High Country Baby. Joanna Sims

played a soft, haunting tune while the rain tapped out a rhythm of its own on the canvas roof of her tent. She closed her eyes and unintentionally fell asleep.

      When the rain stopped, Clint stopped playing the harmonica. Taylor was asleep—he didn’t see any reason to awaken her to help him finish setting up camp. He unzipped the tent flap and stepped out onto the wet ground. Before he zipped the flap shut, he stared at Taylor. She had slowly started to gain his respect; she had prepared herself for this trip, and other than attempting to make the trip alone, she was a woman who made smart decisions. He was a man—he glanced at the generous curve of her breasts beneath the material of her shirt before he closed the flap of the tent behind him.

      * * *

      Taylor rolled onto her back, her eyes opened slowly. It took her a little bit to get her bearings—she was alone in the tent and her bladder was full. When she emerged from the tent, she saw that Clint had already set up the rest of the camp, tended to the horses and Easy, built a fire.

      “Sorry.” She joined him at the fire after relieving herself. “I fell asleep.”

      Clint shook his head and handed her a plate with fish reheated from the night before.

      He waited for her to finish before he smoked a cigarette.

      “Do you mind?” She pointed to the tequila bottle next to his leg. He didn’t bother to hide his nightly routine of drinking a healthy portion of the alcohol.

      He looked surprised but untwisted the cap and handed her the half-empty bottle. Taylor didn’t bother to wipe off the lip of the bottle before she took a swig, coughing in spite of her best attempts not to when the clear liquid burned her throat. He took the bottle back from her and she watched him, through watering eyes, take several consecutive swallows of the tequila.

      “How do you do that?” she asked him thoughtlessly.

      He put the bottle away. He was running low and he needed to conserve the rest. After one last draw on his cigarette he flicked the butt into the fire and blew smoke out of his nose.

      “Practice.”

      She laughed. The sound of her own laughter sounded good to her ears. There was a time that she loved to laugh—she used to laugh frequently. Years of trying to get pregnant without success, years of passing Christopher in the hallways of their childless house, years of meeting with attorneys and divorce proceedings and dividing property had taken a toll on her spirit—eroded her confidence.

      “Do you mind a personal question?”

      His hand moved upward in a gesture of consent.

      “What happened to your back?”

      His brow furrowed in thought, then it occurred to him that she was asking about his scar.

      “I was gored by a bull in Boise, Idaho.”

      He smiled a little at the shock that registered on her face.

      “I’d been riding bulls since I was a kid, so I should’ve been able to get out of his way. But that one got the better of me.”

      “How did you even survive something like that?”

      “I almost bled out by the time they got me to the hospital,” Clint recounted. “I didn’t get back on a bull for six months.”

      “Six months? I can’t believe you ever got back on one.” She shook her head in wonder. “Are you retired? Or just on a break?”

      “I got some money things I gotta clear up first—then I’ll be back at it. I think my knees got a couple more goes left in ’em.”

      “It must be nice to know exactly what you want to do,” she said aloud, even though she really meant to only speak the words in her head.

      “I’d think someone like you had it all figured out.”

      “Someone like me?” she scoffed. “On that note!” She stood up. “Do you think we’ll get more of the same tomorrow?”

      “Naw.” Clint tipped his hat back on his head so she could see his eyes. “Should be blue skies.”

      “Then we’ll make up some time. I had a spot picked out to spend a couple of days, but we’ll have to push it a little tomorrow to make it, I think.”

      She had already figured out the little movements he used to respond. A slight nod of his head was a confirmation for her plan.

      “Okay—good night, Clint.”

      “Night, Taylor.”

      There was a roughness in the way Clint said her name—it was unlike anything she had heard before. It was so compelling that she almost stopped and turned toward him to see the look on his face. The way he said it, like silk against sandpaper, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She liked it—probably more than she should have.

      * * *

      Two days later, they reached the spot where she planned on staying for several days and truly taking in the beauty of the Rocky Mountains—the wildlife, the foliage, the majesty. She wanted to be able to take it all in without feeling as if she was on a schedule. Would she be able to find the answer for the next phase of her life hidden in the mountain peaks? She had resigned from her position at the bank, walked away from the only career she had known for over a decade. For the first time since she was a young woman, she was functioning without a net.

      “I’m going for a hike.”

      Taylor had awakened feeling refreshed and ready to explore the area surrounding their new campsite on foot.

      Clint was checking his horse’s hoof. He let the horse’s leg go and gave the buckskin a pat on the haunches.

      “You planning on goin’ off alone?”

      “Yes.”

      She had become accustomed to having Clint around. She had been able to embrace the good of having a man on the journey with her. But her increased comfort with the man didn’t change the fact that this journey was about rediscovering herself—self-reliance, rebuilding self-confidence. There had to be some time that the only person to rely on was the one she looked at in the mirror.

      “Do you know how to use that gun or is it just for show?”

      There was a decidedly chauvinistic tone in his question. The challenge had been issued.

      “I’ll make you a wager that I’m a better shot than you.”

      The look on Clint’s face was better than she could have predicted. He tipped the brim of his hat up so he could get a better look at her face. In his deeply set grayish-blue eyes, she saw a mixture of disbelief and admiration.

      “Lady—I ain’t got nothin’ to bet but two cigarettes and my last bottle of liquor.”

      “Loser—i.e., you cook dinner. I like how you cook freshly caught fish.”

      Clint laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that made her smile in response. “You don’t have to give me nothin’ when you lose—I’m shootin’ for my honor.”

      They set up targets.

      “Ladies first.” Clint tipped his hat to her.

      “Don’t mind if I do.”

      Clint made a big show of backing away from her when she pulled her gun out of the holster.

      “Worried?” She unlocked the safety with a small smile.

      “Always, when a woman has a gun.”

      Clint watched closely while Taylor took her shots. He was looking for comfort with the firearm, safety and skill. He had to admit that he saw all three. She might be a city, socialite kind of woman, but she knew her way around a revolver.

      “Five out of five,” Taylor announced proudly.

      “Not