If they were lucky, they’d find what they needed today and be back by supper time. At least, that’s what he expected. Then Belinda could be on her way tomorrow morning. Problem solved.
He stuffed the supplies in his saddlebags and turned, ready to lift them onto Belle, and stopped as Belinda made quick work of readying Ranger. Her quick movements were expert, and his heart swelled with old, unwelcome pride at the way she handled an animal.
Ordinarily, he’d have saddled up for a guest, packed their saddle bags and helped them mount. Tourists seldom had much riding experience when they came to the ranch, and it was expected—and much safer—to do it that way.
Belinda, though—she’d done this a million times, and he’d taught her himself. She was one of the best riders he’d ever seen, a natural, and knew how to treat a horse, and in exchange, they treated her equally well.
He shook the thought out of his head and situated the saddlebags and bedrolls on Belle’s broad rump, wiggling them to make sure they were secure.
“Looks like we’re all set,” Belinda said as she tugged at her ponytail and pulled her warden hat further down on her head.
He cocked his head as he turned and looked at her. Her green eyes and deep, chestnut hair stood out even more against the khaki warden uniform and her tool belt fit snugly around her waist. He’d hadn’t quite gotten used to her in her work clothes, and he had to admit she wore it well. And looked pretty official—a far cry from the young woman he’d last seen, the one he thought he’d be with forever. Back then, they’d talked for hours about what their future might look like and it had never included her as a game warden.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. He started to ask her how she’d ended up a warden, even if he didn’t want to know why she’d left. But he bit the words back as she grabbed Ranger’s reins and walked him past Belle out the stable doors, out into the sun at the head of the trail toward the west ridge.
“Let’s go, then. Getting kind of late,” she said as she squinted up at the sun. “I’d like to be back before dark.” She took a quick glance at the bedrolls and quickly looked away, mounting Ranger with one swift move and turning toward Wyatt.
Yep, she sure was a beauty, and he looked away from her bouncing, chestnut brown ponytail and green eyes, focusing on the task at hand. As they set off around the south end of the lake and started the ascent toward their destination, he turned back and looked out over the lake, over the River’s End Ranch compound. He took in a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air and turned back ahead, hoping that they’d be back to the ranch as quickly as possible, and back to normal—whatever that was.
Chapter 8
Belinda followed along behind Wyatt, seldom taking her eyes off his broad shoulders and sturdy back as he led her up the mountain, past small streams that would empty into the river that became smaller with every mile they climbed. She’d been to this particular glade many times before, but the mountains seemed to change with every season’s snowfall, and while the scenery was breathtaking, it couldn’t compare to the sight of her first love up ahead.
His horse was beautiful—tall at about fifteen hands—and she just seemed to fit with Wyatt. To know his every move. He rarely spoke to her, but she seemed to just know what he wanted her to do. He’d clearly spent a great deal of time training her and cared for her very much. She’d seen it in his ice blue eyes when he’d saddled her—an affection she’d never seen for anyone but her.
Well, at least she used to. And long ago. Certainly not now, when he’d barely look at her. Wyatt’s heart had always been fairly well guarded, but now—it was buried so deep that she imagined nobody saw it but his magnificent horse.
She’d never see that part of Wyatt again, never be that lucky, but she still held out hope that she could explain, maybe even apologize and at least clear her conscience. Maybe make it possible for them both to move on—or at least she could. Wyatt had clearly done that long ago.
Until that time presented itself, she reminded herself she’d been sent here to do her job and she intended to make good work of it. Wyatt had pinpointed the location but said they’d found nothing but the carcasses. She hadn’t even had the chance to ask any more questions, and when he slowed and looked at his watch, her stomach grumbling in time, she hoped lunch would be coming soon and she might have the opportunity to find out a little more. About the poaching.
“We’re still a couple hours out. You hungry?” Wyatt said as he stopped his horse and turned around toward Belinda, his hand on the saddle horn.
Her stomach grumbled loudly. Her eyebrows rose as she glanced down at her stomach as it gave her away.
A grin spread as Wyatt said, “Okay, then. Me, too. We can just stop quickly and head on up. I’d like to get back before dark.”
Belinda slid down from Ranger and hopped on the ground, her boots sinking a bit in the soft mud. The snow hadn’t been gone long, and summer hadn’t quite arrived, so some of the dirt was still pretty soft on the mountain. As she knew it would be. And slippery. But so far, Wyatt had taken them along the safest paths, and in a matter of weeks the dirt would be hard packed for the summer.
She reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a red checkered table cloth. She held it to her chest, searching the glade for a tree stump or boulder she could lay it out on. She found one on the far end, and after she’d looped Ranger’s reins over a branch, she spread it out.
Wyatt brought over a container with some sandwiches and a bag of chips, plopping them on the tablecloth.
“Take whichever one you want. They’re likely both the same,” he said as he handed her a cool bottle of water.
Belinda leaned against the boulder and opened the top of the container. She reached for the container, sniffed it and laughed. Her hands dropped to her lap for a second before she held the container out to Wyatt.
“That Kelsi is something else.”
Wyatt lifted his eyebrows as he looked from the sandwich to Belinda. He reached for it and brought it to his nose, his grin widening.
Belinda took her own sandwich out of the container and took a bite. Liverwurst and Miracle Whip on white bread with onions. It had been a favorite of Wyatt’s and of his grandfather’s, but something Kelsi usually refused to stock in the cafe, turning up her nose at the mere suggestion. He’d convinced Belinda that it was the best sandwich in the world—second to her other favorite, of course—but she hadn’t had one since she left. Leave it to Kelsi to remember that she and Wyatt had always taken them on the trail.
“Bet you haven’t had one of these in a while.” He chuckled and took a big bite as he looked out over the lake.
She hadn’t, and as she chewed the odd combination and followed his gaze down to the lake, she couldn’t remember anything ever tasting quite so—right.
She tilted her head back and shielded her eyes against the sun as a hawk glided through the air, high above their heads.
“It’s so beautiful here, Wyatt. I’ve missed it.” She looked up at him slowly from under her dark lashes as he walked toward the edge of the glen. He finished his sandwich and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Pouring water into two bowls for the horses, he set them out and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Yes, it is. I’d miss it too if I—well, if I left. Which, of course, I would never do.”
A pang of guilt shot through her chest. Wyatt knew just how to say what he meant without saying anything at all, darn him.
She picked up her hat and shoved it on her head. His back still to her, she marched over to where he stood, his hands still in his pockets. She stood as close to him as she dared, closer than she should as his familiar scent was unmistakable and even to this day, caused her stomach to tighten. She brushed his arm as she stopped next to him, and took a quick step back as the tingling felt all too familiar, his broad shoulders close enough to reach out and touch.
He turned toward her, his blue eyes penetrating and she took a step back, her own hands taking refuge in her pockets as she looke
d away, out over the lake.
Her head swam with memories of this very vista and her carefully prepared speech flew out of her head as she was transported to a time when they both stood in this spot—having a very different conversation.
“So, do you have a plan for investigating the scene up there?” he said as he turned back toward the horses and picked up their empty water bowls, stashing them back in his saddlebag.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem right to bring up the past. They had a job to do, and it was pretty clear he didn’t want to talk about anything that happened back then.
“I do. I wouldn’t say it’s very complex, but the best we can hope for, really, is to canvas the area, see if we can find anything the poachers left that might connect us to them, or any other kinds of clues. Tire tracks, hoof prints, shell casings, the like. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they will have left something with their names on it,” she said as she looked toward Wyatt to see if her last comment had garnered even small smile. It hadn’t.
“Nah,” he said, his voice low and serious. “That would be too easy, and highly unlikely. Glen and I did find a few things and probably shouldn’t have picked them up but we did. I can give them to you when we get back to the Ranch.”
“Wyatt, you’re so darn serious all the time. I mean, I know it’s a serious matter, and I aim to do my best to make it right, but look at all this,” she said as she swept her arm across the vista. “It’s beautiful here, gorgeous, and we might as well enjoy it.”
He strapped down the saddle bags and mounted his horse and she did the same, following him as he headed further up the mountain. He tipped his hat up his forehead and stopped for a moment, resting his elbows on his saddle horn as Belinda pulled up alongside him. She stopped, smiling broadly, tipping her hat back and waiting for a response.
Her smile quickly faded as he stared at her, his eyes soft but his voice tight.
“Yes, it’s beautiful. But we’ve got a job to do. Let’s just leave it at that, huh?
Her heart sank as he clicked his tongue and nudged his horse onward.
Chapter 9
Belinda was lost in her thoughts when the shadows of the tall trees gave way to the sunny glen they’d been riding toward much of the morning, and now part of the afternoon. It was farther than she remembered, and the shadows had begun to fall a little longer as the sun moved beyond noon.
Wyatt hadn’t said much, and she’d been lulled into memories by the steady rhythm of Ranger’s hoof beats and peace had settled all the way into her bones. She’d spent much time here long ago, but then, she and Wyatt had laughed more, had more fun, and her breath hitched in her throat as the glade opened onto the still pool of a meadow, a short break in the stream that ran all the way down to the lake.
Even now, it was still full of frigid snowmelt or she would have considered swimming—something she and Wyatt had done often on their scouting trips.
Not that Wyatt would join her. He wasn’t the same, wasn’t the Wyatt that she’d always been able to draw out, even when everyone else said he didn’t talk at all. He always had to her—not fast, and not a lot, but he’d let her in. Slowly but surely, she’d been allowed to a place inside that no one else could see. But it was closed off now, and it was her fault.
She hung her head as she dismounted and looped Ranger’s reins over a branch of a tall pine tree to the side of the glen. Back to business.
“Wyatt, can you show me where you found the carcasses?” she asked as she reached into her agency-issue saddlebags. She pulled out some evidence bags, hoping that they’d find some things quickly, and pulled on some latex gloves to preserve fingerprints.
She’d brought her standard outfit, complete with binoculars, first aid kit, emergency rations, flares—the whole nine yards. Even for a day trip like this, she would have broken protocol not to bring it, or be out of uniform. She was working, after all. Wyatt would have similar provisions, as he was always prepared for any contingency and was great at his job of protecting himself and other people. Well, he wouldn’t have gloves or evidence bags, but even if he had, she preferred to use her own.
He’d crouched and hung his plaid jacket across the boulder he’d leaned up against, his hat set alongside it as he leaned over the pool and filled his hands with water. He drank a bit, then splashed some water on his face and ran his hands through his wavy hair. He rolled up his sleeves and stood, leaning back with his hands on his hips, stretching after their long ride.
She shucked her jacket as well and hung it over her saddle. Rolling up her sleeves, she hung a canvas bag over her shoulder and shoved the evidence bags inside. She reached for the telescoping grabber she always carried to reach further than her arms could get, just in case there was evidence off the beaten path. She tugged her hat down more tightly to shade her eyes and pulled out her agency-issue aviator sunglasses. She wasn’t quite sure why the agency had chosen this particular style, but she’d gotten used to wearing them. And anyway, it was pretty sunny so she could see better with them on.
She tugged at her tool belt and situated the canvas bag snugly over her shoulder. She stopped short as Wyatt stood and stared, folding his arms over his chest and covering his mouth with a hand as he stifled a smile.
“What?”
“Well, don’t you look all official.”
She looked down at her blue latex gloves and the grippers in her hand, her khaki uniform badge and gun all where they should be. She leaned over the still pool and her reflection of her bug-eyed glasses and hat, her pony-tail all askew—well, she hadn’t given much thought to what she must look like. She looked up at Wyatt—his strong jaw covered with stubble, his hair just over the collar of his flannel shirt, his faded jeans dotted with a little mud—and he looked all cowboy, through and through. She remembered what his strong arms felt like through that flannel, and what his warm breath had felt like as it caressed her cheek and she pretended to stomp mud off her boots just to shake it off.
“The agency insists that I remain in uniform when I’m out in the field,” she said as her throat tightened and she turned away. She supposed she did look a little silly to him, compared to what she used to wear up here—cowboy boots of her own, the faded jeans she’d had for years and her own flannel shirt—but she was actually here on business. She did raise an eyebrow at him and grin behind her glasses as she said, “At least I got a smile out of you. First one I’ve seen.”
He caught himself and the smile faded as he brushed his arm over his forehead and looked away, toward the opposite side of the glen. “Over here is where we found the foxes,” he said as he crossed over in long strides, his long legs at over six feet tall making quick work of the short walk.
She kept up, and when he stopped, they were in the shade. She took off her glasses and hooked them in her pocket, and for the next couple of hours, she followed him around the perimeter of the glade to the edge of the pool, and they systematically circled into the center.
“Not much on this side. Guess we’d better widen our circle,” she said as she rubbed her eyes. The sun had started to fall behind the tips of the tallest pine trees and shadows were cast in parts of the glade they’d already gone over.
“Not anything,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was hoping for better luck. Casings, tracks, something.”
“Yeah, me, too,” she said as she sat on a boulder and took off her gloves.
Wyatt hopped across some rocks at the smallest part of the stream and began to canvas the other side, beginning with the edge. Belinda leaned her elbows on her knees and watched for a bit. He’d let her know if he found anything and wouldn’t touch it before she could get her gloves back on, so she just rested a bit, admiring his tenacity and meticulous searching. She couldn’t have done it any better herself.
By her feet, she noticed some pebbles and grabbed a handful. Wyatt hadn’t gotten too far, and when he turned his back to peer beyond the tree line, she threw one of the pebbles in his direction. Bingo! It landed ri
ght beyond where he was looking, and he raised his finger to his lips and said, “Shh. Did you hear that?”
“Shh? I wasn’t talking.”
“Well, I know, but don’t. Did you hear that?”
He leaned against a pine tree further into the brush, his back still toward her.
“Nope, didn’t hear a thing,” she said as she grinned.
He took a step further beyond the glen. “I did. Not sure what it was.”
She took aim, threw again and bam, the pebble hit his shoulder.
He turned and looked up, back and forth. “See any squirrels up there? I think they’re dropping something on me.”
She couldn’t believe he was falling for this, but she couldn’t help it. It was all she could do not to bust out laughing.
“Nope. Don’t see a thing. Keep looking.”
“Aren’t you going to join me? It’s your job, anyway.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. I need some water,” she said, palming the biggest of the pebbles as she headed over to Ranger and pulled out her water bottle. When he was deep in concentration again, she threw the final rock, hitting him square on his hat, the ping echoing through the glade.
“Dang it. Didn’t you hear that one?”
“I sure didn’t. I think you’ve lost your mind, Wyatt.”
Wyatt stood, his eyes twinkling as he spun and with a perfect sidearm, threw a pebble at her that hit her right on her hat.
“Bingo. Back at ya,” he said as he grinned and turned back to searching. “You didn’t think I’d fall for that, did you?”
Honest Horseman (River's End Ranch Book 5) Page 4