by V. L. Locey
That one set me back a bit. “The cabins are over by the lake which is about forty miles from here.”
“That’s fine. It will take me a few days to gather enough information to determine what kind of dig we’re looking at.” He pushed to his feet, hands on his hips, lips pursed. “This could just be a wash pit, where an animal died upriver and some of the bones washed down here. Or it could be a cache of bones all caught in a sharp turn of the river. We’ll have to get into the earth better of course, but I’m going to need some time to make that determination.”
“Uhm not to be a killjoy, but it’s May.”
He padded around the overturned dirt. “I know what month it is.” He bent a knee and ran a finger around a rock, or what looked like a rock. Then he lifted the dust on his finger to his nose and sniffed. “Classes ended a week ago, and I flew out directly after I got my PhD.” For fuck’s sake. When he said he was a newly minted professor he wasn’t kidding. “And before you ask, I’m twenty-eight and yes, I really am a professor, well...an assistant professor at the moment. Three years for the bachelor, three for the master’s—thought my brain would never recover—then another four for the PhD. I saw the disbelief in your eyes. I did do my college work in the UK though, which got me through quicker than here in the States. Best pubs anywhere. And the breakfasts! Nothing like beans and blood pudding with your eggs!”
Huh. Clever man then. I got an MBA in finance in two years and dove right into treasure management at First Liberty Bank of Chicago. A whole lifetime ago that was.
“Okay then, well you should also know that the grizzlies around here have just come out of hibernation a few weeks ago after the last snow melted off.”
That pulled his gaze from the dust on his fingers and blood pudding to me. “Do they eat people?”
“Let me put it this way. Yes.”
“Ah.” He looked around the wide open spaces as if seeing them in a whole new light. “Well, I should be fine. What are the odds of a grizzly bear passing by?”
I pointed to a track in the dirt with the toe of my boot. “Mountain lion,” I said as his eyes flared behind his glasses.
“But not a grizzly bear. Do mountain lions eat people?”
“Yep.”
“Shit. Okay, I won’t sleep out here alone. Can you send someone to get me at dusk?”
“That I can do. I’ll also leave my rifle.”
His nose crinkled. “That’s not necessary.”
“Yeah, it might be.”
“I’d really you rather not. I’m not a fan of guns.”
“You will be if a hungry grizzly bear is chewing on your leg.” With that I slid off the seat and unstrapped the Winchester 700 from the rear rack. The .375 had more than enough power to drop a bear in its tracks. “Ever shoot a gun before?”
“Does a water pistol count?” He pushed to his feet, his golden skin a little pale, and listened while I showed him how to load and unload the rifle safely. He ran through it a time or two, his intelligent eyes dulled a bit when I told him where to aim. “Thank you. I hope I won’t have to use it.” He placed it on the ground beside his rucksack. Once we had the gun show completed, he went back to work.
I stood there for quite some time, fascinated by his slow, methodical approach to the area. He explained things to me as he went as if he were leading a tour or teaching a class. I was more than a little impressed that someone so young had a PhD in his chosen field. That was some serious dedication.
“...such a short dig season here that we’ll have to get cracking on this if it’s determined to be a worthy excavation site. Now, if you look here at the sedimentary rock layers, we can determine what era these bones are from. Since you came to us, a lot of the time consuming work of prospecting has been eliminated and speeds things up.”
“Go us,” I said and got a quirky look that I couldn’t read. “Sorry about the broken bones.”
He reached out with a dirty hand and patted my bicep. “I’ll get over it eventually. Might have to take me out to dinner first though.” He winked. I stared and swallowed. “It was a joke. Unless you want to take me out to dinner of course. I always did like an older man in reindeer boxers.”
Was he flirting with me?
“I have to go,” I coughed up gruffly, just like Bane working up a furball. “I’ll send one of the hands to fetch you right at dark.”
His expression shifted and he knelt down in the dirt, reaching over his kit to grab a chisel. My gaze moved over his back then locked onto the strip of tan flesh showing as his tank top rode up. I couldn’t look away from the tempting sight of the skin atop the crack of his ass.
“Totally tubular.” I blinked, snapping back to the here and now. “You know you wanted me to say that.”
“Not really,” I muttered as I hustled to the Polaris like a prairie dog sighting a hawk.
He stood there waving, smiling like a rat in a granary, as I cranked over the engine and rode off. I’d have to assign someone to keep an eye on the Cali professor with the bun so I could focus on important things like ranching instead of how his eyes glittered when he talked about the Mesozoic era—or was it the Cretaceous era—or how his chin felt resting on my shoulder.
Chapter Three
Pulling up to the corrals, I noted that all the hands were there and separating calves from mothers. It wasn’t an easy job. There were plenty of upset mamas and bawling calves. Landon stood beside the smaller corral, dressed for chores in denim, flannel, undershirt, boots, and his tan cowboy hat. I parked beside him as the young men, dressed much like Landon and myself, slowly and quietly worked on getting the job done.
“Morning,” I said as I walked up to stand beside Landon. Perry was in charge, not that the hands needed much instruction. It was pretty straight forward. Small cattle into a small pen. Herd calf into a chute. Close a gate behind the calf when its head was through the automatic head gate. Grab the ear tag pliers and a tag. Attach the tag to the left ear. Open the head gates. Lather, rinse, repeat. I nodded at Kyle standing on the other side of the owner. He gave me a bob of his head then his attention went back to cataloging calves and numbers. All that info would be fed into the computer on my desk this evening. We kept tight records here. Inventory, individual animal identification, market weights, pasture usage, pregnancy data, calving data, feed, sire information. It all had to be tracked and collated in order to run a profitable ranch. The hunting and fishing cabin rentals were also entered into the books for taxes and our own use. There were days I spent more time at the computer than I did in the saddle or on the four-wheeler.
“Morning,” Landon replied, one bootheel hooked over the bottom rung of the metal fencing.
“You ready for Europe?” I asked then leaned my hip against the fence.
“We are, thanks. I wanted to see a bit of this and talk to you before I left.” He spun from the tagging to me. Kyle moved away a bit to give us some privacy. “I had a call this morning at the ass crack of dawn from Shepherd McCrary over at the Hollow Wind Ranch.”
I rolled my eyes to the bright blue sky. “And what is his particular issue this morning?”
“Seems a few of his hands were out riding fence when they spotted two of our guests on the Hollow Wind side of the river.” He tipped his hat back a bit. “Is there a problem between us and our neighbor that I need to know about?”
“It’s a long story and goes back to the previous owner of the Prairie Smoke. The bad blood came around in the late seventies.”
“Let me guess. There’s a woman involved?” Landon tipped his head. I nodded. He sighed. “Why am I not surprised.”
“Love does peculiar things to a person, no doubt. There’s too many minor incidents to list them all but the senior McCrary taught his grandson Shepherd well. Despite the fact that the lady in question chose to stay with Milford McCrary and the man who was tomcatting around with a married woman died five years ago, the bitterness between the Hollow Wind and the Prairie Smoke lingers.”
“G
reat,” he huffed, glancing over when a young calf tried to leap over the top rail separating her from her mother. “Well seems Mr. McCrary would like to have a word with me later this evening, but I’ll be on a plane to Munich. Can you ride over and smooth this out?”
“Yep, any time.” Landon seemed pleased with that. Maybe I’d saddle up Tiberius for the ride over. If I crossed at the pinch point in the Jante River, it would be about thirty minutes to the Hollow Wind main house on horseback. A nice ride on a cool May night sounded mighty good. I could even swing around the dig site to see if Bishop had been eaten by a bear or not. If he had that would reflect poorly on the ranch and me. Dead bun wearing professors were bad for business.
“I’ll go talk to McCrary,” Kyle chimed as he walked past, nose still in his phone.
“Nope, you won’t. You’re barred from the Hollow Wind land, remember?” I tossed over my shoulder.
The big man shrugged then moseyed along chuckling all the while.
“Do I want to know?” Landon asked.
“When you get back from Europe, I’ll fill you in some night. Suffice it to say, I have a handle on things.” Landon seemed placated, at least for the moment. “Also, your dinosaur man is here. Rolled me out of bed at four in the morning.” Landon’s eyes flared. “Yeah, he has a real exuberance for bones.”
“Is the paleontologist here?” Perry asked, popping up on the other side of the fence like a jack-in-the-box.
“He is, and he’s out at the dig site alone. We’ll need someone to ride out before sunset and fetch him. I might—”
“I’ll go!” Perry chirped, his hazel eyes aglow. “I’ll get my work done here then head over. Maybe he’ll need a hand cataloging his finds.”
The guy looked like a puppy begging for a handout. There was no way to deny him. So I gave him a go ahead grunt that got me a blinding grin in return.
“Good then we’re set. Can I get you to run Montrell and me to the airport? Our flight leaves at three.”
“Yep, no problem. I have to pick up a father and son turkey hunt coming in from New Jersey at two.”
Landon slapped my shoulder. “Excellent! You’re always right on top of things. I’m going to head back to the big house, shower off the smell of cow shit, and finish packing before my husband comes looking for me. See you at noon.” He made his way to his four-wheeler and rode off into the sunset. Or I guess sunrise if one were being technical. In a way, it was pleasing to have the owner notice the hard work that went on here. On the other hand, I had run this place for him in absentia for years and for the previous owner as well. I did kind of know what to do. Turning from the sight of the famous jock stopping by the horse paddock to feed Jezebel, his favored palomino mare, a handful of baby carrots, I got my head into the job ahead and climbed over the fence just as quickly as I had years ago. Mostly.
***
The day was spent running. Running after calves and then running people to and from Jackson Hole airport. After shuttling the father and son hunters, who were hoping to bag one of our Merriam’s or Rio Grande gobblers, I advised them to keep clear of the Hollow Wind land then set them up with a local guide, Fred Blue Legs. Fred would take them out to some prime turkey habitat and keep them off McCrary property. Which was where I was headed now.
I’d eaten at the airport so dinner would be a late snack over adding some two hundred calves into the database—the other two hundred would be tagged tomorrow. I gave the sky a last look as I ambled into the stable, breathing in the smells and sounds. Nothing soothed a soul like fresh hay and the tang of horse. I found my bay quarter horse gelding, Tiberius, in stall number two as always. He knickered upon seeing me, tossing his head up and down, black mane whipping.
“Been too long,” I whispered as I ran a hand down his velvety smooth nose, taking extra time to scratch his white blaze. He ran his rubbery lips along my ear and neck. “You won’t find any apples in my ear, you old fool.”
This horse and I had a lot in common. At twenty, he had come to the ranch from a city stable in Cody. He’d been one of about forty horses and had not been given the care a senior horse should have gotten. That was almost ten years ago. After changing his feed, improving his dental care, and changing his worming regime, the old coot was still going strong. He wasn’t ridden by anyone but me, unlike the other horses here, as was due to his age. He had earned some easy days, and his papers had my name on them not Landon Reece’s. He was mine. The only thing that I owned. Bane didn’t count. No one owned a cat, a cat owned you.
I dug into my pocket, fished out the baggie of apple slices, and let him have his fill before sliding in beside him, hand on his dark brown side, to start saddling him.
“Two old dudes out for a nice, easy ride,” I said as I draped a blanket over his back. The horse stood quietly, patiently waiting. He still loved to stretch his legs now and again, but given his age, I didn’t let him run too hard, if at all. “Okay, I have used the word ‘dude’ at least ten times today. That needs to stop.” As did my thoughts. They’d strayed to the Cali professor with the bun far too often today. “I’m just worried about the granola-fueled fool out there all alone,” I explained while setting my saddle on T’s wide back. “If he ends up in the belly of a lion then that falls on me. My worry is totally justified as a work concern.”
Tiberius blew out a breath as if bored.
I dropped the professor talk because...well, just because, and led my horse from the stall a few moments later. Sliding a foot into the stirrup, I hoisted myself up and settled my ass into the saddle. Tiberius was anxious to be gone, and so we set out, the sun still warm on the back of my neck. I let the old man have his head. He trotted along, head high, ears pricked, gait strong. We left the stables, closing the gate after we’d gone through. Before us lay hundreds of acres of pastureland. The ground was muddy in spots yet, in the low-lying areas, but it was greening up rapidly. Off to the right sat the snow-capped Tetons.
Keeping a gentle hand on the reins, we plodded along, a soft but cool breeze on our faces, picking our way along one of a thousand cattle paths. This one would lead us to the Jante River, which snaked through the countryside and acted as a natural property line for miles. Riding along with nothing but the wind in my ears and the rhythm of my horse under me, I felt at one with the land. Funny how a boy born and raised in Chicago could end up here. Life surely did lead a man into strange places, changing our present, altering our destinies. T snorted. I looked around and spied an elk cow staring at us with wide, worried eyes. Her calf wobbled to its feet.
With a soft tap of my knee, Tiberius veered away from the new mother and her gangly babe. Smiling softly, we made our way along the river, keeping an eye open for bears or mountain lions. I had strapped on my holster and pistol just in case since my rifle was with Bishop. Our land did have some big undeveloped tracts, mostly by the big house and guest cabins. People liked to be among the trees. The hands and I lived close to the barns, so no Ponderosa or Lodgepoles to offer much shade, but we still had the mountains to stare at on lonely summer nights.
The Jante was swollen a bit with spring melt and the water was cold and muddied, but once we reached the pinch point, Tiberius waded through the shallow with ease. The water barely tickled his belly. Now that we were on our surly neighbor’s land, I rode a little taller in the saddle, my attention sharper. The feud between the two ranches had drug on far too long. I’d wished more than once that the bitterness would abate. That old saying about wishing in one hand and shitting in the other came to mind. The McCrary’s seemed more than willing to hang onto the hostility, and if anything it had been escalating of late.
I had to assume the toxicity was due to two things. One was the high numbers of Native workers we employed. The second was that Landon Reece was an openly out gay White man married to an openly out X-dressing gay Black man. The three McCrary boys, Clayton, the eldest, Morgan, and Shepherd, were not at all happy with all the diversity at the Prairie Smoke, I presumed. Which was just too d
amn bad for them. I had little time for bigots but as the foreman, it fell to me to play diplomat nine times out of ten. Tiberius crested a small knoll covered with stubby green grass.
“Whoa,” I cooed. The gelding stopped, tail whipping, ears flicking, as two men on horses galloped our way. Down below was the big bi-level house worthy of a city. It sprawled out in two directions with a breezeway and a circular stone driveway. The McCrary’s owned close to twenty thousand acres that they raised Gelbvieh cattle—a reddish-brown beef breed—and grew hay and barley on. Resting my hands on my pommel, I waited for the two riders to draw close. When I saw that one was Shepherd McCrary I sighed inwardly.
Not that I objected to looking at Shepherd. He was one fine looking young man. Dirty blond hair, neat beard, well made and rangy, with striking sky blue eyes. No bun. Who the hell wore a bun other than dowagers and librarians? I shook my head to clear Bishop from it as the co-owner of the Hollow Wind Ranch halted in front of me. While my eyes enjoyed the sight of him and his foreman, Clint Sully, approaching, my mind was setting up barriers. Shepherd McCrary wasn’t outwardly homophobic. That would be unacceptable in today’s society. Shep tended to be one of those silent smirkers. The kind who never really said the nasty thing but stood off to the side simpering. His older brothers were a little more vocal in their dislike of our hands and new owner, tossing out off-color jibes that were “just jokes” when someone made a face or called them on their words.
“Sully, McCrary,” I said as they rode up and came to a halt.
“Pearson,” Shep said, reining in his nervous black quarter horse stallion. All the McCrary boys rode stallions. I think they were projecting but who was I to say. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Yep.” I gave Clint a quick nod of recognition. Clint was my age, heavier, a bulky sort of build that told of the fullback he used to be back in high school. Clint was an okay sort. Professional, reasonably friendly, he was a leftover from senior McCrary days. An honest cowpoke. “Just wanted to let you know that the fishermen have been told not to cross the river into your land. Do I need to ask for permission for hunters to track wounded game onto your property?”
