Montana Sky

“You took me down in front of that boy today.”
    “I’m sorry.” She folded her hands in her lap, stared down at him. It was the sound of his voice, raw with hurt and wounded pride, that scraped at her. “I tried to make it simple.”
    “Make what simple? You think I need some girl I used to paddle coming out and telling me I’m too old to do my job?”
    “I never said—”
    “Hell you didn’t. Plain as day to me.”
    “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” She kicked at the porch rail out of sheer frustration. “Why do you have to be so hardheaded?”
    “Me? Never in my life did I see a more rock-headed female than the one I’m sitting beside right now. You think you know it all, girl? You think you got all the answers? That every blessed thing you do is right?”
    “No!” She exploded with it, leaped up. “No, I don’t. I don’t know half the time if it’s right, but I have to do it anyway. And I did what I had to do today, and it was right. Goddamn you, Ham, you were going to have heatstroke in another ten minutes, and then where the hell would I be? How the hell could I run this place without you?”
    “You’re already doing just that. You took me off the job today.”
    “I took you off the fences. I don’t want you riding fence in this heat. I’m telling you I’m not having it.”
    “You’re not having it.” He rose too, went nose to nosewith her. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me you’re not having it? I’ve been riding fence in every kind of weather since before you were born. And you nor nobody’s telling me I can’t do it until I say I’m done.”
    “I’m telling you.”
    “Then cut me my last check.”
    “Fine.” She swung to the door, pushed by temper. Her hand fisted on the edge, then whipped it back in a slam that shook the wood under her feet. “I was scared! Why can’t I be allowed to be scared?”
    “What in hell are you scared of?”
    “Losing you, you mule-headed son of a bitch. You were all red-faced and sweaty and your breath was puffing like a bad engine. I couldn’t stand it. I just couldn’t. And if you’d just gone in like I asked you, it would’ve been fine.”
    “It was hot,” he said, but his voice was weak now, and a little ashamed.
    “I know it was hot. Goddamn it, Ham, that’s the point. Why’d you make me push you that way? I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Billy. I just wanted you to get out of the sun. I know who my father was,” she said furiously, and made his head come up, his eyes meet hers again. “And I haven’t buried him yet. Not the one who really counted when I needed him to count. I don’t want to bury him for a long time.”
    “I could’ve finished.” He bumped his toe on the rail, stared at it. “Hell, Will, I was making the boy do most of the work. I know my limits.”
    “I need you here.” She waited for her system to calm again. “I need you, Ham. I’m asking you to stay.”
    He moved his shoulders, kept his eyes on his feet. “I guess I got no place better to be. I shouldn’ta bucked you. I guess I knew you were thinking of me.” He shifted his feet, cleared his throat. “You’re doing a fine job around here, all in all. I’m, ah . . . I’m proud of you.”
    And that’s why he was the one who counted, she thought. The father of her blood had never said those words to her. “I can’t do it alone. You want to come in?” She opened the door again. “Have some of that peach ice cream. Youcan tell me all the things I’m doing wrong.”
    He scratched his beard. “Maybe. I guess there’s a few things I could straighten you out on.”
     
    W HEN HE LEFT , HIS BELLY WAS FULL AND HIS HEART considerably lighter. He strolled toward the bunkhouse, light of step. He heard the sounds, the disturbed braying of cattle, the click of boot heels.
    Who the hell was on guard duty? He couldn’t quite place it. Jim or Billy, he thought, and decided to wander over to check things out.
    “That you, Jim? Billy? What are you playing with the penned head for this time of night?”
    He saw the calf first, bleeding, eyes rolling in fear and pain. He’d taken two running steps before he saw the man rise up out of the shadows.
    “What the devil’s this? What the hell have you done?”
    And he knew, before he saw the knife arch up, but there was no time to scream.
    The panic came first. With the knife dripping in his hand, he stared down at Ham, the blood. Wiped a hand over his mouth.