Montana Sky

anything against the old fart, but he’d come along at the wrong time, and needs must.
    Needs must, he thought again, snorting into his hands. That’s what his dear old ma had always said. Even when she’d been stoned, she’d been happy to dispense such homilies. Needs must. A stitch in time. Early to bed and a penny saved. Blood’s thicker than water.
    Recovered, he let out a breath and dropped his hands on his belly.
    He remembered how the knife had slid into Pickles’s belly. All those layers of fat, he mused, patting himself. It had been like stabbing a pillow. Then there had been that sucking sound, the kind you could make giving a woman a nice fat hickey to brand her.
    But the best, the very best, had been lifting what was leftof Pickles’s hair. Not that it made much of a trophy, all thin and straggly, but the way the knife had made that wicked flap had been so fascinating.
    And the blood.
    Good Jesus, did he bleed.
    He wished he could have taken more time with it, maybe done a little victory dance. Now the next time . . .
    He had to stifle another chuckle. For there would be a next time. He was through with cattle and pets. Humans were much more challenging. He’d have to be careful, and he’d have to wait. If he took another one too quick, it would spoil the anticipation.
    And he wanted to choose the next one, not just stumble over someone.
    Maybe he should do a woman. He could take her into the trees, where he had hidden his trophies. He could cut her clothes away while she was begging him not to hurt her. Then he could rape the shit out of her.
    He grew hard thinking of it, idly stroked himself while he planned. It would certainly add a new thrill to be able to take his time over it, to watch his prey, watch the eyes bulge with fear as he explained every little thing he was going to do.
    It had to be even better that way. When they knew.
    But he would need to practice. A woman would be the next stage, and he hadn’t perfected this one yet.
    No rush, he thought dreamily, and began to masturbate in earnest. No rush at all.

PART TWO
    WINTER
    They that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent . . . .
    — William Bradford

NINE
    E VEN MURDER COULDN ’ T STOP WORK . THE MEN WERE jumpy, but they took orders. Now that they were another hand short, Willa pushed herself to take up the slack. She rode fences, drove out to the fields to check on the harvest, manned the squeeze shoot herself, and huddled over the record books at night.
    The weather turned, and turned fast. The chill in the air threatened winter, and there was frost on the pastures every morning. What cattle wouldn’t be wintered over had to be shipped to feed pens for finishing—Mercy’s own outside of Ennis or down to Colorado.
    If she wasn’t on horseback or driving a four-wheeler, she went up with Jim in the plane. She’d considered getting her pilot’s license, but had quickly discovered that air travel didn’t suit her. She didn’t care for the noise of the engine or how the quick dips and turns affected her stomach.
    Her father had loved to buzz the land in the little Cessna. The first time she’d flown with him, she’d been miserably ill. It had been the last time he had taken her up.
    Now that there was only Jim qualified to pilot—and he had a tendency to hotdog—she wondered if she’d have to reconsider. An operation like Mercy needed a backup pilot,and maybe if she was at the controls she wouldn’t get light-headed or nauseous.
    “Pretty as a picture from up here.” Grinning, Jim dipped the wings, and Willa felt her breakfast slide greasily toward her throat. “Looks like we got another fence down.” Cheerfully he dropped altitude to get a closer look.
    Willa gritted her teeth and made a mental note of their position. She forced herself to scan the cattle, take a broad head count. “We need to rotate those cows before they take the grass down.” She hissed between her teeth when the plane angled sharply. “Can’t you fly this damn thing straight?”
    “Sorry.” He tucked his tongue in his cheek to hold back a chuckle. But when he got a look at her face, he leveled off gently. She was a pale shade of green. “You oughtn’t to come up, Will, leastwise without taking some of those airsick pills first.”
    “I took the damn things.” She concentrated on her breathing, wished she could appreciate the beauty of the land, the pastures green and glinting with frost, the hills