Montana Sky

don’t have anything against Ben and Nate, they’re good men. Fair. And it would take a brainless moose not to see what Jack was up to, bringing Ben around here. Aroundyou. But I ain’t talking about that.” He waved a hand at her as she scowled. “You got nothing to prove to Jack Mercy, and it’s time somebody said so to your face.” He nodded briskly. “So I am.”
    “I can’t just push it away. He was my father.”
    “We pump sperm out of a bull and stick it in a cow, that don’t make that bull a father.”
    Stunned, she got to her feet. “I never heard you talk about him like this. I thought you were friends.”
    “I had respect for him as a cattleman. Never said I respected the man.”
    “Then why did you stay on, all these years?”
    He looked at her, shook his head slowly from side to side. “That’s a damn fool question.”
    For me, she thought, and felt both foolish and humbled. Unable to face him, she turned, stared out the window.
    “You taught me to ride.”
    “Somebody had to.” His voice went rusty, so he cleared it. “Before you broke your fool neck climbing on when nobody was looking.”
    “When I fell and broke my arm when I was eight, you and Bess took me to the hospital.”
    “The woman was too flustered to be driving you herself. Likely have wrecked the rig.” Uneasy, he shifted in his chair, drummed his stubby fingers.
    If his wife had lived past their first two years of marriage, he might have had kids of his own. He’d stopped thinking of that, and the lack, because there’d been Willa to tend to.
    “And I ain’t talking about all that. I’m talking now. You gotta back off a little, Will.”
    “There’s so much going on. Ham, I keep seeing that girl, and Pickles. If I let my mind go clear, I see them.”
    “Nothing you can do to change what happened, is there? And nothing you did to make it happen. This bastard, he’s doing what he’s doing ’cause he can.”
    It was too close to what he’d said about her father—it made her shudder. “I don’t want another death on my hands, Ham. I don’t think I could stand it.”
    “Goddamn it, why don’t you listen?” The furious shoutmade her turn, stare at him. “It’s not on your hands, and you’re a big-headed fool if you think so. What happened happened, and that’s that. This ranch don’t need you to be fussing over every acre of it twenty hours a day, either. It’s about time you tried being a female for a while.”
    Her mouth fell open. Shouting wasn’t his way unless he was riled past patience. And never could she recall him referring to her gender. “Just what does that mean?”
    “When’s the last time you put on a dress and went out to kick up your heels?” he demanded, even though it made him flush to say it. “I’m not counting New Year’s and whatever that thing was you were almost wearing that had the boys spilling drool out their mouths.”
    She laughed at that and, intrigued, slid a hip onto the corner of the desk. “Is that so?”
    “If I’d been your pa, I’d have sent you back upstairs for a proper dress, with your ears ringing, too.” Embarrassed by his outburst, he crushed his hat onto his head. “But that’s done, too. Now I’m saying why don’t you get that McKinnon boy to take you out to a sit-down dinner or a picture show or some such thing instead of you spending every waking hour in a pair of muddy boots? That’s what I’m saying.”
    “And you’ve certainly had a lot to say this afternoon.” Which meant, she reflected, that he’d been storing it up. “Just what makes you think I’d be interested in a sit-down dinner with Ben McKinnon?”
    “A blind man coulda seen the way you two were plastered together pretending to be dancing.” He decided not to mention the fact that at the poker game at Three Rocks the week before, Ben had pumped him dry for information on her. Conversation over five-card stud was as sacrosanct as that in a confessional. “That’s all I have to say about it.”
    “Sure?” she asked sweetly. “No observations on my diet, my hygiene, my social skills?”
    Oh, she’s a sassy one, he thought, and bit back a smile. “You ain’t eating enough to fill a rabbit, but you clean up good enough. Far as I can see, you ain’t got any social skills.” He was pleased to have worked a fresh scowl outof her. “I got work to do.” He started out, then paused. “I hear Stu McKinnon is feeling poorly.”
    “Mr. McKinnon’s ill? What’s