“He’s gorgeous,” Amy said.
“I won’t argue with you about that. Danny Pulver—Doc Pulver, the vet—owns my pup’s daddy. Danny’s collie, Sunday, well, you couldn’t find a better bloodline.”
“What’s your pup’s name?”
“Zack,” Ben said. “After my last dog. See, I had another name for the pup, but I kept calling him Zack out of habit, and then decided it was kind of a memorial to ol’ Zack if I let the little guy have his name. My original Zack died of old age six months ago. He was a great ol’ dog, and my new Zack is just like him.”
Amy grinned. The love Ben showed for both his dogs made her feel good, and his pride in his new pup was as obvious as his smile.
Ben whistled a short note and then called, “Zack, come on over here and meet Amy.”
The dog was striking. Zack was leggy, as collies always are at that age, and his chest was full and his head noble. His muzzle was straight and his eyes well set. His ears tuliped over at the tip like those of the collies in the winner’s circle at the Westminster Dog Show. His coat was a deeply burnished brass hue, and the white bib and forepaws were as bright as fresh snow. Zack trotted over to Ben and stood looking up at the man, and his plumed tail moved slowly back and forth.
Amy crouched and beckoned to the young dog. Zack stepped to her, and she rubbed behind his ears and stroked his neck. “If you ever need a puppy-sitter,” she told Ben, “give me a call. And that’s not just a polite offer—I mean it.” She held the pup’s head between her hands. “I’d love to have a dog like this.”
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind, Amy. Thing is, Zack goes pretty much everywhere with me, but if the occasion comes up, you’ll be the one I call.” He paused. “Have you ever thought of getting a dog of your own? It’s real clear that you love them—and look how Zack’s taking to you.”
“That’s a good question,” Amy admitted. “I guess I haven’t given much thought to getting a pup—at least not until I met Zack, here. He’s got me thinking.”
That seemed to please Ben. “A good dog will add a lot to a person’s life,” he said. He looked out toward the road, where a pickup was slowing and then beginning the turn in Amy’s driveway. “Ol’ Jimmy’s right on the ball this morning with his deliveries. There’s your window,” he said.
Amy played with Zack while the carpenter worked. She was fascinated by the puppy—his intelligence, his quick acceptance of her as a friend, his intense curiosity about every new sight and scent he discovered. By the time Ben was finished installing the window and repairing the wind damage, Amy knew she’d find it hard to say good-bye to Zack.
“What do I owe you?” she asked Ben as they stood near his truck. “I’ll go inside and write you a check.”
“I didn’t get any paperwork with the window unit, so I’ll need to check with the yard. I’ll do that and get an invoice in the mail to you. OK?”
“Fine. And thanks, Ben.”
“Sure.” He looked into Amy’s eyes, and they held the gaze for a moment. She hadn’t really noticed Ben’s eyes before. Now, she saw that they were a rich and deep chestnut and that they were warm and inviting. “Maybe I could come by again—with Zack, I mean. If you’d like.” After an awkward moment, he added rather clumsily, “If it’s OK with you, I mean.”
“I’d like that a lot,” Amy said. “Please do.”
Ben opened his pickup door and motioned the pup inside. Zack settled himself in the passenger seat and then looked out through the windshield at Amy. Ben started the truck and began backing down the driveway. Amy raised her hand to wave. Am I waving to the dog or to the guy?
Later that day, the fun Amy had with the collie pup and the relief she felt at having her window and wall repaired dwindled away. She felt adrift, somehow, and quite alone. She wandered to her reading chair and finished the book she’d been reading. Then she set it carefully aside and gazed out through her picture window. The silence that she generally cherished seemed to deepen until it became almost funereal. Nutsy slept peacefully on the couch, and for a moment she envied the kitten. The biggest thing he needs to worry about is whether or not he can maneuver another treat out of me. Not a bad life.
Amy stood, consciously attempting to chase away the low-key sensation that was trying to settle over her. “Julie,” she said aloud, startling Nutsy. “Julie said call anytime. How about right now?” She hurried to the phone in the kitchen and dialed Julie’s number.
“Hello, this is Julie.”
“Hi, Julie, it’s Amy Hawkins.” She tried to force some lightness into her voice. “I just called to say hey and to see what you’re up to.”
“Amy! Good to hear from you. You get through the storm OK?”
“Pretty much. I left a window partially open, though, and the wind tore the whole thing off. Ben Callan was here to replace it.”
“Ben always does a good job. Hey, what’re you doing right now? Danny is off to a veterinary convention in Butte until tomorrow, and I’m about to go stir-crazy just sitting around alone. Why don’t you come over?”
“I’d love to.”
“Good! See you in a few minutes, then. You know where our place is?”
“Sure. I’ve driven past it a few times. See you in a few!”
Amy felt her spirits lifting as soon as she climbed into her Jeep and keyed the engine. It’d been a good day so far. Spending time with Julie would make it even better. My window’s fixed, and Ben Callan and Zack...
She pictured the pup in her mind again as she drove to Julie’s home. The collie’s quick yip of excitement as she threw the ragged and well-chewed softball Ben had provided, the dog’s obvious pride in returning the ball to Amy and dropping it at her feet, the silky-warm texture of his coat, brought a fond smile to her face. I’ll look in to getting a dog, she promised herself. There shouldn’t be a problem with Nutsy—kittens and pups get along with one another just fine when they’re introduced at a young age. In her mind she saw Ben smiling at her and asking for milk and sugar for his coffee. I hope he does stop by. There’s something about him...
Julie’s home was as Amy remembered it: an older, rehabbed farmhouse with a small barn situated to the rear and long lines of wooden fencing enclosing lush green pasture. There was a horse trailer parked next to the barn, and a small tractor—larger than a suburban lawn tractor but smaller than the big farming machines—was hooked to a flatbed-type wagon on the opposite side of the barn. The entire place gave the impression of neatness and order, and the two horses grazing in a paddock not far from the house completed the image of Montana harmony.
Amy parked behind Julie’s pickup, and as she stepped out of her Jeep a large collie trotted over from the house and stood facing her, not barking but, she thought, appraising her. In a moment Julie followed, looking fresh in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt. “Don’t mind Sunday,” she called to Amy. “He was hoping Danny was with you.”
Amy crouched and held her hand out to the dog. He sniffed it, and his tail wagged. “He’s the second wonderful collie I’ve met today,” Amy said. “Ben Callan brought his Zack along when he fixed my window this morning.”
“Sunday’s Zack’s father, you know,” Julie said. “He’s a terrific pup. From what I heard, there’s only one left from the litter of six that hasn’t gone to a home. Danny doesn’t ordinarily breed Sunday, but the female is the sweetest dog ever, and we all thought they’d bring some great youngsters into the world.”
Amy stood and faced Julie, smiling. Neither woman moved toward the embrace that was so common in the cities Amy was used to and so rare in rural Montana. Those quick and showy hugs and the ridiculous air-kisses Amy had watched and experienced so many times were, in her opinion, part of a much different society—one predicated on image rather than substance, outward flash rather than friendship.
“C’mon,” Julie said, “I’ll show you through the barn, and then we’ll go inside and visit.”
The barn, like the rest of the property, was clean and ne
at, with the cement floor litter-free and various pieces of horse equipment hung from walls and arranged on shelves. Two Western saddles rested on sawhorse-type racks. Amy took a long draught of air: the scents of polished leather, straw, hay, wood, and the molasses of the grain in the feed barrels combined in a wave of what Amy was coming to recognize as the perfume of Montana.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Julie said. “It’s something I’ve never tired of.”
Amy nodded. “It’s kind of a symbol for me,” she said. “I’ve been in a few barns since I’ve been in Coldwater, and this freshness—this wonderful smell—is Montana to me.”
Julie laughed. “I can see why you’re the novelist and I’m a news writer. Let’s go have some coffee. I’ve got cookies from the bakery in town too.”
“Empty-calorie type with too much sugar?” Amy asked.
“You betcha! Frosted too.”
“Perfect!”
The conversation moved easily between the two women. They laughed together as they discussed inconsequentials, commiserated over grocery prices, and found that they both read many of the same fiction writers.
“How’s your novel coming?” Julie asked.
The smile left Amy’s face. She hesitated a moment before speaking. “That’s a problem. It isn’t going terribly well.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s a temporary thing; no big deal. I’ll get back into it soon.” She paused again.
“Sounds a little scary.”
“Well... yeah,” Amy admitted. “Or, maybe more frustrating than scary.”
Julie nodded. “I’ve had bad days and lazy days at writing, but those things were gone after a night’s sleep.” She stood from the armchair she sat in and walked to Amy on the couch. She took Amy’s empty cup from the coffee table. “I suppose all you can do is not let it get the best of you.”
Amy’s smile was a bit forced. “I won’t.”
Julie took the empty cups to the kitchen. Amy looked at the framed Frederic Remington reprints on the wall. Neither was the same work that hung in Jake Winter’s living room. There was a finely crafted Indian blanket displayed as a wall hanging, its colors vivid, the symbols sharp and distinct. She remembered a meeting about an editing job with a bestselling writer in his apartment. On the largest wall he had an original Monet. Amy decided she liked Remington reprints and Crow blankets better. And I like Julie a world more than I liked that pretentious, self-aggrandizing jerk of a writer or any of the people he hung out with.
Julie came out of the kitchen with cups of fresh coffee in her hands and Sunday at her heels. She put Amy’s cup on the coffee table and sat, once again, in the armchair. Sunday settled down in front of her.
“He’s sure loyal,” Amy observed.
“He’s a wonderful dog, but the only person in his heart is Danny. Sunday likes me well enough, and when Danny’s not around, he sticks fairly close to me. But, he’s 100 percent Danny’s dog.”
Amy sipped at her coffee. Must be great for Danny, she thought, being loved to that degree by such a fine animal. Sometime... well, anyway, I have Nutsy.
“We saw your neighbor the other night,” Julie said. “Jake. He came over to talk with Danny about being the on-site vet at a rodeo Jake’s providing stock for in Porterville.”
“Is Danny going to do it?”
“He can’t—and he loves rodeo. He’s sorry to miss it. But, he has an old friend from Cornell coming to visit the same weekend.”
Julie met Amy’s eyes over the rim of her cup. “Jake talked our ears off about your cookouts and his mares digging up your lawn. He says—and this is a direct quote—‘I don’t think I’ve met a lady like her before.’”
Amy’s blush was followed quickly by a smile. “That’s good to hear,” she admitted. “He’s so different from the men I’ve been around for the past several years.”
“Different how?” Julie asked.
“Different better. There isn’t a phony bone in Jake Winter’s body. What you see is what you get—and what you see isn’t half bad,” she added, laughing.
“No, it sure isn’t,” Julie agreed. She smiled. “Is it possible that you’re the least bit smitten with your next-door neighbor?”
Amy blushed again. It wasn’t necessary for her to answer. Julie laughed, and then Amy joined her.
Later, as Julie walked Amy to her Jeep, both women stopped to gaze up at the sky. The stars were polished diamonds tossed by a careless hand on a vast field of black velvet. “I’m still amazed at the sky in Montana,” Amy said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Those stars—if I had a stepladder, I could touch them.”
Julie nodded. “The Lakotas say there’s a peak in the Beartooth Mountains that only Indians can see, and that it’s so high a person can step from the top of it directly onto the moon and hold the stars in his arms.”
“That’s not so hard to believe on a night like this,” Amy said. “Thanks for a fun visit, Julie. I really enjoyed our time together. I needed it too.”
“I enjoyed it too, Amy. Don’t be a stranger now, OK? And good luck with the book. I’ll pray for you.”
Amy carried the warmth of the Pulver home through the night to her own place.
No matter what, I’ve made the right decision in moving here. She stood outside her garage for another long look into the sky. Although it was after ten o’clock, she didn’t feel quite ready for bed. Too much coffee? She sat on her porch step, enjoying the silence—which was broken by the grumble of a pair of large stock carrier trucks turning from the road into Jake’s driveway. They were white shapes in the distance, but Amy could make out the Winter Rodeo Stock logo—a cowboy on a high bucking horse—when the lights of the second truck splashed on the side of the first. Voices but no words carried to her. She strained to see if Jake was one of the men talking but couldn’t tell.
Jake talks about me to his friends. She smiled as she recalled her conversation with Julie. Am I smitten with Jake Winter? I hardly know the man. I’ve only been with him a few times. Even so, I find myself thinking about him. Maybe I’ve been alone a bit too long.
The engines of the trucks at Jake’s shut down, and in a few minutes there were no more voices reaching her. A horse in the pasture closest to her snorted, and as if in answer, so did a couple of others. After a few moments the horses, too, were silent.
Nutsy, mewing and writhing between her ankles, greeted Amy as she came in the front door. She quickly checked the cat’s water and food bowls and then headed up the stairs to bed, very pleased she’d picked up the telephone to call Julie.
The morning came quickly, but it wasn’t the light flooding through her curtains that brought Amy from sleep. Was that the doorbell? She heard the sound of a vehicle in her driveway and swung her legs from her bed. She scurried to her window just in time to see Ben Callan’s pickup halfway down the driveway, headed out toward the road. She looked at her bedside clock radio and yawned. “Ten after six is a little early to come calling on a neighbor, Ben,” she said aloud. She watched as the truck swung onto the road and accelerated back toward his home. What in the world? she wondered. Maybe he forgot a tool or something yesterday and needed it for his next job. I wish I’d been up when he came.
Nutsy went into his morning routine of yowling for a meal. He sounded as if he hadn’t been fed in weeks. “I hear you, honey,” Amy said as she scratched the kitten’s back. “Let me grab a shower and I’ll feed you.” As if he understood her words, Nutsy jumped back onto the bed and curled up next to Amy’s pillow, apparently satisfied to wait for his breakfast.
Downstairs, fresh from her shower, Amy fed the cat and started her Mr. Coffee. The picture of Ben’s truck pulling down her driveway replayed in her mind. Did he drop something off? His invoice? Some kind of a spare part for the window? She checked her coffee—not quite gurgled out yet—and walked to the front of her house. She opened the front door—and gasped in surprise.
&n
bsp; At first she thought it was Zack, Ben’s pup. But what would Zack be doing gnawing on a knuckle bone, with a lead from his collar looped over her doorknob? The pup looked up at her, his eyes unsure for a moment. When he saw her smile, his tail wagged. Amy’s breath came hard for some reason—and for some reason, tears of happiness sprang to her eyes.
Amy had fallen instantaneously, completely, and unalterably in love.
She crouched next to the puppy and ran her hands along the side of his head, gently, as if touching a baby. His tongue, a rough pink slab that seemed too large for a small dog, licked at her hand. She continued stroking the pup with one hand and picked up the folded sheet of typing paper that was tucked partially under the blanket with the other. The pencil-scrawled note said, “Dear Amy, your heart was in your eyes as you played with Zack. This little guy is the last of the litter and was getting lonely. You need a good dog on your place. Enjoy him. See you soon. Ben.”
Amy sat awkwardly next to the basket and hefted the pup into her arms and against her chest. His tongue found her cheek, and she could smell his sweet kibble-and-milk puppy breath and feel his steady heartbeat against her own body. The pup lapped at her nose.
Amy rose, set the pup on his feet next to the basket, and took the end of the leash from around the doorknob. She pushed open the door and said, “C’mon, little guy. Let’s go into your new home.” She moved away, taking a pair of backward steps. The collie followed her as if he’d been doing so all his life. Nutsy dashed up to the dog; the kitten’s fur along his spine stood on end, and his body raised and arced. The pup leaned forward and licked Nutsy’s head, ruffling the fur, standing it up, wetting it slightly. Nutsy leaped back, stood assessing the dog for a long moment, and then came ahead, poking his nose against that of the dog. The two traded scents as if they were shaking hands. The collie licked the cat again.
And that quickly, they were friends.
Chasing the Dream Page 9