Falcon's Lair

To Lucia Macro with many thanks.

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Twelve

“Where do mountain lions go when it snows?”

Ben Falcon looked down at the five-year-old boy buckled into the seat beside him. Wipers on the Jeep clacked rhythmically as snow tumbled from the gray skies.

“Renzi, I don’t know where they go. Maybe they have caves they get into. They have thick fur coats though, so they don’t get cold.”

“I want to see a mountain lion. I haven’t ever seen one.”

“We have them around here. You’ll see one sometime.”

“I won’t if I have to go back to the city.”

Ben glanced at him, knowing he seldom mentioned his mother or going back to live with her. He felt a pang of sadness and reached over to give Renzi’s shoulder a squeeze. The boy’s big brown eyes gazed up at him with such trust and love that Ben felt another ache for the child. How could his mother not care about him or want him?

Ben followed the curve in the road and saw the low-lying buildings spread across the valley, their roofs white with snow, smoke curling from chimneys. The Bar-B Ranch for boys who needed temporary homes away from homes. From the first afternoon he had met Lorenzo Lopez, Ben had been drawn to the child and now occasionally took Renzi to stay overnight for several days at his ranch, which bordered along the south boundary of the boys’ ranch.

Ben halted the Jeep as the tall director strode outside. Blond, cheerful and energetic, Derek Hansen pulled his parka closer around his face and waved.

Ben returned the wave and looked at Renzi who had unbuckled his belt and was fastening his parka. He gazed up at Ben and threw his arms around him. “Thank you, Ben, for letting me stay with you.”

Ben hugged the small boy in return. “We’ll do it again soon, Renzi. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Thanks.” Renzi slid across the seat as Ben reached over him and opened the door. Renzi climbed out, waving at Derek as he ran past him into the building.

Ben lowered a window. “He seemed to have a good time.”

“I know he had a good time,” Derek said. “Thanks for giving him the extra attention.”

“I wish I could more of them. It’s the first week of April, and from reports I’m getting, we’re in for another hell of a blizzard.”

“I don’t think Mother Nature knows it’s supposed to be spring. You take care going home.” Derek stepped back and Ben swung the Jeep around and drove away. He passed two boys riding horseback and he waved, seeing them wave in return. The world became a white blur, snow bending the limbs of the dark spruce that lined the county road as he headed back to his place.

Finally Ben turned his Jeep along the last grinding climb up the mountainside toward his ranch house perched in the Sangre de Cristo range of the Rockies. Snowflakes swirled on the sigh of the wind while the Jeep’s motor roared in the silence. The road curved, the land dropped away to the east and Ben’s gaze swept the white world, the dark treetops below him. His eyes narrowed as a flash of orange caught his attention.

“What the devil?”

A lick of fire danced skyward, flames shooting up and black smoke spreading. Stunned, Ben stared in amazement, and then he jammed his foot on the brake, calculated where the fire was and swore under his breath as he threw the Jeep into reverse.

Some damned tourist was on his property and had gone off the mountain! The car must be burning.

He made the tight turn, the Jeep’s wheels inches from the edge that dropped away for hundreds of feet down the mountain. Then he jammed his foot on the gas pedal, skidding down the twisting road, snow flying out behind the wheels as the Jeep took the snaking curves.

Winding his way as swiftly as possible, he descended to the valley. Knowing every inch of his land, he turned off onto what he knew was a narrow dirt lane beneath the snow.

Seldom had he wanted a cellular phone on hand, but now he wished he had one so he could call 911 and let the highway patrol handle this one.

He slowed, easing his way over rough terrain, following splashing Flint Creek, tall spruce and bare-limbed aspen blocking his view of the blaze. Moments later he spotted the fire through the trees and drew a deep breath. The highway patrol couldn’t save anyone caught in the conflagration, and the flames looked as if they would hit the gas tank at any moment.

Ben climbed out of the Jeep to approach the car, his skin prickling because he expected an explosion. On the ground near the car something dark shifted. He frowned, drawing a swift breath as he looked at a mass of thick hair like a slash of chestnut against the white snow. A woman was sprawled facedown only a few feet from the fire, the orange flames bathing over her.

While he raced toward the prone figure, panic swept him because the car was going to blow any moment now. Suddenly she pushed up and struggled to her feet. With a cry she pitched forward. Stretching out his long legs, he caught her.

“Easy. I’ve got you.”

“Got to go—” she gasped, struggling to get free of him. With another sharp cry, she sagged against him, and he swung her up in his arms, feeling a rush of admiration because she wasn’t crying hysterically, but was fighting to keep going.