Shake the Trees Read Free

business running smoothly.  Sandi was athletic and attractive in a natural sort of way.  She was also a local and her family had lived in the valley for generations.  Sam was, of course, an import, and he looked to Sandi for local knowledge and contacts. 
    Although his life had once been turned upside down, it was a subject Sam had largely kept to himself.  He wasn’t bitter, but he wasn’t an open book either.  In fact, many of the residents of the valley considered Sam’s past to be somewhat of a mystery.  He’d dated a few times, but nothing had really worked out.  There had been gossip that his relationship with Sandi was more than purely professional.  The rumors were unfounded.  He loved her son, Dustin, and was in many ways his surrogate father.  But Sandi was his best friend and ran his business.  The last thing he wanted to do was screw that up.
     
    He awoke with a start and his beer tumbled onto the wooden deck.  As Sam watched the foam seep through the spaces between the boards, he thought about the first time Ellen Hughes had come to this valley in the high mountains of northern New Mexico. 
    Sitting on the edge of Sandi’s desk that sunny morning in August, he’d realized in mid-sentence that he no longer held her attention.  He’d heard and felt a throaty growl, and turned away from Sandi just in time to see a red Porsche Carrera come to a gravel-slinging stop inches from the large plate glass front window of his office.  A slim but well-endowed blond in a snug low-cut sundress swung her toned and tanned legs out of the vehicle.  Sam had the front door open before she could reach for the handle.  Her brilliantly green eyes were one of the first things he noticed.
    He spent the rest of the morning showing Ellen mountain properties.  Mostly small ranches with just enough property for real privacy.  Despite his best efforts, she seemed disinterested.  To his great surprise, however, she asked if he was free for dinner that evening.  Sam stammered but quickly agreed to meet at the only real restaurant in the tiny village.
     
    The High Valley Saloon and Steakhouse was nothing if not authentic.  The structure had been built over one hundred years earlier.  The front of the building was constructed in the traditional Western storefront style.  The rough-cut cedar plank siding had weathered to a rusty brown hue.  An inviting dim golden light poured out of the paned front windows, which were framed by two heavy wooden doors. 
    One door opened into an alcove off the dining room and the second into the bar.  The plastered interior walls were the color of parchment, and the pine floor planks of varying widths were polished to a deep chocolate brown by years of boot traffic, spilled beer and peanut shells.  Dusty antlered deer and elk heads and worn horse tack hung haphazardly wherever space allowed.  A long well worn bar lined one side of the interior and was separated from the dining tables by a chest-high wall.  On the bar side, a few high-top tables were pushed up against the partial wall.
    Sam arrived a half-hour early for his dinner appointment.  Or date.  He wasn’t sure.  As he entered the door he was met by the mingled smells of smoke, beer, freshly baked rolls and garlic.  After greeting several locals, he took his regular place at the bar where a cold beer was waiting for him. 
    Few outsiders stayed at the bar.  The tourists and fall hunters that lingered there too long were ignored and gently pushed aside by the cowboys taking their regular positions.  Eventually they almost all moved to the tall tables a few feet away.  Their money was welcomed, but their presence was only tolerated.  Although Sam would always be an outsider, he was welcome at the bar.
    Change had come to the valley, and Sam did his best to smooth its rough edges.  The skyrocketing value of ranch properties meant they were no longer economically viable businesses.  The ranches of San Luis Valley