Part 8
Wade looked toward the pasture. Noah had a brush in one hand and was trying to convince Hope that standing still was a reasonable thing to do.
For months, Wade had imagined Voss arriving at the gate, or being led into a courtroom, or finally having to look at the damage he’d ordered done. Now there was only Denise beside the rail, waiting for him to speak.
“Strange way for it to end,” he said.
“I thought you should hear it from me.”
He nodded.
“Maybe you can stop watching the road.”
Wade glanced at the tools she had brought. “Haven’t had much time for that lately.”
Denise reached into her coat and handed him an envelope.
“This is the other thing. The bureau cleared the placement. Lark’s legal custody is settled, and she can stay here permanently.”
He turned the envelope over. His name and the ranch address filled the front in square printed letters.
“No one’s coming to collect her,” Denise said.
Wade looked at Lark. The mare stood near Noah, one ear toward the boy and one toward her filly.
“Thank you,” he said.
He put the envelope on the shelf inside, beside the photograph.
That evening, Wade walked the fence. Lark followed several paces behind, with Hope trotting between them. At the gate, he stopped and looked toward the ridge.
Grass had covered the shallow draw. The place where he’d found Noah was no longer visible from here.
“I figured that storm had us beat,” he said to the mare.
Lark stretched her neck and blew against his sleeve. Hope pushed her nose into his open palm, searching for something worth eating.
Wade rubbed the filly’s forehead.
“Shows what I know.”
He stayed until the first stars appeared, then walked back with the two horses behind him.
After Noah was asleep, Wade took a notebook onto the porch. He had kept measurements and weather records for years, but it had been a long time since he’d written anything he wasn’t obliged to remember.
He started with Tuck stopping in the snow.
The pencil moved slowly at first. He crossed out a sentence, sharpened the point with his knife, and tried again. He wrote down the boy’s hand in Lark’s mane, the way she had struggled to follow them, and how small Noah had looked beneath his coat.
He wrote Mara’s name. Then Adam’s.
Farther down the page, he described Noah laughing at the filly’s first attempt to stand.
By the time he finished, the porch boards had cooled beneath his bare feet. He signed the page and added a brief dedication to Lark, then tore it carefully from the notebook.
At the gate, he folded it once and slipped it beneath the cap of the new post. One corner remained loose enough for the air to stir it. He pressed his palm against the wood before going inside.
The next morning, Noah was in the meadow before Wade finished his coffee. Hope ran ahead of him, stopped without warning, and sent the boy into a clumsy turn. Lark stood at the far side of the field, mane lifting in the breeze.
Wade leaned on the fence.
For an instant, the sound of the filly’s feet brought back Tuck’s hooves in packed snow. He could feel the frozen reins in his hands again. Then Noah laughed, and Hope came skidding through the grass toward him.
Near noon, Denise stopped with another load of donated supplies. She stood beside the corral while Wade unloaded.
“You could use more stalls,” she said.
“I could use a day without a list.”
“And a proper training pen.”
He set down a sack and looked at her.
“You offering?”
“I know people.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Across the field, Noah had gone back to his book. Lark stood close enough for him to rest a hand on her foreleg as he read.
Wade watched for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll measure.”
Later, with chores finished and the yard still busy, he saddled Tuck for an easy ride through the valley. Lark came along without being asked. Hope followed her mother, stopping now and then to investigate a clump of grass before hurrying to catch up.
From the ridge, Wade could see the river, the distant roofs of Belvern, and the road that curved toward his gate. He dismounted and took off his hat. Sweat had dampened the band despite the cool air.
For a little while he stood beside Tuck without moving.
He thought of Mara’s hand brushing flour from his sleeve. Of Adam insisting he was old enough to ride out alone. He let the memories come without turning his eyes away from the yard below.
Lark walked up beside him.
Wade rested his hand along her neck, clear of the old scars.
“Still here, girl.”
Hope shoved her muzzle against his boot and began working at the lace.
He laughed, sudden and loud enough to make Tuck turn an ear.
Below them, sunlight caught the sign beside the open gate. From the yard came the faint sound of Noah calling his name.
Wade put his hat on, gathered Tuck’s reins, and turned the horses toward the voice.