His Outback Cowgirl(20)

Ethan nodded toward the assortment of bags attached to her saddle. “Which bag is your EpiPen in? I’ve read up on how to use it.”

Bridie patted the black bag in front of her right thigh and banished a surge of pleasure at his concern. It wouldn’t matter who he travelled with, if they had an allergy he’d have shown the same sensible care. “It’s in here. I’m sure I won’t be coming off second best with any bee but thanks for being prepared. My bear spray is also in there.”

“Great.” Seriousness tempered the smile in Ethan’s eyes. “Not that you’ll need to use it. You won’t be sneaking off to take photos, let alone of any bears, will you?”

Ethan already knew her too well. She widened her eyes. “Sneaking off? Me? I’d never do such a thing.”

His chuckle was deep, husky and strummed across her senses. She focused on a kingfisher that landed on a nearby willow branch and not on how Ethan’s laughter caused her breath to hitch. They hadn’t even been gone two hours and she still had two days to conceal the effect he had on her.

Captain, and then Cloud, finished drinking and lifted their heads. Ethan gathered up his reins. “If you’re all right to keep going, we’ll climb higher and then take a break and have lunch before looking for the bighorn sheep?”

“Sounds great. Lead the way.”

They crossed the creek and again headed into the forest. Used to hiding her emotions the past six months, Bridie didn’t mask the contentment her face would reveal. With every mile that they rode deeper into the backcountry her sadness fell away. The closer they drew to the sky the more connected she felt to her father. They’d always loved riding and camping and the Snowy Mountains had been a favorite place to indulge their passion. She might be on a different mountain range, in a different hemisphere, and her father might no longer be with her, but up here her grief didn’t bite quite so hard.

When the air had thinned and the horses had worked up a sweat they stopped at a small spring-fed clearing. While the horses rested and grazed, she sat beside Ethan on a log to enjoy the ham and salad wraps Rosa had packed. A companionable silence grew between them that neither broke. With lunch over, Ethan lowered himself to the grass, pulled his hat brim low, stretched out, and closed his eyes.

Bridie stood. She was sure she’d seen a flash of brown animal hide in the trees. She was yet to photograph a moose. She edged away. It was either explore or stay and fantasize how the tanned line of Ethan’s jaw would feel covered in stubble.

“You’re not sneaking away, are you?” His lazy tone belied the tautness of his body. Even when resting, Ethan gave the impression he’d be ready should trouble arise, or if she ventured too far off on her own.

“Of course not. I’m exploring, not sneaking.” She walked a body length away. “See still here and I’ve found a bighorn sheep track to photograph.”

Ethan came to his feet. He settled his hat on his head, a crease between his brows. “Just one, or a lot?”

“Two actually.”

Ethan crouched and examined the two cloven hoof tracks. Expression grim, he then scanned the surrounding area.

“It’s rare to see a single set of bighorn sheep tracks. They’re gregarious animals and keep together.”

Bridie snapped a picture of the tracks and then a panoramic shot of the clearing. “What would cause a bighorn sheep to go off alone?”

“Illness, injury, predators ... poachers.”

Bridie lowered her camera. “Lesley mentioned poachers.”

Ethan’s mouth tightened. “So did Henry.”

He considered the tracks again. “This might mean nothing but let’s keep our eyes open all the same. The meadow where Cordell and I saw the bighorn sheep last trip isn’t far. We won’t get too close but with your camera lens you’ll be able to get some good shots.”

They swung into their saddles and it wasn’t long before Ethan stopped and pointed to his left through a wide gap in the trees. Bridie halted Molly and gazed toward a rocky slope that ended in a gentle meadow. Scattered over the grass grazed a small herd of horned sheep. She smiled. Her first bighorns.

She raised her camera and through the zoom lens captured every detail of their tan brown coats and white muzzles and rumps. She zoomed closer in on a curved pair of thick horns that would deliver a wallop in the fall when the rams fought for dominance.

“I thought they’d look like regular sheep but they don’t at all.” She returned her camera to the saddlebag. “They look more ... regal.”

Ethan nodded before they continued along the faint trail. The sun climbed higher in the sky. Every so often they’d stop for a photo opportunity but otherwise Ethan maintained a steady pace. All day he’d been watchful and observant. He’d scan hillsides and valleys, he’d search the ground for tracks but since their stop at the spring she’d sensed a new vigilance. If there was any trace of poachers, she had no doubt Ethan would find it.