Montana Sky

alone.”
    “I can defend myself. I’ve taken classes.”
    Tess’s announcement made Willa snort.
    “I could take you down,” Tess tossed out. “In ten seconds I’d have you on your back seeing stars. But that’s beside the point.” She had a low-grade urge for a cigarette, and promised herself she’d indulge it soon. “Lily and I can’t very well attach ourselves to each other at the hip.”
    “I’m with Adam most of the day. With the horses.”
    Willa nodded at Lily and slid back into the water. “You can depend on Adam. And Bess. And Ham.”
    “Why Ham?” Tess wanted to know.
    “He raised me,” Willa said shortly. “The weather’s going to keep the two of you close to the house for the next little while anyway.”
    “What about you?” Lily asked.
    “I’ll worry about me.” Willa submerged, holding her breath under the water, then came up feeling nearly human again. “I haven’t had the benefit of Hollywood’s self-defense courses, but I know the men, I know the land. If either one of you is nervous, you can saddle up and go to work with me. Now, unless one of you wants to scrub my back, I’d like some privacy.”
    Tess rose, and as an afterthought reached down for the tray. “Being cocky isn’t much protection against a knife.”
    “A Winchester is.” And satisfied with that, Willa reached for the soap.
     
    S HE SLEPT POORLY . EXHAUSTION . AS POWERFUL AS IT WAS . couldn’t beat back the nightmares. Willa tossed and turned, fighting for sleep as images of blood and gore raced through her head.
    When that thin winter light crept through the wall of steadily falling snow, she shivered and wished there was something, someone, to hold on to. For just a little while.
     
    S OMEONE ELSE WOKE IN THAT SAME STINGY LIGHT WITH those same images running like a river through his head.
    But they made him smile.

TWELVE
    F ROM TESS ’ S JOURNAL :
     
    I’m beginning to like snow. Or I’m going slowly insane. Each morning when I look out my bedroom window, there it is, white and shiny. Miles of it. I can’t say I care for the cold. Or the fucking wind. But the snow, particularly when I’m inside looking out, has a certain appeal. Or maybe I’m beginning to feel safe again.
    It’s a week before Christmas, and nothing has happened to interrupt the routine. No murdered men, no slaughtered wildlife. Just the eerie quiet of snow-smothered days. Maybe the cops were right after all, and whoever killed that poor bald guy was a psychotic hiker. We can only hope.
    Lily is big into the holiday spirit. Funny, sweet woman. She’s like a child about it, hustling bags into her bedroom, wrapping presents, baking cookies with Bess. Great cookies, which means I’ve been adding an extra fifteen minutes to my morning workouts.
    We took a trip into Billings, for what it’s worth, to do some Christmas shopping. Lily was easy enough. I found a pretty brooch of a rearing horse, very delicate and feminine. Figured I had to come up with something for sour-face Bess, and settled on a cookbook. Lily approved it, so I suppose I’m safe. The cowgirl’s another matter. I still haven’t pinned her down.
    Is this woman fearless or stupid?
    She goes out every day, more often than not alone. She works her ass off, swaggers down to the old bunkhouse every evening to talk to her men. When she’s in the house, she’s often buried up to her eyeballs with ledgers and cow reports.
    I’m afraid I’m starting to admire her, and I’m not sure I like it. I got her a cashmere sweater, I don’t know why. She never wears anything but flannel. But it’s screaming siren red, very soft and female. She’ll probably end up tossing it on over her long underwear and castrating cows in it. Hell with it.
    For Adam, because he appeals to me on a surprisingly fraternal level, I found a lovely little watercolor of the mountains. It reminded me of him.
    After much debate with myself, I decided to spring for a token gift for both Ben and Nate, since they spend so much time around here. I picked up a video of Red River for Ben, kind of a gag that I hope will be taken in the proper spirit.
    And after some subtle probing, I learned that Nate has a weakness for poetry. He’s getting a volume of Keats. We’ll see.
    Between the shopping, the smells from the kitchen, and the decorating, I’m getting in the holiday mood myself. Just shipped off a ton of presents for Mom. With her, it’s not the quality but the quantity, and I know she’ll