Free Montana Refuge by Alice Sharpe Page A

you?”
    “You still take your own thermos on horseback?” she said, amused.
    “Sure. I been riding Shasta so long she knows when I grab for the thermos, her job is to move real smooth. Easier in a wagon, ain’t it, Ned?”
    The bigger of two gold horses tossed his head as though he’d understood Andy’s comment and was agreeing.
    Julie did her best to pour the coffee without spilling it. The thermos was large and old, maybe an antique, the cylinder dented from repeated falls or kicks or whatever...but the coffee that poured forth was steaming-hot and black as tar. She handed the hot cup to Andy as he bunched the reins in one hand.
    “Grab yourself a mug and join me,” he said, lifting the cup.
    “No, thanks,” she said as she screwed the top on.
    “You ask me, he still misses you,” Andy said after trying a sip and sighing with pleasure.
    “Who misses who?” Julie asked.
    “The boss. He misses you. Have to admit when I saw you last night I thought maybe you’d come back for good. You was the best thing that happened to this ranch. It was different after you left.”
    She looked at him again, stunned by all these revelations.
    “Sure hope you think twice ’bout leaving again,” he said and then held up the cup. “Okay, I know this ain’t none of my business. Get bored sitting here in a wagon.”
    “I thought you were slated to help Rose.”
    “Not with the driving. Heck, she can handle a team as good as anyone. I planned on helping her once we’re at camp, that’s all. Like being on a horse a whole lot better.”
    “Then finish your coffee and stop the wagon,” she said.
    He did as she asked. She screwed the empty cup back onto the thermos, handed it to Andy, then jumped out and came around to his side, pausing to greet the horses as she passed in front of them. “Move over,” she said, gazing up at Andy, and he did as she asked, reaching down to lend her a hand to climb back aboard.
    “Teach me how to do this and then you won’t have to babysit me,” she said.
    He flashed her another grin. “Now, missy, that ain’t a bad idea, no sirree. Just coax ’em on with a gentle word or two and flip the reins easylike and they’ll get going. They know what they have to do.”
    Julie did as directed and the team took off again. By the time they’d traveled another two or three miles, she was getting the hang of it, and by the time they’d made ten, Andy had relocated to Shasta and was riding alongside the wagon, issuing orders as needed, the disreputable thermos tucked back into his saddlebag where just the red top showed. The only rough spot came when the trail veered at a sharp angle that tilted the wagon and Julie spent a fair amount of time hanging on for dear life, hoping the horses knew what they were doing—and discovering they did.
    They made the first campsite about two in the afternoon. All the camps on this ride were on Hunt ranchland except for the one two days out that crossed another rancher’s land. Pains had been taken to stock each camp with necessities for the guests when possible, things like extra fishing rods, straw bales and bow and arrows for target practice. The aim, Julie knew, was to merge the spirit of a cattle drive with the comfort of a vacation, hence Rose always insisted as much be done the old-fashioned way as possible.
    Because they used this camp off and on during the summer months for various trail rides originating from the Hunt ranch, it was an especially pretty one, situated as it was on a lovely piece of the river where breezes kept insects at bay and the rustling of overhead branches provided both shade and protection. The cows and horses would have to cross the river, but they’d do it upstream a ways where there were no rapids and the water was a good deal more shallow.
    “Tyler and me drug the fireboxes out a couple of weeks ago,” Andy said, gesturing at a duo of four-sided steel boxes each about six-feet long. He unhooked the team of horses as he