By Sorbus
“A cougar, Sir? Are we talking about an actual overgrown kitty cat or Washington State University alumni moms?” I scoffed and made a snorting noise. My mouth fell open in surprise, however, when I felt his hand tap me none too gently on the cheek.
“Be respectful, boy,” Stevens ordered. “And yes, an actual cougar. Which makes your choice of activity out here rather foolish. But then. . . it’s not any worse than the reason for half a dozen game wardens to be combing these woods for a cat that was only hungry!”
I felt his hands grab my upper arms, and he guided me over to a fallen log. I nearly tripped over a large branch laying in the grass, but his grip was sure and . . . pleasantly tight on my biceps.




























