Timber Lake (The Snowy Range Series, #2) by Nya Rawlyns Read Free Book Online

planet?”
    Laughing out loud, Hank agreed. “Pretty is as pretty does. Owner won’t argue the point, but apparently the mule’s trail savvy enough to overcome his other, less attractive traits.”
    “Little mare looks like a sweet ride. Make a good kid’s mount.” He eyed the petite bay with appreciation. “She’s got a kind eye.” He paused, squinting at the mule. “Had a mule, back when I got my first gig up in the Big Horns. Tried packing with him but never did work out an arrangement that suited. Ended up giving him to an outfitter.”
    “How’d that work out?”
    He and Hank leaned against the metal fence, arms folded along the top rail, their eyes scanning the brightening horizon to the east. The individual paddocks stretched for nearly an acre apiece, like exaggerated dog runs, each one with access to the stalls. It was a nice setup for folks who wanted to retrieve their mounts quickly, without needing to round them up with a four-wheeler on the thirty-acre pasture just over the rise.
    They settled on staring at the mule as Michael explained, “The outfitter tried everything. Special made panniers, cloth saddlebags, you name it. Mule just laid down and refused to get up. There was talk of just shooting him to be done with it, but then one of their trail guys asked if he could have a go.”
    Michael paused as Hank lit up, inhaled and then exhaled, thinking I’ve got to quit before accepting a smoke. He layered on the guilt, adding it to the pile he’d created the night before. The added weight of it barely registered.
    “So what happened?”
    Shifting the cigarette to his left hand, Michael twisted enough to give his right arm space. He made a popping motion, a short, sharp jab at Hank’s face without connecting. Hank’s eyes bulged but he didn’t move a muscle.
    “That. First goddam thing every morning. Pop that sumbitch on the muzzle hard enough he blinked, but not so hard he’d swing his butt around and nail the guy. After that, he was fine. He packed a load or a rider, didn’t much matter.”
    “What happened if you didn’t do that?”
    “Well... and I only heard it second hand, the mule got so good at his job, the head wrangler figured the mule was safe. So the one time they decided to overlook that step was when a hunting client got tossed down a ravine. He survived.”
    “What about the mule?”
    “He didn’t.” Michael shrugged. A lot of their stories didn’t have happy endings. It was harsh country. Men made harsh decisions. It was what it was.
    Hank unraveled his frame and said, “On that unpleasant note, you want to come in for breakfast? Cookie will be serving it up pretty soon.”
    “Thanks, but I best be getting back.” He scrubbed at his chin whiskers. “I got the feeling I should look presentable for this meeting.” There was a first time for everything.
    “Okay then. You still want them turned out with the big group or wait?”
    “Wait. I got a feeling I might need them next week. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
    “Good enough, Warden. And good luck with that meeting.” Tipping his hat, Hank strode toward the main lodge, leaving Michael alone to watch his two geldings for a few more precious minutes.
    ****
    D oubling over, Sonny checked his pulse, his lungs starved for oxygen. He was used to pounding the pavement, getting his distance in by measuring city blocks, not miles of back country roads that ended at a cattle grate and yet another access point for privately owned grazing land. Unlike in the north, up near the Wind River Range where the herds were moved to higher grazing ground managed by the BLM, the valley stretching east from the Snowys was crisscrossed by large and small operations that specialized in hay as well as beef cattle production.
    From his vantage point on a ridge overlooking the guest ranch, he could see the plumes of irrigation as the unwieldy devices made their slow, stately way across immense fields of alfalfa and barley.
    His thigh