Page 6 of Wrong Number, Right Cougar

“Don’t hang up on me, please.”

“Can’t see why not. Besides, this place is not for sale.” He ended the call again. Unless the guy was at the lodge, we were talking about two different pieces of property.

I considered dialing again but decided against it. Getting up and pacing over the tiny bit of carpet, I came up with plan after plan—yes, I liked making plans—as to how I could achieve my goal of selling the lodge without actually going to Cougar Lake. Every concept was dashed because the one guy who was recommended to sell the place, had gotten the wrong idea about me.

After doing an online search for the lodge and Alexei Blaze, I spent an hour reading of his antics and how people in the small town looked up to him. I might never have heard of Cougar Lake, but my uncle and godfather made sure many other people did.

I had to go there but needed to convince my boss that it was necessary. But instead of being worried I’d get behind on my work or wouldn’t be considered for promotion, I was intrigued.

The workday ended, and as my boss was in meetings out of the office, I waited until after dinner to phone him.

“Thorn. I hope you’re not working and you’re watching the big game,” he said when he answered.

Big game? Oh right, some of my colleagues had been talking about the football match this evening. Our home team was playing, and they were expected to win. Football wasn’t my thing, and I had been intending to work but my head was full of Cougar Lake and the adventures of Alexei Blaze.

“My godfather died.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. You just take time off.”

I didn’t have to plead or beg. He told me to take a week’s bereavement leave, and if I wanted more time, I had plenty of holidays due. I promised to finish the report that was due at the end of the week and started packing.

The drive would take a day and a half, so I’d stop overnight along the way. Even though it was spring, the early mornings and nights would be cold and I’d need more outdoor clothing, so I’d buy that in the morning on the way out of town.

I shot Noah a message and started the dishwasher and put on a load of laundry. While I loved my job, the thought of being on the open road and going somewhere new was exciting, with fresh air and hopefully good food along the way.

The next morning I was at the outdoor retailer and was the first customer through the door, to the surprise of the guy who opened up. Racing around, grabbing clothes and trying on boots, I was at the counter ten minutes later before the guy had made it from the front door. A tiny exaggeration but not much.

He asked where I was going, and when I told him Cougar Lake, his eyes lit up, and they were kinda like the ones in my dream.

“Used to spend a lot of time up there growing up.” His eyes glazed over with memories, and I would have liked to stay and chat but wanted to get on the road.

“Not many cougars up there these days,” he said as I dashed toward the door. And as I headed outside, I thought he added, “Some of us are here now and meet up once a month.”

He must have been talking about a club of some kind.

Stashing my purchases in the back seat, I drove off. I turned on my favorite playlist and sang along at the top of my voice. With work behind me and Cougar Lake in front, I wondered why I hadn’t spent my leisure time in the great outdoors rather than being stuck in a library during college and being surrounded by four walls when I started work.

Perhaps I could take up a hobby when I got home. One with a group of people where I could make friends. I didn’t have a lot. Acquaintances and colleagues but not many friends. My own fault.

The phone beeped, and I pulled over to read the message, thinking it was from my boss.

Looking forward to seeing you.

It was from Noah.

4

WILDER

“What the actual fuck.” I threw my phone onto the couch and stormed out of the house. I needed to get out, take my fur, and run. And run. And run.

The audacity of someone to call up and try to buy my house out of the blue like that. This was mine and wasn’t for sale. It was bad enough that this place was no longer what it once was, but to have some scummy scammer trying to capitalize on that? Nope. That was a big old nope.

I shucked my clothes and jumped off the porch, shifting mid-air, and took off like a shot.

Why would anyone want my place out of all of them? It made no sense. It was small, hardly elegant, and a pain in the ass to get to. It was perfect for me, but hardly a valuable piece of real estate.

But that wasn’t the weirdest part. How did that guy even know I was here—and to get my phone number? I didn’t have a presence on social media, phone books were from years gone by, and this wasn’t even have my landline which might be in one. The entire situation was odd, to say the least.

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