Riding Shotgun by Rita Mae Brown

had fallen apart over the decades. “He’s been here for a long, long time. There’s not a scrap of flesh, a bit of hair, nothing.” She plucked out the skull; the big square teeth were still intact.
    Jane patted Streisand to calm her down.
    Cig took the skull from Harleyetta. A strange flash of recognition made her nearly drop it. There was something unnervingly familiar about that dead smile.
    “Maybe he’s a leftover from the War Between the States.” Cig stared at the whitened bones, a faint shiver running over her body as she replaced the skull.
    “Could be,” Jane said. “But the Yankee gunboats didn’tget this far upriver and there was nothing to come up here for anyway.”
    “Meanness. Never forget that.” Harleyetta stood back up.
    “Well, let’s call the sheriff, and he can give this fellow, or what’s left of him, a resting place with a stone on it.” Cig held Gypsy while Harleyetta, with difficulty, remounted. A rustle behind some dogwoods diverted her attention for a moment. She thought she caught a glimpse of Fattail.
    Then Cig, thanks to her height, easily swung into the saddle. “My God, what a day this has been—and it’s not over yet.” She half-laughed.
    “Best run all season. Maybe ever.” Jane took off her cap. She glanced again at the bones in the trunk, then mounted up. “I’m going back farther into the woods. We’re still missing two hounds.”
    Streisand followed Cig and Harleyetta as they walked away.
    “Guess you get used to seeing stuff like that, being a nurse.”
    Harleyetta shook her head. “Not quite like that. It’s worse when you know them.” Her lips clamped down as though she were fighting the words that threatened to tumble out of her own mouth.
    “Speaking of knowing them, I don’t know if I ever told you how much I appreciate all you did for Blackie when he came into the E.R. I know he was beyond help, but you tried everything to revive him. I’ll always be in your debt, Harley. You’ve taken care of many of us since you’ve been down at the hospital.”
    “Oh, Cig, don’t mention it. He died fast and happy. Even if I’d been at Grace’s house I don’t think I could have saved him, but you’ve got to try. That’s—well—” She shook her head.
    “Happy?”
    “Uh—” Harleyetta stalled.
    “What do you know that I don’t?”
    “Nothing.” Her voice hit high C.
    Cig, without knowing it, opened Pandora’s box by hernonchalance. “Knowing Blackie, he’d probably just got laid and—”
    Harley breathed a sigh of relief. “Here I’ve been carrying this around for a year and you knew all the time! I’ve got to hand it to you, Cig. You’re something special. Most women couldn’t have taken it.”
    Cig shrugged. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know whatever it was Harleyetta thought she knew. “Can’t do anything about it when they’re gone.”
    “Can’t do anything about it when they’re alive. Men.”
    Cig kept her voice as firm as she could. “How’d you know?”
    “I put him on the gurney after we tried every procedure to resuscitate him. Helped undress him. His jockey shorts told the tale. I mean, I knew anyway. We all did. We didn’t know if you knew what had been going on so everybody just clammed up. We talked to each other, of course. Can’t stop that.” She inhaled. “Well, he died in the saddle. Must have been hell for her to get his clothes on.”
    “Grace is a remarkable woman,” Cig whispered.
    “Oh, here, I’ve made you think about all this again, and you and Grace have made your peace. Blackie was just like that, you know. In his own way, he loved you.”
    “That’s what he always said.” Cig smiled reflexively. The mist felt clammy on her skin. A wound opened up in her stomach. The edge of the woods was ahead.
    The field stood waiting.
    “They’ll never believe this. None of us will ever believe this day,” Harleyetta said, voice filled with excitement.
    Streisand