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

breath. Dusting himself off, he said, “Word in D.C. is that I won’t earn my translator wings until I’m at least forty.”
    “They’ll have changed the rules by then, won’t they?”
    “Bingo, Hank. I’m figuring it’s job security if nothing else.”
    A soft nicker greeted them, followed by an ear-bleeding bray. Hank barked, “Jesus, where’d you find that thing? He looks like he was put together by a committee what never seen a mule.” Hank’s good ole boy drawl came through thick as molasses.
    Amused, Sonny explained, “My best guess, looking at the solid bone and the coloring, is that the dam was an Appaloosa draft cross. That might explain the size, though he looks more pinto than Appy with the splotches of white.”
    Hank bent down to give the mule a better look, shaking his head the whole time. “Where’d you find ’em?” He flicked a finger to include the little mare. “Kinda small for a big fella like you, ain’t she?” He dug in his shirt pocket and extracted a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and lifted an eyebrow. Sonny nodded yes, thankful his mom and grandpa weren’t around to remind him he needed to quit.
    A niggling thought bumped shoulders with a vague promise. A trade actually. When he was out on trail, doing surveys, whatever... no smoking allowed. But in bars, with friends shooting the shit, yeah he was gonna indulge. You kept your sanity whatever way worked. This was his way until he found something a little more interesting to satisfy his cravings.
    Like a boyfriend. Or a fuck buddy. Hell, even a casual hookup would do the trick...
    Sighing with satisfaction Sonny inhaled, held it for a heartbeat and exhaled through his nose, the smoke drifting away in the light breeze.
    Hank set a booted foot on the lowest rail of the paddock fence and confessed, “The missus would kick my ass six ways from Sunday.” He flicked the ash off the smoldering tip. “I hate sneaking around but...” He shrugged. “She’s a teetotaler, too. Makes it hard, ya know?”
    Sonny did, in a way. His mom had a whole set of rules to live by. Most were good, healthful even. Good book kinda living. When his dad passed, she’d had to take on being mother and father to her three kids, despite having a tribe of women and Gramps to help her along the way. Maggie Rydell stepped up to the plate, as always, doing it her way. With discipline, respect, and a boatload of compromise. It had laid a good foundation for when he was ready to take the next step.
    In answer to Hank’s question about the mare, Sonny said, “I picked them up at an auction over in Pennsy right before classes started at the university. They were in a holding pen, just the two of them. Skinny, bones and ribs sticking out. Feet hadn’t been trimmed in God only knows how long. That old mule, he wouldn’t leave the mare. Anyone could see he was hell bent on protecting her.” He scratched the mare’s muzzle and cooed a greeting. “The auction was done for the day, leaving them as the last two to be loaded onto the meat wagon. They didn’t want the mule, just the mare. He damn near kicked them into the next county when they tried herding her into the chute.”
    The manager muttered, “Shit. I hate hearing that kind of thing.”
    “Well, there was no way I was leaving either of them to that hell. I had fifty bucks in my pocket. The driver was the one who took it. Wished me luck.” Sonny shuddered, remembering that day as clear as if it had just happened yesterday.
    Cocking his head, Hank said, “Let me guess. You never owned a horse before.”
    “You got that in one. What I did own was a broke down stock trailer I picked up earlier that day. I was gonna use it to haul my shit across country, then maybe pick up a horse when I got settled. Funny how things work out.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, coupla nice ladies from a rescue organization helped me load them and gave me some phone numbers for a farrier and a place to get enough hay to