Black Hills

away, and cut hard into entrance fees and on-site donations. Word gets around.” Reality, Lil knew, came in dollars and cents. “We’ll have two new animals, with Xena and Cleo, to feed, house, and care for. I’d hoped to be able to hire at least a part-time veterinary assistant for Matt this summer. I’m not sure we’ll be able to stretch the budget for it now.”
    “Willy needs to catch that son of a bitch, and soon. Matt’s overworked, but so is everybody else around here. That’s the way it is. We’re okay, Lil, and we’re going to stay okay. Now, how are you?”
    “I’m fine. I’m good.”
    “Well, if you ask me—which you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway—you look stressed. And speaking of overworked, what you need is a day off. A real day off. And a date.”
    “A date?”
    “Yes, a date.” Clearly exasperated, Mary rolled her eyes. “You remember what a date is. Dinner, the movies, dancing. You haven’t taken a full day off since you got back, and however much you enjoyed that trip to South America, I know you worked every damn day there, too.”
    “I like to work.”
    “That may be, but a day off and a date would do you good. You ought to get your ma and drive into Rapid City for the day. Do some shopping, get your nails done, then come back and have that good-looking Cooper Sullivan buy you a steak dinner, take you dancing, then parking afterward.”
    “Mary.”
    “If I were thirty years younger and single, I’d damn well see to it he bought me a steak dinner, and the rest of it.” Mary gave Lil a hard, somewhat impatient squeeze. “I worry about you, honey.”
    “Don’t. Don’t worry.”
    “Take a day off. Well, break’s over.” She checked her watch. “Tansy and Farley ought to be rolling up in a couple hours. Then we’ll have some excitement.”
    She didn’t want a day off, Lil thought when Mary walked away. She didn’t want to go shopping—very much. Or to get her nails done. She looked at her nails, winced. Okay, maybe she could use a manicure, but she didn’t have any lectures, appearances, or events scheduled. No fundraising drums to beat. When she needed to, she cleaned up very well.
    And if she wanted a steak dinner, she could buy her own. The last thing she needed was a date with Coop, which would complicate a situation she’d already complicated with sex.
    Completely her fault, she admitted.
    He’d been right about one thing that morning. She had to deal with it.
    Why hadn’t she made that list?
    She stopped in front of the tiger’s enclosure. He lay at the entrance of his den, eyes half shut. Not dozing, not yet, Lil thought. His tail switched lazily, and Lil could see awareness in those slitted eyes.
    “Not still mad at me, are you?” Lil leaned on the rail, watched Boris’s ears flick. “I had to do it. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or for anything to happen because of you. Not our fault, Boris, but we’d be responsible.”
    Boris made a rumbling that sounded so much like reluctant agreement, Lil smiled. “You’re beautiful. Big, beautiful boy.” Lil let out a sigh. “I guess my break’s over, too.”
    She straightened to stare out across the enclosures, the trees, the hills. And she thought it didn’t seem as if there could be a thing wrong in the world on a day like this.
     
     
     
    HE MUNCHED ON his second Ho Ho. He could live off the land, but didn’t see any reason to deny himself a few pleasures from the Outside. In any case, he’d stolen the box of snack cakes from a campsite, so technically he was living off the land as he ate them. He’d also confiscated a bag of potato rolls and a six-pack of Heineken.
    He limited himself to one beer every two days. A hunter couldn’t let alcohol slow his brain, even for an hour. So he only drank the single beer at bedtime.
    Drinking had been his weak spot—he could admit it—just like it had been his daddy’s. Just, as his daddy had often said, like it was for their people. Liquor was only one more weapon the white man had used against them.
    Drinking had gotten him in trouble, brought him to the attention of the white man’s law.
    But he did love the taste of a cold beer.
    He wouldn’t deny himself. He would simply control himself.
    He’d learned that on his own. Of all the things his father had taught him, control hadn’t been one of them.
    It was a matter of control, he thought. Just as letting the campers live had been a matter of control, and power. Killing