"David and the boys are down in the street, loading the van. They're leaving for Fort Lauderdale, on a father-son big-game fishing trip. First time for the boys…"
"Lily…"
"Lucas, Jesus, I'm starting to cry…"
"Lily…"
"They'll be gone for a week, Lucas-my husband and the boys," she groaned. "Ah, fuck, Davenport, this is so fuckin' miserable…"
"What? What?"
"Can you come to New York?" Her voice had gone rough, sensual, dark. "Can you come in tomorrow?"
In the End…
Leo climbed the dark side of Bear Butte, through the loose rubble, through the fine black sand, slipping at times, using his hands, moving steadily toward the peak.
The night still gripped the world when he reached the top. He eased himself down on a convenient hump, took the blanket-roll off his shoulders and wrapped the rough army wool around himself.
To the south, he could see the lights of Sturgis and 1-90, and beyond that, the Stygian darkness of the Black Hills. In every other direction, the only break in the night came from yard lights on the scattered ranches.
The sunrise was spectacular when it came.
In the west, the stars were as bright and as profuse as ever; in the east, there was a growing pale light at the knife-edged horizon. Suddenly, with the unexpectedness of a shooting star, there was aflame at the horizon, a flowing golden presence as the world turned into the sun.
The sunlight touched the top of the butte long before it flooded theflatlands, so from the top he could watch the dawn racing toward him, rippling over the empty countryside below. Leo sat with the blanket around his shoulders, his eyes half closed. When the light crossed through the base of the butte, he sighed, turned and looked west, watching the day chase the night into Wyoming.
There was a lot to do.
A lot of talk about the Crows and about Shadow Love.
Legends to build.
Leo said a quick prayer and started down. The last of the stars were going and he looked up at them as he dropped over the crest.
"See you guys," he said. "Flatheaded motherfuckers."
