Montana Sky

doesn’t need either one of us to run Mercy,” Ben said. “But I’ll do what it says to do. And hell . . .” His grin spread slow, arrogant, and shifted the planes on his face. “It’ll be entertaining to have her butting heads with me every five minutes. What are the other two like?”
    “Different.” Thoughtful, Nate leaned back on the fender of his Range Rover. “The middle one—that’s Lily—she spooks easy. Looks like she’d jump out of her skin if you made a quick move. Her face was all bruised up.”
    “She have an accident?”
    “Looked like she’d accidentally run into somebody’s fists. She’s got an ex-husband. And she’s got a restraining order on him. He’s been yanked in a few times for wife battering.”
    “Fucker.” If there was one thing worse than a man who abused his horse, it was a man who abused a woman.
    “She jumped on staying,” Nate continued, and in his quiet, methodical way began to roll a cigarette. “I have to figure she’s looking at it as a good place to hide out. The older one, she’s slicker. Hails out of LA, Italian suit, gold watch.” He slipped the pouch of Drum back in his pocket, struck a match. “She writes movies and is royally pissed at the idea of being stuck out in the wilderness for a year. But she wants the money it’ll bring her. She’s on her way back to California to pack up.”
    “She and Will ought to get along like a couple of she-cats.”
    “They’ve already been at each other.” Nate blew out smoke contemplatively. “Have to admit, it was entertaining to watch. Adam simmered them down.”
    “He’s about the only one who can simmer Willa down.” With a creak of leather, Ben shifted in the saddle. Spook was growing restless under him, signaling his wishes to be off with quick head tosses. “I’ll be talking to her. I’ve got to check on a crew we sent up to the high country. We’re getting some storms. Mom’s got coffee on at the main house.”
    “Thanks, but I’ve got to get back. I’ve got work of my own. See you in a day or two.”
    “Yeah.” Ben called to his dog, watching as Nate climbed into his Range Rover. “Nate—we’re not going to let her lose that ranch.”
    Nate adjusted his hat, reached for his keys. “No, Ben. We’re not going to let her lose it.”
     
    I T WAS A GOOD RIDE ACROSS THE VALLEY AND UP INTO the foothills. Ben took it at an easy pace, scanning the land as he went. The cattle were fat; they’d be cutting out some of the Angus for finishing in feedlots before winter. Others they would rotate from pasture to pasture, hold over for another year.
    The choices, and the selling, had been his province for nearly five years, as his parents were gradually turning over the operation of Three Rocks to their sons.
    The grass was high and still green, glowing against the paintbrush backdrop of trees. He heard the drone overhead and looked up with a grin. His brother, Zack, was doing a flyover. Ben lifted the hat off his head, waved it. Charlie, the long-haired Border collie, raced in barking circles. The little plane tilted its wings in a salute.
    It was still hard for him to think of his baby brother as a husband and a father. But there you were. Zack had taken one look at Shelly Peterson and had fallen spurs over Stetson. Less than two years later, they’d made him an uncle.And, Ben thought, made him feel incredibly old. It was beginning to feel as though there were thirty rather than three years separating him and Zack.
    He adjusted his hat and guided his horse uphill through a stand of yellow pine. The air freshened and cooled. He saw signs of deer, and another time might have given in to the urge to follow the tracks, to bring fresh venison home to his mother. Charlie was sniffing hopefully at the ground, glancing back now and then for permission to flush game. But Ben wasn’t in the mood for a hunt.
    He could smell snow. He was still far below the snow line, but he could smell it teasing the air. Already he’d seen flocks of Canadian geese heading south. Winter was coming early, and he thought it would come hard. Even the rush of water from the creek spurting downhill sounded cold.
    As the trees thickened, the ground roughened, he followed the water. The forest was as familiar to him as his own barnyard. There, the dead larch where he and Zack had once dug for buried treasure. And there, in that little clearing, he had brought down his first buck, with his father standing beside him.