The Horse Whisperer

It seemed to A

His skin was pale, though not as pale as hers, and on his rib-furrowed chest the cruciform of hair was darker than the sunbleach of his head. There was a kind of supple angularity to him, born of his work, which somehow she had expected. He moved on her with that same centered confidence she'd seen in him all along; only now, focused exclusively on her in this new domain, it was both more overt and intense. She wondered how this body that she'd never seen, this flesh, these parts of him she'd never touched, could yet feel so known and fit her so well.

His mouth delved the open hollow of her arm. She felt his tongue slick the hair that since coming here she'd let grow long and soft again. She turned her head and saw the framed photographs on top of the chest of drawers. And for a fleeting moment, the sight of them threatened to co

When their mouths parted, he leaned back and looked down at her and for the first time smiled, moving on her to the slow rasp of their coupled selves.

'You remember that first day we rode?' she said.

'Every moment.'

'That pair of golden eagles? Do you remember?'

'Yes.'

'That's what we are. Now. That's what we are.'

He nodded. Their eyes locked into each other, unsmiling now, in a growing preoccupied urgency, until at last she saw the flicker in his face and felt him quiver and then the spurt and flood of him within her. And she arched herself into him and at the same time felt in her loins a shocking, protracted imploding of flesh that rushed to her core then jolted and spread in waves to the furthest corners of her being, bearing him there with it, until he filled every place within her and they were one and indistinguishable.

Chapter Thirty-two

He woke with the dawn and felt at once the sleeping warmth of her beside him. She lay along his body, nestled in the shelter of his arm. He could feel her breath on his skin and the soft rise and fall of her breasts against him. Her right leg was tucked over his. He could feel the gentle prickle of her belly on his thigh. The palm of her right hand lay on his chest above his heart.

It was that clarifying hour when normally men left and women wanted them to stay. He'd known it many times himself, the urge to slip away like a thief with the dawn. It seemed prompted not so much by guilt as by fear, fear that the comfort or companionship that women seemed often to want, after a night spent more carnally, was somehow too committing. Maybe there was some primordial force at work. You sowed your seed and got the hell out. If so, this morning, Tom felt not a trace of it. He lay quite still so as not to wake her. And it occurred to him that maybe he was afraid to. Never in the night, not once in the long hours of their tireless hunger, had she shown any sign of regret. But he knew that with the dawn would come, if not regret, some colder new perspective. And so he lay in the unfolding light and treasured the slack and guiltless warmth of her beneath his arm.

He slept again and woke the second time to the sound of a car. A

It was Smoky. He'd pulled up beside their two cars and was inspecting Tom's hat which had stood all night on the hood of the Chevy. The worry on his face changed to a grin of relief when he heard the clack of the screen door and saw Tom heading out toward him.

'Hiya, Smoke.'

'Thought you was upped and gone down to Sheridan.'

'Yeah. There was a change of plan. Sorry, I meant to call you.' He'd called the man with the colts from a gas station in Lovell to say sorry he couldn't make it, but had clean forgotten about Smoky.

Smoky handed him his hat. It was damp from the dew.

'Thought for a minute there you'd been kidnapped by aliens or somethin'.' He looked at A

'A

'Well, Grace did, but her mother couldn't get a flight. She's staying over till the weekend when Grace gets back.'

'Right.' Smoky nodded slowly but Tom could see he wasn't altogether sure what was going on. Tom glanced at the Chevy's open door and remembered the lights must have been on all night too.

'Had some trouble last night with the battery here,' he said. 'Maybe you could help me give it a jump?'

It didn't explain a whole lot but it did the trick, for the prospect of a task seemed to drive all lingering doubt from Smoky's face.

'Sure,' he said. 'I got some leads in the truck.'

A

Through a narrow gap in the drapes she saw Smoky's truck pulling away from the barn and Tom waving after him. Then he turned and headed back to the house. She knew he wouldn't see her if he looked up and, watching him, she wondered how the night might have changed them both. What now might he think of her, having seen her so wanton and shameless? What now did she think of him?

He squinted up at the sky where already the clouds were burning off. The dogs came bounding around his legs and he ruffled their heads and spoke to them as he walked and A

She showered in his little bathroom, waiting to be seized by guilt or remorse, but neither came, only trepidation at what he might be feeling. She found the sight of his few simple toilet things beside the basin oddly touching. She used his toothbrush. There was a big blue toweling bathrobe slung by the door and she put it on, wrapping herself in the smell of him, and went back into his room.

He'd opened the drapes and was looking out of the window when she came in. He heard her and turned and she recalled him doing the same that day in Choteau when he'd come to the house to give her his verdict on Pilgrim. There were two cups steaming on the table beside him. She could see the apprehension in his smile. 'I made some coffee.' 'Thanks.'

She went over and took the cup, casing it in her hands. Alone together in the big empty room, they seemed suddenly formal, like strangers arrived too early at a party. He nodded at the robe.

'It suits you.' She smiled and sipped the coffee. It was black and strong and very hot. 'There's a better bathroom along the way there if you—' 'Yours is just fine.' "That was Smoky dropped by. I forgot to call him.'

There was silence. Somewhere down by the creek a horse whi