From the Boots Up Read Online Free

the
west. The road jagged through Riverside and became 130 on its journey north into
Saratoga, population about seventeen hundred, and distance about fifteen miles
from Diamond Rock Ranch.
    This time, however, Meg approached Saratoga from the
north, because she’d had to go to Laramie to pick up the saddles Stan had
requested. So she’d taken I-25 north-northwest from there to Walcott, and
turned south onto 130. She hit the outskirts of town twenty miles later and
slowed. Saratoga maintained a loose-limbed western feel, as if the original
Anglo newcomers had just decided to park their wagons among the tall cottonwoods
and Chinese elms then build houses nearby, keeping a respectable distance from
neighbors. Downtown, which encompassed barely a few blocks, was easy to find
off Highway 130, a main artery, and once Meg got past the residential areas on
the outskirts of town, she hit the area zoned for businesses, too.
    Several locals gave her the quintessential rural
wave—a raised index finger off the steering wheel of a pickup—and
she returned the greeting in kind. Tourist vehicles she recognized, as well. Those
were the sport sedans, usually with out-of-state-plates. They came for the
fishing and outdoor recreation, including Saratoga’s mineral hot springs. The
North Platte River flowed through town, and it harbored some of the most active
in the state, known among Indians for generations before the city fathers
harnessed it in the late nineteenth century and created an outdoor municipal
pool, the Hobo Hot Pool, free of charge, for sitting and soaking. If you wanted
to pay a little more, you could indulge in the nearby resort, just off
downtown. Meg had enjoyed both over the years, though now that she was in
school, she didn’t get back enough to do it. Maybe if she got a little time off
later this summer, she could. She’d also recommend the springs to the reporter,
give everybody a break at the ranch from scrutiny.
    She pulled Stan’s big Ford F-350 off 130 into the
dirt parking lot of Saratoga Feed and parked right near the entrance. She got
out and stretched, the afternoon sun of mid-May warm on her back through her
tee. A couple of older guys leaned against a beat-up blue Chevy truck nearby.
One, with features as craggy as a canyon wall, nodded at her in greeting as she
walked toward the store’s entrance. She gave him an answering nod before she
went in.
    “Hey, Chet,” she said to one of the men behind the
counter as she approached. He was a living embodiment of a Wyoming
landscape—big, raw-boned, wind-blown. His voice rumbled from his chest
like a train. He’d been doing business with her father longer than she’d been
alive.
    “Meg. Good to see you. When did you get in?”
    “Couple weeks ago. Had to finish up finals.”
    He nodded, approving. “Your dad says you got straight
As again.”
    “I did.” She gave him a grin. Worked her ass off, but
it was worth it.
    “Good to hear it. Vet school still in your plans?” he
asked as he pushed the brim of his worn ball cap back on his forehead a bit.
The Justin Boots logo on the crown was wearing off. It said “stin Boot”.
    “Yep. I’d like to stay at CSU, but I’ll apply to a
few others.” She handed him the list of items her father had requested. “Unless
I decide to be a bull rider, of course.”
    He smiled. “Taking any classes this summer?”
    “Nope. But that’s okay ’cause I’ll still graduate in
December.” And she was already preparing for her classes, with a reading list
she’d put together before the previous semester had ended.
    “I reckon there’ll be a hell of a party this side of
the Tetons after your last semester.” He glanced down at Meg’s list.
    “Well, you’re invited,” Meg said.
    “Much obliged. Where are you parked?”
    “Right out front.”
    “All right. Give us a few.”
    A bow-legged older man plunked two new pairs of
leather gloves and two tins of gall salve on the counter. A young man Meg
vaguely