it. Whatever that was about, it’s for you guys to deal with.”
“But we put you in an uncomfortable spot, and I’m—”
“Don’t apologize. It had nothing to do with me.” He glanced at her. “Unless you think otherwise?”
“I don’t. I know you wouldn’t go along with anything like that.” She smiled. “I realize we just met, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. Brad can’t push you into doing anything you don’t want to. I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“I’m here to work, and I’ve been at this kind of work long enough to know when to excuse myself from the table.” He ran his hand down the horse’s back and patted his rump. “I’m the one who owes an apology. I asked you to come with me for supper, and then I didn’t show up.”
“You were working.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Should’ve taken my own pickup instead of getting in with Brad. But now that I’ve got this guy...” He lifted a familiar black saddle onto the buckskin’s back. “Brad didn’t tell me he was Frank’s. You think he minds?”
“I think he’s glad to have you ride him.”
“Is he a good judge of character, too?”
“Sometimes. He’s already taken a shine to you.”
“So...” He gave the saddle cinch a firm tug. “Would you like some company on the ride back to your ancient digs?”
She smiled. “Would you like a tour of the ruins when we get there?”
“You got any mummies?”
“I had one, but she died when I was twelve. Now I just have a stepmummy.” She gave a shy smile. She knew she was being too cute by half. She was far afield of her comfort zone. “You?”
“Mine’s dead, too. So’s my dad. Been a while, so, uh...” He lowered the stirrup. “We should cover new ground on the way back. I didn’t get much chance to look close, flying around the pasture in Brad’s pickup—hey, that man sure has a lead foot—but I tried to be on the lookout. You know, for...any kind of sign.”
“See what I mean? You’re obviously a nice man.”
“You want me to throw a saddle on that pretty black?”
“I pull out my own chair and saddle my own horse.” She smiled. “But thanks for the thought.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He touched his hat brim. “Always thinking.”
* * *
The sun hovered above the sawtooth horizon and the air was still, leaving the horses to stir the grass and offering the crickets a quiet setting for their serenade. Lila had covered the side of the road before supper, so they took the south side, zigzagging separately, cutting across a wide swath. She knew the odds of finding anything weren’t great, but every search was a chance, and she wouldn’t rest until she knew for sure. She’d adopted Bingo from a shelter in Rapid City, and he’d seen her through some lonely times.
“Was he sick or anything?”
Lila looked up and saw Del staring at something on the ground. His dismount was as fluid as any she’d ever seen. Reins in hand, he squatted on his heels, picked something up and sniffed it.
“C’mon, Jackpot.” She trotted her horse in his direction. “Anything?”
“Too old.” He stood up and tossed his discovery. “A piece of something hairy, but all dried up.”
“Why do I have a feeling you haven’t always been a cowboy?”
“I don’t know.” He used the horn as a fulcrum and swung back into the saddle without benefit of a stirrup. Grinning like the boy who’d taken a run and jumped all the way over the creek, he adjusted his hat. “Maybe I started out as a trick rider.”
She narrowed her eyes, considering, and shook her head. “What else you got?”
“I like to work my way up, one surprise at a time. Keeps ’em guessing.” He braced his forearm over the horn and took a turn studying her. “Where’d you go to college?”
“Minneapolis.” He’d started moving. She nudged her gelding to catch up. “Were you ever a cop?”
He gave her an incredulous look, caught himself and laughed. “How did you come up with that?”
“The way you examined the evidence.”
“Too many detective movies and not enough Westerns, college girl. What did you study?”
“Art history, music, British history, literature—”
He whistled appreciatively.
“—business, library science.”
“That’s a lot of studying.”
“I didn’t quite finish,” she said quietly.
A meadowlark answered Del’s whistle.
“I’m listening,” he prompted after a moment had passed.
“I had a bad car accident.”
He let the words have their due. The grass swished, crickets buzzed, the sun settled on the sharp point of a hill.
“Hurt bad?”
“I wasn’t. The person I hit... She was.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t drive anymore.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
More grass sound filled in.
“She okay now?”
“Were you ever a reporter?” she retorted stiffly.
He said nothing. He’d gone one step too far. Game over.
“Put it this way,” she amended. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who usually asks a lot of questions.”
“I’m not the kind who’d strike you at all. I’m the kind who’d do his job, tip his hat when you walk past him and keep his thoughts to himself.”
“Sounds like we’re two of a kind. Or were, until you took an interest in helping me find my dog.”
“You’d do the same, right? It’s all about the dog.”
“We were talking about ancient history before,” she reminded him. “Mummies and all like that. Been a while, you said. For me, too. And the passage of time helps. I know it does. It takes the edge off regrets, shuts down the what-ifs.” They were riding slowly now, the search all but set aside. “She recovered, but it took a long time, and it changed her life. Don’t ask me how it happened. It doesn’t
