Timber Lake (The Snowy Range Series, #2) by Nya Rawlyns Page A

the north shore of the lake. “Pull in there, make yourselves at home. There’s grazing and access to the lake. There’s some fire pits still functional, should do you for now.” He turned to go, then paused and said, “He ain’t gonna be happy.”
    “I know.”
    “Your funeral, son.” Before Sonny could come back with a snarky retort, George said, “Lemme talk to him.”
    “Why, is he going to shoot me?” He barked a laugh. “Besides, it’s only a half mile, for Christ’s sake.”
    “You got any idea our altitude here?” Sonny shook his head no. “It’s ten thousand one hundred and fifty six feet. You go walk a half mile on that sand and then you tell me.” He left to meet up with Michael at the entrance gate.
    Sonny carefully eased into a level spot under the shade of a stand of pine. After taking a quick survey to make sure they had enough standing timber to hang a highline, he pulled the rope and fittings out of the tack box and set it aside.
    The more he tried concentrating on setting up camp, the more worried he became he might have gone a hair too far in the payback is a bitch department. Sonny’s stomach flipped as Michael jerked to a halt by the other ranger and exchanged a few words with the man. Together they walked back toward the rig, George’s voice carrying in the thin mountain air. “Don’t mind admitting it surprised all of us when we heard you was coming up here. Thought... well, we figured after what happened, you’d be pushing paper for most of the summer.”
    “So did I. Paul had a change of heart. Decided I was too valuable to put out to pasture.”
    George chuckled. “He couldn’t find another patsy, you mean.” The older man reached out, squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, none of us think you were wrong.”
    Michael shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe I need to work harder on my aim.” That comment had George laughing out loud.
    Sonny cautiously joined the two men, his curiosity fired up at the strange conversation. He didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but he wasn’t about to ask for clarification and make himself feel even more foolish than he already did.
    George looked Sonny’s way and asked, “Does he know?”
    “Drop it, George. I’m paying my dues. That should be good enough for now.” As an afterthought, Michael said. “This here is Dr. Seamus Rydell. He’s the one looking to expand SNOTEL’s reach.”
    The ranger and Sonny shook hands. George asked, “You ever been to the lodge?”
    Michael interrupted, “I have. Why don’t you take Dr. Rydell, show him around. I’ll unload the stock and get them settled on a tie line, if that’s okay with you.”
    Sonny wanted to protest that he should help unload the horses and his ornery mule, but George took him by the elbow and muttered under his breath, “Right this way, Doctor. Leave him be for a few.”
    Sand Lake lay in a bowl, the head wider than the base and surrounded by low hills just a few hundred feet higher than the lake itself. A herd of elk, Sonny counted at least twenty, grazed on the southwestern slopes.
    George pointed to a spot where a narrow track truncated at a cement foundation. “That’s all that’s left of the main lodge. You can still find fifteen or so cabins scattered around, some in better shape than others.”
    “How old is this place?”
    Scratching his temple, the ranger said, “No one seems to know for sure when it was set up. Sometime in the twenties. The University has survey maps from the late teens and the lodge isn’t shown. But ten years later, it’s clearly marked on the maps.” He walked toward a small grouping of one-room cabins. “You can still find some furniture, a wagon frame, that sort of thing.”
    Sonny entered the cabin closest to a stand of trees. The construction was lodge pole pine chinked with narrow wood slats. Inside he found an ancient ceramic cook stove similar to some antiques he’d seen from the thirties and