The Wyoming Cowboy

She hunkered down and gave him a hug. “It’s pretty exciting stuff, huh.”

He stared at her with a solemn expression. “Do you want to go?”

Oh, my precious son. “If you do.”

JUNE 7

Jackson, Wyoming

IT WAS LATE Friday afternoon when the small plane from Salt Lake City, Utah, started to make its descent. The pilot came on over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to land at the only commercial airport located inside a U.S. national park.”

Johnny reached for Tracy’s hand.

“We’re flying over the Greater Yellowstone region with forests, mountains, wilderness areas and lakes as far as the eye can see. Ahead is the majestic Teton Range. You’ll see the Snake River and the plains around it in a patchwork of colors.”

Tracy found it all glorious beyond description, but when the Grand Teton came into view, knifing into the atmosphere, every passenger was struck dumb with awe.

“If you’ll look below, we’re coming up on Jackson Hole.”

Seeing it for the first time, Tracy could understand the reason for its name. It was a narrow valley surrounded by mountains and probably presented a challenge for the pilot to land safely. She clung to Johnny’s hand. Before long, their plane touched down on the tarmac and taxied to the gate.

After it came to a stop, she unclasped their seat belts. “Are you all right, honey?”

He nodded. “That was scary.”

“I agree, but we’re here safe and sound now.” She reached for her purse above the seat. “Let’s go.”

They followed the other eight passengers out the exit to the tiny terminal. The second they entered the one-story building, she heard a deep male voice call her name.

Tracy looked to her left and saw a tall, lean cowboy in jeans and a Western shirt. With his hard-muscled physique, he stood out from everyone else around him. This was no actor from a Western movie set. From his well-worn black Stetson to his cowboy boots, everything about him shouted authentic.

Johnny hugged her side. “Who’s that?” he whispered.

The thirtyish-looking stranger must have heard him because he walked over and reached out to shake Johnny’s hand. “My name’s Carson Lundgren. I’m the man who sent your mom the letter inviting you to the ranch. You have to be John.” His eyes traveled over Tracy’s son with a compassion she could feel.

He nodded.

“Have you found your stomach yet, or is it still up in the air?” His question made Johnny laugh. He couldn’t have said anything to break the ice faster. “I’ll tell you a secret. When I was your age and my grandpa took me on my first plane ride around the Teton Valley, I didn’t find my stomach for a week, but you get used to it.”

While her son was studying him in amazement, his hot blue gaze switched to Tracy. Her medium height meant she had to look up at him. He removed his hat, revealing a head of dark blond hair, attractively disheveled.

“Mrs. Baretta, it’s a pleasure to meet you and your son.”

“We’re excited to be here, Mr. Lundgren, and honored by the invitation. Please call us Johnny and Tracy.”

“Terrific. You can call me Carson.” He coughed for a few seconds. “Forgive me. I do that quite often. Something I picked up overseas. It’s not contagious.”

Johnny’s head tipped back to look at him. “You used to be a marine like my dad, huh?”

“Yup. I have a picture of him and his buddies.” He pulled a wallet from his pocket. Inside was a small packet of photos. He handed one to Johnny. “I didn’t know him, because I’d just been transferred in from another detail when the picture was taken. But I learned Tony Baretta came from a long line of firefighters and had the reputation of being the toughest marine in the unit. You can keep it.”

“Thanks.” His young voice trembled. “I loved him.”

“Of course you did, just like I loved my grandpa.”

“What about your dad?”

“My parents were killed in a freak flood when I was a baby. My grandparents raised me. After my grandma died, it was just Grandpa and me.”

“Didn’t you have cousins?”

“Nope. How about you?”

He looked at Tracy. “How many do I have, Mom?”

“Let me think. Twenty-two-and-a-half at the present counting.”

Carson’s brows lifted. “You’re lucky. I would have given anything for just one.”

That sounded like a lonely statement. Tracy looked over Johnny’s shoulder while he studied the photograph. She counted a dozen soldiers in uniform. When she found Tony, her eyes glazed over.

Johnny’s next remark surprised her because it wasn’t about his father. “You look different in a helmet.”

“We were just a bunch of metal heads.” Johnny laughed again. “None of us liked them much, but the gear kept us protected.”

“I like your cowboy hat better,” Johnny said before putting the picture in his pocket.

Carson grinned. The rugged rancher was one striking male. “Shall we get you a hat like it on our way to the ranch?”

“Could we?” Tracy hadn’t seen him exhibit this kind of excitement in over a year.

“Of course. You can’t live on a dude ranch without your duds.”

“What are duds?”

“Everything I’m wearing plus a lot of other things.”

“What other things?”

“Chaps and gloves for bull riding.”

“Do you ride bulls?” Johnny’s eyes grew huge.

“I used to when I was training for the rodeo.”

“Can I see one?”

“Sure. I’m planning on taking you to the Jackson rodeo on the last night you’re here. You’ll see barrel racing and steer wrestling too.”