Crow Mountain (6 page)

‘You wouldn't know it from that policeman. What did he mean? About you?'

Cal stopped laughing and jumped down from the edge of the corral. ‘Nothing.' He walked away.

Back in the house, Hope wrestled with the remote to turn on the television. The huge screen finally came to life, showing unfamiliar American news. She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge in search of a bottle of water.

‘What do you want?' Cal asked from behind her, Buddy at his heels.

She jumped. ‘Oh, just water, please.'

He reached over her shoulder, tugging a water out of a drawer half filled with beer stamped ‘Moose Drool', cracking the top and handing it to her. He was wearing a fresh shirt and jeans. His hair was damp and pushed away from his face, and his feet were bare. He smelt like washing powder and sun-warmed skin as he pushed the door closed.

Hope took a sip of water.

‘Where's your dad if you and your mom travel like this?'
Cal asked.

‘Not around.'

‘See him much?'

She twisted the cap back on. ‘Never met.'

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Come and sit outside?'

Hope followed him out to the seating on the terrace. The house was on the side of a rolling hill, which terminated abruptly in a steep drop. Beyond it was a plain rising into the mountains to the west towards which the sun was dropping. He collapsed into a chair, gesturing for her to do the same.

‘You've never met your dad?'

She hesitated for a second. ‘Dad left us for his pregnant girlfriend when I was six weeks old.'

Cal raised an eyebrow.

Hope nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Mum hadn't meant to get pregnant – she was right at the end of her PhD. And my dad was this rising star in the theatre. He's loads older and he and the other woman, they were starring in the same play. They have two boys, James and Tom. Mum got sole custody of me but she'd already filled out my birth certificate with his name, that's why I'm a Cooper, not a West. It needles her like crazy. The not seeing each other ever, me and him – legally, that only lasted until I was sixteen. So now we could meet up . . .'

‘And what does your mom think of that?'

Hope blew out a long breath. ‘What do you think?'

He was silent for a few seconds. ‘Tricky.'

Taking a sip from her water, Hope nodded. ‘He sends me tickets for everything he's in. Sent an email asking me if I
wanted to visit the set of his new TV series. He seems nice, apart from the abandoning.'

‘So why not?'

‘Why not what?'

‘See him? He's your father. You should, if you ask me, which you didn't.' His phone rang. He pulled it out of his jeans pocket with a bit of difficulty and answered it. ‘Excuse me for a second – hey, Matty.'

Hope could hear the voice on the end of the line, but not what they were saying. Cal's eyes flicked to her. ‘Yeah, got in this afternoon. Thirty minutes late but no big deal. Picked up the stuff from the store. I'll call you later. Dude, be quiet. Gotta go.' He clicked the phone off without another word. ‘That's Joe's son. He's my best friend, but man, can he talk.' He shoved his phone on the table.

It buzzed with a text message almost instantly, lighting up the screen.

Hot or not?

Cal snatched up the phone and killed it. ‘Did I also mention he's an asshole?'

Hope stifled a laugh.

He stood. ‘Could use some help with dinner if you're up to it.'

Cal made cooking fun, even when he laughed at Hope for not being able to reach the rice on the top shelf in the walk-in pantry.

‘Sorry. It's too high,' she called. ‘Look at all this stuff!' She
stared around her at the groaning, orderly shelves.

He reached over her head and grabbed the bag. ‘We order most of our stuff in bulk through the Black Eagle Stores. The guys cook for themselves in the bunkhouse.'

She chopped as instructed and handed over each ingredient as they talked, shyness fading as the minutes ticked by. They were standing over the stove when she smothered a sudden series of yawns.

‘If you just make it through dinner, maybe you should crash then.'

‘Mum says I have to stay up until ten.' Hope yawned again.

‘Not sure you'll make eight.'

He was right. Hope was so exhausted she could barely eat anything. Meredith questioned Caleb Crow about the ranch as Cal served the food. Once, as his father took a long pause before answering one of Meredith's more pointed questions, Cal caught Hope's eye and winked. She hid a smile.

‘And I believe this area is remarkable for the diversity of the Native American tribes,' Meredith went on.

Caleb Crow nodded. ‘Yep. Lots of different peoples up here, different reservations.'

‘I've read about the social conditions on reservations. There is a high incidence of domestic abuse and addiction.'

So help me God
. Hope stared at her plate.
Here we go
.

‘They got all the ordinary human problems, I guess. Biggest one probably was being rounded up a hundred and fifty years ago and told to live a certain way.' Caleb Crow carried on eating.

‘It's a touchy subject,' Cal said, refilling the glasses. ‘There's still a lot of racism.'

‘Social conditioning is very powerful,' Meredith said.

‘Treating other folks with dignity and respect is powerful too,' Cal's father said, to no one in particular.

Afterwards, Hope helped Cal clear up while Caleb and Meredith moved next door. Her head ached and she rubbed her temples as she finished loading the dishwasher. A few seconds later she heard something rattle and Cal stood before her with a glass of water.

‘You look done in.'

She took it gratefully. He gestured to the stairs with a tilt of his head. ‘Go on, I'll finish up here.'

Conscious she was disobeying her mother's instructions, Hope climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Soon she was washed and changed and slipping into the cool white bed. The stars shone through the uncurtained windows, and above the black of the treeline and the line of the bluff, the moon was a huge white disc in the sky.

She woke with a start, feeling both very awake and seriously headachy. There was a grey pre-dawn light outside. She looked at her watch, saw it wasn't quite five, and groaned. Getting up, she splashed water on her face and pulled on her dressing gown, deciding she needed some coffee. Heading downstairs, she could smell that someone had beaten her to it. Just then, the front door opened and Cal came in with his father.

‘Morning, Miss Hope,' the older man said.

Cal closed the door, toeing off his boots. ‘We made some coffee before checking on the horses. Want some?'

‘Yes, please.' She rubbed her eyes.

‘How'd you sleep?' his father asked her.

‘Good, thank you. But it's toooo early.'

‘Yeah, I hear jet lag's a kicker.' Cal poured out three mugs of coffee. ‘How do you take it?'

‘Like that.' She took the mug from him. ‘Thanks.'

They all sat at the counter. Hope gestured around them. ‘Your house is amazing.'

Caleb Crow nodded. ‘It's the original homestead, but we just opened it out this year, put in the big staircase.'

‘It's very beautiful.'

He looked pleased. ‘So, what are you gonna to do today?'

She shrugged. ‘Get on with my projects, I guess.'

He frowned. ‘Can't come all this way just to sit inside. Do you ride?'

She shook her head.

‘Why doesn't Cal give you a lesson?'

Hope didn't miss the sharp look Cal shot his father. ‘Oh no,' she said, shy again, ‘it's fine. I don't need entertaining. I'm used to this. But thank you.'

He was looking not at her, but at his son. ‘Misty's almost thirty years old. She loves to take care of a newbie.'

‘Dad.'

‘What? That old girl needs something to do with her days.'

Cal's jaw was set. ‘Yeah, fine, sure. Whatever.' Picking up his mug he went outside into the pre-dawn through the large
glass doors, Buddy loping on to the deck from the corner of the house. Hope examined her coffee cup.

A large hand settled on her shoulder. ‘Pay him no mind, sweetie. It's not you.'

‘Why—'

Cal threw his coffee on to the grass and strode back into the house. Caleb and Hope stood in conspicuous silence.

‘If you want this lesson you'll have to earn it. Thirty horses to feed, all the water troughs to check before sunup. Gypsy and Zach to look in on. Chuck, the girls. What shoe size are you?'

‘Er, five.'

‘English five? Fine. Get dressed. Jeans, and a shirt or something. It's cool out there this time in the morning. Don't bother showering, you can do that later.'

In the flurry of orders, Hope stood, a little taken aback. Cal walked out, stamping into his boots on the porch. It was only then that she saw Caleb Crow grinning into his mug.

Ten minutes later, Hope reported for duty by the front door. Cal was standing on the porch, looking out to where the horses gathered in the corrals and a slight mist rolled along the edge of the trees off to the right beyond the barn. The damp crept over the ground towards the house and tiny needles of drizzle swarmed in the air.

‘Here.' He passed her a pair of worn leather knee boots with heavy, reinforced toes. ‘Most of the horses aren't shod at the moment, but don't want you getting your toes crushed.'

An hour later it was only six thirty and they had fed nearly thirty horses, tipping feed mixture into steel dispensers outside, or into the barn's mangers inside the stalls, as Buddy trailed at their heels. They went out again to check the water troughs, then walked back into the barn. One stall at the end was set aside, amongst the many, to store feed. Cal removed the top of what looked like a large, plastic oil drum. Digging the bucket inside, he checked the contents. Bulking it out with a little bran he added a shredded mixture, water and, from a catering-size tin, some molasses.

‘Gypsy's feed is for moms. High calorie, supplements. She loves molasses. Real sweet tooth. And I figure she deserves a treat for giving us little Zach.'

Taking the bucket in to Gypsy, Cal tipped it into the manger. Zach was on his feet, watching them. As his mother began to munch her food noisily, he ducked his head beneath her belly and started to suckle, his fluffy white tail wriggling with joy.

‘Too sweet,' Hope said, leaning on the stall with her chin in her hand.

‘And he already knows it,' Cal agreed. ‘He's going to be a real character, that one.'

They fed Chuck, who stood as stoic as ever in his pen, then loaded hay bales and feed mix into the back of the pick-up. Buddy bounded into the flatbed, Cal banged it shut and they drove a short distance to a different set of corrals. A small herd of buffalo grazed. They got out of the pick-up, Hope stepping straight into a pile of dung.

Cal laughed. ‘Montana shoeshine. The others are further
out, so Rich'll take care of them.' He opened the gate. ‘Can you just stay here while I back the rig through, then close the gate? They won't try to come through if you're here.'

Hope looked dubious, eyeing the huge animals. ‘What if they do?'

‘Holler. And walk towards them with your arms out. But they won't. They know breakfast's coming.'

She looked at the nearest buffalo, which stood looking back at her. It took a step forward as the vehicle started up and reversed through. As the animal took another step Hope grabbed the gate and slammed the steel closure shut. Cal was hanging out of the window, backing up to the feed hopper, and she followed as quickly as she could without appearing totally uncool and breaking into a terrified sprint. The buffalo all began to move towards the pick-up, aware of the routine. By the time Hope reached it, jogging, Cal was already standing in the flatbed, pulling a small, wicked-looking knife from his pocket and cutting all the twine on the bales.

‘Just a second and I'll be done.' He pushed the knife into his hip pocket and leant down, holding out both hands for hers. ‘Put your boot on the tyre.' Hope tried. ‘OK, put one on the wheel rim, now the tyre, and—' He hauled her up.

They threw the hay into the hopper, then distributed the feed across the ground. The buffalo snaffled it up, noses in the dust. Hope and Cal sat on the side of the pick-up and watched, ruffling Buddy's fur. The sun was coming up. Hope saw it lighting the gently rolling hills dotted with pine trees and sagebrush, then illuminating the vast mountains to the
west. Snow was clearly visible high on the peaks.

‘Like the view?' Cal asked.

‘It's nothing like London.'

‘Nah,' he said. ‘Guess not.'

‘You do this on your own every day?'

‘Since I was fourteen. Gives Dad a break.'

‘Fourteen? But how, without this?' Hope patted the roof of the pick-up.

He glanced down at the truck, with affection. ‘I learnt to drive in this old 250 when I was about twelve. She was my grandfather's farm truck, bought her new in '69. I inherited her at thirteen when Pops and my grandmother died. Their town car got hit by a truck outside Great Falls.'

‘I'm really sorry.'

‘Yeah, me too.' He jumped from the pick-up bed and opened the passenger door. ‘Breakfast?'

Back at the ranch, they ate breakfast with Cal's father in the kitchen. Meredith had already gone for the day. After that, Cal led Hope out to the barn, where outside one of the hands was checking the saddle on a small, grey horse. Cal took over and pulled Hope to stand in front of him. ‘Don't stand behind them, it makes them nervous. And I'll be to blame if you get a kick in the chest.'

‘Right.'

‘Stirrup.' He held up the piece of iron. ‘And leather.' His fingers shifted to the strap.

‘Yes, sir.' She saluted.

‘Put your fingers where it fastens to the saddle, arm straight.' He took the stirrup and measured it against her arm, then down, against her ribs a little. Then he bumped her to one side and began adjusting the leathers. Moments later, he led the horse to a section of tree stump and handed her on to it. ‘Meet Misty,' he said. ‘Now, swing your leg over, that's it. American saddles aren't like English ones. You sit
in
them not
on
them.' He set her foot into the near-side stirrup. ‘Heels down.' Gathering the reins, he put them in her hand, his fingers folding around hers to show her how to hold them. ‘Misty's a good girl. Just trust her. Put your heels against her sides to go forward and then relax your legs and pull back a little to stop and tell her to whoa. OK?'