about the mules, the horses, the mountains. Ten years ago, she would have felt like the master guide, batting back every question, a fountain of information and entertainment. Today, she wished he would be quiet. She could use the time to think without the guest’s constant chatter.
At the lakes, Gabe had long since finished unloading their gear. She appreciated that he was meticulous and had wound and tied off the fifty-foot long lashropes they used to secure the packs to the animals unlike some packers who flung them aside to get knotted up. When they arrived, she saw that he’d folded and stowed the tarps into the now empty pannier bags. He helped the riders dismount, removed the horses’ bridles and tied up the stirrups, so they would not catch on anything on the way back. Maybe she wouldn’t kill him, she decided as they sorted the animals into two strings, tying them nose to rump with a tail-tie to keep the animals from trying to pass each other along the trail. They tied the horses to each other first and put the mules at the end because they were more reliable about going around the steep and often tricky switchbacks without taking a shortcut from one level to another.
As she and Gabe mounted up for the ride home, she saw Mr. Chatterbox discuss when Gabe or Kristine would be back to pick them up and hand Gabe a tip. Because the strong man has done all the work of the day. She seethed. She waved to the group and wished them well before glaring at her brother and spurring her horse toward home. Let moneybags eat dust, she thought somewhat testily.
“You know we’ll split,” he hollered to her on the High Trail.
“Fine,” Kristine called back. “Whatever. But you get the guests next time. You can try out being Mr. Entertainment for four hours.”
“I thought maybe you’d stopped for a burger on the way in.”
Kristine urged Boomerang to extend his stride, putting more distance between herself and her brother. She’d done enough talking for the day. He’d have to keep himself company. Tough for him if he’d been lonely on the ride up.
For the first time that day, she looked around her and remembered one of the big motivators for accepting Gabe’s request to come back. The office space couldn’t be beat. A ceiling of cumulus clouds chilled her when they obscured the sun. The steady beat of hooves on the trail and the rhythm of Boomerang beneath her brought a song to her heart. She started to hum, then to sing, her mood salvaged from the work of the morning. These were the moments she treasured in the backcountry where she had asked so many difficult questions of the world around her and felt the answers in her core.
These trails had led her to her confidence. Out here it was she, not her father, who was the expert. How often had she heard, “Thank goodness the guide knows the way…” How often had she hidden her fears of the lightning and thunder, so her guests didn’t worry about their safety? Enough times that she truly wasn’t afraid anymore. She had met those physical challenges and become stronger for it.
And it was the wilderness that had made her unafraid of her sexuality. The vastness of the land around her seemed to quiet the conflict she had about her desires. These mountains had shaped her identity, and she returned this time to ask again for direction. She knew that the longer she stayed at her father’s ranch in Quincy, the less likely she was going to ever leave the tiny mountain town. That she excelled at the management side of her father’s business only served to strengthen her father’s argument that she was meant to take over the ranch someday, especially when it came to their breeding program. As she had proven talking to Mr. Chatterbox, she had an eye for good crosses, and their mules were some of the most sought after in the state, and she was certainly proud of her involvement in training the animals. She had found that to be the highlight of her last six months
At the lakes, Gabe had long since finished unloading their gear. She appreciated that he was meticulous and had wound and tied off the fifty-foot long lashropes they used to secure the packs to the animals unlike some packers who flung them aside to get knotted up. When they arrived, she saw that he’d folded and stowed the tarps into the now empty pannier bags. He helped the riders dismount, removed the horses’ bridles and tied up the stirrups, so they would not catch on anything on the way back. Maybe she wouldn’t kill him, she decided as they sorted the animals into two strings, tying them nose to rump with a tail-tie to keep the animals from trying to pass each other along the trail. They tied the horses to each other first and put the mules at the end because they were more reliable about going around the steep and often tricky switchbacks without taking a shortcut from one level to another.
As she and Gabe mounted up for the ride home, she saw Mr. Chatterbox discuss when Gabe or Kristine would be back to pick them up and hand Gabe a tip. Because the strong man has done all the work of the day. She seethed. She waved to the group and wished them well before glaring at her brother and spurring her horse toward home. Let moneybags eat dust, she thought somewhat testily.
“You know we’ll split,” he hollered to her on the High Trail.
“Fine,” Kristine called back. “Whatever. But you get the guests next time. You can try out being Mr. Entertainment for four hours.”
“I thought maybe you’d stopped for a burger on the way in.”
Kristine urged Boomerang to extend his stride, putting more distance between herself and her brother. She’d done enough talking for the day. He’d have to keep himself company. Tough for him if he’d been lonely on the ride up.
For the first time that day, she looked around her and remembered one of the big motivators for accepting Gabe’s request to come back. The office space couldn’t be beat. A ceiling of cumulus clouds chilled her when they obscured the sun. The steady beat of hooves on the trail and the rhythm of Boomerang beneath her brought a song to her heart. She started to hum, then to sing, her mood salvaged from the work of the morning. These were the moments she treasured in the backcountry where she had asked so many difficult questions of the world around her and felt the answers in her core.
These trails had led her to her confidence. Out here it was she, not her father, who was the expert. How often had she heard, “Thank goodness the guide knows the way…” How often had she hidden her fears of the lightning and thunder, so her guests didn’t worry about their safety? Enough times that she truly wasn’t afraid anymore. She had met those physical challenges and become stronger for it.
And it was the wilderness that had made her unafraid of her sexuality. The vastness of the land around her seemed to quiet the conflict she had about her desires. These mountains had shaped her identity, and she returned this time to ask again for direction. She knew that the longer she stayed at her father’s ranch in Quincy, the less likely she was going to ever leave the tiny mountain town. That she excelled at the management side of her father’s business only served to strengthen her father’s argument that she was meant to take over the ranch someday, especially when it came to their breeding program. As she had proven talking to Mr. Chatterbox, she had an eye for good crosses, and their mules were some of the most sought after in the state, and she was certainly proud of her involvement in training the animals. She had found that to be the highlight of her last six months
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