Page 225 of Mountain Grump

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It’s a little later than I normally eat lunch, but Tilda’s French toast, which happened to be store bought and frozen, was damn good. And apparently I ate enough to keep me working through the noon hour without realizing it.

I’m picking up my fork when my phone rings. But not with a voice call, a video one.

I swap my fork for my phone and answer.

Tilda’s pretty face greets me. “Hi.”

“Fuck, you’re pretty.”

She presses her lips together, embarrassed. “Thank you. You’re very handsome.”

I smirk. “Thank you.”

Tilda is sitting on her front step, in the shade of the house.

“You hangin’ out with Quackers?”

“Um, Quackers is nearby.” Tilda’s voice is pitched too high.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh, found a kitten.”

My shoulders relax. “Okay. Well, you said you always wanted a cat. We can make sure it doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Right, so, the thing is…”

My tension returns tenfold. “What’s the thing, Tilda?”

“I don’t think it’s a normal kitten.” Tilda bites her lip, then switches the view to the front-facing camera.

The day is warm, but a chill coats my skin. “Matilda.” I swing my leg over the bench, abandoning my lunch, and stand. “You need to go inside.”

“What? Why? She’s really nice.”

I watch as Tilda reaches out and scratches the belly of a tiny fucking mountain lion.

A mountain lion that is laid out in her lap, on her long purple skirt, furry little paws sticking up in the air as Tilda plays with it.

“Matilda Grant.” The camera view jerks at my use of herrealfull name. “A baby mountain lion means there could be a mama mountain lion nearby. Looking for it.”

The inhale tells me she understands. “Oh.”

Yeah, oh.But I can’t even verbalize the danger that represents. Because… losing Tilda in any way would destroy me. Losing her in a violent way… That would fucking end me.

I swallow down my rising fear as I step through the back door into the Visitor Center. “Now, please.”

Tilda palms her phone, blocking the camera, and I listen to fabric rustle as she gets up.

She grunts. And her muffled voice says something I can’t understand.

I clench my jaw to stop myself from yelling at her to hurry.

Phone still held before me, I stride down the hall and cut over to the counter area that separates the office from the public.

Liza looks up at my approach.

I speak before she can. “Call Shelia. Now. Please.”