Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

looking forward again to climbing up into the driver’s seat of his truck, and heading off down the road.

“Don’t worry, Buck. I’m not pulling up stakes any time soon. I still need to visit with my folks for a bit. And I still have to work things out with Jenny.”

With that thought in mind, Hugh found a spot overlooking the ranch house. He dismounted Buck, then pulled his binoculars out of the saddle bag.

After adjusting the focus on the high-powered instrument, he could see his brother and his dad just getting ready to climb into the pickup truck, obviously going out to do their ranch work.

Then he spotted two blondes walking down the porch steps and heading toward the horse barn.

“I’ll bet that’s Jenny and Mary,” Hugh told Buck. “It looks like they are getting along just fine. I’m real glad for that. She needed a friend.”

Hugh packed his binoculars away, and remounted Buck. He nudged him in a direction that would take them on a slow circumnavigation of the ranch perimeter. Hugh knew that if they weren’t in too big of a hurry, and stopped occasionally along the way, that could be a day-long excursion.

He figured on spending today, and one more night out there, then heading back to the home place tomorrow morning.

“And then we’ll see what we’ll see,” Hugh said, mindful of what he had learned during his visit with God last night.

After about two hours casual traveling, Hugh came upon a small log cabin high up on a ridge. It was abandoned now, and had been for quite some time. This cabin had an interesting history.

It was built in the late ’60s by hippies seeking to get back to the land, before Hugh’s parents had acquired the ranch property. Hugh marveled at the ignorance that must have accompanied these naive youths to this almost inaccessible location. At best, it was difficult to reach on anything but horseback, and it would be locked in and totally inaccessible for almost the entire winter by deep snow.

While he admitted he was impressed by their energy and ingenuity in crafting this cabin in the wilderness in the first place, he was amazed at their naivety in thinking that they could sustain themselves here for very long at all.

It turned out, after all, that reality raised its ugly head, and they didn’t last through a second winter season.

Hugh had to shake his head as he and Buck passed the place. Like most every real estate and business person eventually always learned, the three most important things for success were: Location, location, location. And Hugh couldn’t imagine a possibly worst place for pot-smoking, tie-dyed wearing, Aquarius-singing dropouts to try to settle than high up on a ridge in a deep forest, where the northern Idaho winters are extremely harsh and unforgiving.

A little further down the trail, Buck violently shied, almost dumping Hugh from the saddle. “Whoa, boy. Settle,” Hugh said to sooth his horse, while craning his neck to scan for the trouble. He knew his horse well enough to trust his senses, which he knew were much better than his own.

Finally, Hugh spotted a huge set of antlers almost perfectly camouflaged among the forest trees. At the same time as he slowly and carefully removed his rifle from its scabbard, he peered through the trees to make out the full outline of the moose that he knew would be there.

Hugh often encountered moose on these outings. Normally, it was a live-and-let-live kind of situation—but that was entirely up to the moose. They could be quite cranky and unpredictable, and it was always expedient to be ready for anything.

The ranch horses were very sensitive to the moose scent, and were deathly afraid of them, hence Buck’s initial reaction.

With rifle at the ready, Hugh slowly guided the buckskin past the moose, which was about twenty-five yards away. Of course, Hugh had no desire to shoot the animal unnecessarily. But, if it made a move toward them, he’d be ready.

Buck stepped nervously, his skin muscles twitching as if he was fighting off a swarm of horse flies.

When they had passed safely beyond the moose, both horse and rider relaxed again.

“Good boy, Buck. Thanks for the warning,” Hugh said, patting his horse on the neck.

Hugh knew from many experiences while on these outings that a good horse was as good as any watchdog for alerting to danger in the forest. All one had to do was watch them carefully for signs that their radar-like ears or sensitive noses had picked up the sound or scent of a predator.

Just like when he was on the road in his truck, Hugh’s stomach told him that it was time to stop for lunch. He found a good spot to dismount that had some grass for Buck, and a good view of the ranch for himself.

He pulled out his binoculars, and trained them on the ranch. At first, he didn’t see any activity, but eventually he spotted a lone figure swimming in the pool. It was almost certainly Jenny, he thought. He doubted that his mom or Mary would be swimming this early in the day, with so many chores constantly needing doing.

He continued to watch as she swam laps.

“She’s good, Buck,” he said. Impressed by the smooth, seemingly effortless way she glided through the water and made her expert flip turns at each end.

As Hugh continued to watch, she finished her laps, and he saw her climb out of the pool and settle onto one of the lounge chairs. He couldn’t see great detail, but from what he could see he appreciated her lithe figure, and the way that her beautifully proportioned body looked in the bikini.

Then, he immediately felt guilty, as if he had been spying on her like a peeping Tom, and quickly lowered the binoculars.

“Whoo, boy,