The man chuckled lightly. “That doesn’t concern you. And yes, she’s my kill. I’d appreciate it if you backed off.”
Duncan kept his hands up and non-threatening as he took several steps back. An injured cheetah wasn’t worth his life, but the fact that this asshole was holding him at gunpoint in order to claim a hide pissed him off to no end.
The hunter moved forward, motioning for Duncan to keep back. “Toss your rifle into those bushes over there,” he directed. “And keep moving back.”
Duncan eased the strap off his shoulder, wrapped his hand around the butt of the stock and tossed the gun as gently as he could into the bush.
“Now down on your knees. Hands behind your back.”
Duncan gritted his teeth but complied.
A few moments later, Duncan felt a coil of rope burn around his wrists as the hunter tied his hands together.
“Just in case you get any ideas about going for your gun,” the man murmured.
Son of a bitch. What a mess this had turned out to be. And all because he felt sorry for a fucking cheetah. A cat that shouldn’t even be in his mountains.
Duncan tugged at the ropes around his wrists and watched as the hunter walked back to the cheetah. He paused and cautiously nosed the barrel of his rifle down to nudge the cat.
When he got no response, the hunter relaxed. After a quick look in Duncan’s direction and apparently deciding he was no threat, the hunter shouldered his rifle, bent to the cheetah and reached for the nape of her neck with his hand.
The cheetah exploded up, knocking the man back and on his ass. She gave him no time to react. She was on him before he could get his gun up. She latched onto his hand, and his screams filled the air.
Duncan watched in fascinated horror as she treated the man like her own personal chew toy. At one point, the man rolled away, curling himself into a protective ball. The cheetah hissed and stalked a circle around him, prepared to pounce again.
The man scrambled to his feet, evidently deciding he was going to die running. To Duncan’s surprise, the cheetah made no effort to pursue him. Instead, she turned her golden stare on Duncan.
Unease prickled up his spine. He was as vulnerable as a trussed up Thanksgiving turkey.
The cheetah circled behind him, and Duncan knew there was little point in trying to stagger up and run. In a foot race with the fastest land animal in the world? Yeah, he had a real shot at winning that one.
He tensed when he felt her teeth graze his hands. He waited, prepared for the pain, prepared to do anything to defend himself.
She began tugging and chewing. At the ropes. Not his hands. Un-fucking-believable. She was freeing him!
A few more tugs and the rope went slack. He pulled his hands to the front and rubbed at his wrists, unable to fathom that she hadn’t bitten him.
Carefully, he got to his feet and slowly turned to face her. She regarded him with complacency, as if she hadn’t just gone batshit on the hunter. As bizarre as it seemed, his ass had just been saved by a cheetah.
She slumped wearily to the ground, and he knew that the attack had cost her dearly. He felt an odd pang of guilt and sympathy for the creature.
He walked over to retrieve the jacket, and once again, he spread it beside her. She tried to lift her head, but her strength had fled.
The fear that had earlier taken hold of him vanished. For some strange reason, he knew this cat meant him no harm. She could have easily eaten him a dozen times over, and yet the only aggression she’d shown was toward the hunter.
He reached for her, pulling and turning her until he’d positioned her on the coat. Fatigue was taking its own hold over him, and if he didn’t get them both back to his truck, they were going to be spending the night out here.
He trudged over to get his rifle, and this time, he would keep it up and ready, despite making it more difficult to drag the cat.
Dusk was fast approaching by the time Duncan hauled the cheetah to his truck. The air had cooled around him as shadows fell, and the sweat that soaked his clothes covered him in a frigid cloak.
He dropped the sleeves to the jacket and dug for his cell phone. There was a weak signal but hopefully he could call Doc Robbins, the local vet, and have him come out with a cage and his truck.
He made the call and waited impatiently for an answer. He’d blown the entire day traipsing around the mountain and now had a cheetah he had no idea what to do with.
When the answering machine picked up, Duncan hung up in irritation. He wasn’t going to leave a message for Doc saying he had a damn cheetah he needed taking care of, nor was he going to hang around here until Doc called him back. Which only left taking the cheetah home with him.
He sighed and looked down at the cat, whose eyes were even more droopy. Pain glittered in the golden orbs, and that worried him. An injured animal tended to be unreasonable.
Usually he’d unload his rifle, case it, and put it in the back of his truck. But if he was going to ride home with the cheetah in the cab, he was damn well going to keep the gun handy.
With a look at the cheetah and an unspoken “stay” he walked around to the passenger side and pointed the end of the rifle to the floorboard, leaving the stock in the air. He then pushed the passenger seat forward so there would be maximum room in the extra cab.
Leaving the door open, he walked back around to the driver’s side where he’d left the cat on the ground. Her tail twitched, and she let out a low purr when she saw him. Sucking up his courage, he squatted down and gingerly extended his hand to her head.
She didn’t flinch or draw away from his hand. She didn’t move at all. He stroked her fur, and her eyes closed as the purring grew louder.
“Are you up for a ride home?” he murmured. “I need to get you into the truck. We need to get that arrow out of your leg. It has to hurt like hell.”
She bumped against his hand then licked his palm. When she struggled to try and get up, he automatically reached to help her.
He tensed, wondering if he’d just made a huge blunder. But she didn’t hiss or growl, nor did she try to make a meal of his arm.
He continued to talk to her, soothing, talking nonsense, hoping his tone would keep her calm as he urged her toward the truck door. Though nothing about this day should surprise him at this point, nevertheless, when she docilely crawled into the backseat of the truck, he shook his head and wondered if he’d somehow fallen into the twilight zone.
She settled onto the seat, her body stretched out, eyes closed, paws hanging over the edge. He quickly shut the door in case she changed her mind and decided she didn’t like strange, enclosed spaces.
He didn’t spare any speed getting home. On the way he called the dispatcher and gave her a description of the poacher and instructed her to put out an APB as well as call all the hospitals or clinics in the area. He really needed to be tracking down the fucker himself, but there was a little matter of a cheetah in his possession.
After he hung up with dispatch, he called Doc Robbins again. He got no answer and decided to make a quick run by the vet’s house just in case he was outside tending animals. Then he could leave the cheetah, and she’d get the care she needed.
He pulled into the driveway of the clinic that doubled as Doc’s residence. There was no sign of the beat up old Suburban, and Duncan sighed. Any other time, Duncan would be tripping over the older man. But now that he needed him, he couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Duncan muttered in the cheetah’s direction as he backed out of the driveway.
A few minutes later, he pulled up to a rustic cabin about two miles out of town. He turned the truck off and got out, quickly shutting the door behind him.
The warm interior of the cabin was a welcome change from the brisk evening air, and his clothing was still damp with sweat. A long, hot shower was a high priority. Just as soon as he got his cheetah squared away.