"It helps," he said. She kissed him gently, first on the mouth and then on the flattened bridge of his nose.
"That helps a lot," he said. "Crazy as it sounds, I like it out here. Weather permitting, I'll take you to another dance as soon as I get a handle on this job."
One hand lingering on his shoulder, fingering the slicker: "You really think you'll like being a veterinarian's assistant?"
"I like animals; even big ones," he nodded, then looked into her face and lied: "And I'll be learning a new trade."
"Thank God! I couldn't stand thinking of you hanging around the Governor with Lufo waiting for more combat work."
This, he told himself, was not the time to tell her the truth about the job at Schreiner's spread; that dealing with poachers and banditti was very likely to mean combat when other methods failed. "Not me," he lied again, and reached for the handlebars.
Sandy stood back, blew a light kiss, and then remembered why old Jim Street had urged Ted to go to Schreiner's. "I hope you find that necklace," she lied, looking him in the eyes.
He smiled, nodded, gunned the diesel and waved without looking back. He could see her waving in the rearview until he passed from sight.
A hard kernel of self-disgust jounced in his head. He should've told her that his only marketable skill was single combat. One day, he thought, she'll learn the truth. And then?
She watched Quantrill top out on a distant ridge, pulled her collar close against the growing Wild Country drizzle, and wondered how big a spread she could buy if she sold the Ember of Venus. Big enough to need a foreman, for sure. Especially one with some veterinary skills and with eyes the color of spring grass.
And then he would learn that she'd had the damned necklace all the time. One day, she thought, I'll have to tell him. And then?