Instead he said, “Maybe. But I resented it, and I never got to know him very well.” He glanced at her. “How well do you know Clay?”
“What a ham-handed segue,” she murmured, brushing a stray wisp of hair off her forehead.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Do you go out with him?”
She wondered if he had any idea how proprietary he sounded. Although he must have a point to this line of questioning, one that had nothing to do with staking a claim on her, she felt her heart beat a little faster. “No.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged, not wanting to explain the situation because it involved Jesse. Clay was Jesse’s half brother and Shay would never come between them. She left that role to Jesse’s wife, who had been Clay’s girl once upon a time. Jesse had no compunction about lying to, cheating with, or stealing another man’s woman. After Clay left for college, Jesse set his sights on Tamara, probably just to see if he could take her away from Clay.
Catching a female at a vulnerable moment was a Jesse Ryan specialty.
Family connections aside, Clay was younger than Shay and there had never been anything romantic between them. She couldn’t help but notice he’d grown up tall and strong and very fine, but they were just friends.
Besides, Clay was in love with Tamara Ryan. Always had been, always would be.
“Why are you so interested in my dating habits?” she asked, batting her lashes. “If you want to ask me out, Sheriff, stop pussyfooting around and get on with it.”
She’d been joking, of course, but his eyes dropped to her mouth as if she’d said something suggestive. That made her look at his mouth, and remember how his lips felt against hers yesterday, in the split second before he pulled away. She wondered what would have happened if he’d gone ahead and kissed her, if his tense mouth would have softened or stayed firm, if he’d have let his weight press down on her or held himself taut, if his hands would have gentled or moved fast and rough all over her arching, aching body.
He looked away first, turning his attention back to the road, leaving her bereft, empty, unsatisfied-again.
The tenajas were inaccessible by automobile, but one could get within a few miles by traversing a wickedly bumpy 4?4 trail. Luke’s truck was well equipped to handle the ride and he didn’t bother to take it easy on the shocks. Shay spent the remainder of the trip braced against the dashboard, trying to avoid being tossed about inside the cab.
When they reached the trailhead, she loaded up her pack and strapped on her tranquilizer gun in silence.
Tenaja Trail ran along the eastern edge of Los Coyotes, where Dark Canyon left off, and the two areas had similar habitats. Both were in the shadow of Palomar Mountain and reaped the benefits of fresh snowmelt. Deep Creek flowed year-round, although in late summer it petered down to a trickle, but Tenaja Creek, like the pools themselves, was seasonal. In April it had a steady flow; by October it would be dry as a bone.
In this drought-prone climate, water made all the difference. While Dark Canyon was mostly woodland, Los Coyotes was hilly chaparral, sagebrush and sumac as far as the eye could see. During wildfire season it was a 100,000-acre tinderbox.
Although the tenajas were evenly dispersed along the trail, Shay headed toward the summit. The brush there grew thick, with a number of rocky outcroppings and a couple of live oak trees. It wasn’t an ideal location for a den, but it was a perfect spot for an ambush, as it afforded plenty of cover and enough open space to watch for an approach.
It was early afternoon by the time they reached the clearing near the summit, and the sun was blazing. Like yesterday the Santa Anas were out in full force, blowing wind so hot and dry her sweat evaporated before it had a chance to cool her off. She drank more than half her water supply and watched to make sure Luke did the same.
Lions rarely hunted at this time of day, but it would take her at least an hour to set up, and by then the sun would be behind the mountain. Dusk came early around these parts.
She chose a shady spot beneath an immature oak tree to set up the “trap.” It wasn’t so much a trap as a hiding place. Her plan was to build a small shelter, cover it with the camouflage netting, sound the horn, and wait.
It wasn’t rocket science, but if there was a hungry male holed up near the tenajas he would hear the deer distress call and come to investigate. Although lying in ambush among a cluster of rocks would have been even simpler, lions had excellent eyesight and she didn’t want to take the chance of being seen. Besides, the shelter would provide both cover and shade.
After they’d gathered enough branches to make a basic dome-shaped structure, Luke started bothering her with questions. “Remind me why we can’t use hunting dogs,” he said, eyeing the hillside with trepi dation.
“It’s illegal.”
“Even in this kind of circumstance?”
“What trail would they follow? They would need to start from the point of the attack, and we don’t know where it actually happened.”
He swore under his breath. Unfazed, Shay continued bending branches for the shelter. “How many lions are around here?”
She shrugged. “We’ll be lucky to attract one.”
“And after you shoot, how long before he goes down?”
“A few minutes.”
More cursing. “I’m all for conservation,” he claimed, “but do we really need two-hundred-pound predators roaming the woods? I mean, shouldn’t protecting humans be more important?”
Shay resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d heard this uninformed argument more times than she cared to. “Protecting our natural resources is essential for all living things, humans included. Mountain lions are a cascade species.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re integral to the ecosystem. Removing them would have a cascade effect, endangering other animals and damaging the habitat. Without predators, prey run rampant and deplete resources. It’s the same with sharks or any other dangerous animal. Eliminating the threat to ‘protect’ humans would be more harmful to us in the long run.” She dusted off her hands and stood. “I should think you’d understand the lion’s plight.”
“Why’s that?”
“We’ve invaded his turf, colonized his territory, and claimed his land for our own.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Okay, earth girl, you made your point. Just don’t expect me to start singing the praises of the striped skunk.”
She smiled back at him, telling herself that the flutter in her tummy was nerves, not desire. Tracking a lion without GPS was dangerous, and the shelter a flimsy barricade if they were spotted, although a tranq’d lion would be more likely to flee than charge.
“So what made you choose this line of work?” he asked. “Why lions?”
“I’ve always liked wild animals,” she said, making a few adjustments to the outside of the shelter. “But I would say they chose me.”
“How?”
“Well, one day I was walking to class at Palomar College. The back parking lot is right next to a designated wilderness area, with a nature trail leading toward the campus. It was summer, so there were only a few classes in session, and very early in the morning. I was hurrying along and I dropped one of my books. When I bent to pick it up, I heard this hissing sound.”
“What was it?”
“A bobcat. Probably a juvenile, not much bigger than a house cat. And only a couple of feet away.”
“What did you do?”
She grinned at the memory. “I held out my hand and said, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, yes, I did. But I should have just stayed quiet and still, because he bolted as soon as I reached out.”
He shook his head, chuckling at her moxie.
“After that, I knew what I wanted to do. It was a life-defining moment.” She arched a glance at him. “Did you have one of those, when you decided to be a cop?”
“Yes,” he said, sobering. “But mine isn’t as nice to tell.”
She waited for him to continue with undisguised interest.
