Ninety-one

Kootenai Canyon, Montana

She’d been gone for forty-two days and they’d settled into a comfortable rhythm without her. He made breakfast every morning before Miss Ettie took the kids upstairs. It was fall and much to their disappointment, that meant homeschool was back in session.

Lunch was usually spent in the field, mending fences or driving their small herd of cattle into the lower pastures for the coming winter. Dunn was a fast learner and even more importantly, game. He seemed as determined to stave off the boredom of isolation as Michael was.

Dinner was a quiet affair, the evening usually ending with him and Dunn doing dishes before he headed out to the barn to listen to the HAM radio spit static until he was ready to burn the whole place to the ground. He wasn’t sure when he’d come to the conclusion that she wasn’t coming back. He only knew that it hurt. He imagined that Phillip Song had made good on his threat to offer her a way home and she’d taken it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to take off the ring she’d put on his finger. He was pretty sure that would hurt worse than her actual leaving.

“Give me two,” Dunn said, peeling a pair of cards from his hand before tossing them onto the tiny table between them. Michael dealt him the cards and watched while he tucked them into his hand, eyes narrowed, mouth quirked just a bit at the corner. They’d played enough cards for him to know it meant Dunn didn’t have shit.

“We gonna ride out to 5J tomorrow, round up the last couple head?” Dunn said while rearranging his cards. Another indicator his hand was busted.

Surprisingly, he and Dunn hadn’t killed each other yet. All things considered, he figured that was a good thing. Neither one of them had broached the subject of how Dunn had managed to remove his chip since the day he turned up in his kitchen. He didn’t seem in a great hurry to share, beyond making sure he knew there would be a price to be paid for the how-to. For his part, Michael wasn’t in any hurry to know how he did it.

Without Sabrina, it didn’t really matter.

“Yeah,” he said, waiting for his opponent to fold. “We’ve got a couple of first-year heifers out there. I don’t want them—”

Across from him, Dunn went stiff a split second before Avasa picked up her head, a quiet growl rumbling in her chest. “Company,” Dunn said, gaze aimed over his shoulder, cards spilled, face up, across the table.

Michael turned to see a figure standing on the bridge, watching them. It was dusk, the sun just beginning to slip behind the surrounding cliffs. All he caught in the gathering dark was a pair of cargos. Ball cap pulled low. Gun bulge under the jacket.

“Friend of yours?” Dunn said behind him, tone casual and calm.

“No,” he said, even though his heart stopped and stuttered in his chest. “Go get—”

The dog shot off the porch like a bullet. Head low, legs moving so fast they became a blur, streaking across the yellowing grass. She let out a bark and the figure dropped the backpack a moment before it hunkered down to receive the dog with open arms.

They went down together, Avasa’s front paws planted firmly, pinning their visitor to the bridge beneath them, her tail whipping so hard and fast her back end swung with it, nearly knocking her over with every pass.

“Well, the dog seems to be friendly with whoever it is,” Dunn said behind him, the words delivered over the soft scraping of his chair along the floorboards of the porch. A few second later, Michael heard the screen door bang shut behind him.

As soon as Dunn was gone, Michael moved. Down the porch steps and across the lawn, gaining speed with each step until he was running. Stopping short, he stood at the lip of the bridge, hands moving to the front pockets of his jeans, watching Avasa greet her mistress.

The commotion with the dog knocked her hat off her head to reveal a dyed head of hair almost as short as his. She was thin again, making him wonder where she’d been. What happened to her. He wanted to ask but didn’t. There was plenty of time for that, now that she was home.

–––––

Seeing his boots, Sabrina nudged Avasa to the side, whispering a short command that held the dog quivering but still. She ran a hand over her flank, still whispering, the dull glint of her wedding band catching the dying sun with each pass. He stepped closer, until he was standing over the pair of them.

“You hungry?” His voice sounded rough, like his throat was lined with sandpaper. He cleared it. “Miss Ettie made a chicken gumbo and I think there’s a few—”

“I just dragged myself to hell and gone”—Sabrina stood slowly, eyes narrowed—“and all you have to offer me is leftover gumbo?”

“It’s good gumbo.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said. “But I don’t want it.”

“What do you want, Sabrina?” The words sounded heavier. What he was asking her had nothing to do with food.

“I want pancakes.”

“Pancakes, huh?” He pulled a hand free, stooping to fetch her hat. She caught his smile as he bent and it bolstered her. Gave her hope.

“Yup.” She nodded, taking the hat he offered her and tossing it over her shoulder. “And I want them every day, for the rest of your life.”

“Every day—for the rest of my life.” He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, grinning like an idiot. “I think I can help you with that.”

“Promise?” she said, slipping a hand along the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“Promise,” Michael whispered, right before he kissed her.