Lone Creek

45

We drove on south to Great Falls, stopping at a big Safeway emporium to buy a gourmet picnic of fresh sourdough bread, pate, cheeses, and wine; and then at a liquor store where I replaced the bottle of Knob Creek bourbon I'd given Doug Wills. My pocket was fat with the roll of hundred-dollar bills that Madbird had given me, and I didn't see any reason to save for the future.

Then we went looking for a room. Great Falls was a fair-size place, with more than twice the population of Helena and plenty of motels. I didn't want to risk using my ID, but I was sure that a woman like Laurie, flashing fifty thousand dollars worth of jewelry, could float a story about losing her purse but having enough cash to pay for the night. The first place she tried, a new-looking Best Western on the Tenth Avenue strip, was happy to oblige. She registered under a phony name and let me in through a back entrance.

She ran a bath while I poured drinks, sauvignon blanc for her, whiskey on the rocks for me. When I took the wine to her, she was just stepping into the steaming tub. She knelt slowly, holding the sides, then sat back and slid forward up to her neck, with a little "oof." She accepted the glass with a radiant smile. I lingered for another moment. There was something very special about watching a lovely woman luxuriate in a bathtub. I hadn't done it in a long time. It was worth the wait.

After she was done we got into the smorgasbord. We'd eaten sandwiches from a convenience store earlier in the day, but we were plenty hungry again, the food was delicious, and we pretty well demolished it. Then I took a shower and shaved, savoring yet another pleasure of hot water and feeling clean.

When I came out, she was sitting up in bed, looking solemn.

"She loved horses, too," Laurie said.

Her eerie revelation about Celia last night had been swirling around in my head with all the other craziness. The only explanation I could come up with was that my overheated brain had given Laurie's words a meaning that wasn't really there.

But goddammit, she was starting again.

"A lot of people do," I said.

"I mean in a special way. She could feel them-their pain."

"I'm not sure what you mean. No horse she was around ever got mistreated."

"Maybe not outright. But we geld the males, force the females to breed with strangers, take away their children."

I'd never thought of it like that.

"They loved her back," Laurie said. "They wouldn't have hurt her."

I blinked. This was getting less imaginary.

"How do you know she got hurt?" I said.

"I just do."

"Do you know how?"

Hesitantly, she said, "There was a stallion."

That flat startled me. It was a stallion that supposedly had thrown and killed Celia.

"You said a horse wouldn't have hurt her."

Laurie shook her head, confused now. "It's gone from my mind. It was there for just a second, and it seemed right. No to a horse, yes to a stallion."

I sat on the bed beside her. I still couldn't believe this was anything but crazy, but I couldn't stop a tickle of wondering if I'd been maligning Pete Pettyjohn all these years.

Her face softened and she relaxed against the pillows, turning on her side toward me.

"Do you want her again?" she said.

"I want you," I said, but in truth, I was talking to her and Celia both.