Montana Sky

morning air.
    It was rather magnificent, Tess mused. The sea of cattle swarming forward, the riders skimming the edges of the herd on horses fresh and eager. All of them surged through the curtain of mists, the low-lying river of fog, tearing it into delicate fingers while the sun glinted off dewy grass.
    And westward, the mountains rose like gods, all silver and white.
    Then Willa turned in the saddle, shouted out for Tess to move her ass. Why, Tess thought with a grin, that just completed a perfect picture. Belatedly she kicked her horse forward to catch up as the drive began.
    No, something was still missing, she realized as the noise of hooves on hard-packed dirt, of braying moos, of riders clucking and calling filled the air. Nate. For once she wished he had cattle as well as horses; then maybe she’d be riding along with him.
    “Don’t just ride,” Willa called out as she trolled up alongside. “Keep ’em in line. You lose one, you go after it.”
    “Like I could lose a big fat cow,” Tess muttered, but she tried to mimic Willa’s herding whistle and the way her sister slapped her looped rope on the saddle.
    Not that Tess had been given a rope, or would know what to do with one, but she used her hand, then as the hundreds of marching hooves kicked up dust, her bandanna.
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Rolling her eyes, Willa circled back. “Not like that, you idiot. You may need that hand.” She took the bandanna from Tess, who was holding it over her nose, and after a few quick trips, leaned over to tie it on. “That’s an improvement,” she decided when it was secured and hung down over half of her sister’s face. “Never seen you look better.”
    “Just go play trail boss.”
    “I am trail boss.” With that Willa kicked Moon into agallop and rode to the rear of the herd to check for stragglers.
    It was an experience, Tess decided. Maybe not quite like driving longhorns north from Texas or whatever cowboys had once done. But there was a kind of majesty in it, she supposed. A handful of riders controlling so many animals, driving them along past pastures where other cattle watched the procession with bored eyes, nipping potential strays back in with a quick movement of horse.
    Season after season, she mused, year after year and decade after decade, in a manner that changed little. The horse was the tool here, as it had always been. A four-wheeler couldn’t travel the forests, over the rivers, up and down the rocky ravines.
    The pastures of the high country were rich, and so the cattle were taken up to graze on thick meadow grass, to laze through the summer and into the early fall under the wide sky with eagle and mountain sheep and each other for company.
    And summer was coming, like a gift. The trees grew greener, the pines lusher, and she could hear the cheerful bubble of water moving quick and cool. Wildflowers dotted a near meadow, a surprising shower of color, teased out by the strong sun. Birds darted through the trees like arrows, over the hills like kites. And the mountains rose, creamy white at the peaks, with the deep green belt of trees darkening, and the ridges and folds that were valleys and canyons shimmering shadowlike.
    “How you holding up?” Jim paced his horse beside her and made her grin. He looked as cocky and raw as anything that had ridden out of the Wild West.
    “Holding. Actually it’s fun.”
    He winked. “Be sure to tell that to your back end at the end of the day.”
    “Oh, I stopped feeling that an hour ago.” But she stretched up just to check. No, her butt was as dead as a numbed tooth. “I’ve never been up this high before. It’s gorgeous.”
    “There’s a spot just up ahead. You look out thataway”—he gestured—“it’s a picture.”
    “How long have you been doing this, Jim? Taking the herd up in the spring?”
    “For Mercy? Shit, about fifteen years, give or take.” He winked again, saw Willa riding up, and knew she’d give him the look that meant he was lollygagging. “Keeps me outta pool halls and away from wild women.” He trotted back to point, leaving Tess chuckling.
    “Don’t flirt with a cowboy on a drive,” Willa told her.
    “We were having a short, civilized conversation. When I flirt I—oh, oh, my God.” Tess reined in her horse, looked out in the direction Jim had just indicated. Understanding, Willa stopped behind her.
    “Nice view.”
    “It’s like a painting,” Tess whispered. “It doesn’t seem real.” It