The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

“May I finish tacking Big Red?” she asked.

  “Okay, have Pitch double check it, then show him you can get Red to walk and trot in the corral.”

  “Got your hands full of new riders?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Trey crossed back to the chattering businessmen. “Gentlemen, you did great yesterday. After I get your horses bridled, I want you to head into the arena for a warm up. Today we leave the fences behind.”

  “Better be soon,” Miranda spoke in soft tones to her mule. She opened a vial she’d tucked in her coat. Sweet, relaxing traces of lavender drifted over her while she placed drops on her collar and hands.

  Big Red’s chocolate-colored eyes blinked after he snuffed her hair.

  “This helps me sleep, and I enjoy the fragrance, but I’ve heard that bugs don’t.” She scratched his gleaming russet neck. “I missed the Langley’s Friday night mixer, and no cool cowboys are in sight, so you’re my guy.”

  With a few strokes, she’d dabbed oil around his eyes and ears to discourage flies. “You smell good enough to date.” Putting her cheek beside his, she took a selfie. After Ike sent word, she’d text Corrin.

  She held her phone to her chest. Ike had to live. He’d guided her when she needed help. Like now.

  Poor Shirley. How would she survive without Ike?

  Red nudged her arm.

  “Got it. Time to gear up.”

  He stuck his nose into the bridle for her, and took the bit. “Good boy.” She ran her fingers down his mane, and stopped at an inch wide gap. A rugged scar cut through where long hair should be. “Bet that hurt. Odd place for a cut.” She smoothed out the mane on either side and studied the split rail fence. No barb wire in sight.

  Pitch opened the gate to the big arena. “I approve of your gentle hands on our horses, Miss Whitley,” he called to her. “Bring Red in any time.”

  “Be there in a second.” She ran her hand past Red’s rump to his quiet tail, rechecked the girth, and put her foot in the stirrup. Swinging onto his back, creaking saddle leather eased her last jitters.

  She settled her grip on the worn reins, and concentrated on the texture of the smooth, soft leather. Her muscle memory took over after her body shifted to a relaxed seat. “Okay Red, walk on.” Slight leg guidance encouraged him to amble into the roomy corral.

  “Get him to move.” Pitch leaned against a wooden rail.

  As she collected Red using a light touch, her brain cleared. After two rounds and a click of her tongue, the mule changed to a smooth trot.

  “Nice job. Red could pass for a gaited Tennessee Walker the way he lifts his feet for you.” Pitch slapped his pants, a cloud of dust providing evidence of cowpoke enthusiasm.

  “Please call me Miranda. Red has a rocking-horse stride, and after the bus ride, my butt appreciates the break.” She made a kissing sound and leaned forward with her shoulder and hip. They circled the corral in an easy canter.

  A gun blasted, she lost her rhythm, and her foot slipped in the stirrup.

  Red shifted his shoulder and centered her body. He slowed to a trot and then a walk.

  “I didn’t expect them shooting so soon.” She jumped off and hustled Red over to Pitch.

  “Should’ve warned you. Sorry. We’ve got a customer with horse allergies, and they’re letting him pop a few bottles. He patted her shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” She rubbed the mule’s neck. “He corrected my balance while I slipped. Your animals are bomb proof.”

  Pitch grinned from ear to ear, showing two gaps in his teeth. “Wouldn’t push it, but you’re close as bark on a tree. Good reaction time on your dismount. Let’s lengthen those stirrups a notch.”

  Trey ambled over. “I’m impressed with your seat, even on a mule.”

  “Thanks. It’s all in his hooves,” Miranda grinned.

  “I’d disagree.” Trey turned to Pitch. “Gotta call a neighbor to ride drag. Our new hand called in sick and Kat needs my help.”

  Miranda straightened her horse bolo tie. “I’ll ride in rear position. If it’s okay?”

  “Fine by me,” Pitch said. “If Trey saves you the juiciest steak tonight.”

  “Deal.” Trey walked back to the group.

  “May I graze Big Red before we leave?”

  “Sure.” Pitch mounted a buckskin and trotted past Miranda. “Red’s been a pack mule, and his load stayed put. Glad he’s found someone who appreciates him.”

  “Oh, it’s mutual,” she called.

  Horses grounded her. For a few moments during the practice ride, Ike’s pale face had receded. “You’ve found an admirer.” She rubbed Red’s flank.

  Pitch stopped his horse while the other guests rode single file into the fenced arena. “Okay folks, hang those fancy cameras around your neck or in the saddlebags tied behind you.” He gathered his reins. “Remember, you don’t drive a horse with reins, you nudge it using your legs. See how loose I’m holding my straps?” His voice stayed calm, while his eyes darted between customers.

  “Mine keeps moving,” complained the techie boy.

  “Yup, you’re squeezing his belly with your knees. Consider his sides are your gas pedal, too. The stirrups will keep you in the saddle if you keep your heels down.”

  Miranda checked her watch. Crap. Another half hour delay. She glanced at the house where Kathleen sorted through a pile of lassos on the back porch.

  “Time to clarify a phone call, Red.” She remounted and nudged him over to the steps. “Kathleen, did a man call here for me?”

  “Can’t rightly say.” Her eyes held a twinkle while she coiled a rope.

  Miranda fumbled the reins. “Please let me know if anyone calls for me.”

  “I will.” Kat threw her a bright smile. “You have a peaceful ride.”

  “Hope to.” She looked at the jagged mountain and then wiped her palms on her old jeans.

  Red nervously sidestepped.

  “Sorry, boy.” She leaned over and scratched his neck. “It’s been a tough morning.”

  Trey approached her. “The group’s ready.” He tipped his hat back. “Hate to put you to work. You sure you’re okay following the pack? I can call my buddy from the next ranch.”

  No more delays. She’d spin her own cowboy tale. “I’ve helped on trail rides before. Please don’t give it another thought.”

  “Okay then.” Trey led each horse into a line, and then stopped by Red’s side. “Thanks again, Miss Miranda. Hope you see wildlife, now or tonight.”

  “I’m a tame duck kind of girl, but I’ll watch for critters. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Can’t say. See you at dinner.” Trey patted Red’s rump and whistled while he walked toward the lodge.

  An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “Off we go folks. Mt. Hanlen’s beautiful today,” Pitch’s voice drifted back to her.

  She followed the plodding group in a single file line past the barns and across the meadow.

  A wide, tubular stock gate opened out to the foothills. Three horses passed through. The next one, a pinto, danced a tight circle.

  The rider’s arms flailed wildly with a rein in each hand. “Mr. Pitch, help! I need you to lead me,” one of Andrew’s team screeched. The whites of his eyes showed.

  “It’s okay, sir. Hold on a minute folks, until I get a lead line on.” Pitch dismounted and fished a ten-foot rope out of his saddlebag.

  A rifle shot cracked twice.

  Miranda flinched. Instincts deep in her gut urged her to break away on Big Red, gallop into the thick forest ahead, and scream for Grant.

  “You okay, Miss Miranda?” Pitch asked. “Target practice is all.”

  “I hate gunshots.” She rubbed her ears and then glanced his way. A
rifle butt stuck out of a scabbard on the other side of his tooled saddle.

  “You’ll hear more shooting today. It’s hunting season for deer, elk, and black bear.” He clipped on the lead rope, hopped back on, and wound the line around his saddle horn. “My Winchester’s only along in case we need to scare off a bear. Hitch that gate shut behind you, please.”

  The remainder of the group ambled through. Miranda hopped down and secured the chain. She pulled out her phone to get a pic of the lodge below.

  A text loaded from Corrin. Black sedan followed bus from Seattle station. Miranda gasped.

  Red’s ears went straight up.

  “Easy there.” She patted his shoulder, then switched her phone to airplane mode.

  At the tree line, the rumps of horses disappeared between trunks of tall pines. She grabbed Red’s mane, stuck her foot in the stirrup, and mounted. Her legs squeezed Red’s belly, and he trotted to catch the group.

  Thick clouds moved across a peaceful sky. Their round formation and feathery tufts resembled the plump underbelly of a gray duck, until they split and skittered across the sky.

  The woods were chillingly darker.

  She pulled out Corrin’s jacket. A wind gust caught the blue, shiny material and filled it like a sail.

  The woman ahead of her turned. “I wish I’d brought a heavier coat and a thick sheepskin cushion.”

  “Stand in your stirrups to stretch your legs,” Miranda offered. Her butt didn’t ache, but her nerves were another story.

  She stopped Red at the beginning of the woodsy trail and searched the landscape.

  Grant should ride toward them from the other side of the lake. Precious time to find him in open view ticked away.

  She pretended to photograph Mt. Hanlen. All she spied was dense forest ahead, and no one using the trail on the ridge across the meadow.

  Movement in the trees on the other side caught her eye. A rider? “Settle, Red.” She squinted. “It’s gone. Walk on.”

  Chattering guests became static on the breeze.

  Red’s hooves thumped against packed earth while he trotted to catch the string of moseying horses.

  By the way the others squirmed in their saddles, Kathleen should charge double for icy padded chairs at dinner.

  A smile crossed Miranda’s tight lips while they wound up the gradual mountain trail, ambling for hours at a slow pace.

  “Time for a picnic.” Pitch’s words brought a cheer from the group.

  She dismounted onto a thick layer of pine needles. Scents of fir trees tickled her nose.

  Grant’s cologne came to mind. Crap. Maybe she’d missed him.

  “Come get your lunch sacks, folks,” Pitch called. He’d chosen a crescent-shaped clearing holding a couple of rustic benches.

  While the guests ate, she helped him tie off the horses. A loud rumble erupted from her stomach.

  “Well, Miss Miranda, you must be hungry,” Pitch teased. “Loretta packed her famous fried chicken, an apple, and homemade cookies for you.” He grinned and handed her a paper bag.

  “Wonderful.” She smiled and sat on a stump by the horses.

  “You’re still troubled,” Pitch said. “Anything I can help with?”

  She swallowed a bite of chicken. “You moonlight as a counselor?”

  “Nope, but I’m a good listener.”

  “When you took me to my cabin, did you say you’d heard I was expecting company? I’m not. We got distracted by the bouncing branch.”

  “Maybe Kat had the guests mixed up.” He kicked a rock with his boot and bent to rummage through his saddlebag, wearing a big grin.

  “Pitch, what’s going on? I need to know.”

  “Some guy wantin’ to send you flowers is all I heard.”

  She swallowed hard. Her eyes flicked between the valley stretching beyond the edge of the trail and Pitch’s rifle scabbard. “How much longer to where we head downhill?”

  “Another hour. You worried about bears?”

  “No, a little sore in the rump.”

  “You’ve got a relaxed seat, I’d figured you owned a horse.”

  Maybe the mystery-guest thing amounted to a cowpoke game of telephone. One was confused and the others parroted. She pinched her nose. “I was five when I rode alone on my grandparent’s old gelding. I spent all my summers at their farm.”

  So many wonderful memories. She held her apple out for Red.

  His soft muzzle pushed against her fingers while he gently lifted it from her hand.

  Sweet smelling apple juice dripped from his jaw.

  “You’re a lucky girl,” Pitch said.

  She shoved her hand into her pocket and rubbed her thumb across Kenny’s hat. “In most of the family trip pictures I’m petting a horse.”

  “Well, your type’s the backbone of our ranch, so tell your family and horse-loving friends. Thanks for watching for stragglers today. Appears these folks don’t want to be more than a foot from the horsetail in front of them.” Pitch bit into a cookie and motioned to a wide gap in the trees. “I hope they raise their chins once in a while to appreciate our mountain.”

  “Good idea.” She stepped out to see the mountain better.

  Where the trees thinned, dark lines crisscrossed the upper slope. She shaded her eyes. “Is this the main trail ascending Mt. Hanlen?”

  “Depends on where you’re headed. There’s one from the other side of the lake. The rest are deer trails. Here, use my binoculars.”

  She stepped away from the group. A spider web of possibilities outlined narrow paths of brown earth crisscrossing the mountain. Their trail and the one opposite intersected a long way up.

  “The Google Earth photo can’t give you a sense of the vastness.” She returned the glasses and bit off a piece of sugar cookie, then took a swig of water to get it down her dry throat.

  Pitch pulled out a red bandanna and wiped his chin. “Postcard ready, isn’t it?”

  “In a remote way.” She rubbed her arms. “I need photos of craggy peaks and critters for a girlfriend.”

  “You grab any shots you need. Big Red knows his way home to his evening oats. Just keep in sight of us. And bring your friend next time.”

  She shuffled her feet. “You bet.”

  His gaze shifted to the group of men. “Sure hope Mr. Yang’s doing better than he looks with that peaked face.” He cleared his throat. “Mount in five minutes, folks.”

  Rumbles of sore butt complaints overpowered squawking jays fighting for dropped crumbs.

  “There’s a stump you can use for hitching those behinds back into the saddle.” Pitch motioned to where she’d been sitting. “A little farther before an easy descent. Tonight we’re barbecuing Wagyu steaks, the beef you’d pay a hundred bucks a pound for in the city.”

  The group grumbled and climbed onto their mounts.

  “Let’s move out,” Pitch said.

  An overhead canopy of tree branches shaded the trail from afternoon light. Miranda leaned out to spot Grant. Nothing moved in the ravine full of trees or on the other bank.

  The horse being ponied alongside Pitch danced wherever the path widened. “Mr. Yang, your legs clamping your horse’s middle gives him the signal to go. Can you relax a little?” Pitch asked. “You don’t want to be exhausted when we parade through town.”

  Mr. Yang bobbed his head, but his legs stayed firmly planted against the brown and white sides of his horse.

  The men ahead of her chattered less, and the mom’s shrill voice no longer attempted to identify each plant.

  Miranda swayed in her saddle, listening to the rhythmic scrunching of hooves on dry needles.

  She nudged Red to the outside of the path and stopped to scan across the gorge.

  Rocks clattered wh
ile the group climbed a narrow, steep section of trail winding through two boulders.

  A few feet to her left stood a thicket of withered huckleberries. Behind it, babbling water coursed down a mountain stream.

  “Hey Red, I bet you’re thirsty, and I need a wake-up splash.”

  She edged him off the trail and eased out of the saddle.

  Light sparkled atop the ribbon of water. She dipped her hand and brought chilly drops to her cheek. Red took a long drink, then moved his nose to a stretch of grass.

  Under a nearby pine, thousands of needles formed a dense carpet. She tweezed one and leaned against the tree’s trunk. Her body softened and slid to the ground.

  Red methodically tore tufts and chewed to a steady beat.

  She inhaled soothing pine and let her lashes flutter shut over achy eyes. Her breathing slowed.

  A hawk screeched from overhead.

  Miranda’s head jerked. Red stood downstream, munching grass. Late afternoon shadows darkened the stream. She tilted her wrist to see her watch. “Holy crap. I slept over an hour. We’ve gotta catch up.”

  She grabbed the reins and swung into the saddle.

  The trail came to a Y twice. Branches littered the route, and the cut-offs were narrow deer paths.

  No sign of the sorrel’s dusty rump they’d followed all morning.

  “We’ve picked the wrong freakin’ trail,” she muttered.

  Red stopped, his ears alert. A squirrel chattered while scampering across a fallen tree.

  Drooping, dark limbs brought goosebumps to her arms.

  From an uphill treetop, a flock of birds took flight, squawking a warning.

  ~ ~ ~

  The hunter’s trail-map of Mt. Hanlen fluttered against the side of the saddle. Venom refolded it on the worn creases. His eye twitched.

  He raised his binoculars to pan out from the ridge where he stood, scanning across the canyon, separating him from the plant girl’s path.

  A rag-tag group of figures hiked downhill. The camo-outfitted posers hoping to hit an elk or deer had given up.