Page 2 of Dusk's Devotion (Blue Ice Ranch 3)

“You scoff now, but when they have you cornered in the outhouse, you’ll wish you’d listened to old Nate.”

“See, you are old enough to be my daddy.” I winked and turned the key. The snowmobile roared to life under me, the machine vibrating madly. It felt kind of good. Man, it has been too long since I’ve gotten laid if a seat on the back of an ’89 Cat could make my dick hard.

Nate scowled. I lifted a hand, gave the Cat some gas, and took off. The sled moved over the snow with ease, white powder blowing off to the sides when I gave the four-stroke engine more gas. Diamonds of fresh snow hit the windshield as I plowed on, leaving the ranch behind. The ride would be rather long, but I was dressed for it. Lone Vale sat at the very edge of Landon’s property, which encompassed ten thousand acres. Small in comparison to other ranches out here, but large enough to keep us all busy and earning a paycheck. The Tetons towered above me, covered with snow. My helmet had speakers, so I got to enjoy music for some of the lonely ride. Classic soft rock like James Taylor, Cat Stevens, and Eagles felt good. Since the internet could crap out soon, I hummed along to “You’ve Got a Friend” and other light acoustical tunes until I was out of range.

Then it was just me, the sound of the engine, and winter at its most beautiful. This view—the mountains, the wildlife, the white blanket of fluff covering the grasslands—felt good and right. Like this was the correct decision for me at this time of my life. A month alone to sort myself out with the silence of winter as my only companion. Yeah, this little journey was just what I needed. If I couldn’t purge this lingering ambiguity with time alone at the end of the world—or the end of the Blue Ice property line—I didn’t know how I would. With cold cheeks and a slightly lighter heart, I gunned the Cat into a burst of speed and flew over a small rise, a shout of joy leaving me when we touched down with a soft thud and a clatter. Oops. I glanced back to check on the trailer. It, and all my supplies, was still with me. Good.

Note to self: no jumps until the trailer was taken off. Also, stop at the pole barn and plug in the skid steer.

Ridingup on the Lone Vale cabin always touched a part of me buried deep inside.

Maybe it was the sight of this old, rundown homestead with the mighty Tetons rising behind it, towering over it and all who gazed up the mountains. The view was humbling to be sure and reminded a man of just how small he really was. Perhaps it was some kickback memory of days gone by. I’d always wondered if those of us who clung to this way of life carried the souls of old ranchers who had slipped through the veil to be reincarnated into new ranchers. Or maybe I’d spent too much time around Perry Yellow Horse and his deep, philosophical readings. Whatever the reasoning, each time I entered this riparian corridor, my soul made a connection to the trees that grew along the now mostly frozen river. Cutting the engine after I rode to the front of the cabin, I merely sat there, nose running and cheeks flaming from the cold, and stared at the wonder of nature. Winter or summer, this land was magical. I was never as happy in any town as I was out here with the sweet breath of the Tetons on my face. Huh, maybe I did have the soul of an old prospector in my breast. I wasn’t a highly educated man. Hell, I’d barely squeaked through high school, but I knew poetry when I saw it. And Wyoming was beauty that defied mortal words.

I removed my helmet and ran my gloved fingers through my flat brown hair. The building looked secure, which was amazing considering its age. Although we kept it up to some extent. A new roof had been put on two years ago and thermal glass had replaced the old, cracked ones just last summer. Landon was not a cheapskate. His hockey days had left him sinfully rich, and he didn’t hesitate to spread that money around. This was just one reason I was proud to work at the Blue Ice. It was a good-paying job with a hella good foreman and owner who were inclusive and welcoming to all. As a bisexual man, I appreciated the openness. Not that I hid who I was or who I fucked. I’d never been shy about it. Then again, I wasn’t shy about much. Loud and rowdy described the Abbott men pretty well.

“Sitting here waxing poetic won’t get a fire built,” I told myself after one more look around.

Every tree was coated with snow. The edges of the Jante were thick with ice. The hole behind the cabin was probably solid ice. That would need chopping open on a daily basis. The herd was about two miles away, gathered near the BLM line. They’d spied me riding past and were probably making their way to the feedlot nearby. Knowing the cattle were hungry, I drew in a deep breath of air so cold it would make your lungs crackle, then got to work. Elbowing the door open, arms filled with a tote, bedding, clothes, etc I gave the interior a fast once over. There were no signs of critter infestation right off, but I’d check the cupboards anyway. It was a basic place. No frills. Cowboys didn’t need frills. All we needed was food, water, a horse—or snowmobile/ATV nowadays—and a place to lay our heads. The bunk beds sat against the wall, bare of any bedding. I’d brought sheets and a pillow. That would be tended to later, though. Right now, it was fire and food.

Over the course of an hour, I hauled in firewood that we’d piled up around back in the summer. Several cords all split and stacked. After a bit of gentle persuasion, a roaring fire was crackling in the stone fireplace. As the small area warmed, I lugged in totes of canned and boxed food then flung open the cupboards in the food prep area. There were no rodents or raccoons to fight off, so I filled the meager shelves and then opened a can of beans with franks. I heated it over the fire as there was no cookstove. Just a sink with a hand pump, a rough-cut island, and a rickety table with two chairs. And one window that looked out at the river. No electricity, no cell service, no flushing toilet. There was an old bathtub—turn of the century thing—that hung on the side of the shitter. It was Jeremiah Johnson for sure out here, and that suited me fine.

As I chomped on my beans and franks—frank actually for I’d only found one chunk of wiener so far—I stared at the fire leaping behind the grate as a soft sort of serenity settled over me. Yeah, I’d miss streaming movies, but I had a brand new book to read. A horror story about aliens taking over humans that Perry had given me for Christmas. It was thick enough to break a toe if it fell on your foot so that would keep me entertained at night. Daylight hours would be filled with chores. Speaking of which…

I chucked the can into the steel sink and pumped up some icy cold water to fill the can and soak my fork. Cupping my hands, I lifted bitter cold water to my lips and drank. The water supply was a bored well that had been dug in the late 30s and still produced. If the Jante seeped into the old well casing or not, we didn’t think about it. No one had fallen sick yet. We cowhands were sturdy stock no microbe could knock down.

The day was growing short when I exited the cabin. Winter sure was sparse with the sunlight. Hopping on the snowmobile, I pulled on my helmet and rode to the pole barn down the river a mile or so. Patting myself on the back for having the good sense to stop and plug in the block warmer. I plowed off a spot and rolled the six round bale feeders into place. After I’d set them up, I switched out the plow attachment for a bale spear. By the time the first Black Angus appeared, I had the first of a half dozen round bales speared and was on my way to the plowed area. The recently herded cattle arrived in dribs and drabs as I cut into the wrapping which covered bale number one. I climbed out of the large, round steel feeder and climbed into feeder two. Wash, rinse, and repeat six times. As soon as they saw the hay, they shoved their heads into the feeders. The herd would linger here for a month and then we’d drive them to the ranch in preparation for calving to start. We’d sold most of last year’s calves in the fall, the males anyway. We would separate the female calves from the herd and hold them in a different lot until calving was over and then turn them out to pasture again.

“The circle of life, huh?” I asked one of several ladies chomping on hay. She blinked at me with a guarded expression. I respected that. These cows weren’t anything like Bossy the family milking cow. They spent little time around humans, leading them to be wary. They did know that humans meant food as they’d been hayed in various lots all over Landon’s ten thousand acres. So they weren’t mean…well, most weren’t. Sometimes after having a calf, some cows got downright ugly, but that was a rarity. “Hakuna Matata.”

The cow blew out a steamy breath that lingered in the air for a second or two. I let her and her sisters eat in peace. Locking the barn doors against possible thievery, I climbed onto the Cat and headed home as night crept up on me. The beam of the snowmobile cut through the rapidly encroaching dark. A moose lumbered into my path, a big bull who swung his massive head toward me as I throttled down and made a wide berth. I did not want to tussle with a moose or crash into one. Walking all the way to the cabin would suck.

“Watch out for the wolves,” I shouted over my shoulder. Bullwinkle faded into the night as I raced home, my stomach grumbling steadily. Dinner would be some fry bread, canned chicken, and a cup of coffee followed by a pudding cup. Just thinking of the simple but filling fare made my gut roar. The stars were out when I pulled up in front of the cabin. I hustled inside, stomped the snow off my boots, and peeled off layer after layer. An hour later I was spread out on the lower bunk in my long johns, pillow behind my back, blankets up to my chin, reading and spooning pudding into my mouth. My cup of camp coffee sat on the well-worn and dusty floorboards, within easy reach. I’d checked in with Nate as my coffee had perked over the fire. He informed me that there were rumblings about bad weather coming in fast and hard. I wasn’t worried. I had all I needed here. More than enough to be honest. Two men could survive here with ease until spring arrived if need be. I thanked him for the update and signed off.

The call of a lone wolf broke the silence. I glanced at the sole window over the sink as if the wolf would be peering in at me. My gaze darted to the door. The drop bar rested in its holders. I tsked myself and returned to my book, dozing off then jerking awake, my sight flying to the door. After I did that several times, I snapped the hardcover shut and finished my coffee. Then—because of wolves and/or aliens, but mostly aliens—I patted the shotgun propped up right beside the bed. Feeling secure, I lifted the kerosene lamp from the floor and then blew it out. The dancing light from the fire tossed a soft glow over the cabin that helped dispel any lingering alien concerns. Well, most of them anyway. Stupid aliens. I should have brought a romance novel. Pussy and dick didn’t scare me at all. Brain-eating aliens on the other hand…

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