Stranded With The Rancher. Rebecca Winters

weather couldn’t be better.”

      “I agree. Here’s hoping that at least eighty-five percent of the ewes are pregnant. The trick is not to lose any of them.” That included the thirty Hampshire stud rams.

      “Take care, Wyatt, and good luck. See you when you get back.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      He left the station in his car and drove to the Fielding Sheep Ranch just a few miles east of Whitebark. After a grueling twelve-hour shift putting out a warehouse fire, he was starving.

      Thank heaven for Martha Loveridge, the part-time housekeeper for Wyatt and his disabled grandfather, Royden. Two years ago, his tough old sheep-rancher grandfather had accidentally shot himself in the leg during a hunting trip with friends in the mountains.

      Damage to two of the major muscles and a fracture of the left femur had resulted in a limp, even after physical therapy. Today he needed a cane to get around and couldn’t do all the activities he’d loved.

      The Loveridges lived on the ranch to the south and had been friends of the Fielding family for years. Since the death of Wyatt’s grandmother, Martha had come over to help out. She always left enough food for lunch and dinner. He hoped it was a roast and was already salivating.

      After this trip to the mountains, Wyatt planned to hire a permanent live-in housekeeper. Though they compensated Martha well, she was getting older and it was time to make the change.

      He drove around the rear of the ranch house and parked his car in the garage. Then he backed his truck out so he could load all his gear for tomorrow’s journey.

      The first thing he did after walking through the mudroom to the kitchen was lift the lid on the Crock-Pot. Mmm. Pot roast and potatoes. His grandfather’s beagle, Otis, pretty much on his last legs, came to greet him.

      Wyatt scratched his silky head. The dog’s movements had alerted his grandfather that someone was in the house. Royden suffered from a certain amount of hearing loss.

      “Wyatt?”

      He served himself a plate, gave a few pieces to Otis, then walked into the living room where his grandfather was watching old reruns of Perry Mason from his favorite easy chair.

      “I’m here, Grandad.” He sat down on the couch next to him. Otis planted himself at his owner’s feet.

      “You had a long shift. Was it an arson case?”

      “Nope. An electrical problem started a fire in the Olsen Warehouse.”

      “How much damage?”

      “Half the building gone. It could have been worse.” Wyatt looked over, knowing what was really on his grandfather’s mind. “Grandad? If you want, I’ll ask Martha to stay overnight while I’m gone.”

      His grandfather made an arm motion that said forget that. “I’ll be fine. The only thing I’m praying for is that the ewes haven’t mixed with those from Les Nugent’s herd up there.”

      “That’s what we pay Pali for.” Pali was their Basque sheepherder who lived in his camper at the seven-thousand-foot level. “Between him and his sheepdog, Gip, they’re as good as they come. You know that or you would never have hired him.”

      “You’re right.” But his grandfather was never happy these days.

      “I know you’re upset because you can’t go up with me.”

      “Damn right I am! Who knows how many predators have been ambushing the flock.”

      “Pali has a sharp eye and will be keeping count.”

      “Those sheep are vulnerable to every wolf, mountain lion and coyote in The Winds.”

      The Winds was what the locals called the Wind River Range here in west-central Wyoming. Hard to believe there was a time when Wyatt had hated these mountains, which were famous throughout the West. Had even been afraid of them.

      “Anything else you need to tell me before I start loading up my gear?”

      “Be sure you keep a few rams up at the ten-thousand-foot level to find the few ewes who failed to secure mates.”

      “Will do.”

      “And make sure they’re not mixing with the bighorns. We have enough trouble without transmitting bacteria from our domestic sheep to the wild ones.”

      Wyatt knew it all by heart. He’d been taught by his grandfather, who was known as the expert in this part of the state. After finishing the last of his dinner, he got to his feet. “If that’s it for now, I’ll get started packing.”

      He went upstairs to his bedroom to grab a few things, then began the laborious process of loading the truck.

      Besides his US Geological Survey maps and cases of food and water, he had a ton of things to load for survival: a gas catalytic heater; tarps; a large tent and several pup tents, in case he needed to use one to nurse a sick ewe; a privy; a couple of sleeping bags; lanterns; matches; knives; medicine; his rifle and shot gun; ammo; binoculars; extra heavy clothing; boots; gloves; blankets; feed for the horses in case Jose brought them; fishing gear; cooking gear and his CB radio to communicate with ham radio operators in case of an emergency.

      The next morning he was up at seven thirty to talk to Jose Rosario, the stockman-cum-foreman, who stayed on the ranch in a cabin located behind the ranch house with his wife, Maria.

      Since Wyatt’s teens they’d lived here year-round and it was where they had raised their family. Lately Jose helped Wyatt’s grandfather by answering the business calls that came through and wrote messages for him. Wyatt asked him to be sure to take any calls for him while he was gone—hopefully one from Mr. Derrick. It had been a month. Maybe Jenny couldn’t be found...

      By eight o’clock he’d put fresh food and water out for Otis. His grandfather was still in bed and had left his radio on all night at full volume. He could be a candidate for an implant. That was something Wyatt planned to talk to him about when he got back.

      With everything done he could think of, Wyatt left the ranch. On his way out of town, he stopped at Hilda’s for breakfast and saw a couple of his firefighter buddies. They were in their turnout gear looking grubby. The poor guys must have just returned from a fire.

      Porter Ewing called out to him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “Up in the mountains on ranch business.”

      “You lucky dog. On a day like this, I’d give anything to go with you.”

      “Tell Captain Durrant and hop in the truck.”

      “Don’t I wish. How soon will you be back?”

      “In a week.”

      “Call me. We’ll watch some football and get a card game going with Holden.” Holden was the sheriff, and another single guy always up for a game of cards.

      “That’s a plan.”

      Their only plan. They lived in a town of just over 1,300 people. Without a woman on the horizon who suited any of them, none of them had much else taking up their spare time except work.

      * * *

      AT THE JACKSON HOLE airport on Thursday, Alex rented a car and headed for Whitebark, an hour and a half away. She would be leaving for New York day after tomorrow, but had a free day ahead of her now. It was only one in the afternoon. In the morning she’d drive back to Jackson Hole and stay at the hotel she’d already booked. They provided limo service to the airport.

      After spending time in Colorado gathering information, she’d flown to Casper to attend the Wyoming Wool Growers Association conference. The people there had been helpful. She’d gathered a lot of useful information. One rancher had told her the best sheep person to interview in the Cowboy State was Royden Fielding.

      He