Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] Read Online Free PDF Page A

included. Now if she could only get the plate into the camera without frightening him away.
    Slipping the protective holder into the wooden slot caused a scraping noise, followed by an overloud click. The familiar sounds seemed inordinately bold against the hushed backdrop of nature, but the animal seemed unaffected by it all.
    Convinced that the Creator had handcrafted this opportunity, she removed the lens cap, exposed the prepared plate to the light, and began silently reciting the speech she knew by heart. Things were going to work out for her—she just had that feeling.
    All her life it seemed as though she’d been fighting an uphill battle. First with her health, and then in being excluded from opportunities due to her gender. Not that she wanted to be treated like a man. Not in the least. She simply wanted the same opportunities, to be allowed the chance to make the same mistakes. . . .
    The morning sun broke through the clouds, spilling translucent sheets of silver onto the valley floor far below and reflecting off the rippled surface of the river.
    Careful not to bump the camera or the tripod, she returned the lens cap to its place and admired the bull elk, which stood tall and proud, head erect. If this photograph exposed as well as she thought, it would rival any wildlife or nature scene captured in the western territories that she could recall. Even her mentor, Mathew Brady, would be envious.
    Josiah raised a hopeful brow as she removed the plate from the camera. She nodded once and enjoyed the responding twinkle in his eyes. Now to get the plate developed. She tossed him a smile and hurried toward the tent, letting herself imagine in even greater detail the look on Wendell Goldberg’s face when he saw the photograph of this bull elk set against the panorama of—
    An explosion fragmented the silence.
    Elizabeth turned to see the bull elk buckled forward, blood flowing from a wound directly behind his shoulder. The animal attempted a valiant stride and faltered, and Elizabeth had to stop herself from rushing toward him. Such beauty, such strength . . .
    He keened low, a primal sound, a cry she knew she’d never forget. Then he crumpled forward—just as the glass plate slipped from her hand.

3
    D aniel Ranslett knelt on one knee, his right shoulder still absorbing the impact of the rifle’s discharge, just as it had thousands of times before. His focus remained trained on his target. His bullet had found its mark. Through the rifle’s sights, he watched the magnificent beast falter, then crumple at the knees. For two days and nights, he’d tracked the animal to line up a clean shot, one that would be swift and humane, worthy of such a kill.
    Watching the scene through his scope, a memory rose from years past, from another lifetime, and a better one. It lashed at his concentration, but with practiced control, he kept it at bay.
    A strange and unexpected kinship rose inside him for the animal across the ridge, and he experienced an odd twinge of jealousy. He felt the strong, solid beat of his own heart while knowing that a short distance away, the precious lifeblood of his prey lay spilling out.
    How had he, an agent of death for so many, escaped death countless times when innocent others had not?
    A soft whimper sounded beside him.
    “Steady there, Beau,” he whispered, giving the beagle’s head a quick stroke. “Not yet. You’re getting impatient with age, fella.” A trait he understood only too well.
    He lowered his rifle and hesitated, spotting movement on the ridge opposite him. Daniel rose and squinted against the sunlight piercing the evergreen branches overhead. A woman walked from behind a stand of pine. A Negro followed. The two were a ways from his kill but were walking straight for it.
    He grabbed his hat and his pouch from the rock beside him. Looping the pouch over his head, his long strides swiftly became a run. He reached the obscured crossing down the path in minutes, and the opposite