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ONE
HAYDEN
They say to come for the sunrise, stay for the emergency call from work. It was the usual standard here in Yosemite. When things got complicated my boss would call me out to keep watch. So here I was, tracking and watching.
The prints were fresh in the dirt. I knew she was close. I had been tracking her for three days at the request of my superior, making sure she had not gotten too fresh with folks hiking along the trail.
My rifle was close to my side, loaded and ready. Its weight was unwelcome, but I was also aware of the dangers of my job. Being a park ranger allowed me to spend most of my time outdoors and with that came the honesty of nature. We were here to protect the wildlife from people and people from wildlife.
I pulled my hat down low to shade my eyes, scanning between the trees, looking for any sign she was out there. Somewhere nearby, I was certain she was watching me, those golden eyes aware of my every move.
“Where are you, girl?” I grumbled, crouching down and letting my fingertips brush the soft ground where the print lay hidden among fallen pine needles and small rocks. Captured on wildlife cameras far from her original home, the mountain lion roamed the hillsides. Raging storms from weeks before had damaged much of that side of the park with rock slides and mud, driving her into fresh territory. We hoped she was just passing through on to better lands. And it was my job to make sure she found her way with limited human interaction.
It would not be much longer until I found her. Just have to keep a careful watch...
There was a scream in the distance. I raised my rifle, pressed the butt hard against my shoulder, finger just off the side of the trigger. I stood with adrenaline coursing through my veins, my thighs bulging against my slacks, eyes down the sights, facing the outcry.
Again, an angel’s voice of rage screaming, “Fuck this mountain!”
I could not help but let out a small laugh. Realizing it was a person and not a wild animal sent a rush of coolness across my skin as the adrenaline simmered down. Wondering who this angelic voice of rage was, I raised my rifle. Brushing my fingers away from the trigger, I looked down through the sights to see her with sharp clarity.
There she was, not so far ahead. She may have not been what I was looking for, but now she was all I wanted to see.
All curves with thick thighs and breasts swelling just above her sports bra. Her plaid shirt was open, leaving very little to the imagination. She stood on the trail, sweat glistening on her brow, a smudge of dirt across her cheek.
She let out a moan, bending over and pressing her hands to her knees. “Why is it all hills!?” Her breasts almost pouring from her bra. More than enough to fill my hands, and plenty left for my tongue against her sweet nipples.
Her moan sent lightning through my body, bolting down to through my tight belly. “The hell?” I breathed, the sound her of voice, the moan from her lips, and…
I tore my gaze from the rifle’s sights, needing to breathe. My body was on fire for her, and I could feel the grumbling of storm clouds brewing inside me.
As I raised the rifle to my shoulder for one last look, I spotted my target off in the bushes, very close to the woman hiker. A ghost in the trees, piercing eyes, a deadly stare.
The mountain lion watched with a hungry gaze.
I had to get to her. I had to save what was mine.
