Sharp Shootin' Cowboy (Hot Cowboy Nights, #3)(40)

“There. About ten yards into the tree line. You’d best get that twenty-pound cannon of yours ready.” Reid hoped to hell the guy knew how to fire the thing. “You sure you don’t want to shoot mine?” He offered his .300 Winchester.

“I know what I’m doing,” FB growled. “I bought this baby specifically for big game.”

“Maybe so, but if you’re not careful, the recoil from that fifty cal will take your head off.”

At any closer range, the rifle would also destroy any chance of claiming the elk as a trophy, but they were at least four hundred yards out. FB fancied himself an expert marksman. He’d literally bought lock, stock, and barrel into the new cult of distance shooting. It was also why he’d forked over ten grand to hire a guide who was a former marine scout sniper. Reid’s reputation was a mixed blessing.

FB handed Reid his field glasses, raised his rifle, and peered through the scope just as the bull emerged into the clearing followed by a small herd of cows.

“Don’t take the shot until he’s completely in the clear, nothing within 15 meters on either side of him,” Reid instructed the hunter and then called off some adjustments. The elk raised its head and bugled, a sound that not only attracted elk cows, but gave every big game hunter an instant hard-on. “Got him sighted?” Reid asked.

FB grunted. The bull stood stock-still, in a broadside stance—a perfect kill shot.

“All right now. Take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then fire,” Reid advised.

“Holy shit! Look at that!” In the instant FB would have pulled the trigger, the bull spun around to face one of the biggest wolves Reid had ever seen. A second and third wolf emerged and slowly circled, flanking the bull who now had the river at its back and almost nowhere to run.

“Don’t shoot,” Reid said. “You’ve lost your chance.”

“Fuck that! If I can’t have my elk, I’ll take the wolf.”

“The hell you will,” Reid growled. “Wolves are endangered in Wyoming.”

“Then I’ll pay the f*cking fine. I’m taking down that wolf.”

Should he disarm him? His job was not only to keep the client safe, but also to ensure no laws were broken during the hunt. But Reid hesitated too long. The rifle exploded and kicked back straight back into FB’s face. He screamed and threw the gun down, blood streaming down his face.

Ignoring the hunter, Reid snatched up the field glasses, hoping the stupid son of a bitch had missed. The herd had bolted, but the first wolf was down, bleeding heavily and struggling to recover its feet. It was then Reid noticed the animal’s radio collar. Shit.

The other two wolves were circling, teeth bared. Double shit.

They wouldn’t miss a meal after all. They were ruthless killers that way, even to their own kind. In seconds they’d rip their injured pack mate to shreds. With no other choice but a mercy kill, Reid quickly chambered a round and took his shot.

*

Haley had been scanning the GPS reports all morning, correlating every collared wolf with its last tracked position on her digital map. She did this daily, notifying wildlife services whenever a wolf encroached on areas occupied by grazing livestock. It was a tedious task but necessary to protect both wolves and cattle. She also hoped her efforts would help to build a better rapport with the ranching community, not that she’d expected much progress on that front.

She paused with a frown when she came to number 442, the main breeding female she’d studied for her doctoral dissertation. She shoved the report aside to pull out the one from the day before that showed 442 deep in the Whiskey Mountains. Impossible! Although a wolf on the hunt could easily cover fifty miles in a day, there was no way in hell she’d traveled into the city of Jackson.

Haley’s throat tightened. The positioning signal could mean only one thing—Cinderella was dead.

*

With only seventy-two hours to report the wolf incident, Reid drove into Jackson. He’d already filed the compulsory report to the Board of Outfitters in Cheyenne. Although an investigation would still follow, the board had assured Reid that the hunter would be charged, but there wouldn’t be any upshot for Reid’s mercy kill. He knew the board had gone easy on him due to his family’s upstanding reputation, but he still had to turn in the collar to Wyoming Game and Fish.

“Ah, Reid! I’d heard you were back.” Jim Banks, the regional chief of WGF, extended his hand with a smile. “I’m glad to see you home safe.”

“You might not be so happy to see me once you know why I’m here,” Reid replied.

“And why’s that?”

Reid held up the radio collar. “An overzealous trophy hunter. I’ve already made my report to the Board of Outfitters.”

“I see.” Jim accepted the collar with a grimace. “Unfortunately, I’m not handling wolves anymore. We have a new federal liaison who’s overseeing wolf management. C’mon. Let me introduce you to her.”

Reid didn’t relish meeting the new liaison with news of a dead wolf, but he figured the circumstances were best explained in person. There was no honest way around it. Jim continued with a few more trite remarks as he led Reid down a short hallway of offices.

They stopped at the last door where a tiny blonde sat behind a desk frowning over a stack of papers. Jim knocked. She looked up. Her gaze flickered from Jim to Reid and then stuck. Her eyes widened and her smile froze.