through her brother was no longer with the same firm and still a bachelor.
“When will you be back?”
“Let’s see.” She looked at her Disneyland wall calendar, given to her by her four-year-old niece, Katy, for Christmas. It hung below her framed graduate diploma in journalism from NYU. “Today’s Saturday, the third of September. I’ll be home in a week. That will be the tenth.”
“Perfect. Let us know what time you get in and we’ll pick you up at the airport. Plan to come home with us for a few days.”
Home sounded good. “I promise.”
“Text me once in a while.”
“You, too.”
“Stay safe.”
“Who, me? Ciao.”
After hanging up, she reached for the suitcase that held her laptop and digital recorder, then left the apartment. New York was experiencing sunny, seventy-five degree September weather. The wrong time to leave, but she had no choice.
Alex walked out to the street and waited until she saw a Yellow Cab with the middle two lights on the roof lit up. She called out, “Taxi!” The driver stopped. Alex made her way through the crowd and opened the back door. “JFK. Delta Airlines terminal.”
Part of her trip would involve interviewing sheep ranchers at Wool Growers Association conventions in Montrose, Colorado, and Casper, Wyoming. According to their websites, those organizations existed to preserve and promote the sheep and livestock industries in their states.
They would be good resources to help her start her investigation and obtain interviews. During her initial research, she’d picked up on a surprising trend in the demand for lamb. If it was a fluke, she needed to find out.
On the way to the airport, it hit her that, despite frequently traveling to new places, there was a sameness to her life. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t infusing her with a sense of excitement or fulfillment, either. She let out a deep sigh. Maybe she was asking too much of life.
* * *
“CHIEF POWELL? DO you have a minute?”
The head of the fire station in Whitebark, Wyoming, lifted his head. “Sure. Come on in.”
Wyatt entered the private office. “I’ve just gone off duty and wanted to remind you that I’m leaving for the mountains in the morning. I’ve already told Captain Durrant, so he knows not to schedule me for a week.”
The chief smiled. “So you’re off with the sheep.”
“Yup. It’s that time of year to bring the ewes down to the lower elevation.”
“Lots of work.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“The weather couldn’t be better.”
“I agree. Here’s hoping that at least eighty-five percent of the ewes are pregnant. The trick is not to lose any of them.” That included the thirty Hampshire stud rams.
“Take care, Wyatt, and good luck. See you when you get back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He left the station in his car and drove to the Fielding Sheep Ranch just a few miles east of Whitebark. After a grueling twelve-hour shift putting out a warehouse fire, he was starving.
Thank heaven for Martha Loveridge, the part-time housekeeper for Wyatt and his disabled grandfather, Royden. Two years ago, his tough old sheep-rancher grandfather had accidentally shot himself in the leg during a hunting trip with friends in the mountains.
Damage to two of the major muscles and a fracture of the left femur had resulted in a limp, even after physical therapy. Today he needed a cane to get around and couldn’t do all the activities he’d loved.
The Loveridges lived on the ranch to the south and had been friends of the Fielding family for years. Since the death of Wyatt’s grandmother, Martha had come over to help out. She always left enough food for lunch and dinner. He hoped it was a roast and was already salivating.
After this trip to the mountains, Wyatt planned to hire a permanent live-in housekeeper. Though they compensated Martha well, she was getting older and it was time to make the change.
He drove around the rear of the ranch house and parked his car in the garage. Then he backed his truck out so he could load all his gear for tomorrow’s journey.
The first thing he did after walking through the mudroom to the kitchen was lift the lid on the Crock-Pot. Mmm. Pot roast and potatoes. His grandfather’s beagle, Otis, pretty much on his last legs, came to greet him.
Wyatt scratched his silky head. The dog’s movements had alerted his grandfather that someone was in the house. Royden suffered from a certain amount of hearing loss.
“Wyatt?”
He served himself a plate, gave a few pieces to Otis, then walked into the living room where his grandfather was watching old reruns of Perry Mason from his favorite easy chair.
“I’m here, Grandad.” He sat down on the couch next to him. Otis planted himself at his owner’s feet.
“You had a long shift. Was it an arson case?”
“Nope. An electrical problem started a fire in the Olsen Warehouse.”
“How much damage?”
“Half the building gone. It could have been worse.” Wyatt looked over, knowing what was really on his grandfather’s mind. “Grandad? If you want, I’ll ask Martha to stay overnight while I’m gone.”
His grandfather made an arm motion that said forget that. “I’ll be fine. The only thing I’m praying for is that the ewes haven’t mixed with those from Les Nugent’s herd up there.”
“That’s what we pay Pali for.” Pali was their Basque sheepherder who lived in his camper at the seven-thousand-foot level. “Between him and his sheepdog, Gip, they’re as good as they come. You know that or you would never have hired him.”
“You’re right.” But his grandfather was never happy these days.
“I know you’re upset because you can’t go up with me.”
“Damn right I am! Who knows how many predators have been ambushing the flock.”
“Pali has a sharp eye and will be keeping count.”
“Those sheep are vulnerable to every wolf, mountain lion and coyote in The Winds.”
The Winds was what the locals called the Wind River Range here in west-central Wyoming. Hard to believe there was a time when Wyatt had hated these mountains, which were famous throughout the West. Had even been afraid of them.
“Anything else you need to tell me before I start loading up my gear?”
“Be
