do.”
“And make sure they’re not mixing with the bighorns. We have enough trouble without transmitting bacteria from our domestic sheep to the wild ones.”
Wyatt knew it all by heart. He’d been taught by his grandfather, who was known as the expert in this part of the state. After finishing the last of his dinner, he got to his feet. “If that’s it for now, I’ll get started packing.”
He went upstairs to his bedroom to grab a few things, then began the laborious process of loading the truck.
Besides his US Geological Survey maps and cases of food and water, he had a ton of things to load for survival: a gas catalytic heater; tarps; a large tent and several pup tents, in case he needed to use one to nurse a sick ewe; a privy; a couple of sleeping bags; lanterns; matches; knives; medicine; his rifle and shot gun; ammo; binoculars; extra heavy clothing; boots; gloves; blankets; feed for the horses in case Jose brought them; fishing gear; cooking gear and his CB radio to communicate with ham radio operators in case of an emergency.
The next morning he was up at seven thirty to talk to Jose Rosario, the stockman-cum-foreman, who stayed on the ranch in a cabin located behind the ranch house with his wife, Maria.
Since Wyatt’s teens they’d lived here year-round and it was where they had raised their family. Lately Jose helped Wyatt’s grandfather by answering the business calls that came through and wrote messages for him. Wyatt asked him to be sure to take any calls for him while he was gone—hopefully one from Mr. Derrick. It had been a month. Maybe Jenny couldn’t be found...
By eight o’clock he’d put fresh food and water out for Otis. His grandfather was still in bed and had left his radio on all night at full volume. He could be a candidate for an implant. That was something Wyatt planned to talk to him about when he got back.
With everything done he could think of, Wyatt left the ranch. On his way out of town, he stopped at Hilda’s for breakfast and saw a couple of his firefighter buddies. They were in their turnout gear looking grubby. The poor guys must have just returned from a fire.
Porter Ewing called out to him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Up in the mountains on ranch business.”
“You lucky dog. On a day like this, I’d give anything to go with you.”
“Tell Captain Durrant and hop in the truck.”
“Don’t I wish. How soon will you be back?”
“In a week.”
“Call me. We’ll watch some football and get a card game going with Holden.” Holden was the sheriff, and another single guy always up for a game of cards.
“That’s a plan.”
Their only plan. They lived in a town of just over 1,300 people. Without a woman on the horizon who suited any of them, none of them had much else taking up their spare time except work.
* * *
AT THE JACKSON HOLE airport on Thursday, Alex rented a car and headed for Whitebark, an hour and a half away. She would be leaving for New York day after tomorrow, but had a free day ahead of her now. It was only one in the afternoon. In the morning she’d drive back to Jackson Hole and stay at the hotel she’d already booked. They provided limo service to the airport.
After spending time in Colorado gathering information, she’d flown to Casper to attend the Wyoming Wool Growers Association conference. The people there had been helpful. She’d gathered a lot of useful information. One rancher had told her the best sheep person to interview in the Cowboy State was Royden Fielding.
He hadn’t been able to attend the conference. However, they had his phone number on file. She could call him.
Alex had done just that and had ended up speaking to his ranch foreman, Jose. When she told him why she was calling he said, “If you wish to talk to Mr. Fielding, it will have to be in person. He’s a little hard of hearing and doesn’t do well over the phone.”
“Oh, I see. Would he be available if I come later today?”
“Of course.”
Hmm. That was easy. “I’ll need directions to his ranch.” The man had accommodated her and they’d hung up. Then she’d booked her ticket to Jackson Hole.
She bought a hamburger in town. While she ate, she made a reservation at the Whitebark Hotel for the night, then headed southwest on Highway 191 beneath a cloudy sky. It had been beautiful weather up to today.
Alex had thought she’d never seen anything as magnificent as the Teton Range of mountains from the air until she found herself looking at the Wind River Range ahead of her.
She let out a gasp at the sight of peaks knifing into the rarified atmosphere amidst pockets of snow. According to the brochure she’d picked up, one of them, Gannett Peak, was over 13,000 feet. This was the sheep country the man in Casper had been telling her about?
Though she lived in New Jersey, she traveled quite a bit for her job and was stunned by what she was seeing. Whoever called this flyover country had never once come down to earth and put his or her foot on Wyoming soil or smelled such clean air. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the rugged, primitive beauty all around her.
When she reached Whitebark, she followed Jose’s directions to the Fielding Sheep Ranch. Alex drove to the front of the two-story ranch house and got out. To her surprise, an older woman walked out onto the front porch.
“Ms. Dorney?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Martha Loveridge, the housekeeper. Jose said to expect you. Come inside. Mr. Fielding is excited for a visitor.”
“Well, thank you. I’m thrilled he would allow me an interview.”
She picked up her briefcase and followed Martha inside the house to the living room. It had a cozy, warm feeling.
“Please sit down. I’ll tell him you’re here. He’s hard of hearing, so look at him when you speak.”
She nodded. Jose had said the same thing.
While she waited, Alex walked around looking at the framed pictures of different couples and children at different ages on horseback. There were rodeo and formally posed pictures, too, propped on the end tables.
She stopped when she came to the eight-by-ten colored photograph on the mantel. An impossibly gorgeous male, probably in his late twenties, was wearing a firefighter’s dress uniform. His luxuriant black hair and blue eyes stole her breath.
Who was he?
While Alex stared at the man in the picture, a little beagle came running in, sniffing at her.
“Oh...look at you.” She leaned over to pet him. “How cute.”
“Come back here, Otis,”
