Chapter 11
Dilya proved her horse handling abilities by showing Wind Runner exactly who was in charge before the saddle was even cinched.
He and Zackie had a brief sniffing negotiation, which appeared to reach a satisfactory conclusion as there were no complaints about the Sheltie’s presence in the horse’s stall.
At ten years old, no Sheltie slowed down measurably at play.
But long runs over rough ground—with the snow dog-knee deep—were best done tucked deep inside a comfortable leather perch.
Dilya loaded Zackie into a large saddle bag and, after an additional eye-to-eye negotiation, that too was settled.
Dilya insisted they ride out through the barn door facing the compound rather than the one that led toward the trails.
She led them in a wide circle of the ranch’s compound, that—Emily fought to hold in the laugh—just happened to pass the open equipment garage bay where Mark and Doug were rebuilding the hay mower for next season.
When they trotted past the garage, Mark just shook his head and shot a smile at Emily that said everything was okay between them. He too had plenty of experience over the years of Dilya as a force of nature.
Love you, she mouthed to him.
I know, he offered his standard reply before turning back to his repairs.
She and Dilya rode up past the cabins where Julie’s truck showed she was inside doing winter maintenance after the heavy tourist season. Over the ridge, the swimming hole had ice around the edges though the middle remained open.
They rode into the first roll of the foothills.
To the east of the ranch lay the vast flats of the Great Plains.
The ranch itself nestled in a narrow band of the Front Range breaks.
The Montana Front Range was so dramatic that she could never tire of it.
Bounding the far side of ten thousand acres of ranch, the Sawtooth and Lewis Mountain Ranges punched aloft like snow-covered claws scraping at the blue sky.
Mark often called them a frozen tidal wave.
When iced up as they were now, they appeared on the verge of crashing down upon the ranch.
Emily, on the other hand, had always thought of them as a great bastion, holding the world at bay whenever it tried to overwhelm her.
Though in her current state, they appeared to waver and shift.
If only she could tell whether they were following Mark’s expectations of imminent tsunami inundation or fighting a titanic battle as they rose to her defense.
Dilya still hadn’t spoken and Emily was too exhausted to go first. The only sounds were the creaking of the saddle leather and the call of a rock pigeon.
Zackie watched everything with a Sheltie’s excitement but no horse-annoying squirms. She followed the dog’s gaze upward to spot a pair of bald eagles soaring high aloft, their white heads and tails shining in the sun.
“You two have something real.”
Emily laughed. “You can’t give up yet, Dilya. I was thirty before Mark and I got together. Your second mom might have been twenty-five, but Archie was thirty-one when they got together and adopted you.”
“I know. I know all that. I just…thought I’d already found it.”
Again Emily had no real reference. Her heart had gone from the mad crush on her childhood neighbor, the six-years-too-old man destined to become President, to Mark with very few noteworthy wanderings in between.
Dilya had never been one to speak quickly.
In the beginning, she didn’t have the English and probably suffered from shock after witnessing her parents’ murders and then wandering lost and starving in the Hindu Kush Mountains.
Living as a nanny in the White House, she’d certainly overheard a lot—had made a hobby of it—but her natural discretion meant that she rarely and discreetly revealed what she had learned.
And then she’d come to the attention of the ex-CIA master spy, Miss Watson.
“Did Miss Watson send you?” Emily gave in to the silence. Please let it not be that.
“Kinda sorta.” When Dilya descended into any form of slang, Emily knew she was dissembling.
“Not being helpful, Dilya.”
“Not wanting to get us all killed, Emily.”