sorrel mare, watching the roping.
Travis looked as he always did, a tall, slender kid with an unremarkable face-brown eyes and hair, fair skin, a strong chin-wearing Wrangler jeans and tennis shoes with spurs, a T-shirt that said No Fear, and a lime green baseball cap. He sat on the mare with his usual relaxed grace-the quiet, understated poise of the natural horseman. Only the expression on his face was different. Travis, normally exuberantly friendly, looked somber.
I was reminded suddenly of all the talk-that Travis was really Jack's son, the result of one of his many extramarital flings. That was why he'd hired Trav and let him live on the ranch, given him a horse and taken him roping-so people said. Just who had told me this? I tried to remember and couldn't. It was talk-stories that had clung to Travis for as long as I'd known him.
Which was for two or three years, more or less. I'd met him on one of my first calls out to the Hollister Ranch; Jack and Bronc had both been out of town and Travis had had a colicked horse. I could still remember my first impression of Trav-young, friendly, worried, anxious to do right by the horse, eager to comprehend my instructions. Unlike a good many men in their twenties, Travis wasn't on any kind of a macho trip.
Fortunately the horse had made a complete recovery and, ever since, Travis and I had been friendly. Not friends, exactly-I knew nothing of his personal life, and he knew as little of mine. But we chatted amiably together when we saw each other, mostly about horses, which was, of course, what we had in common, and my initial impression had only been confirmed. Travis was a genuinely nice, easygoing kid.
"I'm sorry about Jack," I said to him.
His eyes shifted to my face and then back to the roping. "Me too." There was a long moment of uncharacteristic silence. Finally he said, "I heard you were up there when it happened." The words seem to come out reluctantly, and he kept his eyes on the activity in the arena.
"Yeah," I agreed. "A friend of mine was out with him the night he was killed."
Travis looked at me briefly. "Do the cops suspect her?"
"I don't think so."
More uncomfortable silence.
"What will you do now?" I asked him at last.
"Stay on the ranch and work for Bronc." There was some emotion in his voice, something I couldn't place.
"I hear Jack left the ranch to be part of the state park."
"Yep." Travis didn't seem curious as to how I had heard it. "Bronc and I get to live there, just like we are, and take care of it. It's in Jack's will."
"That's good."
Travis still stared almost fixedly at the team roping, his usual lighthearted, youthful demeanor completely absent. In his stern expression was a faint resemblance to Jack's typical firm-jawed visage and I was reminded yet again of the talk that Trav was really Jack's son. And yet Bronc had said Jack was sterile.
Deciding these were hardly questions I could ask Travis, I said, I hoped lightly, "The cops spent two days questioning me up in Tahoe. Have you been through that, too?"
"Oh yeah. They came out and grilled me and Bronc. Don't make no difference, though. Bronc and I can give each other alibis." Trav said this firmly, then jerked his chin toward the chute. "I'm up in a minute."
With the words, he wheeled the mare and trotted off, looking, I thought, relieved to be rid of me. Well, what did I expect? These were probably the last things he wanted to think or talk about. Still, it was odd the way he had volunteered that Bronc and he could alibi each other. Living on the same ranch as they did, it would be easy to see why this would be the case, but why was he so quick to tell me?
And why so unfriendly? His unnatural reticence could be the way he dealt with grief, but somehow it had seemed more than that. Almost hostile. I wondered suddenly if Travis might believe Joanna had killed Jack and I was covering for her.
Riding Gunner back to Lonny's trailer, I unsaddled him and brushed him, then took Blue
Travis looked as he always did, a tall, slender kid with an unremarkable face-brown eyes and hair, fair skin, a strong chin-wearing Wrangler jeans and tennis shoes with spurs, a T-shirt that said No Fear, and a lime green baseball cap. He sat on the mare with his usual relaxed grace-the quiet, understated poise of the natural horseman. Only the expression on his face was different. Travis, normally exuberantly friendly, looked somber.
I was reminded suddenly of all the talk-that Travis was really Jack's son, the result of one of his many extramarital flings. That was why he'd hired Trav and let him live on the ranch, given him a horse and taken him roping-so people said. Just who had told me this? I tried to remember and couldn't. It was talk-stories that had clung to Travis for as long as I'd known him.
Which was for two or three years, more or less. I'd met him on one of my first calls out to the Hollister Ranch; Jack and Bronc had both been out of town and Travis had had a colicked horse. I could still remember my first impression of Trav-young, friendly, worried, anxious to do right by the horse, eager to comprehend my instructions. Unlike a good many men in their twenties, Travis wasn't on any kind of a macho trip.
Fortunately the horse had made a complete recovery and, ever since, Travis and I had been friendly. Not friends, exactly-I knew nothing of his personal life, and he knew as little of mine. But we chatted amiably together when we saw each other, mostly about horses, which was, of course, what we had in common, and my initial impression had only been confirmed. Travis was a genuinely nice, easygoing kid.
"I'm sorry about Jack," I said to him.
His eyes shifted to my face and then back to the roping. "Me too." There was a long moment of uncharacteristic silence. Finally he said, "I heard you were up there when it happened." The words seem to come out reluctantly, and he kept his eyes on the activity in the arena.
"Yeah," I agreed. "A friend of mine was out with him the night he was killed."
Travis looked at me briefly. "Do the cops suspect her?"
"I don't think so."
More uncomfortable silence.
"What will you do now?" I asked him at last.
"Stay on the ranch and work for Bronc." There was some emotion in his voice, something I couldn't place.
"I hear Jack left the ranch to be part of the state park."
"Yep." Travis didn't seem curious as to how I had heard it. "Bronc and I get to live there, just like we are, and take care of it. It's in Jack's will."
"That's good."
Travis still stared almost fixedly at the team roping, his usual lighthearted, youthful demeanor completely absent. In his stern expression was a faint resemblance to Jack's typical firm-jawed visage and I was reminded yet again of the talk that Trav was really Jack's son. And yet Bronc had said Jack was sterile.
Deciding these were hardly questions I could ask Travis, I said, I hoped lightly, "The cops spent two days questioning me up in Tahoe. Have you been through that, too?"
"Oh yeah. They came out and grilled me and Bronc. Don't make no difference, though. Bronc and I can give each other alibis." Trav said this firmly, then jerked his chin toward the chute. "I'm up in a minute."
With the words, he wheeled the mare and trotted off, looking, I thought, relieved to be rid of me. Well, what did I expect? These were probably the last things he wanted to think or talk about. Still, it was odd the way he had volunteered that Bronc and he could alibi each other. Living on the same ranch as they did, it would be easy to see why this would be the case, but why was he so quick to tell me?
And why so unfriendly? His unnatural reticence could be the way he dealt with grief, but somehow it had seemed more than that. Almost hostile. I wondered suddenly if Travis might believe Joanna had killed Jack and I was covering for her.
Riding Gunner back to Lonny's trailer, I unsaddled him and brushed him, then took Blue
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