Montana Sky

those first couple of days. And I need the exercise.”
    “No, you’re enjoying it.”
    “All right, I’m enjoying it. But if it gets much colder than this, I won’t be enjoying it till spring.”
    “It’ll get colder than this. But your blood’ll be thicker. Your mind tougher.” He leaned down to stroke the neck ofhis mount. “And you’ll be hooked. Every day you don’t ride, you’ll feel deprived.”
    “Every day I can’t stroll down Sunset Boulevard I feel deprived. I manage.”
    He laughed. “When you get back to Sunset Boulevard, you’ll think of the sky here, and the hills. Then you’ll come back.”
    Intrigued, she tipped down her sunglasses, peered at him over the tops. “What is this? Indian mysticism and fortunetelling?”
    “Nope. Psychology one-oh-one. Can I use the camera, Lily? I’ll take a picture of you and Tess.”
    “All right. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Tess.
    “I never turn away from a camera.” She walked her horse around Adam’s, turned her—rather smoothly, she thought—and came close to Lily’s right. “How’s this?”
    “It’s good.” He lifted the camera, focused. “Two beautiful women in one frame.” And snapped, twice. “When you look at these, you’ll see how much you share. The shape of the face, the coloring, even the way you sit in the saddle.”
    Automatically, Tess straightened her shoulders. She felt what she considered a mild affection for Lily, but she was far from ready for sisterhood. “Let’s have the camera, Adam. I’ll take the two of you. The Virginia Magnolia and the Noble Savage.”
    The minute it was out of her mouth, she winced. “Sorry. I tend to think of people as characters. No offense.”
    “None taken.” Adam passed her the camera. He liked her, the way she went after what she wanted, said what was on her mind. He doubted very much she’d appreciate being told those were two of his favorite qualities about Willa. “How do you think of yourself?”
    “Shallow Gal. That’s why my screenplays sell. Smile.”
    “I like your movies,” Lily said when Tess lowered the camera. “They’re exciting and entertaining.”
    “And play to the least common denominator. Nothing wrong with that.” She handed the camera back to Lily.“You write for the masses, you take off your brain and keep it simple.”
    “You’re not giving yourself or your audience enough credit.” Adam flicked his gaze toward the trees, scanned.
    “Maybe not, but . . .” Tess trailed off as a movement caught her eye. “There’s something back there in the trees. Something moved.”
    “Yes, I know. It’s upwind. I can’t smell it.” Casually, he laid his hand on the butt of his rifle.
    “Bears are hibernating now, right?” Tess moistened her lips and tried not to think of a man and a knife. “It wouldn’t be a bear.”
    “Sometimes they wake up. Why don’t you start heading home? I’ll take a look.”
    “You can’t go up there alone.” Instinct made Lily reach over, grab his reins. At the abrupt movement his horse shied and kicked up snow. “You can’t. It could be anything. It could be—”
    “Nothing,” he said calmly, and soothed his horse. A few innocent flakes danced into the air. He didn’t think they’d stay innocent for long. “But it’s best to see.”
    “Lily’s right.” Shivering, Tess kept her eyes trained on the tree line. “And it’s starting to snow. Let’s just go. Right now.”
    “I can’t do that.” Adam locked his dark, quiet eyes on Lily’s. “It’s probably nothing.” He knew better by the way his horse was beginning to quiver beneath him, but kept his voice easy. “But a man was killed barely a mile from here. I have to see. Now head back, and I’ll catch up with you. You know the way.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Please, do this for me. I’ll be right behind you.”
    Knowing she was useless in an argument, Lily turned her horse.
    “Stay together,” Adam told Tess, then rode toward the tree line.
    “He’ll be all right.” Her teeth threatened to chatter as Tess made the reassurance. “Hell, Lily, it’s probably a squirrel.” Too much movement for a squirrel, she thought.“Or a moose or something. We’ll have to tease him about saving the womenfolk from a marauding moose.”
    “And what if it’s not?” Lily’s quiet southern voice fractured like glass. “What if the police and everyone are wrong and whoever killed that man is still here?” She stopped her horse.