up in every direction, walling off the horizon in hues of blue and purple and slate gray, except at dawn or dusk, when they glowed as if lit from within. There was snow on some of the higher peaks—snow that remained nearly year-round, a constant reminder of the harsher life in mountain country. Yet, for all their violent moods, the mountains were heartbreakingly beautiful.
Seemingly rugged and yet so fragile. So vulnerable to the predation of mankind. He understood why Jessie had done as she had. He had seen the ugly urban sprawl, the housing developments, the new roads, the encroachment of a wealthy and burgeoning population into sacred areas that one once thought would never be sullied.
Thanks to Jessie Weaver’s sacrifice some of the land was safe. But how was he going to convince her to remain? McCutcheon’s plea had aggravated an anguish of his own: the prospect of Jessie leaving this place and the incomprehensible reality that he might never see her again. In their times together Jessie had never led him to believe that anything other than friendship existed between them; still, he felt closer to her than he had to any other woman.
McCutcheon could hire other caretakers, men or women with environmental acumen, who had the good sense to manage the land largely by diplomatic non-interference with Mother Nature. Yet clearly the best of them wouldn’t be enough.
So Jessie Weaver had to stay. The fact was as elemental as the sun rising in the east. Without her presence, the very spirit and soul of the land she loved would wither and die; he was as convinced of this as McCutcheon was. Somehow, they had to convince her of the same thing.
But how?
CALEB MCCUTCHEON HAD her truck fixed by midmorning and departed for Katy Junction, but it seemed as though the better part of the day was gone. The best part was early morning, because then the whole of the day stretched before her, as long and golden as the sun’s early rays slanting across the valley. There were always half a million tasks to complete before the sun disappeared behind the westward mountain range. So many things to do, and only so many hours of daylight. These had been her days for as long as she could remember, an earthy ferment of timeless cycles, and it was hard to imagine that only three more remained. Time, which had always been immeasurable here, was quickly running out.
She had to bring the broodmares down from the high country. She’d gotten four of them into the home corral already, including the one that had broken her arm, but seven still ranged up in the foothills where the graze was good, although hard frosts had already yellowed the grass. She sorely missed old Gray, that big handsome stallion that had kept the mares under close guard and brought them down each fall to the safety of the valley. Lightning had killed him in an early-summer thunderstorm—just one more blow to send her reeling, one more wrenching pain to twist an already broken heart.
One of the mares would be hard to root out, a wily mare called Fox, who had lived up to her name on more than one occasion. She was with foal, and impending motherhood made her even cannier. Fox just plain didn’t like being fenced in. She was wild at heart, wild to the core, and to run free in the high country was all she asked of life. Jessie would gladly have gifted her that freedom, but those days had ended for Fox. No more the high lonesome for that tough Spanish mare. It was time for both of them to adjust to a new life. Jessie didn’t know which of them would take it the harder—her or Fox.
She saddled Billy, and with the little cow dog trotting at heel, she set out along the river, keeping to the river trail until she intersected the old Indian trace that led up into the foothills. Centuries ago the Crow Indians had worn this trail from the river up over the shoulder of Montana Mountain, through Dead Woman Pass and down to their winter encampment on the eastern flanks of the Beartooth. Some said their ghosts still haunted this trail, though Jessie had never chanced upon one. Nonetheless, she felt a deep connection to the storied mysteries of the historic trace, and rarely followed it without remembering a distant and very different time.
A crash in the brush nearby caused her heart to leap. The dog dashed in pursuit and she caught a blur of mahogany, a flash of horn, before dog and steer disappeared into the thicket. She gave a short, sharp whistle. “Blue! Come heel!” She wasn’t for chasing after longhorn steers. They were as wild as the deer, and she held them in the same esteem as the other wild creatures of the land. They had come up from Texas and remnants of her great-great-grandfather’s herd still roamed, shy and reclusive, as tough and enduring as the harsh wilds in which they lived. Over the past century they’d interbred with the eastern breeds, but there was no mistaking a cow with longhorn blood running in its veins.
“Come on, Blue. Never mind them wild steers. Find Fox. Find that wily old mustang!” The dog looked up at her bright eyed, ears cocked and head tipped to one side. Fox. She knew the name. That little cow dog was smarter than most humans. “Find Fox, Blue! The rest of ’em’ll be real close.”
The dog spun around and dashed off. Jessie reined Billy to follow. Two hours later they had climbed nearly one thousand feet up into the pass, and still no sign of the broodmares. Worse, more clouds were building over the mountain range to the west and the air had a keen edge. It tasted of snow and promised an early winter. “Damn that mare!” she muttered, reining Billy around an outcrop of rock as the trail climbed higher. “She knows! Somehow she knows I’m after her, and she’s on the run!”
Past noon and Jessie was wishing she’d had the fore-thought to pack a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich. Normally she would have, but nothing had been normal of late, including the fact that the ranch’s larder was bare. If Steven hadn’t brought that food by last night, she’d have gone to bed on an empty stomach. He was such a sweet and thoughtful man.
She paused to rest Billy in a sheltered hollow, swinging down out of the saddle and loosening the cinch. Lord, but it was getting chilly! The wind had picked up and the sun had long disappeared. She shrugged more deeply into her coat and led Billy, keening her eyes for any movement as they climbed, scanning for tracks and wondering where Blue had gotten to. They’d have to turn back soon if they were going to make it to the ranch by dark. She hated to give up the search, but she hated worse the idea of spending a night out unprepared with another storm blowing in.
Another mile passed, another chilly hour. Jessie tightened the saddle cinch and again swung aboard Billy. “Blue!” she shouted. She put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a piercing whistle that was whipped away on the strong wind. “C’mon, Blue! Time to head home!” Blue knew better than to range too far afield, but something had lured her astray. Still and all, that dog could find her way home in a blizzard. Jessie wasn’t overly worried. She was reining Billy around, when she heard the dog’s faint barking. She stood in the stirrups, craning to place the sound so shredded by the wind. There—down in that draw!
Billy was as surefooted as a mountain goat, and when Jessie pointed him down the slope he sat back on his haunches like a giant dog and slid in a scatter of loose gravel until the slope flattened out into a thick coniferous forest that darkened the ravine. Blue’s barking became much clearer once they were out of the wind. It had a frightened, desperate pitch, and Jessie kept Billy moving as quickly as she dared as apprehension tightened her stomach. “Blue? Hang on, girl! I’m coming!”
Suddenly, Billy shied and blew like a deer. “Easy, easy now… Whoa now…” Jessie soothed, swinging out of the saddle before he could jump again. “It’s all right.” She tried to lead him forward, but he threw his head back and balked. This was unusual behavior for an old pro like Billy, and Jessie didn’t force him. She knew that a horse could hear and smell far better than a human. She ground-tied him and continued toward Blue’s bark. Not too far beyond where she’d left the horse, she spotted the dog. Blue was lying in a small gravelly clearing fringed with dense growth. She was lying very still, with her front paws stretched out in front of her. Behind her the ground was scuffed. At the sight of Jessie the dog struggled to rise but failed.
“Blue!”
