Wyoming Tough Read Online Free PDF Page B

she’d brought the oldest ones with her, so that she didn’t raise any suspicions about her status.
    â€œBetter get back to riding that fence line,” he added.
    â€œI’m on my way. Just had to pick up my iPod,” she said, displaying it in its case. “I can’t live without my tunes.”
    He pursed his lips. “What sort of music do you like?”
    â€œLet’s see, country and western, classical, soundtracks, blues…”
    â€œAll of it, in other words.”
    She nodded. “I like world music, too. It’s fun to listen to foreign artists, even if I mostly can’t understand anything they sing.”
    He shook his head. “I’m just a straight John Denver man.”
    She lifted both eyebrows.
    â€œHe was a folk singer in the sixties,” he told her. “Did this one song, ‘Calypso,’ about that ship that Jacques Cousteau used to drive around the world when he was diving.” He smiled with nostalgia. “Dang, I must have spent a small fortune playing that one on jukeboxes.” He looked at her. “Don’t know what a jukebox is, I’ll bet.”
    â€œI do so. My mom told me all about them.”
    He shook his head. “How the world has changed since I was a boy.” He sighed. “Some changes are good. Most—” he glowered “—are not.”
    She laughed. “Well, I like my iPod, because it’s portable music.” She attached her earphones to the device, with which she could surf the internet, listen to music, even watch movies as long as she was within reach of the Wi-Fi system on the ranch. “I’ll see you later.”
    â€œGot a gun?” he asked suddenly.
    She gaped at him. “What am I going to do, shoot wolves? That’s against the law.”
    â€œEverything’s against the law where ranchers are concerned. No, I wasn’t thinking about four-legged varmints. There’s an escaped convict, a murderer. They think he’s in the area.”
    She caught her breath. “Could he get onto the ranch?”
    â€œNo fence can keep out a determined man. He’ll just go right over it,” he told her. He went back into the bunkhouse and returned with a small handgun in a leather holster. “It’s a .32 Smith & Wesson,” he said, handing it up. He made a face when she hesitated. “You don’t have to kill a man to scare him. Just shoot near him and run.” He frowned. “Can you shoot a gun?”
    â€œOh, yes, my dad made sure of it,” she told him. “He taught me and my brother to use anything from a peashooter to all four gauges of shotguns.”
    He nodded. “Then take it. Put it in your saddlebag. I’ll feel better.”
    She smiled at him. “You’re nice, Darby.”
    â€œYou bet I am,” he replied. “Can’t afford to lose someone who works as hard as you do.”
    She made a face at him. She mounted her horse, a chestnut gelding, and rode off.
    The open country was so beautiful. In the distance she could see the Teton Mountains, rising like white spires against the gray, overcast sky. The fir trees were still a deep green, even in the last frantic clutches of fading winter. It was too soon for much tender vegetation to start pushing up out of the ground, but spring was close at hand.
    Most ranchers bred their cattle to drop calves in early spring, just as the grass came out of hibernation and grain crops began growing. Lush, fresh grass would be nutritious to feed the cowswhile they nursed their offspring. By the time the calves were weaned, the grass would still be lush and green and tasty for them, if the rain cooperated.
    She liked the way the Kirk boys worked at ecology, at natural systems. They had windmills everywhere to pump water into containers for the cattle. They grew natural grasses and were careful not to strain the delicate topsoil by overplanting. They used crop rotation to