Crow Mountain (5 page)

H
ope took a long shower. When she came out, wrapped in a towel, hair hanging in damp straps over her shoulders, the puppy was on her bed, tongue lolling in its sharp face. She halted. From somewhere in the house, Cal's voice bellowed, ‘Buddy! Where are you, you loser? Get down here.'

The dog scrambled over Hope's pile of dirty clothes and shot out of the door, a scrap of white cotton in his mouth.

Hope hurtled after him, out to the landing.

He was already down the stairs, crossing the huge room to where Cal stood, staring up at Hope as she clutched the towel to her chest. The dog sat obediently, and presented his gift.

‘Whatcha got there, hey, pal?' Cal tore his gaze from Hope, reached down and took the offering. Before realizing what it was. He looked at his hand, brows drawing together as he
tried to think of something to say. He opened his mouth to speak, just as Meredith's door opened. Cal snatched his hand behind his back. ‘Hey, Dr West! How you doing up there?'

Meredith looked between them. ‘Perfectly well, thank you. Hope, is there something you need?'

‘No, I, er, just. Nothing.' She went back into her room, kicked the door shut and leant against it, closing her eyes and biting back a groan of despair.

Fifteen minutes later, she was getting dressed in another pair of shorts, another vest and a Gap hoodie.

‘Hope?' her mother said through the door.

‘Yes?'

‘I thought I'd take a look around. Would you like to come with me?'

Hope bit her lips together.
Not really, no. I'd like a convenient hole to crawl into
. But she knew from Meredith's tone she was telling, not asking. ‘OK. Just a second, I need shoes.' She ducked back into the room and shoved her feet into some canvas espadrilles. Coming back to the landing, she tugged the door shut.

They went through the house and outside to the front. There was no one to be seen but there was a sense of constant, low-level activity in the air. From a large, plain building behind the barn, voices drifted. Meredith and Hope went to investigate. Caleb Crow was standing, hands on his hips and hat pulled over his eyes, watching as his son rode a glossy black horse in a tight figure of eight on the sawdust floor of
the building. Cal wore a pair of suede coverings over his jeans, tight around his lower legs and fastening just beneath the knee, and a pair of battered leather gloves with gaping cuffs, showing off his tanned wrists. Concentrating on the horse, he didn't even seem aware of their arrival.

‘Hey, ladies,' Caleb Crow said. ‘Settling in?'

Meredith nodded. ‘Thank you.'

He watched the horse, distracted. ‘That's great. We're not used to paying guests here. You'll have to cut us some slack.'

‘Everything is perfect, so far. Thank you. It's very kind of you to put us up at all.'

‘Couldn't hardly refuse when you said we had all these things you need to study, could we?' He put his head on one side. ‘Cal, he looks tight in the hocks to me. Could just be the time he spent in the trailer. Back him up, feel him out a little?'

Cal brought the horse to an instant halt and bumped his heels gently as he lifted the reins a notch. The horse began to walk backwards towards them. ‘He's just stiff, nothing a stretch won't cure.'

‘Speaking of which, we'd like to take a walk too,' Meredith said. ‘Is there a particular direction we should go?'

‘Well, you can go in any direction you like, for a long time, but if you head on up there' – he pointed to the trees – ‘you'll hit a forest trail. Your feet might not be up to going too far in those shoes though, Miss Hope.' He looked at her Toms.

‘Hope should eat something,' Meredith said. ‘Before we go anywhere.'

‘Cal!'

‘Yeah?'

‘The little lady's hungry.'

‘No problem.' He jumped down and drew the reins over the horse's head.

‘Please, it's fine, really,' Hope said quickly.

Cal halted, glove on the bridle. ‘You want something or not?' His tone was blunt, but not unfriendly.

‘Can't we just go for a walk, please, Mum?' Hope pleaded.

Meredith's lips thinned. She stalked out of the barn, up towards the forest between the stable barn and the house. Hope followed, ducking past Cal, who was still holding on to the black horse's bridle, watching her.

As soon as they entered the cool green of the forest, her mother slowed. ‘I'm going to pretend I didn't see what I saw in the house. He seems a nice young man and I must admit he's remarkably handsome, but—'

‘Nothing happened! I was standing on the landing six metres away from him.'

‘Barely covered. Why?'

‘New craze. Shower burlesque.'

‘Don't be smart. As much as you don't want to hear it, I've experienced sexual attraction too.'

Oh. My. God
. Hope wrapped her hands in her hair.
Please, please stop talking
.

‘Just because I'm your mother doesn't mean I've never had a sex life.'

‘In the car you told me to try harder,' Hope said, her feet crunching on the pine needles.

‘Trying harder doesn't mean parading around their house in a towel!'

‘I wasn't
parading
.'

‘I've raised you to make good, sensible choices, Hope, and that wasn't one of them.'

Hope said nothing. Above them, the forest was alive with birdsong and the occasional flutter of wings. As sunlight shot through the canopy, softening in the late afternoon, it lit up insects and the odd butterfly. The trail turned back towards the ranch and suddenly spilt them out on to the meadow at the back of the house.

‘I have some work I should get on with,' her mother said, suddenly seeming weary, as they headed into the kitchen through open sliding-glass doors. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘Check my emails, maybe.'

‘Do it sitting in a chair so you don't fall asleep. We need to make it through until at least ten tonight. Try that chemistry project.'

Back in her bedroom, Hope unpacked her laptop and put it next to the router, taking the password from the sticker on top of the blue plastic. Her emails downloaded and she sent a message to her friend Lauren to let her know they had arrived. It was after midnight back at home. Clicking through Facebook, she hesitated, before updating her status with, ‘In Montana'. Because of the travelling and being so shy, her social life wasn't exactly anything to shout about. At least on Facebook she didn't get tongue-tied.

Curious, she searched for Cal's unusual name, but with no
luck. Then she felt weird and stalky, and blinked, tired. Putting the computer to sleep, she got to her feet and stretched. Heading down the stairs, she crossed to the front door and went back out into the sunshine.

The horses had shifted further away now, tails swishing as they lazed. The pick-up had moved over to a cluster of buildings to her left, but the only sounds were coming from the stable barn to the right.

Hope wandered over to it and went in through the gigantic hangar-like doors. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimness. Down each side were stalls and some contained horses. One large dark-brown animal had its head hanging over the door. It watched Hope as she approached, its liquid brown eye on her. Its head shifted slightly and Hope held up her hand and very carefully touched the horse's face. It allowed the caress, so Hope's fingers slid to its nose. The skin was like velvet and prickled with thick whiskers. She stroked cautiously down its face again. Then, suddenly, it dipped its head and butted her, hard, in the chest, sending her stumbling backwards into something solid. A pair of arms closed around her and she yelped in surprise.

‘Fleet, that's no way to treat a lady.' Cal set Hope on her feet.

The horse nodded wildly, as if laughing, and Cal tutted at his lack of remorse.

‘He's a joker.' He ran his hand down the horse's neck and gave him an affectionate slap. ‘But he'd never hurt you.'

Hope rubbed her breastbone, over her clattering heart.

Cal scratched beneath the horse's mane. ‘I need to apologize, for the fact my dog's a deviant. It's a puppy thing. I stuck your, er . . . stuff in with a load of laundry.'

She nodded, face still flushed.

‘What did your mom say?'

Hope huffed and folded her arms. ‘She thinks I've turned into a raging slut.'

‘Raging, huh?' He was genuinely amused. His rare smiles were infectious and Hope couldn't help but smile back. ‘You should talk more,' he added. ‘Wasn't sure you could at first.'

They watched each other.

‘Tired?'

‘A bit. But I need to stay awake.'

‘Then let me show you something.' He led her over to a stall and pointed over the door. Inside was a beautiful black and white horse and at its feet, folded up on the straw, a tiny white spindle-legged foal with bright blue eyes.

‘This is Zach. Our newest edition. I was up most of the night with Gypsy.' Cal let himself into the stall. ‘Hey, girl, how y'doing?' He pulled her pricked ears. ‘Want to come in?'

Hope crept in cautiously and crouched by the foal with Cal.

‘Hey, little guy.' Cal stroked the foal's head. Gypsy looked over Cal's shoulder, unconcerned. ‘See his eyes? He's a throwback. They used to say horses with glass eyes were crazy, could never be tamed. Not true, is it, little guy?'

The tiny foal snorted.

‘Yeah, exactly,' Cal agreed. ‘Not crazy at all. And every couple of generations the pale eyes come round again.' He
stood. ‘Want to help me finish up with the hay?'

‘Yes, please. Well, if you like.'

He looked at her. ‘You want to or not?'

She nodded.

At the back of the barn, he had been shaking out clods of packed hay freed from a large bale and pushing them into net bags. About ten already sat on the floor around them. He passed Hope a net, then took another. She copied him, shaking out handfuls and stuffing the hay into the nets. It was a while before he spoke.

‘So you want to be a scientist?'

‘No. I'm rubbish at it . . . I want . . . to be a writer.' She waited for the usual reaction, a smirk or a joke, but he just nodded and carried on working.

When they had filled the last hay nets, they went out into the sunshine and Hope watched as Cal dunked them all in a large rain butt standing up against the barn.

‘So the dust doesn't make them cough.' Then he hung them over the doors of each stall, speaking to the horses as he went. Done, he came back to Hope and checked his watch. He was covered in hay dust and his face was dirty. ‘OK, it's after six but you should come and meet Chuck.'

He led her outside to a series of pens made out of dense posts and rails. Cal drew her forward, indicating she should climb up next to him on the planks. He hung over the top rail, long arms dangling a net towards a fully grown buffalo bull standing in the middle of the pen. Hope climbed up another plank from Cal and stood up tall, looking at the huge animal.

‘Why Chuck?'

‘As in steak?'

Hope stared at the massive hulk of the buffalo blowing softly through his nostrils as he contemplated the hay net. She looked at his dark coat and the lighter coloured curly mop between his horns. ‘You don't mean . . . ?'

Cal nudged her shoulder with his. ‘Nah, of course I don't mean that . . . he's one of the best breeding bulls in the States. Charles Mayweather Austin is his real name. Chuck for short, but this guy will never be beef. Dad is like totally in love with him. You should see it. Chuck? Come on, you big flirt, come and play.'

Chuck lumbered towards Cal's outstretched hand and the hay. He blew on the net for a few seconds before snatching a few strands and munching as Cal rubbed his head. Hope kept her hands well away, until Cal took one and placed it on Chuck's curls, his fingers sending little sparks up her wrist. Chuck carried on pulling at the net with his long purple tongue, snatching out wisps of hay.

‘See? Harmless.'

‘If he's harmless, why have you got him in this tiny pen?'

Cal's head tipped to one side. ‘Ah, well. Most of the buffalo stuff is artificial insemination, genetics and all that. But Dad's big on keeping them as naturally as possible so . . . Chuck here gets to pay a few house calls over the summer. But first, it helps if you keep him here for a few hours each day and feed him up a little. Er, power nutrition, that kind of thing. And frustration. They think that helps too.'

Hope began to laugh. ‘You
so
have to talk to my mother
about this. She'll have a whole view about how Chuck is representative of the worst of modern male society.' She realized their hands were still touching and pulled away, letting her hair fall into her face. ‘Mention the house calls and we may have an international diplomatic incident on our hands.'

He was laughing. ‘I think I've caught on to the fact your mom's into women's rights. This is modern Montana, not the Old West.'