The temperature had barely hit the upper forties today and, with dusk an hour off, it promised to drop. A chill laced the breeze and the scent of snow clung to it. Nate had grown up in the Midwest where all he had to do was blink and the weather shifted, but Wyoming was a whole different level of bipolar.

With all three barns stripped of shingles and one roof completely redone, he descended the ladder to call it quits. By tomorrow, he should have most of the job finished. He ...