Free Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) by Laura Crum

route."
    "That's right." Lonny was bridling Gunner, and didn't look at me as he spoke. "If you don't show up, I'll come looking for you."
    "Okay." Watching his back, the long muscles strong despite the roll over his belt, I felt a surge of affection. "Give me a hug," I said.
    He turned, holding Gunner's reins with one hand, and hugged me roughly. "Have fun," he said. Then he handed the horse to me. "You'd better get going."
    I smiled at him, knowing from long experience that he disliked protracted farewells. Well, so did I.
    Setting my foot in the stirrup, I swung up on Gunner. Lonny put Plumber's lead rope into my hand and our fingers touched. He met my eyes, and his own eyes crinkled at the corners. "I envy you," he said.
    I smiled. "See you soon." Taking a half turn around the saddle horn with Plumber's lead rope, I clucked to Gunner and called Roey, feeling slightly light-headed. Here we go, I thought, here we go.
    The sun shone in my eyes as I rode out from under the pine trees; I was headed east. I turned to wave good-bye to Lonny, saw him standing in front of the old corrals, waving to me, and my heart twisted. Why so many choices, I wondered, not for the first time. To fulfill my dream, I had to leave Lonny behind. Just as he'd had to leave me behind in order to fulfill his. Why did life have to be like this?
    I didn't know. I only knew I was riding down the trail on a bright summer morning in the High Sierra, headed for Snow Lake. This was the here and now, the present moment. It was time to toe that line.
    Relief Peak glowed ahead of me; the ridges rose around me. I was where I'd wanted to be for so many years.
    I reached down and smoothed a strand of Gunner's heavy black mane over to the right side of his neck. He walked down the trail, looking alert. Roey swished through the meadow grass beside us, a wide grin on her face. I grinned back at her.
    So here we were. I began, slowly, to lapse into the trail rider's mind-set. Part of my attention stayed on the horses; I guided Gunner to the safer, easier parts of the trail, looked over my shoulder every few moments to take note of how Plumber was doing. I admired the scenery meanwhile, watched the dog scampering through the rocks, enjoyed the sun on my face. At the same time my mind drifted, going over the route ahead, touching on Lonny, wondering briefly what was happening back at the veterinary clinic.
    In this way we progressed uneventfully up Camelback Ridge. I felt some trepidation as we approached the bridge, but did my best to hide it, knowing my own attitude would influence my horses. I talked out loud to the dog as we neared the spot, speaking in a light, conversational tone as though I were talking to a companion about the weather. Nothing settles a spooky horse better than the sound of his rider's voice sounding happy and unconcerned.
    So I told Roey what a nice day it was, and sat easy and relaxed in my saddle, and though Gunner hesitated briefly and snorted, at a gentle thump on his ribs, he stepped forward onto the bridge. Snorting again and cocking a watchful ear at the odd-sounding thunks his hooves made on the wood, he tiptoed forward, as if he were walking on eggs.
    But he went. Plumber followed. They'd been over this bridge before. They knew it could be done.
    Once we were on the other side I heaved a deep sigh of relief. There was nothing too scary ahead, as far as I knew.
    Upwards, ever upwards we went. Then, topping the ridge, we came down to the trail fork that led to Wheat's Meadow. I let the horses and the dog drink at the creek and then continued on, headed over the next ridge.
    I was starting to relax now. The horses' necks were slightly damp with sweat; they appeared to be handling rocky areas easily and confidently. We climbed a small area of switchbacks that had been dynamited into a solid granite face, and despite the rock and the exposure, neither horse hesitated or slipped once.
    Good. Very good. I let my eyes wander over the