Timber Lake (The Snowy Range Series, #2) Read Online Free

future. The ranch was a lot like him, fresh and raw, the buildings still carrying the scent of newly sawn wood. It was shiny and blatantly touristy, but he didn’t mind. Three Bars was midway between the Laramie office and the scenic byway bisecting the Snowy Range and the national forest.
    As new as the guest ranch was, there were already quite a few amenities on offer: RV pads in a cluster off to the north of the property, a knot of small cabins spaced wide enough apart you got the illusion of privacy, a central lodge where you could take your meals and hang out after a long day filled with activities, and a series of barns and paddocks for visiting riders or for local residents needing to board their horses. The surrounding hills were riddled with pathways as antelope and Black Angus cattle shared grazing rights. A relatively flat section of the valley to the east had been set aside for hay and barley where the terrain was most suited to a wagon wheel irrigation system.
    The boarding had sealed the deal for him. He didn’t mind living rough when it came to his own comfort, but for his mare and the ornery mule who was velcroed to her side, nothing but the best would do. What Sonny had seen so far suited his needs perfectly. As for his mounts, he hoped they’d settle in fast and be ready to rock ’n roll. Summer lasted about as long as a smoke in a gale in these parts. To meet his targets and do preliminary studies, he needed to get into the high country before he ran out of luck and reasonable weather.
    “Is everything to your liking, Mr. Rydell?” The manager strolled toward him, his gait rolling and loose jointed. He looked like a cowboy should. Tall, lean and squinty-eyed. Sonny had been surprised to learn the man was a city boy from corporate offices in Nashville running a string of western B&Bs and guest ranches. Knowing that did nothing to detract from the image. From their frequent phone calls and emails, Sonny knew the man to be clever, resourceful and willing to listen to local wisdom when it came to fitting in.
    Extending his hand, he said, “Sonny, please, Mr. Bowen. Nice to finally meet you.”
    The man tipped his hat and shook the proffered hand. “Sonny, it is. You can call me Hank.” He grinned, flashing even, white teeth. “Actually it’s William, Billy Bob to those who knew me back when in Tennessee. The VP thought Hank sounded better on the letterhead.” The big man chuckled as he said, “I live to serve.”
    Sonny scanned the horizon, admiring the view. He asked, “How long you been open, Hank?” He took a step toward the barn just downslope of his cabin, antsy to check on his mare again. His mom wasn’t a horse person and Gramps had begged off when he’d seen the steep drop so he’d had to satisfy himself with a quick look around and a pat on her nose.
    Hank followed along, explaining, “We opened the lodge three years ago, testing the waters. Corporate thought we were nuts pushing to go live in the middle of winter. Turned out to be a banner year for snow, and the ski facility couldn’t handle the demand. That left us sitting pretty and raking in enough capital to move ahead with phase two.”
    “Phase two?”
    Hank nodded. “You’re making phase two your home. These cabins, the barns, and the paddocks came next. Earlier this year we put in a dozen RV pads and hook-ups.” He grimaced. “Don’t mind telling you that was a bitch of an experience.”
    Sonny chuckled. “Let me guess. Environmental impact statements?”
    “Out the whazoo. If I’d known we’d have our very own environmental specialist living on site, I’d have waited a year and let you take point.”
    Chuckling, Sonny remarked, “Sewage systems aren’t my strong suit. I’m more a wetlands and timber specialist, but yeah. I know what you mean. Been studying the lingo for nearly six years now.”
    “How long before you’re fluent?”
    Sonny skidded down the bank and landed with a jolt and an expulsion of