“That would be nice. Now, go on. Let’s just have her be mad at one of us at a time, all right?”

  As he watched the child run back to the lodge, he felt a snuffle on the back of his neck. Smiling he turned to the tall grey. “Don’t take this the wrong way, boy. While I appreciate the sentiment, I had someone else in mind for that.” He led the youngster to the paddock and released him to the small herd.

  Rosa arrived with his dinner just as he entered his cabin. “Thanks. That looks good. Did your mom say anything about me not being there?”

  She squinted and made a face, “Well, you know…”

  “Hmmm, guess I do.”

  Rosa perked up, having recalled something else. “The ladies all said how they knew what it was like ’n all, coming off. They all said ‘ice twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off’. Everybody said to give you their best.”

  “Well, that’s a lot for you to remember, isn’t it, girl?” Rosa beamed. He wanted to ask did she look worried, did she say anything about me, did she say she might come down to see for herself? “Scoot now and leave me in peace to eat my meal. I’ll see them tomorrow.”

  “Night, Uncle Manny.”

  “Night, sweetheart.”

  He made short work of the meal, then wiped the plate with a paper towel and set it aside so he could work on preparations for the trip. Tomorrow he’d introduce the women to their mounts, do a quick ride up the ridge behind the house and see if everything suited. Saul had the panniers ready for the mules, and they’d run a couple spare head of horses just in case something happened up there. He pulled his Remington thirty-aught-six off the rack on the wall, checking to make sure he had ammo. He thought about taking the Mossberg shotgun—that sucker could bring down a bear—but he doubted they’d have a run-in with any of the oversized brown bears stalking the meadows this time of year. They would be in more danger of being mauled by a herd of elk.

  He slid the Glock into the shoulder holster and set it out with the rest of his arsenal. Saul had sent most of their gear to base camp at the eight-thousand-foot level—tents and cooking supplies, grain and hay for the horses. The gals would have to learn to use the woods below the tree-line. Shovels and bio-degradable tissue would be issued at the camp. Maria would have the delicate chat about feminine products and time of month crap after dinner. He knew about that shuff, but he sure as hell didn’t need to talk about it. He winced at the flare of pain in his cheekbone.

  Women. Why’d it have to be a pack of women?

  Why her? Jesus.

  Chapter Nine: Mountains to Climb

  Manny finished fitting the saddles to a couple of well-trained, reliable Quarter horses who seemed to suit the older trail riders. The B-girls were delighted with the two mustang crosses—at fifteen-two-hands, on the small side from what they were used to, but neither complained. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Susan all morning, and he desperately wanted to show her around the ranch and help her select a mount he was sure she’d approve of.

  For some reason, he’d tossed and turned all night, waking up, sure it was time to get on the trail, only to find a half hour had passed and it was still pitch black. It was like the night before a big race when his gut would churn and his skin would feel like ants were crawling all over him. That only lasted until he got to the jockey’s room. Then his veins would turn to ice water and everything would blank out until nothing but the race mattered.

  He turned to find Susan coming around the corner astride a sixteen-hand Anglo-Arab gelding. He was one of the more spastic of the ranch horses, usually reserved for either himself, or Saul who could handle his wild spooks and erratic choices on trail. He was a mountain goat when the going got tough, with a walk to die for. Despite his shortcomings, and the fact that he could be mean as a snake when the mood hit, they kept him around instead of auctioning the dodo off.

  When he had so many other, better horses to offer why would she choose Shit-face—his knickname because the beast had a Roman nose and an unkind eye, literally a face only a mother could love? But choose him she did. With her legs wrapped around the slab-sided gelding, the woman trotted up to the group, beaming her approval. Manny grinned as he contemplated what she’d discover about her new steed once they got out in the open. He’d be peeling her off the ground the first time that sucker let go with his drop-shoulder-and-spin move.

  Damn if she doesn’t have a nice seat. I haven’t seen anyone sit a horse that good in years.

  Maria and Rosa helped the group get sorted out. Manny decided to take point to lead them over the ridge onto a large pasture that Saul kept for winter use. It had a few farm lanes they could get some speed on if the ladies were willing, which he guessed they might be. The ones who surprised him were the older gals. They had a confidence and ease to their seats that delighted him, like they’d seen it all and knew how to deal.

  His own mount, Annie, wasn’t the fastest horse on the block; but she moved out just fine, keeping up with all but the rangy Anglo. Where his mare would shine was on the slopes. Nobody could climb like his girl. He had to use a special Trekking saddle to accommodate her broad back, and while the saddle didn’t give much support on the down-slope, his legs were so strong he had no trouble adjusting.

  After fifteen minutes of warm-up, he turned to the group and asked, “Would you like to move out? We can head toward that stand of trees.” He pointed to a copse of pine about a mile distant. The ground gently undulated, looking rougher than it really was, but the footing was good. There weren’t any holes the last time he’d looked. He felt reasonably confident he could let the group loose as he trusted his horses, though not necessarily the riders.

  The women, as one, chorused, “Okay!”

  Manny motioned for the two trail riders to go ahead and choose a comfortable pace. He wasn’t surprised when the ladies took off like bats out of hell, leaving the B-girls giggling in their dust. Susan kept hold of her Anglo; but Shit-face was doing his wanna-go dance, a jig big enough to unseat even him, yet the woman handled it like it was nothing. Bobby and Beth finally set off at a trot, followed by Susan. He decided to tag behind to make sure he picked up any stragglers.

  A half mile down the lane, Beth lost to a decent spook and went flying. Her friend stopped to see if she was all right while the gelding took off ninety degrees to his buddies. He had horses all around, but he chose to head south to the Rez, away from the ranch and the group, at a full gallop.

  Manny stopped to make sure the lady was in one piece.

  “Go, go. I’m fine. Catch that mother so I can give him a piece of my mind.” Beth waved him off.

  Manny picked up a canter, angling to the east, up and over a ridge, to head the beast off before the land opened up with nothing to stop him until he got to Colorado. He saw Susan taking the direct route just to the west, circling fast. She was in full-out gallop, driving Shit-face for all he was worth.

  Annie topped the hill and raced down the steep slope, slip-sliding her way to end up just in front of the wild-eyed gelding. Susan came in obliquely, skidding to a halt and grabbing the reins. She and Shit-face made a smooth circle, slowing the gelding until everything was under control.

  Manny murmured with admiration, “Amazing.”

  Annie was still puffing, so he let Susan take the bad boy back to his rider while he admired the view from behind. He was getting a hard-on for this chick, no doubt about it.

  Dinner that evening was spent in excited retelling of the dump and chase, complete with embellishments and teasing from all the guests. Beth took it all with great good humor. Susan was a bit more reserved, but she smiled a lot, and Manny spent most of his time trying not to stare at her. His sister flicked her eyes from him to the woman, a smile playing about her mouth. He didn’t need a crystal ball to tell him what she was thinking.

  Maria pushed away from the table and said, “Hate to be a party pooper but you folks have a four o’clock start. Best get some rest. And dress warm. It gets cold at night.”

  Manny helped Maria clean up the kitchen while she packed sandwiches in the soft-sided cooler so they’d have a snack once they topped the first major climb.

  Maria looked at her brother slyly. “They seem like a nice group, don’t they?” Manny nodded, non-committal. “That Susan is a very nice rider. I was surprised she picked Shit-face.”

  “Uh-huh, me too, but they seem to suit each other.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay going out alone with five novices?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. And these women aren’t novices. You should have seen the old broads ride…” He blushed and looked away. “Sorry.”

  His sister smiled at him. “Just be sure you pack the medical supplies. I put some extra stuff in the stall by the gray mule. Now you’d best get some rest. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

  “See you in the morning, Sis. Love you.” He left her beaming at him.

  ****

  Manny had forgotten how much tourists were devoted to their digital cameras. It took twice as long as he thought it should to crest the first ridge and settle everyone for a quick lunch. He’d had to explain that Western horses ground tied, so it was pretty safe to leave them in a bunch, munching grass. As long as the mules stayed put, everybody stayed put. He bought some insurance for that claim by hobbling the alpha mule, Randy. The other one was No-Name because he had no personality that anyone could discern. Most mules gave you attitude just because. No-Name gave nothing. But he toted two hundred pounds of stuff like it was air. Mule muscle.

  He tried sitting by Susan during lunch, but she embedded herself between the B-girls, ignoring him. For no particular reason that got him out of sorts so he went to check the mules’ panniers, adjusting straps that needed no adjusting and generally tried to look busy. His sister would call it sulking.

  Since they’d taken longer than he planned to get to the storage shed, it was close to nightfall when they arrived. He would have to hustle them along to get the tents up. Susan chose to handle cooking—for which he was sincerely grateful. He could heat soup, but that was about it. He had banked on a gaggle of ladies having at least one cook in the group. So far, nobody pulled the I’m a Diva, I’m on vacation card so they got the horses and mules settled in the small enclosure, the tents up and dinner ready in no time. One of the B’s found dry wood and made a campfire. Again, Manny tried his best to sit next to Susan. As earlier that day, she managed to lodge herself between Beth and Willy, effectively shutting him out.

  Frustrated he called it a night and wandered out to check on the horses. He heard the steps behind him and his heart skipped a beat.

  “It’s just me, Manny.”

  Shit, it was Georgie. He mumbled hi but he wasn’t in much of a mood to chat. He didn’t know how Saul and the others kept up the constant chatter and goodwill. He’d let the ladies carry the conversation that evening and just listened. It had been enjoyable, he readily admitted that. But if he just could have…

  “That was nice today.” He nodded and waited. “So. What do you think of us Easterners?” He wasn’t exactly sure what she was asking so he kept quiet. “Our riding. Do we measure up?”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. He was on solid ground with this one. “Come here. Let me show you something with that saddle of yours.” He swung the lantern to the pile of tack and crouched, showing her how to adjust the straps and tie off her raingear so it wouldn’t interfere with her horse as they climbed.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” He felt his face flush and hoped she wouldn’t be able to see it.

  “You’re all great riders. Have to admit, I was surprised at first. Nothing personal, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, appreciate that. Susan’s the best one of all of us, isn’t she?” He was going to just nod again—he was getting really good at communicating with just a tilt of his head—but she couldn’t see and might think he was being rude. So he gave her an ‘um-hmm’ and hoped it was enough. He felt positively tongue-tied with her bringing up Susan and how she rode.

  Yeah, she was good. More than good. In truth, all he wanted was to stay behind her and watch her sit that horse. He could do that all day long.

  Georgie patted him on the arm and murmured ‘night’ leaving him with his gut churning and not knowing why.

  ****

  Susan was having a devil of a time coming up with ways to avoid Manny. She loved watching him ride, loved how he moved with power and confidence. Why him? A jockey for crying out loud! Sure, he was an amazing athlete, maybe one of the best in the world, and fearless on a horse. And he loved that little Icelandic mare of his. Not a choice she’d make, but she appreciated that he’d seen beyond the obvious and was happy with what he had. Not everybody could say that about his mount.

  She crawled into her sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling of the tent. Strange, I can’t stop thinking about him. We’re both horsepeople, it’s not like we’ve got nothing in common, after all. I’ve never been a shrinking violet. Why start now?

  The next morning a slight drizzle slowly morphed into a steady downpour. They all donned raingear and quickly covered the saddles and pile of tack with a tarp while they made breakfast. Manny seemed to be in chatty-cathy mood as he remarked how the trail riders came as well-equipped as any orienteering group he’d ever seen.

  Georgie took up the conversation, “Willie here does multi-days, doing forty miles two days in a row, then twenty on the last day. That’s a long time to be out on trail so we need to carry stuff in case we need it.”

  Willy piped up, “I wear a fanny pack sometimes. I don’t care for cantle bags ’cause they bounce on my gelding. My favorite bit of gear is my Camelback.” Manny interrupted that he wanted to ask about that. “Well, contrary to popular opinion, that’s just water in the bag.” She winked and waved at the snorts of derision. “Mine carries a full liter. I dehydrate easily so all I need to do is sip on the siphon. Runners use a variety of designs all the time.”

  Manny rose and said, “Well, ladies, let’s saddle up. We have a long day ahead of us.” To her surprise he turned to her and asked, “Do you need help with your tent?”

  Stumbling over her words, she was going to say no but at Willy’s raised eyebrows she quickly nodded yes and walked ahead of him to her pup tent. With quiet efficiency they collapsed the tent and stored the poles. She helped him carry the pile to the mules and watched with admiration as he made short work of packing the panniers.

  The mule moved away leaving a flap undone. She reached to secure it at the same time he did. Their hands connected for an instant. They both muttered ‘sorry’ and jumped back. Susan felt like she’d gotten an electric shock. Apparently she wasn’t alone in that feeling. The jockey stood close to the mule’s shoulder, his right hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

  She left to saddle her horse, once more asking what just happened?

  Zigging up the steep slope got more interesting as the day went on, and the temps dropped to just above bone-chilling. Manny took point and led them carefully in a zig-zag path up the steep slope. Near the midway point, he turned back to the group and yodeled, “Gotta love Wyoming. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

  Willy groused back at him, “Your five minutes seems to be lasting the entire day.”

  Manny found a spot—slightly lower than he’d planned apparently—but it had a copse of dense pine that gave some shelter from the rain and the wind.

  Her older friends kept up a steady stream of chatter, telling raunchy jokes, singing bawdy ballads and generally keeping everybody’s spirits up. They’d all crowded into the four-person tent, wet and smelling like horses, but nobody minded. A hot meal was just a dream as the downpour turned to sleet, so they raided the stores for junk food and breakfast bars.

  When Beth asked, “How we doing,” Manny said shyly, “If you ladies had been the normal tourist type, I’d have been ass deep in complaints and hand-holding. So, I’d say you all are doing just fine.”

  Georgie said, “I heard a rumor that you have an interesting background, Manny. Care to share?”

  Manny blushed scarlet but gamely owned up to having been a jockey. She was tempted to tell everyone about his accomplishments but held back as Manny went on to tell his own raucous stories about the bad boys and girls in the racing world. Once he got going, he was a natural story teller with a wry sense of humor. He regaled the group with what really went down behind stall doors. She, along with everyone else, hung on every word.

  Finally the excitement died down and the B-girls left first while Manny loitered, obviously trying to come up with an excuse to escort her to her tent. Willy and Georgie exchanged a complicated female secret code, with eye-flicks toward him, then her. It didn’t take a crystal ball to figure out what they were up to, but she wasn’t ready to play that game. She remained obdurately rooted to the floor, until Manny gave up and slogged to his tent.

  Morning dawned brisk and surprisingly dry. Susan did up a huge breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee while Manny fed the horses and packed the panniers. She was afraid they were going to run out of food at the rate they were chowing down, even Manny. The altitude, chill and hard work gave everyone a hearty appetite.

  Robby asked what they all wanted to know, “Manny, how do you keep so thin?”

  He shrugged. “I ride ten hours a day, most days. I thought for sure I’d be getting a gut by now, but so far my jeans still feel comfortable.” He blushed again as every pair of eyes zeroed in on his crotch. He muttered ‘um’ and left quickly to see to the horses.

  Susan hissed, “Robby!” but they all broke into peals of laughter.

  ****

  Manny led his intrepid explorers up the worst slope they’d yet encountered, so steep they’d had to sprawl along their mounts’ necks, grabbing mane for dear life. Willy hung onto her gelding’s bridle and crooned Elvis tunes into the poor beast’s ears. The gelding seemed to enjoy it.