Crow Mountain by Lucy Inglis Page B

you both time to see the wood for the trees, I reckon.’ He put the bag and the slicker inside the cab on the bench seat. ‘Take care of my boy here.’
    Hope’s skin coloured. Cal looked away and coughed slightly.
    â€˜Buddy, hup.’ The dog jumped on to the bed of the pick-up.
    Caleb embraced his son, and Cal hugged him back. Standing back, Cal opened the passenger door for Hope. Seconds later, he eased himself into the driver’s seat. His long fingers caught the key in the ignition and he cranked the engine into life.
    They took a track out through the back of the ranch, climbing into the hills. The pick-up was warm and Hope took the cardigan off. The tinny radio crackled with weather news.
    â€˜You should put your seat belt on.’
    â€˜You haven’t got yours on.’
    â€˜Yeah, but you should wear yours.’ His voice was flat. ‘You’re my responsibility.’
    Hope fastened the seat belt. ‘I’m really sorry. Your dad pushed you into this.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜You don’t want me here.’
    Without taking his eyes from the road, his hand reached out and touched her bare arm very briefly. ‘It’s not that.’
    Hope swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed the goose-bumps rise instantly on her skin. The woman’s voice on the radio read out the temperatures expected in Butte, Great Falls, Missoula and Kalispell.
    â€˜The policeman. Why was he being like that?’
    It was a long time before he answered. ‘Our families have been at odds for generations.’
    â€˜Why?’
    He lifted one shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Different folks, I suppose.’ For a while it seemed he would say nothing more. Then, ‘Truth is, the Harts ain’t real nice people. And Chief Hart likes to mess with people’s heads. Particularly mine. But you’ve only got my word on that.’
    Hope watched him. ‘I don’t think they’d let it happen in London.’
    Cal’s expressive mouth turned down at the corner. ‘Like you said, this is nothing like London.’
    She didn’t know what to say to that, so said nothing. After they’d been driving a while, the silence was heavy, broken only by the crackly radio. The weather report came on again.
    â€˜Montana has quite a lot of weather.’
    â€˜It’s that or the church station.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We just might catch the sermon.’ He turned off the gravel track, on to two pale channels in the blowing grass. The trailer clattered behind them.

W hen I woke a pink-streaked dawn was filling the windows and, somewhere, a cockerel was crowing. The bed was deliciously warm and comfortable, the mattress well stuffed and the coverlet tucked around me; I hadn’t been so comfortable in weeks. I wriggled in a stretch and my naked foot touched something warm. Skin, with a soft crackle of hair. I froze. I could hear breathing, soft and shallow.
    I scrambled out of the bed, struggling from the covers and stumbling as my bruised leg protested. You were sprawled on your back on top of the covers, one arm above your head, wearing only a pair of white linen drawers, which ended indecently at mid-thigh, the kind I had seen on camp washing lines. The contours of your stomach were clearly defined above the drawstring tie, the other hand resting on yourchest. Your strange pagan necklace hung over the bedpost. A blanket was partly across your hips but your bad leg lay on top of it and I saw then the reason for your lameness: a long, livid scar stretching from just above the knee right down over the top of the foot.
    â€˜Glad I don’t mind you gawking, English.’ You smiled, propping yourself on your elbows.
    I lifted my chin, but didn’t meet your eyes, face flaming. ‘I . . . didn’t realize you’d be sleeping with . . . in here.’
    â€˜It’s my bed.’ Getting up, you were suddenly