Chapter Twenty-nine

Annie had bought the food for the weekend on the way to the airport and should, of course, have done it on the way back. Five hours in a hot car had done the salmon no good at all. The supermarket in Butte was the best she'd found since coming to Montana. They even had sun-dried tomatoes and small pots of rooted basil which had wilted badly on the journey home. Annie had watered them and stood them on the windowsill. They might just survive. Which was more than could be said for the salmon. She took it to the sink and ran it under cold water in the hope of washing away the ammonia smell.

The rush of water drowned the constant low rumble of thunder outside. Annie doused the fish's sides and watched its loosened scales shiver and twirl and disappear with the water. Then she opened its gutted belly and sluiced the blood from its clotted membranous flesh till it glistened a lurid pink. The smell became less pungent, but the feel of the fish's flaccid body in her hands brought such a wave of nausea that she had to leave the fish on the draining board and go quickly through the screen door out onto the porch.

The air was hot and heavy and brought no relief. It was almost dark, though long before it should be. The clouds were a bilious black veined with yellow and so low they seemed to compress the very earth.

Robert and Grace had been gone almost an hour. Annie had wanted to leave it until morning but Grace had insisted. She wanted to introduce Robert to the Bookers and let him see Pilgrim right away. She hardly gave him time to look inside the house before getting him to drive her down to the ranch. She'd wanted Annie to come along too, but Annie said no, she'd get supper and have it ready for when they got back. Tom meeting Robert was something she'd rather not see. She wouldn't know where to look. Even the thought of it now made her nausea worse.

She'd bathed and changed into a dress but already felt sticky again. She stepped out on to the porch and filled her lungs with the useless air. Then she walked slowly around to the front of the house where she could look out for them.

She'd seen Tom and Robert and all the kids piling into the Chevy and watched the car go by below her on its way up to the meadows. The angle was such that she could only see Tom in the driver's seat as they passed. He didn't look up. He was turned talking to Robert who sat beside him. Annie wondered what he made of him. It was as though she herself were being judged by proxy.

All week Tom had avoided her and although she thought she knew why, she felt his distance like a widening space within her. While Grace was in Choteau seeing Tern Carlson, Annie had waited for him to call as he always did to ask her to go riding, knowing in her heart that he wouldn't. When she went with Grace to watch him working with Pilgrim, he was so involved he barely seemed to notice her.

Afterward, their conversation had been trivial, polite almost.

She wanted to talk to him, to say she was sorry for what had happened, though she wasn't. At night, alone in her bed, she'd thought of that tender mutual exploring, taking it further in fantasy until her body ached for him. She wanted to say she was sorry simply in case he thought badly of her. But the only chance she'd had was that first evening when he had brought Grace home. And when she'd started to speak he'd cut her off, as if he knew what she was going to say. The look in his eyes as he drove away had almost made her run calling after him.

Annie stood with her arms folded, watching the lightning flicker somewhere above the shrouded mass of the mountains. She could see the headlights of the Chevy now among the trees up by the ford and as they leveled and headed down the track she felt a heavy drop of rain on her shoulder. She looked up and another smacked the center of her forehead and trickled down her face. The air was suddenly cooler and filled with the fresh smell of wet on dust. Annie could see the rain coming down the valley toward her like a wall. She turned and hurried back inside to grill the salmon.

He was a nice guy. What else did Tom expect? He was lively and funny and interesting and, more important, he was interested. Robert leaned forward to squint through the futile arc made by the wipers. They had to shout to make themselves heard through the drumming of the rain on the car's roof.

'If you don't like the weather in Montana, wait five minutes,' Robert said. Tom laughed.

'Did Grace tell you that?'

'I read it in my guidebook.'

'Dad's the ultimate guidebook nerd,' Grace yelled from the back.

'Well thanks sweetie, I love you too.'

Tom smiled. 'Yep, well. Sure looks like rain.'

He'd taken them up pretty well as far as you could comfortably go in a car. They'd seen some deer, a hawk or two and then, high on the far side of the valley, a herd of elk. The calves, some no more than a week old, sheltered beside their mothers from the thunder. Robert had brought along some binoculars and they watched for ten minutes or more, the kids all clamoring for their turn. There was a big bull with a wide six-point sweep of antlers and Tom tried bugling to it but got no reply.

'How much would a bull like that weigh?' Robert asked.

'Oh, seven hundred pounds, maybe a little more. Come August his antlers alone could weigh fifty.'

'Ever shoot them?'

'My brother Frank hunts now and then. Me, I'd sooner see their heads moving about up here than hung on some wall.'

He asked a whole lot more questions on the way home, Grace teasing him all the while. Tom thought of Annie and all her questions when he'd brought her up here those first few times and he wondered if Robert had gotten the habit from her or she from him or whether they were both like that by nature and just suited each other. That must be it, Tom decided. They just suited each other. He tried to think of something else.

Water was torrenting down the track up to the creek house. Around the back, the rain was gushing in spouts from every corner of the roof. Tom said he and Joe would bring the Lariat up from the ranch later on. He pulled up as close as he could to the porch so Robert and Grace wouldn't get drenched when they got out. Robert got out first. He shut the door and from the backseat Grace asked Tom in a quick whisper how it had gone with Pilgrim. Though they'd been to see the horse earlier, they'd had no time alone to speak.

'It went good. You'll be okay.'

She beamed from ear to ear and Joe gave her a little gleeful punch on the arm. She had no time to ask more because Robert opened the rear door for her to get out.

It should have occurred to Tom that the rain on the dust at the edge of the porch would have made it slippery. But it didn't, until Grace stepped out of the car and her feet went from under her. She gave a little cry as she fell. Tom leapt out and ran around the front of the car.

Robert was bent anxiously over her.

'God, Gracie, are you okay?'

'I'm fine.' She was already trying to get up and seemed more embarrassed than hurt. 'Dad, really, I'm fine.'

Annie came running out and nearly fell herself.

'What happened?'

'It's okay,' Robert said. 'She just slipped.'

Joe was out of the car now too, all concerned. They helped Grace to her feet. She winced as she took her own weight. Robert kept his arm around her shoulders.

'Are you sure you're okay, baby?'

'Dad please, don't make a fuss. I'm fine.'

She limped but tried to hide it as they took her into the house. Fearing they were missing out on the drama, the twins were about to come inside too. Tom stopped them and with a gentle word sent them back to the car. He could see from Grace's mortified face that it was time to leave.

'See you all in the morning then.'

'Okay,' Robert said. 'Thanks for the tour.'

'You're welcome.'

He winked at Grace and told her to get a good night's sleep and she smiled bravely and said she would. He steered Joe out through the screen door then turned to say good-night and his eyes met Annie's. The look between them lasted less than a moment but in it was contained all their hearts would utter.

Tom tipped his hat to them and said good-night.

She knew something had broken as soon as she hit the deck of the porch and in a moment of horror thought it was her own thighbone. Only when she stood up was she certain it wasn't. She was shaken and, God, so embarrassed but she wasn't hurt.

It was worse. The sleeve of the prosthetic was cracked from top to bottom.

Grace was sitting on the rim of the bathtub with her blue jeans dropped crumpled around her left ankle and the prosthetic in her hands. The inside of the cracked sleeve was warm and damp and smelled of sweat. Maybe they could glue it or tape it or something. But then she'd have to tell them about it and if it didn't work there was no way they'd let her ride Pilgrim tomorrow.

After the Bookers left she'd had to put on a major act to make light of the fall. She'd had to smile and joke and tell her mom and dad at least a dozen more times that she was okay. At last they seemed to believe her. When she thought it safe, she'd claimed the first bath and escaped up here to examine the damage behind closed doors. She could feel the damn thing move on her stump as she walked across the living room and getting up the stairs was really tricky. If she couldn't even do that with it, how on earth could she ride Pilgrim? Shit! Falling like that was so dumb. She'd gone and spoiled everything.

She sat and thought for a long time. She could hear Robert downstairs talking excitedly about the elk. He was trying to imitate the call Tom had made. It didn't sound anything like it. She could hear Annie laughing. It was so great to have him here at last. If Grace told them now what had happened it would wreck the whole evening.

She decided what to do. She stood up, maneuvered herself over to the basin and got a box of Band-Aids out of the medicine cabinet. She'd make as good a repair with them as she could and in the morning try riding Gonzo. If it felt okay she wouldn't tell anyone until she'd ridden Pilgrim.

Annie switched off the bathroom light and walked quietly across the landing to Grace's room. The door was ajar and creaked softly as she opened it wider. The bedside lamp was still on, the one they'd bought together in Great Falls to replace the broken one. The night it broke now seemed to Annie to belong to a different life.

'Gracie?'

There was no answer. Annie went over to the bed and switched off the light. She noted casually that Grace's leg wasn't propped in its usual place against the wall, but lay instead on the floor, tucked in the shadow between bed and table. Grace was asleep, her breathing so soft that Annie had to strain to hear it. Her hair lay swirled like the mouth of a dark river across the pillow. Annie stood for a while, watching her.

She'd been so brave about the fall. Annie knew it must have hurt. Then at supper and all evening she'd been so funny and bright and cheerful. She was an incredible kid. Before dinner, in the kitchen, while Robert was upstairs taking a bath, she'd told Annie what Tom had said about riding Pilgrim. She was buzzing with excitement, had it all worked out how she was going to surprise her dad. Joe was going to take him off to see Bronty's foal and then bring him back at just the right moment to find her on Pilgrim. Annie was not without qualms about it and nor, she guessed, would Robert be. But if Tom thought it safe, it would be.

'He seems like a real nice fellow,' Robert had said, helping himself to another piece of salmon, which surprisingly tasted alright.

'He's been very kind to us,' Annie said, as blandly as she could. There was a short silence and her words seemed to hang there as if for inspection. Mercifully, Grace started to talk about some of the things she'd seen Tom do this week with Pilgrim.

Annie leaned over now and kissed her daughter softly on the cheek. From some far-off place, Grace murmured a response.

Robert was already in bed. He was naked. As she came in and started to undress he put down his book and watched her, waiting for her. It was a signal he'd used for years and in the past she'd often enjoyed undressing before him, even been aroused by it. Now though, she found his silent gaze unsettling, almost unbearable. She'd known, of course, he would expect to make love tonight, after so long apart. All evening she had dreaded it.

She took off her dress and laid it on the chair and felt suddenly so acutely aware of his eyes on her and the intensity of the silence that she stepped over to the window and parted the blind to look out.

'The rain's stopped.'

'It stopped about half an hour ago.'

'Oh.'

She looked down toward the ranch house. Though she'd never been in Tom's room, she knew the window and could see the light was on. Oh God, she thought, why can't it be you? Why can't it be us? The thought filled her with a kind of yearning surge so near to desperation that she quickly had to shut the blind and turn away. She hurriedly took off her bra and panties and reached for the big T-shirt she normally wore to sleep in.

'Don't put it on,' Robert said softly. She turned to look at him and he smiled. 'Come here.'

He held out his arms to her and she swallowed and did her best to smile back, praying he couldn't read what she feared was in her eyes. She put the T-shirt down and walked to the bed, feeling shockingly exposed in her nakedness. She sat on the bed beside him and couldn't help the shiver of her skin as he slipped one hand around the back of her neck and the other to her left breast.

'Are you cold?'

'Only a little.'

He gently pulled her head down to him and kissed her, in the way he always kissed her. And she tried, with every atom she could muster, to blank her mind of all comparison and lose herself in the familiar contours of his mouth and its familiar taste and smell and the familiar cradling of his hand on her breast.

She closed her eyes but could not subdue the welling sense of betrayal. She had betrayed this good and loving man not so much by what she'd done with Tom but by what she longed to do. More powerfully however, and even though she told herself how foolish it was, she felt she was betraying Tom by what she was doing now.

Robert opened the sheets and shifted to let her in beside him. She saw the familiar pattern of russet hair on his stomach and the engorged pink sway of his erection. It slid hard against her thigh as she laid herself down beside him and found his mouth again.

'Oh, God, Annie, I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too.'

'Have you?'

'Shh. Of course I have.'

She felt the flat of his hand travel down her side and over her hip to her belly and knew he would stroke between her legs and would find how unaroused she was. Just as his fingers reached the rim of her hair, she slipped away a little down the bed.

'Let me do this first,' she said. And she eased herself over between his legs and took him in her mouth. It was a long time, years even, since she'd done it and the thrill of it made him take a sudden shuddering breath.

'Oh Annie. I don't know if I can take this.'

'It doesn't matter. I want to.'

What wanton liars love makes of us, she thought. What dark and tangled paths it has us tread. And as he came, she knew with a flooding sad certainty that whatever happened they would never be the same again and that this guilty act was secretly her parting gift.

Later, when the light was off, he came inside her. So dark was the night they could not see each other's eyes. And, thus protected, Annie at last was stirred. She turned herself loose to the liquid rhythm of their coupling and found beyond its sorrow some brief oblivion.

Chapter Thirty

Robert drove Grace down to the barn after breakfast. The rain had cleared and cooled the air and the sky was a faultless wide curve of blue. He'd already noticed Grace was quieter this morning, more serious, and he asked her on the way down if she was okay.

'Dad, you've got to stop asking me that. I'm fine. Please.'

I'm sorry.'

She smiled and patted his arm and he left it at that. She'd called Joe before they left and by the time they got there he'd already fetched Gonzo from the paddock. He gave them a big grin as they got out of the Lariat.

'Good morning, young man,' Robert said.

'Morning Mr Maclean.'

'It's Robert, please.'

'Okay sir.'

They led Gonzo into the barn. Robert saw that Grace seemed to be walking with more of a limp than yesterday. Once she even seemed to lose her balance and had to reach for the gate of a stall to steady herself. He stood to watch them saddle Gonzo, asking Joe all about him, how old the pony was, how many hands, whether paints had a special kind of temperament. Joe gave full and courteous answers. Grace didn't say a word. Robert could see in the gathering of her brow that something was troubling her. He guessed from Joe's glances at her that he saw it too, though both knew better than to ask.

They led Gonzo out the back of the barn and into the arena. Grace prepared to mount.

'No hat?' Robert asked.

'You mean no hard hat?'

'Well, yes.'

'No, Dad. No hat.'

Robert shrugged and smiled. 'You know best.'

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. Joe looked from one of them to the other and grinned. Then Grace gathered the reins and, with Joe's shoulder for support, put her left foot in the stirrup. As she took the weight on her prosthetic leg, something seemed to give and Robert saw her wince.

'Shit,' she said.

'What is it?'

'Nothing. It's okay.'

With a grunt of effort she swung the leg over the cantle and sat in the saddle. Even before she'd settled he could see something was wrong. And then he saw her face screw up and realized she was crying.

'Gracie, what is it?'

She shook her head. He thought at first she was in pain, but when at last she spoke it was clear they were tears of anger.

'It's no damn good.' The words were almost spat. 'It's not going to work.'

It took Robert the rest of the day to get hold of Wendy Auerbach. The clinic had an answering machine with an emergency number which, curiously, seemed permanently busy. Maybe every other prosthetic in New York had cracked in sympathy or through some lurking defect whose time had suddenly come. When at last he got through, a weekend duty nurse said she was sorry but it wasn't clinic policy to give out home numbers. If however it really was as urgent as Robert said, which by her tone she seemed to doubt, she would try to contact Dr Auerbach on his behalf. An hour later the nurse called back. Dr Auerbach was out and wouldn't be home till late afternoon.

While they waited, Annie called Terri Carlson, whose number - unlike Wendy Auerbach's - was listed in the phone book. Terri said she knew someone over in Great Falls who might be able to rig up another kind of prosthetic at short notice but she advised against it. Once you'd gotten used to a particular type of leg, she said, changing to another was tricky and could take time.

Although Grace's tears had upset him and he felt for her in her frustration, Robert felt also a secret relief that he was to be spared what, it now emerged, was to have been a surprise staged specially for him. The sight of Grace climbing up on Gonzo had been nerve-racking enough. The thought of her on Pilgrim, whose calmer demeanor he didn't quite trust, was downright scary.

He didn't query it however. The failing, he knew, was his. The only horses he'd ever felt at ease with were those little ones in shopping malls that you slotted coins in to make them rock. Once it was apparent the idea had the backing not just of Annie but more crucially of Tom Booker too, Robert had set about salvaging it as though it had his full support.

By six o'clock they had a plan.

Wendy Auerbach at last called and got Grace to describe precisely where the crack was. She then told Robert that if Grace could get back to New York and come in for a new molding late on Monday, they could do a fitting on Wednesday and have the new prosthetic ready by the weekend.

'Alrighty?'

'Alrighty,' Robert said and thanked her.

In family conference in the creek house living room, the three of them decided what they'd do. Annie and Grace would fly back with him to New York and the following weekend they'd fly out here again for Grace to ride Pilgrim. Robert couldn't return with them because he had to go again to Geneva. He tried to look convincingly sad that he'd be missing all the fun.

Annie called the Bookers and got Diane, who'd earlier been so sweet and concerned when she heard what had happened. Of course it would be okay to leave Pilgrim here, she said. Smoky could keep an eye on him. She and Frank were getting back from L.A. on Saturday, though when Tom would be back from Wyoming she wasn't sure. She invited them to join them all that evening for a barbecue. Annie said they'd love to.

Then Robert called the airline. They had a problem. There was only one other seat on the return flight he'd booked himself on from Salt Lake City to New York. He asked them to hold it.

'I'll get a later flight,' Annie said.

'Why?' Robert said. 'You may as well stay here.'

'She can't fly back here on her own.'

Grace said, 'Why not? Come on, Mom, I flew to England on my own when I was ten!'

'No. It's a connection. I'm not having you wandering around an airport on your own.'

'Annie,' Robert said. 'It's Salt Lake City. There are more Christians per square yard than in the Vatican.'

'Mom, I'm not a kid.'

'You are a kid.'

'The airline'll take care of her,' Robert said. 'Look, if it comes to it, Elsa can fly out with her.'

There was a silence, he and Grace both watching Annie, waiting on her decision. There was something new, some indefinable change in her that he'd noticed first on the way back from Butte the previous day. At the airport he'd put it down simply to the way she looked, this new healthy radiance she had. On the journey she'd listened to the banter between him and Grace with a kind of amused serenity. But later, beneath it, he'd thought he glimpsed something more wistful. In bed, what she'd done for him was blissful, yet also somehow shocking. It had seemed to have its source not in desire but in some deeper, more sorrowful intent.

Robert told himself that whatever change there was doubtless stemmed from the trauma and release of losing her job. But now, while he watched her making up her mind, he acknowledged to himself that he found his wife unfathomable.

Annie was looking out of the window at the perfect late spring afternoon. She turned back to them and pulled a comic sad face.

'I'll be here all on my own.'

They laughed. Grace put an arm around her.

'Oh, poor little Mommy.'

Robert smiled at her. 'Hey. Give yourself a break.

Enjoy it. After a year of Crawford Gates, if anyone deserves some time it's you.'

He called the airline to confirm Grace's reservation.

They built the fire for the barbecue in a sheltered bend of the creek below the ford, where two rough-hewn wooden tables with fixed benches stood the year round, their tops warped and runneled and bleached the palest gray by the elements. Annie had come across them on her morning run from whose tyrannical routine she seemed, with no apparent ill effect, to have all but escaped. Since the cattle drive, she had only run once and even then was shocked to hear herself tell Grace she'd been out jogging. If she was now a jogger, she might as well quit.

The men had gone up earlier to get the fire going. It was too far for Grace to walk with her taped-up leg and resurrected cane, so she went with Joe in the Chevy, ferrying the food and drink. Annie and Diane trailed after on foot with the twins. They walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the evening sun. The trip to L.A. had just ceased to be a secret and the boys babbled with excitement.

Diane was friendlier than ever. She seemed genuinely pleased that they'd sorted Grace's problem out and wasn't at all spiky, as Annie had feared, about her staying on.

'Tell you the truth, Annie, I'm glad you're going to be around. That young Smoky's okay, but he's only a kid and I'm not too sure how much goes on in that head of his.'

They walked on while the twins ran ahead. Only once did their conversation pause, when a pair of swans flew over their heads. They watched the sun on their earnest white necks craning up the valley and listened to the moan of their wings fading on the still of the evening.

As they drew nearer, Annie heard the crackle of firewood and saw a curl of white smoke above the cottonwoods.

The men had built the fire on a close-cropped spit of grass that jutted into the creek. To one side of it, Frank was showing off to the children how he could skim stones and earning only derision. Robert, beer in hand, had been put in charge of the steaks. He was taking the job as seriously as Annie would have predicted, chatting to Tom with one side of his brain while the other monitored the meat. He nagged away at it constantly, readjusting it piece by piece with a long-handled fork. In his plaid shirt and loafers, standing alongside Tom, Annie thought with affection how out of place he looked.

Tom saw the women first. He waved and came over to get them a drink from the cooler. Diane had a beer and Annie a glass of the white wine she'd supplied. She found it hard to look Tom in the eyes as he handed it to her. Their fingers touched briefly on the glass and the sensation made her heart skip.

'Thanks,' she said.

'So, you're running the ranch for us next week.'

'Oh, absolutely.'

'At least there'll be someone here smart enough to use a telephone if something comes up,' Diane said.

Tom smiled and looked confidingly at Annie. He wasn't wearing a hat and he pushed back a fall of blond hair from his brow as he spoke.

'Diane reckons poor old Smoke can't count to ten.'

Annie smiled. 'It's very kind of you. We've way outstayed our welcome.'

He didn't answer, just smiled again and this time Annie managed to hold his gaze. She felt that if she let herself she could dive into the blue of his eyes. At that moment, Craig came running up to say Joe had pushed him into the creek. His pants were soaked up to the knees. Diane yelled for Joe and went off to investigate. Left alone with Tom, Annie felt panic rise within her. There was so much she wanted to say but not a word of it trivial enough for the occasion. She couldn't tell if he shared or even sensed her awkwardness.

'I'm real sorry about Grace,' he said.

'Yes, well. We sorted it out. I mean, if it's okay with you, she can ride Pilgrim when you get back from Wyoming.'

'Sure.'

'Thank you. Robert won't get to see it but, you know, to have got this far and then not—'

'No problem.' He paused. 'Grace told me about you quitting your job.'

'That's one way of putting it.'

'She said you weren't too cut up about it.'

'No. I feel good about it.'

'That's good.'

Annie smiled and swallowed some more wine, hoping to diffuse the silence that now fell between them. She glanced toward the fire and Tom followed her look. Left to himself, Robert was giving the meat his undivided attention. It would be done, Annie knew, to perfection.

'He's a top hand with a steak, that husband of yours.'

'Oh yes. Yes. He enjoys it.'

'He's a great guy.'

'Yes. He is.'

'I was trying to work out who was the luckier.' Annie looked at him. He was still looking at Robert. The sun was full on Tom's face. He looked at her and smiled. 'You for having him, or him for having you.'

They sat and ate, the children at one table and the adults at the other. The sound of their laughter filled the space among the cotton-woods. The sun went down and between the silhouetted trees Annie watched the molten surface of the creek take on the pinks and reds and golds of the dimming sky. When it was dark enough, they lit candles in tall glass sleeves to shield them from a breeze that never came and watched the perilous fluttering of moths above them.

Grace seemed happy again, now that her hopes of riding Pilgrim were restored. After everyone had finished eating, she told Joe to show Robert the match trick and the children gathered around the adults' table to watch.

When the match jumped the first time, everyone roared. Robert was intrigued. He got Joe to do it again, and then again more slowly. He was sitting across the table from Annie, between Diane and Tom. She watched the candlelight dance on his face while he concentrated, scrutinizing every move of Joe's fingers, searching as he always did for the rational solution. Annie found herself hoping, almost praying, that he wouldn't find it or that if he did, he wouldn't let on.

He had a couple of attempts himself and failed. Joe was giving him the whole spiel about static electricity and was doing it well. He was about to get him to put his hand in water to 'boost the charge' when Annie saw Robert smile and knew he had it. Don't spoil it, she said to herself. Please don't spoil it.

'I get it,' he said. 'You flick it with your nail. Is that right? Here, let me have another go.'

He rubbed the match in his hair and drew it slowly up his palm toward the second one. When they touched, the second one jumped away with a crack. The children cheered. Robert grinned, like a boy who'd caught the biggest fish. Joe was trying not to look disappointed.

'Too darn smart these lawyers,' Frank said.

'What about Tom's trick!' Grace called. 'Mom? Have you still got that piece of string?'

'Of course,' Annie said. She'd kept it in her pocket ever since Tom gave it to her. She treasured it. It was the only piece of him she had. Without thinking, she took it out and handed it to Grace. Immediately she regretted it. She had a sudden, fearful premonition, so strong she almost cried out. She knew that if she let him, Robert would demystify this too. And if he did, something precious beyond all reason would be lost.

Grace handed the cord to Joe who told Robert to hold his finger up. Everyone was watching. Except for Tom. He was sitting back a little, watching Annie over the candle. She knew he could read what she was thinking. Joe now had the cord looped over Robert's finger.

'Don't,' Annie said suddenly.

Everyone looked at her, startled to silence by the anxious note in her voice. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She smiled desperately, seeking help among the faces in her embarrassment. But the floor was still hers.

'I - I just wanted to figure it out myself first.'

Joe hesitated a moment to see if she was serious. Then he lifted the loop from Robert's finger and handed it back to her. Annie thought she saw in the boy's eyes that he, like Tom, understood. It was Frank who came to the rescue.

'Good for you, Annie,' he said. 'Don't you go showing no lawyers till you've got yourself a contract.'

Everyone laughed, even Robert. Though when their eyes met she could see he was puzzled and perhaps even hurt. Later, when the talk had moved safely on, it was only Tom who saw her quietly coil the cord and slip it back into her pocket.

Chapter Thirty-one

Late Sunday night, Tom did a final check on the horses then came inside to pack. Scott was in his pajamas on the landing getting a final warning from Diane who wasn't buying his story that he couldn't sleep. Their flight was at seven in the morning and the boys had been put to bed hours ago.

'If you don't cut it out, you don't come, okay?'

'You'd leave me here on my own?'

'You betcha.'

'You wouldn't do that.'

'Try me.'

Tom came up the stairs and saw the jumble of clothes and half-filled suitcases. He winked at Diane and steered Scott off to the twins' room without a word. Craig was already asleep and Tom sat on Scott's bed and they whispered about Disneyland and which order they'd do the rides, until the boy's eyelids grew heavy and he slept.

On his way to his own room, Tom walked past Frank and Diane's and she saw him and thanked him and said good-night. Tom packed all he needed for the week, which wasn't much, then tried to read awhile. But he couldn't concentrate.

While he was out with the horses, he'd seen Annie arrive back in the Lariat from taking her husband and Grace to the airport. He walked to the window now and looked up toward the creek house. The yellow blinds of her bedroom were lit and he waited a few moments, hoping he'd see her shadow cross, but it didn't.

He washed, undressed and got into bed and tried reading again with no greater success. He turned off the light and lay on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, picturing her up there in the house all alone, as she would be all week.

He'd have to leave for Sheridan around nine and would go up and say goodbye before he left. He sighed and turned over and forced himself at last into a sleep that brought no peace.

Annie woke around five and lay for a while watching the luminescent yellow of the blinds. The house contained a silence so delicate she felt it might shatter with but the slightest shift of her body. She must then have dozed off, for she woke again at the distant sound of a car and knew it must be the Bookers leaving for their flight. She wondered if he'd got up with them to see them off. He must have. She got out of bed and opened the blinds. But the car had gone and there was no one outside the ranch house.

She went downstairs in her T-shirt and made herself a coffee. She stood cradling the cup in her hands by the living-room window. There was mist along the creek and in the hollows of the valley's far slope beyond. Maybe he was already out with the horses, checking them one more time before he went. She could go for a run and just happen to find him. But then what if he came here to say goodbye, as he'd said he would, when she was out?

She went upstairs and ran herself a bath. Without Grace, the house seemed so empty and its silence oppressive. She found some bearable music on Grace's little radio and lay in the hot water without much hope that it might calm her.

An hour later she was dressed. She'd taken much of that time deciding what to wear, trying one thing then another and in the end getting so cross with herself for being such an idiot that she punished herself by pulling on the same old jeans and T-shirt. What the hell did it matter, for Christsake? He was only coming to say goodbye.

At last, at the twentieth time of looking, she saw him come out of the house and throw his bag into the back of the Chevy. When he stopped at the fork, she thought for an anguished moment that he was going to turn the other way and head off up the drive. But he nosed the car toward the creek house instead. Annie went into the kitchen. He should find her busy, getting on with her life as if his going was really no big deal. She looked around in alarm. There was nothing to do. She'd done it all already, emptied the dishwasher, cleared the garbage, even (heaven help her) put sparkle on the sink, all to pass the time till he came. She decided to make some more coffee. She heard the scrunch of the Chevy's tires outside and looked up to see him swing the car in a circle so it was pointing ready to leave. He saw her and waved.

He took his hat off and gave a little knock on the frame of the screen door as he came in.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

He stood there turning the brim of his hat in his hands.

'Grace and Robert get their flight okay?'

'Oh yes. Thanks. I heard Frank and Diane go.'

'Did you?'

'Yes.'

For a long moment the only sound was the drip of the coffee coming through. They could neither talk nor even look each other in the eye. Annie stood leaning against the sink trying to look relaxed as she dug her fingernails into her palms.

'Would you like a coffee?'

'Oh. Thanks, but I better be going.'

'Okay.'

'Well.' He pulled a small piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and stepped closer to hand it to her. 'It's the number I'll be at down in Sheridan. Just in case there's a problem or something, you know.'

She took it. 'Okay, thanks. When will you be back?'

'Oh, sometime Saturday, I guess. Smoky'll be by tomorrow, see to the horses and all. I told him you'd be feeding the dogs. Feel free to ride Rimrock anytime.'

'Thanks. I might.' They looked at each other and she gave him a little smile and he nodded.

'Okay,' he said. He turned and opened the screen door and she followed him out onto the porch. She felt as if there were hands on her heart, slowly twisting the life from it. He put his hat on.

'Well, bye Annie.'

'Bye.'

She stood on the porch and watched him get back in the car. He started the engine, tipped his hat to her and pulled away down the track.

He drove for four and a half hours but he measured it not by time but only by how each mile seemed to make the ache deepen in his chest. Just west of Billings, lost in thoughts of her, he almost drove into the back of a cattle truck. He decided to take the next exit and go the slower route to the south, through Lovell.

It took him near the Clark's Fork, through land he'd known as a boy, though there was little now to know it by. Every trace of the old ranch was gone. The oil company had long taken what it wanted and pulled out, selling off the land in plots too small for a man to make a living. He drove past the remote little cemetery where his grandparents and great-grandparents were buried. On another day he would have bought flowers and stopped, but not today. Only the mountains seemed to offer some slim hope of comfort and south of Bridger he turned left toward them and headed up on roads of red dirt into the Pryor.

The ache in his chest only got worse. He lowered the window and felt the blast of the hot sage-scented air on his face. He cussed himself for a lovelorn schoolboy. He would find somewhere to stop and get himself back together.

They'd built a fancy new viewing place above the Bighorn Canyon since he was last there, with a big parking lot and maps and signs that told you about the geology and all. He supposed it was a good thing. Two carloads of Japanese tourists were having their pictures taken and a young couple asked him to take one for them so they could both be in it. He did and they smiled and thanked him four times and then everyone piled back into their cars and left him alone with the canyon.

He leaned on the metal rail and looked down a thousand feet of yellow and pink striated limestone to the snaking, garish green water below.

Why hadn't he just taken her in his arms? He could tell she wanted him to, so why hadn't he? Since when had he been so goddamn proper about these things? He'd conducted this area of his life till now with the simple notion that if a man and a woman felt the same way about each other they should act on it. Okay, so she was married. But that hadn't always stopped him in the past, unless the husband was either a friend or potentially homicidal. So what was it? He searched for an answer and found none, except that there was no precedent to judge it by.

Below him, maybe five hundred feet below, he saw the spanned black backs of birds he couldn't name, soaring against the green of the river. And, quite suddenly, he identified what it was he felt. It was need. The need that Rachel, so many years ago, had felt for him and that he'd found himself unable to return, nor felt for any being or thing before or since. Here at last he knew. He had been whole and now he was not. It was as if the touch of Annie's lips that night had stolen away some vital part of him that only now he saw was missing.

It was for the best, Annie thought. She was grateful -or at least believed she would be - that he had been stronger than she was.

After Tom left, she had been firm with herself, setting herself all sorts of resolutions for the day and the days to come. She would make good use of them.

She would call friends to whose faxed condolences she hadn't yet responded; she would call her lawyer about the tedious details of her severance and she would tidy all the other loose ends she'd left hanging last week. Then she would enjoy her isolation; she would walk, she would ride, she would read; she might even write something, though what she had no idea. And by the time Grace came back, her head, and possibly her heart, would be level.

It wasn't quite that easy. After the early high cloud had burned away, the day was another perfect one, clear and warm. But though she tried to be part of it, performing every task she set herself, she could not shift the listless hollow inside her.

At around seven, she poured herself a glass of wine and stood it on the side of the tub while she bathed and washed her hair. She'd found some Mozart on Grace's radio and though it crackled, it helped to banish a little of the loneliness that had crept upon her. To cheer herself further, she put on her favorite dress, the black one with the little pink flowers.

As the sun went behind the mountains she got into the Lariat and drove down to feed the dogs. They came bounding from nowhere to meet her and escorted her like a best friend into the barn where their food was kept.

Just as she finished filling their bowls she heard a car and thought it odd that the dogs paid it no attention. She put the bowls down before them and went to the door.

She saw him but a moment before he saw her.

He was standing in front of the Chevy. Its door hung open and its headlights behind him shone lambent in the dusk. As she stopped in the doorway of the barn, he turned and saw her. He took off his hat, though he didn't twist it nervously in his hands as he had this morning. His face was grave. They stood quite still, perhaps five yards apart, and for a long moment neither of them spoke.

'I thought…' He swallowed. 'I just thought I'd, come back.'

Annie nodded. 'Yes.' Her voice was fainter than air. She wanted to go to him but found she couldn't move and he knew it and put his hat on the hood of the car and came toward her. Watching him draw near, she feared that all that was welling within her would engulf and sweep her quite away before he got to her. Lest it did, she reached out like a drowning soul to grasp him and he stepped into the circle of her arms and circled her in his and held her and she was saved.

The wave broke over her, convulsing her with sobs that shook her very bones as she clung to him. He felt her quake and held her more tightly to him, burrowing his face to find hers, feeling the tears that streamed on her cheek and smoothing, soothing them with his lips. And when she felt the quaking subside, she slid her face through the pressing wetness and found his mouth.

He kissed her as he'd kissed her on the mountain, but with an urgency from which neither of them now would turn back. He held her face in his hands that he might kiss her more deeply and she moved her hands down his back and took hold of him below his arms and felt how hard his body was and so lean that she could lay her fingers in the grooved caging of his ribs. Then he held her in the same way and she trembled at the touch.

They leaned apart to catch their breath and look at one another.

'I can't believe you're here,' she said.

'I can't believe I ever went.'

He took her by the hand and led her past the Chevy, with its door still open and its lights now finding purchase in the fading light. The sky above them domed a deepening orange till it met the black of the mountains in a roar of carmine and vermilion cloud. Annie waited on the porch while he unlocked the door.

He didn't turn on any lights but led her through the shadows of the living room where their footsteps creaked and echoed on the wooden floor and penumbral sepia faces watched their passage from the pictures on the walls.

She had a longing for him so powerful that as they climbed the wide staircase it felt almost like sickness. They reached the landing and walked hand in hand past the open doors of rooms strewn like an abandoned ship with discarded clothes and toys. The door of his room was also open and he stood aside for her to go in then followed her and closed the door.

She saw how wide and bare the room was, not how she'd imagined it those many nights she'd seen the light at his window. Through that same window now she could see the creek house shaped black against the sky. The room was filled with a waning glow that turned all it touched to coral and gray.

He reached out and drew her to him to kiss her again. Then, without a word, he started to undo the long line of buttons at the front of her dress. She watched him do it, watched his fingers and then his face, the little concentrating frown. He looked up and saw her watching but didn't smile, just held her look as he undid the last button. The dress fell open and when he slid his hands inside it and touched her skin she gasped and shivered. He held her by her sides as before and bent his head and gently kissed the tops of her breasts above her bra.

And Annie leaned back her head and closed her eyes and thought, there is nothing but this. No other time, nor place nor being than now and here and him and us. And no earthly point in calculating consequence or permanence or right or wrong, for all, all else, was as nothing to the act. It had to be and would be and was.

Tom led her to the bed and they stood beside it while she stepped from her shoes and started to unbutton his shirt. Now it was his turn to watch and he did so as if from some reaching crest of wonder.

Never before had he made love in this room. Nor never, since Rachel, in a place that he could call his home. He had gone to women's beds but never let them come to his. He had casualized sex, kept it distant that he might keep himself free and protect himself from the kind of need he'd seen in Rachel and which now he felt for Annie. Her presence, in the sanctum of this room, thus took on a significance that was both daunting and wondrous.

The light from the window set aglow her glimpsing skin where her dress fell open. She undid his belt and the top of his jeans and pulled his shirt clear so she could roll it off his shoulders.

In the momentary blindness as he pulled off his T-shirt, he felt her hands on his chest. He lowered his head and kissed again between her breasts and breathed the smell of her deep into his lungs as if he would drown in it. He eased the dress gently from her shoulders.

'Oh Annie.'

She parted her lips but said nothing, just held his gaze and reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. It was plain and white and edged above with simple lace. She lifted the straps from her shoulders and let it fall away. Her body was beautiful. Her skin pale, except at the neck and arms where the sun had turned it a freckled gold. Her breasts were fuller than he'd thought they'd be, though still firm, her nipples large and set high. He put his hands to them and then his face and felt the nipples gather and stiffen at the brush of his lips. Her hands were at the zipper of his jeans.

'Please,' she breathed.

He pulled the faded quilt from the bed and opened the sheets and she laid herself down and watched him take off his boots and socks and then his jeans and shorts..And he felt no shame nor saw any in her, for why should they feel shame at what was not of their making but of some deeper force that stirred not just their bodies but their souls and knew naught of shame nor of any such construct?

He knelt on the bed beside her and she reached out and took his erection in her hands. She bent her head and brushed her lips around the rim of it so exquisitely that he shuddered and had to close his eyes to find some lower, more tolerable key.

Her eyes, when he ventured to look at her again, were dark and glazed with the same desire he knew glazed his own. She let go of him and lay back and lifted her hips for him to take off her panties. They were of a pale, functional gray cotton. He ran his hand over the soft bulge within them then pulled them gently down.

The triangle of revealed hair was deep and thick and of the darkest amber. Its curling tips trapped the last glimmer of the light. Just above it ran the paled scar of a caesarean. The sight of it moved him, though he knew not why, and he lowered his head and traced its length with his lips. The brush of her hair on his face and the warm, sweet smell he found there moved him more powerfully and he lifted his head and leaned back on his heels that he might catch his breath and see her more fully.

They surveyed each other now in their nakedness, letting their eyes roam and feed with an incredulous, suspended, mutual hunger. The air was filled with the urgent synchrony of their breathing and the room seemed to swell and fold to its rhythm like an enclosing lung.

'I want you inside me,' she whispered. 'I don't have anything to—' 'It doesn't matter. It's safe. Just come inside me.' With a little frown of need, she reached for the tilt of him again and as she closed her fingers on it, he felt she had possession of the very root of his being. He came forward again on his knees, letting her steer him in toward her.

As he saw Annie open herself before him and felt the soft collision of their flesh, Tom saw suddenly again in his mind those birds, wide-winged and black and nameless, soaring below him against the green of the river. He felt he was returning from some distant land of exile and that here, and only here, he could be whole again.

It seemed to Annie, when he entered her, that he dislodged in her loins some hot and vivid surge that swept slowly the entire length of her body to lap and furrow around her brain. She felt the swell of him within her, felt the gliding fusion of their two halves. She felt the caress of his hard hands on her breasts and opened her eyes to see him bend his head to kiss them. She felt the travel of his tongue, felt him take her nipple in his teeth.

His skin was pale, though not as pale as hers, and on his rib-furrowed chest the cruciform of hair was darker than the sunbleach of his head. There was a kind of supple angularity to him, born of his work, which somehow she had expected. He moved on her with that same centered confidence she'd seen in him all along; only now, focused exclusively on her in this new domain, it was both more overt and intense. She wondered how this body that she'd never seen, this flesh, these parts of him she'd never touched, could yet feel so known and fit her so well.

His mouth delved the open hollow of her arm. She felt his tongue slick the hair that since coming here she'd let grow long and soft again. She turned her head and saw the framed photographs on top of the chest of drawers. And for a fleeting moment, the sight of them threatened to connect her to another world, a place which she was in the act of altering and which she knew she would find sullied with guilt if she were to let herself but look. Not now, not yet, she told herself and she lifted his head between her hands and quested blindly for the oblivion of his mouth.

When their mouths parted, he leaned back and looked down at her and for the first time smiled, moving on her to the slow rasp of their coupled selves.

'You remember that first day we rode?' she said.

'Every moment.'

'That pair of golden eagles? Do you remember?'

'Yes.'

'That's what we are. Now. That's what we are.'

He nodded. Their eyes locked into each other, unsmiling now, in a growing preoccupied urgency, until at last she saw the flicker in his face and felt him quiver and then the spurt and flood of him within her. And she arched herself into him and at the same time felt in her loins a shocking, protracted imploding of flesh that rushed to her core then jolted and spread in waves to the furthest corners of her being, bearing him there with it, until he filled every place within her and they were one and indistinguishable.

Chapter Thirty-two

He woke with the dawn and felt at once the sleeping warmth of her beside him. She lay along his body, nestled in the shelter of his arm. He could feel her breath on his skin and the soft rise and fall of her breasts against him. Her right leg was tucked over his. He could feel the gentle prickle of her belly on his thigh. The palm of her right hand lay on his chest above his heart.

It was that clarifying hour when normally men left and women wanted them to stay. He'd known it many times himself, the urge to slip away like a thief with the dawn. It seemed prompted not so much by guilt as by fear, fear that the comfort or companionship that women seemed often to want, after a night spent more carnally, was somehow too committing. Maybe there was some primordial force at work. You sowed your seed and got the hell out. If so, this morning, Tom felt not a trace of it. He lay quite still so as not to wake her. And it occurred to him that maybe he was afraid to. Never in the night, not once in the long hours of their tireless hunger, had she shown any sign of regret. But he knew that with the dawn would come, if not regret, some colder new perspective. And so he lay in the unfolding light and treasured the slack and guiltless warmth of her beneath his arm.

He slept again and woke the second time to the sound of a car. Annie had turned over and he lay now with his front molded to the contours of her back, his face tucked into the scented nape of her neck. As he eased himself away from her she murmured though didn't wake and he slipped from the bed and silently gathered his clothes.

It was Smoky. He'd pulled up beside their two cars and was inspecting Tom's hat which had stood all night on the hood of the Chevy. The worry on his face changed to a grin of relief when he heard the clack of the screen door and saw Tom heading out toward him.

'Hiya, Smoke.'

'Thought you was upped and gone down to Sheridan.'

'Yeah. There was a change of plan. Sorry, I meant to call you.' He'd called the man with the colts from a gas station in Lovell to say sorry he couldn't make it, but had clean forgotten about Smoky.

Smoky handed him his hat. It was damp from the dew.

'Thought for a minute there you'd been kidnapped by aliens or somethin'.' He looked at Annie's car. Tom could see he was trying to figure things out.

'Annie and Grace didn't go back east then?'

'Well, Grace did, but her mother couldn't get a flight. She's staying over till the weekend when Grace gets back.'

'Right.' Smoky nodded slowly but Tom could see he wasn't altogether sure what was going on. Tom glanced at the Chevy's open door and remembered the lights must have been on all night too.

'Had some trouble last night with the battery here,' he said. 'Maybe you could help me give it a jump?'

It didn't explain a whole lot but it did the trick, for the prospect of a task seemed to drive all lingering doubt from Smoky's face.

'Sure,' he said. 'I got some leads in the truck.'

Annie opened her eyes and took only a moment to remember where she was. She turned over, expecting to see him and felt a small leap of panic on finding herself alone. Then she heard voices and the slam of a car door outside and felt a larger leap. She sat up and swung her legs out from the tangle of sheets. She stood and walked to the window and, as she did so, had to stem the moist run of him between her legs. She felt a bruised aching there that was also somehow delicious.

Through a narrow gap in the drapes she saw Smoky's truck pulling away from the barn and Tom waving after him. Then he turned and headed back to the house. She knew he wouldn't see her if he looked up and, watching him, she wondered how the night might have changed them both. What now might he think of her, having seen her so wanton and shameless? What now did she think of him?

He squinted up at the sky where already the clouds were burning off. The dogs came bounding around his legs and he ruffled their heads and spoke to them as he walked and Annie knew that, for her at least, nothing had changed.

She showered in his little bathroom, waiting to be seized by guilt or remorse, but neither came, only trepidation at what he might be feeling. She found the sight of his few simple toilet things beside the basin oddly touching. She used his toothbrush. There was a big blue toweling bathrobe slung by the door and she put it on, wrapping herself in the smell of him, and went back into his room.

He'd opened the drapes and was looking out of the window when she came in. He heard her and turned and she recalled him doing the same that day in Choteau when he'd come to the house to give her his verdict on Pilgrim. There were two cups steaming on the table beside him. She could see the apprehension in his smile. 'I made some coffee.' 'Thanks.'

She went over and took the cup, casing it in her hands. Alone together in the big empty room, they seemed suddenly formal, like strangers arrived too early at a party. He nodded at the robe.

'It suits you.' She smiled and sipped the coffee. It was black and strong and very hot. 'There's a better bathroom along the way there if you—' 'Yours is just fine.' "That was Smoky dropped by. I forgot to call him.'

There was silence. Somewhere down by the creek a horse whinnied. He looked so worried, she was suddenly afraid he was going to say sorry, it was all a mistake and could they just forget it ever happened.

'Annie?'

'What?'

He swallowed. 'I just wanted to say, that whatever you feel, whatever you think or want to do, it's okay.'

'And what do you feel?'

He said simply, 'That I love you.' Then he smiled and gave a little shrug that almost broke her heart. 'That's all.'

She put her cup down on the table and went to him and they clung to each other as if the world were already bent on their division. She covered his lowered face with kisses.

They had four days before Grace and the Bookers returned, four days and four nights. One protracted moment along the trail of nows. And that was all she would live and breathe and think of, Annie resolved, nothing beyond nor nothing past. And whatever came to pass, whatever brutal reckonings were forced upon them, this moment would be there, indelibly written in their heads and hearts forever.

They made love again while the sun eased over the corner of the house and angled knowingly in upon them. And afterward, cradled in his arms, she told him what she wanted. That the two of them should ride again to the high pastures where first they had kissed and where now they might be alone together, with nothing but the mountains and the sky to judge them.

They forded the creek a little before noon.

While Tom had saddled the horses and loaded a packhorse with all they might need, Annie had driven back up to the creek house to change and get her things. They would both bring food. Though she didn't say and he didn't ask, he knew she would also have called her husband in New York to lay some pretext for her coming absence. He'd done the same with Smoky who was getting a little dazed with all these changes of plan.

'Going up to check on the cattle, huh?'

'Yes.'

'On your own or…?'

'No, Annie's coming too.'

'Oh. Right.' There was a pause and Tom could hear two and two coalescing in Smoky's mind.

'I'd appreciate it, Smoke, if you kept it to yourself.'

'Oh sure, Tom. You bet.'

He said he'd drop by as previously planned to see to the horses. Tom knew he could be trusted on both issues.

Before leaving, Tom went down to the corrals and put Pilgrim into the field with some of the younger horses he'd started to get along with. Normally Pilgrim would go running off with them right away, but today he stood by the gate and watched Tom walk back to where he'd left the saddled horses.

Tom was going to ride the same mare he'd taken on the cattle drive, the strawberry roan. As he rode up toward the creek house, leading Rimrock and the little paint packhorse behind him, he looked back and noticed Pilgrim was still standing alone by the gate, watching him go. It was almost as if the horse knew something in their lives had changed.

Tom waited with the horses on the track below the creek house and watched Annie come in long strides down the slope toward him.

The grass in the meadow beyond the ford had grown lush and long. Soon the contractors would be here for haymaking. It slushed against the legs of the horses as Tom and Annie rode through it side by side, with no other sound but the rhythmic creak of their saddles.

For a long time neither of them seemed to feel the need to talk. She asked no questions now about the land through which they passed. And it seemed to Tom that this was not because at last she knew the names of things, but rather that their names no longer mattered. It only mattered that they were.

They stopped in the heat of the midafternoon and watered the horses at the same pool as before. They ate a simple meal she had brought, of crusted bread and cheese and oranges. She peeled hers deftly in one unbroken curl and laughed when he tried to do the same and failed.

They crossed the plateau where the flowers had begun to fade and this time rode together to the crest of the ridge beyond. They startled no deer but saw instead, maybe a half-mile on toward the mountains, a small band of mustangs. Tom signed to Annie to stop. They were downwind and the mustangs hadn't yet sensed them. It was a family band of seven mares, five of them with foals. There were also a couple of colts, too young yet to have been driven away. The band stallion Tom had never seen before. 'What a beautiful animal,' Annie said. 'Yeah.'

He was magnificent. Deep-chested and strong in the quarters, he weighed maybe more than a thousand pounds. His coat was a perfect white. The reason he hadn't yet seen Tom and Annie was that he was too busy seeing off a more pressing intruder. A young stallion, a bay, was making a bid for the mares.

'Things get kind of heated this time of year,' Tom said quietly. 'It's the mating season and this young fella thinks it's time he had a go. He'll have been trailing this band for days, probably with a few other young studs.' Tom craned in the saddle to peer around. 'Yep, there they are.' He pointed them out to Annie. There were nine or ten of them another half-mile or so to the south.

'That's what they call a bachelor band. They spend their time hanging out, you know, getting drunk, bragging to each other, carving their names on trees, till they're big enough to go steal some other guy's mares.'

'Oh. I see.' Her tone made him realize what he'd said. She was giving him a look but he didn't return it. He knew exactly what the corners of her mouth would be doing and the knowing of it pleased him. 'That's right.' He kept his eyes firmly on the mustangs.

The two stallions we

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 744