Timber Lake (The Snowy Range Series, #2) (16 page)

They’d been speculating about the history of the lake. Michael resumed their discussion, saying, “My guess is that the dot on the map represents just this section. It’s mostly a pond fed by the hot spring. That would explain why the tie loggers wouldn’t have bothered building a camp in this area. The water wouldn’t have been drinkable, and downstream it’s too shallow and narrow to help move the logs.”

“So you think the upper part is new?”

“Yeah. Probably no more than a couple of years old. Give or take. How much acreage gets flooded depends a lot on the volume of water from snowmelt in the spring and the topography. Here, it’s a natural bowl shape. This had to have filled in fast. After that, normal runoff would be mostly at a maintenance level.”

Michael settled behind Sonny and said, “Come sit here, between my legs.”

Making himself as comfortable as he could on the gravel and mud surface, Sonny leaned against Michael’s broad chest and sighed with contentment as Michael wrapped him in his powerful arms. For some reason, they’d been avoiding talking about anything personal over dinner. It was as if they’d both decided, independently, to back off, cool their jets, and put their relationship back on a buddy track.

That hadn’t deterred them from their pole dance, a mind-bending, athletic explosion of passion that had left both of them gasping for air and accusing each other of mutual death by orgasm.

Michael’s chest rumbled with laughter. Sonny asked, “What’s funny?”

“Oh, just thinking of a quote I heard once.” He nibbled at Sonny’s ear, outlining the lobe with moist tongue and sharp nips. It drove Sonny nuts and he knew it.

Since there was nothing on God’s green earth he liked more than hearing Michael’s deep baritone reverberate against his back and shoulders, he persisted in asking, “Well, what is it? The quote, I mean.”

“It goes something like... ‘it doesn’t matter what you do in the bedroom so long as you don’t do it in the street and scare the horses.’ Don’t remember who said it, though.”

Sonny wriggled against Michael’s growing erection, enjoying the man’s intake of air and breathy, “Oh fuck.”

The moon was rising, waxing gibbous and casting long shadows across the surface of the pond. Unlike the upper portion where the lake was a mirror finish, a true reflecting pool, the hot-springs-fed surface danced and undulated as mist rose into the cool night air.

Michael’s body tensed. Sonny was about to ask if he saw something, when Michael husked, “You asked what we were talking about. Me and George. Back at Sand Lake.” He sucked in a breath, held it, then exhaled. “I shot a man.” The arms wrapped around his chest fell to the side. Sonny twisted around but he couldn’t see Michael’s face, hidden in shadows with the yellow glow of the lantern directly behind them.

Instead of letting Michael retreat, he gripped muscular thighs and murmured, “Tell me,” and managed to hide the surprise he felt bubbling close to the surface.

The silence stretched for so long, Sonny feared Michael had shut him out completely. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick, wavering on the edge of losing control. He described discovering an illegal trap line and tracking a line of carnage that led toward one of the Snowy’s most popular walk-in campgrounds.

“He was killing for fun, not taking the hides, just mutilating them and leaving them to die alone and suffering. When I found him, he was approaching a kid fishing on the edge of the lake. He had the knife in his right hand. It was still bloody.”

“Did you kill him?”
Please say yes, please.

“I never shot anyone before. It’s not that easy. Even under those circumstances.”

Michael’s arms were back, squeezing tight enough Sonny winced, but he gripped the man’s forearms, drew him closer and asked, “What happened?”

“I aimed for his knee. Caught his thigh instead. Nicked the femoral artery.”

“So, he lived?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad.” Sonny meant it.

Michael whispered, “Some people disagree.”

“Then they’re fools.”

“There are all kinds of fools, Tex.” He shrugged, the moment gone.

Sonny stood and extended his hand to help his lover up. As Michael balanced, he said, “Thanks for not being one of those fools, Sonny.”

Acknowledging Michael’s gratitude with a nod, Sonny followed him onto the bank where they collected their clothes and quickly dressed. As they headed back to camp, he thought Michael was right, there were all kinds of fools, and although Michael thought otherwise, in truth he
was
one...

...the kind of fool who was falling head over heels in love with Warden Michael Brooks.

Trap Line

––––––––

“Y
ou did not.” Michael tried sounding put out. With his deep voice, it came across like a pit bull snarling a warning.

“Did too.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it.” Sonny flipped his hair off his forehead, going for saucy. “Two sisters, remember? Four gal cousins. It was inevitable.”

Peanut grunted as Sonny tightened the girthing system keeping the lone pack stationary on her back. He grinned at his diminutive companion. She was built broad, nearly as wide as she was tall. Michael called her a pony. Sonny just called her his super steed.

The mule-called-Spot brayed his dismay as Sonny led the mare away from the highline.

Michael said, “He’s not going to be happy. I better keep them tied until you get back, otherwise you’re gonna have more company than you planned on.” He didn’t look entirely convinced that plan would work.

“I’ll only be a couple hours.” Sonny swept his left arm in the direction of a set of low hills fronting a granite rock face further upstream. It was clear of standing timber and offered sight lines across the valley without being overly exposed to the weather. He explained to Michael, “That looks like a good spot to take some readings. If it’s promising, we can go back later and set up a trial station.”

Sonny frowned, mentally tallying the number of experimental mini-stations he’d packed. They had small solar cells that should keep them operating for the balance of the summer. But really, all he needed was a couple weeks’ worth of field test data to tweak the program he wrote. Anything else would be a bonus.

“Wishing you’d brought more stuff along, Dr. Rydell?”

Sonny shrugged. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I’m seeing a good six or seven sites right in this area that look exactly like what I was hoping to find.” He had three full kits, with one set of spares he might be able to jury rig into a partially functioning unit, if necessary.

Assessing the situation, Michael suggested, “If you show me what to do, I can help you triangulate the instruments. That should optimize your data collection.”

Sonny’s jaw dropped. “Who are you, and what have you done with Warden Brooks?”

Huffing, Michael said, “Got me some book larning, dude. Not like some tarts I know.”

“Tart? Who’re you callin’ a tart?”

“Eyeliner, mascara. Any of that ringing a bell?” Michael batted his eyelashes. Sonny cringed. That was wrong on so many levels, he wasn’t even going there. But apparently Michael was... and did.

With an exaggerated swipe of his thumb across his tongue, Michael bent down behind the pack mare where Sonny couldn’t see what he was up to. When the man stood, he had a look—not
the
look, a different look. Still bowel-watering, though. Sauntering around the mare’s rump, Michael approached casually, panther smooth, loose joints wrapped in tense muscle. Sonny felt like prey. Mesmerized prey.

The grip on Sonny’s chin was distracting enough he wasn’t prepared to duck away from the thumb taking a pass over his eyelids, right then left. It happened so fast he wasn’t sure why he was squinting, or why his eyelids tingled and felt like he’d just emerged from a sandstorm.

“What the hell?” The bastard had plastered a thick layer of wood ash along his eyelids, like he was applying eye shadow.

Michael stepped back, surveying his handy work. Nodding, he muttered, “Not bad, not bad at all.” Tilting Sonny’s chin up and down, Michael asked, “You ever consider a nice apricot gloss? It’d be killer with that complexion of yours.”

“You son of a fucking bitch. You did not just do what I think you did.”

“Sayeth the bro who let his sisters tart him up for shits and giggles.”

Gathering up the lead rope, and what little dignity he had left, Sonny huffed, “That’s Miz Tart to you, Warden.” He tossed his unruly mane of hair off his face, going for fetching, and sneered. “I expect the camp to be cleaned up and lunch on the table by the time I get back.”

“Or what?”

“Oooor,” Sonny dragged it out, “...or I get angry, and trust me macho man, you
will
like it when I’m angry.”

Michael sing-songed, “Promises, promises,” as he ambled toward the highline to keep an eye on the mule.

****

G
rinning, Michael cocked an ear, listening as Sonny grumped his way toward the gravel beach rimming their section of the lake. He’d follow that south, then cross at the narrows where the creek joined the larger body of water. From there, he and the mare would pick their way to the first of the small hillocks rising a couple hundred feet from the flat valley floor. Fortunately, the climb didn’t look especially steep, so hoofing it shouldn’t take too much out of him. In theory.

There was the altitude and a sudden uptick in the temperature to contend with, but they’d all had enough time to acclimate. Michael admitted to himself he’d have preferred to ride, but he also understood having an extra animal to monitor meant a distraction from the reason Sonny was poking around the valley looking for good places to set up his temporary research stations.

Michael had a good understanding of what the SNOTEL stations did and how they worked after so many years patrolling the National Forest. There were six large installations spread throughout the region, most at the nine and ten thousand foot level. As he understood it, Dr. Rydell was interested in mid-altitude figures to corroborate the estimates the agency used to inform water managers and agricultural interests of climate changes and drought trends.

It was when his lover waxed poetic about algorithms and programming in some language that sounded like aliens had taken over Dr. Rydell’s brain, that he’d shut down, mumbling
uh-huhs
and
um that’s really interesting
until his eyes glazed over and Tex accused him of falling asleep. He denied it, of course. Tex, in the guise of Mister Zero, punished him for lying.

It had been his best trip to the woodshed ever.

Michael wondered, now, why he’d been so reluctant to take advantage of an opportunity to participate in something he knew was critical to understanding the ecology and environmental health of an area he loved. Damn the suits and their overzealous need to protect their images. If it hadn’t been for Paul, he wouldn’t be here, with Sonny... calling him Tex. Teasing him mercilessly. Waking up with his lean body tucked under his shoulder. Fucking him until they both nearly passed out. Making love. Loving him...

Michael thought,
Whoa, chill on that emo shit. You start down that road, there’s no going back. Sonny’s not giving you any clues he’s on that page. At all. Be smart. One day at a time, Brooks, just one day at a time.

The mule pouted, following his buddy mare’s progress. Michael snapped a lead rope to the leather halter he’d exchanged for the potentially life-threatening, unbreakable BioThane device Sonny had been so keen on using. He was sure the plastic halter was perfectly serviceable under normal conditions, but in the high country nothing was normal. Anyone who thought different often got a nasty surprise. And not infrequently, they didn’t live to whine about it.

He had some qualms about letting his man off the leash, so to speak. It would have been one thing if he himself had been familiar with the area, but—like Sonny—he was ignorant of the conditions. That made it tough just relying on visual cues and the hints offered by tight contour lines on a topo map probably years out-of-date. The map certainly hadn’t indicated that Timber Lake had grown into a substantial body of water from what was once just a hot-springs-fed small pool.

That it could change in a minute should the dam break was always a possibility, though he had no doubt Mr. Beaver would right that injustice in no time. What worried Michael more was some trapper or a hunter coming in and upsetting a beautiful equilibrium for commercial gain. It happened more often than he liked to think about, and it was a major reason why he carried a chip on his shoulder. Despite Paul’s constant reminders he was only one man and they were running too lean on resources to possibly keep up, he took it personally when the delicate balance got shot to hell because of greed or ignorance.

This was his job, dammit. He was there to serve and protect. To say different was just an excuse. And when it came to protecting what he loved, excuses didn’t cut it.

Spot’s ears twitched, his eyes pinpricks of annoyance. Michael dug his fingernails into the mule’s neck and scratched away both their irritable moods. Solving the world’s problems could wait another ten minutes. He had bedding to air and pans to clean. After that, he’d see to catching and gutting a couple trout for lunch. Maybe toss the bones where Sonny would see them.

After all, a man who didn’t tidy his camping space deserved whatever punishment his boyfriend cared to dish out.

****

P
eanut looked on with interest as Sonny crouched on the ground swearing softly. “Dammit, what part of rocky didn’t you get, you idiot? Rocky. Mountains. Anything ringing a bell?”

What had looked like a grassy knoll from his vantage point by the lake was anything but. Sonny regretted not sitting Michael down before they left on their adventure and giving him the low down on exactly what he wanted to do. Maybe if he had, he’d be in proud possession of pitons or another anchoring device to hold his cache of measuring devices stable.

As it was, the late morning breeze threatened to become a full gale. He’d already chased his contraption halfway down the slope a half dozen times, leaving him swearing off smoking in lieu of more quality time in the gym. On the upside, the bank of sensors hadn’t broken despite the rough treatment. That meant all he needed was a way to stabilize the damn thing.