We lie in the hay together after.
Dakota's hair is full of straw. There's a piece stuck to her cheek I'll get for her in a minute.
I kiss the top of her head—the same gesture the dead man put in a photograph six weeks ago, in the same place he stood when he did it.
"This place is ours now, baby."
"Yeah."
"He doesn't get any of it."
"No, Spur."
We stay in the hay until the sun is fully up.
Back at the cabin she takes the longest shower of her life while I make breakfast.
Eggs and bacon, biscuits warmed from Marlena's batch yesterday.
Simple. The kind of breakfast a man makes for the woman who's going to marry him and doesn't know it yet.
She comes out in clean jeans and a shirt with her hair wet and braided down her back. Sits at the small kitchen table. I put the plate in front of her.
"Spur."
"Yeah?"
"I still have hay in my hair."
"You can wash it again later."
She laughs. "What's the rest of the day, Spur?"
"You have lunch with Marlena and Grace. I need to run an errand."
"Where?"
"In town. Won't be long."
She doesn't ask what for. I love her for it.
"Okay."
"Be back by four. Then I want you in clean clothes and ready to walk somewhere with me at sunset."
"Where are we going?"
"Round pen."
She looks at me for a long second.
Her eyes get the look they get when she's working something out and choosing not to push. "Okay, Spur."
I lean across the table and kiss her, and she tastes like coffee.
* * *
Banshee meets me in the gravel drive at nine.
