using it to devise a temporary fix. She flipped the reins back over his head and gestured to the gray horse. “You sure you’re good to ride?”

  “Yeah,” Melissa said, though she was starting to feel a little shaky now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She put her foot into the stirrup and tried to pull herself up but found she didn’t have the strength.

  “It’s all right,” Kerry said calmly. “Let me give you a leg up. Grab the front and back of the saddle and bend your left leg at the knee.”

  Melissa did as she was directed, and Kerry put one hand under her knee and the other under the front of her ankle. On the count of three, she bounced and lifted Melissa up on to Tucker’s back.

  “If it’d make you feel better, I can put a rope on his halter so the chance of him bolting on you again is nil.” Kerry’s hand lingered on Melissa’s leg.

  “What’s the chance that a deer being chased by a mountain lion will run into me again and cause my horse to flee in terror?”

  “Given that I’ve never seen something like this happen before, pretty small, I’m thinking.”

  “Then I think I’ll be okay. But I’d still feel better if you’d ride next to me.”

  “Not a problem,” Kerry said and mounted her bay mare. “Now, let’s go find out what happened to everyone else.”

  Chapter Eight

  The tale of the mountain lion chasing a deer who ran into a horse was told several times, to the delight of the riders and livery employees who gathered to hear the unbelievable story. After the third time, they began to wander off, heading back to their vacations or returning to work. Eventually, Kerry and Melissa found themselves alone on the porch of the livery office.

  “Kerry, I really can’t thank you enough—”

  Kerry put up her hand. “You should let me buy you a drink. What are you doing later?”

  “You should buy me a drink? Shouldn’t that be the other way around? You’re the one who saved my butt out there.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t get hurt, so you’re saving me from a lot of paperwork.”

  Melissa considered the logic. “You make a good case.”

  “I know. So…what are you doing later?”

  “Having a drink with you, it would seem.”

  “Good.” Kerry smiled smugly. “Meet me at the River Bar and Grill at six. It’s on Spring Street, two blocks off Main.”

  Melissa narrowed her eyes at Kerry, hesitating before responding. It was unlike Melissa to be drawn in by a woman who was such a player. But she was. “All right. I’ll see you there at six.”

  As Melissa walked away, heading toward her car, she didn’t hear the creaky screen door of the livery office and had a feeling the wrangler was watching her from the porch. As she put her hand on the handle of her car door, she looked up to see Kerry, leaning on a porch post, arms folded across her chest. The light raking across the porch glinted off the spurs sticking out from under the edge of her pant legs. She smiled with a grin that suddenly struck Melissa as almost predatory, and she began to wonder what she’d gotten herself into. The events of the day had made her head swim, and although she hadn’t hit it, she began to wonder if all that bouncing around in the saddle had knocked some common sense out of it.

  Driving past the lodge, she remembered that she wanted to ask about the river, if there had been a big flood there. At least she wasn’t that disoriented. She stopped by the lodge office to see if Betty was in.

  “Well, young lady, you had quite a ride, didn’t you!” Betty said when Melissa walked through the office door.

  “Yes…how did you know?”

  “News travels fast, even here. Ashley called me as soon as you and Kerry got back to the livery safely.”

  “I was so worried about the rest of the group. Everyone’s horses took off for home except mine.”

  “Well, as you unfortunately got to experience firsthand, horses are very emotional creatures when they think something’s about to eat them. It’s hard to force them to behave, even for an experienced rider. I hear you did real good, though.”

  “That’s what Kerry said. She also said that she was glad to not have to file any paperwork.”

  Betty laughed. “We’re all thankful for that.” The look on her face softened, and she put a hand on Melissa’s arm. “But I’m more thankful you didn’t get hurt. That’s what matters most.”

  “I appreciate that, Betty.” Melissa covered Betty’s tanned and weathered hand with her own. Something about the older woman touched Melissa. She came across as tough and was a little rough around the edges, as you’d expect from a woman who ran a cattle operation and guest ranch, but a softer side appeared unexpectedly from time to time. “I dropped by to tell you that I don’t think that picnic spot by the river is the place in the painting.”

  “No?”

  Melissa shook her head. “The rock formation in the background of the painting’s not there. Has there ever been a big flood through there? Something that could have altered the rock face on the other side of the river.”

  Betty stroked her chin. “No, not that I’m aware of. My family’s owned this property for three generations. A story about something like that would have gotten passed down.”

  “Well, it was still a great day, even with the wild ride. I’m glad I went.” Melissa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll just keep looking and asking around.”

  “You know, I did think of something…well, someone, actually. I have a friend, her family and mine have been close over the years. Anyway, I think she’d be good person for you to talk to.” Betty handed Melissa a slip of paper on which a name and email address were written in neat cursive script.

  “Sula Johansen.” Melissa read the name out loud and looked up. “What do you think she knows?”

  “Just talk to her,” Betty said enigmatically. “I told her you’d likely get in touch with her.”

  “I will. In fact, I’ll take advantage of the Wi-Fi here at the lodge and send her a message right now before I head back to the cabin.”

  “Good.” Betty gave a satisfied smile.

  Sula’s day had started before daybreak, and she was tired, though it was a good kind of tired. Body tired rather than mind tired. She’d take time spent in the woods over sitting at a desk working on a computer any day.

  She pulled her truck into the parking lot of the headquarters and visitor center for the Colorado Bear Conservancy and parked in her reserved spot under one of the solar panels that also provided shade. The lot was full, an indicator that the tourist season was in full swing. The conservancy was a private land trust of nearly ten thousand acres that her parents had established. Sula had been the executive director since her parents retired. Though now that they were living part-time in Norway working on a polar bear project, she really considered them semi-retired. Grabbing her small canvas bag and the paper sack sitting on the seat next to her, she hopped out of the truck and headed inside.

  “Thank you,” she said to a man who held the door for her as she walked through the entrance. Its massive wooden posts gave it the appearance of an old-fashioned lodge from the outside, but the interior, with its open and spacious floor plan, provided an entirely dissimilar experience. The building had been one of Sula’s first projects as executive director, and she was very proud of it. She had worked closely with an architect to design a water- and energy-efficient structure to house the conservancy’s staff and a visitors’ center with exhibits and meeting rooms for seminars and workshops.

  Sula walked past the information desk in the center of the atrium, nodding and smiling to the interns staffing
the desk as she headed for the elevator labeled “Staff Only.” After using her ID to access the elevator, she rode it to the conservancy offices on the second floor.

  “Hey, Boss.” Anna, her administrative assistant, greeted her when she walked into the reception area. She had started at the center as a college intern, worked for several summers, and then was hired on after she graduated.

  “Hey,” Sula said, holding up a paper sack. “I have something for you.”

  Anna took the bag and shook it. It made a dry, rattling sound, and her big brown eyes grew bigger as she smiled. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Maybe.” Sula smiled back.

  “Piñon nuts!” Anna exclaimed after opening it and peering into the bag. “You’re the best boss ever.” Anna had grown up in northern New Mexico and had a fondness for the small nuts that came from piñon pines. The nuts had a particular flavor and texture that was different from other pine nuts. They had to be harvested by hand, and because of the droughts and massive wildfires in recent years, the ones from New Mexico were sometimes scarce and always expensive. Sula had recently found them in the new health-food store in town.

  “I do my best,” Sula said. “Anything I need to know about before I head to my office?”

  “John from the refuge called this morning. He wanted to confirm your presentation title for the meeting in Denver.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “That’s it. Quiet morning today.”

  “I can live with that. I’m going to put in a few hours here and then call it a day.” Sula walked down the hall, but halfway to her office she turned around. “Hey, is there any coffee?”

  “Yeah. I made a fresh pot a little while ago.”

  “Now you’re the best.”

  “Remember that when you write my annual review, okay?”

  Sula laughed and detoured by the break room. She poured herself a cup of coffee, grabbed a carton out of the refrigerator, added cream until it was a nice blond color, and then squeezed in some honey from a bear-shaped plastic bottle sitting on the counter. The bottle was nearly empty. While stirring her coffee, she told herself to remember to ask Betty for more. She dropped the spoon into the sink and continued to her office.

  This floor had offices for the staff and department heads. Although everyone had either private or shared offices, they often congregated in the central working area. The combined natural and ambient light, comfortable seating, and tables encouraged collaborative work. It made sense since each individual’s responsibility usually overlapped with some other aspect of the organization. As Sula made her way to her office on the other side of building, she nodded and said hello to the staff members she passed—a biologist explaining something to the volunteer coordinator and the visitor-center director sitting on a couch next to the social-media director, both with laptops open and pointing to each other’s screens as they talked.

  Sula’s office had two large windows, one with a view of the lake outside and the other overlooking the atrium of the visitors’ center. Sipping her coffee, she watched the people down below. The center provided visitors with information and hands-on activities about the ecology of the Rockies, with a focus on how bears were an important part of a healthy environment. Outside was a popular nature trail, a short lollipop that meandered through woods, a meadow, and around the lake.

  Some visitors were disappointed to find out that there weren’t any bears to see. It wasn’t a zoo, and Sula refused to tolerate any bear being put on display simply to entertain people. Instead, the popular BearCam monitors were installed throughout the center and streamed online. Injured bears that had been treated but couldn’t be released back to the wild were housed in outdoor pens that provided them with a stimulating natural environment. High-definition video cameras were cleverly hidden in strategic locations, and at any given time, there was usually something interesting to see. Some of the video they captured had even been used in documentaries.

  Sula looked toward the mountain-lion exhibit, watching as a young girl, her dark hair plaited into many short little braids with brightly colored clips on each end, reached up and repeatedly pressed the button that played a recording of the sounds that mountain lions make. She wondered if the girl preferred the growl or the purr. Most people didn’t know that mountain lions purred like house cats. Sula thought about the one she’d been chasing around all morning. She called him Notch, due to an old injury to his left ear, where a chunk was missing. He might have had a run-in with a coyote as a cub, and, if so, he was lucky to have survived the encounter. Sula had recently discovered Notch near cows with calves and roaming around in areas with a lot of human activity. She was increasingly worried that he might get himself into trouble—the kind that would get him killed.

  Since the spring thaw, she’d gone out once a week tracking him, no easy task, even for her. They were careful and cautious animals. Sometimes he watched her while she was looking for him. In those moments she could smell him and even feel his presence, but she didn’t often see him. And when she did spot him, like today, she did her best to haze him, to get into his personal space with the intention of pushing him away from people who might do him harm and to move him deeper into the protection of the conservancy’s land. She wasn’t afraid of him, knowing that as long as he didn’t feel cornered, he would try to get away from her. She didn’t talk about her activity with anyone. It wasn’t her job and was borderline illegal, but she did it nonetheless. It was normal for her to not be in the office every day, so no one had any idea what she’d been up to, and that was just the way she wanted it. If she had any say in the matter, Notch would live out his life as a mountain lion should, and no one, no human anyway, would ever notice he was even there.

  She turned to look at her desk. She would rather have spent the rest of the day exploring the woods, tracking Notch. But she needed to work on a document, a letter from the executive director that would be published in the conservancy’s upcoming newsletter. The deadline for the newsletter to be sent to the printer was looming. She stretched her neck and shoulders and sat down in front of her computer, deciding she’d ease into her task by checking her email first. As she scanned through the list, the subject line of one message jumped out at her: Seeking information about Ursula Bergen.

  Sula clicked on the message, which had been sent by Melissa Warren, the professor Betty had told her about. The message, very politely and professionally written, was sent from a university email address. Melissa explained who she was, how she had gotten Sula’s contact information, and asked if she could make an appointment to speak with her about Sula’s great-grandmother, though it was clear Melissa had no idea of Sula’s familial connection to the artist.

  Sula sighed, knowing she’d talk with this woman, if only to please Betty. She responded and wrote that she’d be happy to speak with her, which wasn’t exactly true, and suggested some days and times when they could meet at her office at the center. After sending the reply she turned to the task of finishing her letter for the newsletter.

  Sula was startled when Anna stuck her head through the door of her office to remind her of the time.

  “It’s five already?”

  “Yeah. I’m heading out in a few minutes. Do you need anything before I go?”

  Sula leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, blowing it out audibly. “No. I’m good. Almost done here. But thanks for checking.”

  “All right,” Anna said in her ever-cheerful voice. “Have a good night.”

  “Thanks, Anna. You, too.”

  Sula read through the letter once more, and, satisfied, she saved it and sent it to the newsletter editor. It was time to call it quits for the day.

  As she began her drive home, she realized she had two choices: grab something to eat on the way or go shopping for groceries. Shopping didn’t appeal to her, so she decided to grab a bite to eat. She zigzagged through town, avoiding the worst of the traffic, and pulled into the overflow parking lot of the R
iver Bar and Grill, looking for a space that would be easy to get in and out with the truck. The four-wheel-drive F-150 was a great workhorse, but it was tricky to park in places designed for cars. Not surprisingly, several trucks and large SUVs were in the gravel overflow lot. She spied a good spot and pulled into it.

  Sula walked through the front door, heading straight to the bar, and found an open seat on the far end of the long bar, where she could survey the room. She ordered a Tin Cup whiskey on the rocks and asked for a menu.

  The bartender placed a napkin down in front of her, set her drink on it, and put a menu next to the glass. The bar wasn’t busy, about half full. On a weekend night, it would be packed, standing room only and no available seats. She looked over the menu.

  “Ready to order?” the bartender asked after she closed the menu. A large Greek family from Denver owned the restaurant, and all its servers and the bartenders seemed to be related. The women, short and sturdily built, were warm and friendly. The men were all average height and build, with neatly trimmed, dark mustaches. They were efficient but not much for talking.

  “I’ll have the grilled trout with a baked potato. Thanks.” Sula handed him the menu. The bartender nodded and turned to enter her order into the touchscreen register.

  While Sula nursed her drink, rolling the ice around in the glass, she surveyed the room and played a mental game of spot-the-tourists, followed by guessing where they were from. Seated at the bar near her was an attractive blond woman, in her mid-30s. She sipped an amber-colored draft beer and glanced toward the door every time someone walked in. She looked at her phone regularly, too, and was smiling and texting. Sula guessed that she was waiting for someone to arrive. She was wearing tan denim jeans and a blue shirt with a pattern that looked like ripples on the surface of water. Casual, but the fabrics were high quality, expensive. Something about her made Sula curious.

  Sula’s phone buzzed, so she turned and fished it out of her bag hanging off the back of the chair. She had a reply from Melissa Warren.