Page 54 of Wyoming Heart

Cort took a deep breath. “Your best friend is what’s wrong.”

Bart’s eyebrows arched. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

Cort shook his head. “Nothing like that. She bothers me, that’s all.”

“Bothers you how?”

“She was riding a fence line all alone. She doesn’t carry a gun and some animals could be on her so quickly that she wouldn’t have time to pull out a cell phone to call for help.”

Bart hid a smile. “Her ranch hands watch out for her.”

“Not always,” came the curt reply. “We had a wolf attack a calf, and then a cow giving birth, remember?”

“The wolf was shot, remember?” Bart replied. “I had to report that to the appropriate state agency, by the way, and they came out and took genetic samples from the carcass. Gray wolves are off the endangered list, but the state still wants to maintain a standard of breeding pairs.”

“Any idea who shot that wolf?” Cort asked.

Bart shook his head. “I asked all my hands. Nobody, not even the part-timers, knew anything about it. I had Mina ask her cowboys. Same answer.”

“Curious.”

“Very.”

“Just as well the wolf’s gone, though. They can be dangerous,” Cort said.

Bart just smiled. “People can, too. I like wolves. I’ve never had even one livestock attack until this calf was brought down. Wolves mostly prey on deer and elk and antelope. If we ever got an aggressive wolf, I’d call in the state wildlife people to have them trap it. I’d hate to kill something so majestic, even though I love my cattle.”

“We don’t have gray wolves on my ranch,” Cort said. He grimaced. “But I’ve heard that the ones you get in Wyoming can weigh over 150 pounds, and that they can sprint up to thirty-five miles an hour. A lone woman couldn’t outrun one, even on horseback.” Cort grimaced. “Where there’s one wolf, there are usually others. They run in packs, don’t they?”

“Mostly, yes. The authorities still warn people to stay away from them in state parks, even where they’re protected,” Bart agreed. “A wild animal is called that because it’s wild. Any of them will turn on a human for the right reason, and they’re not predictable.”

Cort leaned back in his chair. “Mina doesn’t even carry a gun with her, I noticed.”

“She doesn’t like guns,” Bart volunteered.

“Odd attitude, for a rancher.”

“She was more or less forced into ranching because she had to have a place to live and she didn’t want to give up her legacy. That’s not what she plans to do with her life.”

“What does she plan to do?” Cort asked. “Spend her time knitting and reading romance novels?”

That attitude made Bart want to throw something at him. But it was Mina’s secret, not his.

“Cooking and homemaking,” Cort muttered. “Who the hell does that anymore? I’ve never dated a woman who wanted to spend any time in a kitchen.”

“The women you date wouldn’t know what a kitchen was,” Bart teased. “They’re more fit for bedrooms.”

Cort chuckled. “I guess so. I’ve had my fill of them, though. After a while, they all taste alike, feel alike, sound alike.” He sighed. “I guess I’m jaded.”

“Too much success too soon in life,” Bart said philosophically.

“You’re probably right,” Cort admitted. “I grew up rich. My dad taught me that women were a permissible pleasure and I never forgot it. He went through them like a knife through butter, even while our mother was still alive, from what my older brothers said. He went wild after he found our stepmother in bed with his best friend. He said modern women had no morals, no sense of justice, and they only had one use. He taught us what it was.”

“That’s a shame,” Bart said. “There are some nice women in the world.”

“Like your friend,” he chided.

“She’s very nice,” Bart replied. “She isn’t sophisticated or rich or spoiled. She’s just like the girl next door.”

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