The Sheriff of Heartbreak County

turned away from it was even more blunt and dismissive than usual.

“Used to be the master bedroom back there-Roan’s den…baby’s room…” His crusty voice had thickened. “Burned down a few years back. Roan never has got around to rebuilding it.”

Mary sucked in air, but he left her no time for apologies, or to dwell on the dreadful images that came swarming into her mind. Chilled, she followed Boyd through a cursory tour of the house, and was glad when they came again into the warm spring sunshine, where the scent of lilacs and boisterous greetings from the dogs helped to banish the ghost of past tragedy.

The dogs’ names, she learned, were Rocky and Bear. They were Australian shepherds, and she could tell them apart easily enough because Rocky had one blue eye. Completely accepting of her now, they trotted at her heels as often as they did Boyd’s, as they walked down the cottonwood-shaded lane between storage sheds of all shapes and sizes, corral fences and horse stables, most of them painted a dark red with white trim.

“You ride?” he asked, as they were walking through one of the stables, empty and remarkably cool and quiet for late afternoon. It smelled-not unpleasantly-of leather and straw, manure and something faintly salty Mary could only assume was horse.

“No,” she said quickly, repressing a shudder-not wanting to be impolite, “not really.”

Boyd chuckled. “Well…little bit’ll have you mounted up in no time, I expect.”

Not if I can help it, Mary thought.

Last stop on the tour was a huge old barn at the end of the lane. Again, the interior of the barn was cool and dim, shot through with fingers of sunlight from cracks in the siding and tiny dust-clouded windows high in the walls. Stacks of hay bales filled most of the space, along with a lot of tools and other mysterious objects that appeared to be very, very old. Antiques, Boyd explained proudly. Relics from the Old West he’d collected over the years.

He halted and called up toward the rafters, “Hey, little bit, come on down here, now. We got company.”

There was a pause, and then a small face framed with tousled red hair appeared at the very top of the tallest haystack. The face split into a wide, off-center grin. “Hi,” Susie Grace called down in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t come down right now. I’m holding kittens. You want to see them? They’re really cute. You can climb up here, if you want to.”

Mary opened her mouth. Looked at Boyd, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. She drew a quivering breath, the feelings inside her as hard to pin down as the dust motes dancing in those shafts of sunlight. Then she shrugged, stepped up onto the lowest layer of bales, and began to climb, Susie Grace calling encouragement and helpful instructions in her raspy whisper. She reached the top of the stack, weak-kneed but triumphant, and turned to wave at Boyd, who touched his cap with a finger, then turned and stumped off on some chore of his own.

Susie Grace scooted back to make room for Mary on the bales, crossing her legs under her Indian-style. She was cradling two tiny black-and-white kittens against her chest. She waited until Mary had settled herself, then peeled one of the kittens off of her T-shirt and commanded, “Hold out your hands.”

Mary obeyed, holding her breath. She let it out in an awed and inarticulate whisper as the kitten’s warm squirmy weight settled into her cupped palms.

“Hold it like this,” Susie Grace said. “They like it under your neck-see?” She giggled. “It tickles.” She eyed Mary, who was laughing, too. “Didn’t you ever hold a kitten before?”

“Not this little,” Mary said shakily. The kitten’s tiny round head was bumping under her chin.

“I love kittens. They’re my favorite animal. Well…second favorite, after horses. I like all animals, actually. I’m going to be a veterinarian when I grow up.”

“Where is the mother?” Mary was busy now, trying to keep the kitten from climbing up her sweater, over her shoulder and down the other side.

“Probably hunting mice. Or gophers or something. I waited until she left before I started searching for the nest. Mother cats don’t like it when you bother their babies. Sometimes they move them, and then you have to start looking all over again.”

“You certainly know a lot about animals,” Mary said, smiling at her.

Susie Grace accepted the accolade with a nod. “I like animals because they don’t care what people look like. They only care about smell and if you’re nice to them or not.”

Mary watched the kitten cuddle happily against the little girl’s scarred and puckered skin and felt her heart swell with emotions she’d never felt before. Was this what it meant to love a child, she wondered? She hadn’t thought it would hurt so much. “You could have surgery,” she said huskily. “To make your scars better.”

“I know.” Susie Grace took a breath and quickly huffed it out again. “But I don’t want to. I’m afraid it will hurt. It hurt really, really bad when I got burned.”

“Well,” Mary said with care, lest her emotions leak into her voice, “maybe you’ll change your mind someday… when you grow up…have a boyfriend.”

Susie Grace shook her head. “I’m not going to have a boyfriend.”

“Why not?”

“Because…boys like pretty girls.” Susie Grace shrugged.

A wave of anger took Mary’s breath away. “You are pretty.”

Susie Grace rolled her eyes. “That’s what my dad says.”

“Well, maybe you should believe him.” Susie Grace’s reply was another shrug. “Look,” Mary said firmly, peeling the kitten off her sweater and placing it in Susie Grace’s lap, “I’m not your dad. And I used to be a model. So I think I ought to know what pretty is. And I’m telling you-you are pretty. You can believe that.”

Susie Grace didn’t say a word. Keeping her face averted, she carefully put the kittens back in their straw nest. “Let’s go see the horses,” she said, and turning onto her belly, slipped over the edge of haystack.

Mary sat where she was for a few moments, fighting back the furious tears that were burning her eyes and throat. Then, a resolute smile pasted firmly on her face, she followed the little girl down the stack.

Horses again, she thought. Wonderful.

“This one’s mine,” said Susie Grace, reaching through the corral fence to stroke the face of an animal roughly the same color as her hair and tall as a small mountain. “Her name’s Tootsie-isn’t she beautiful?”

“Mmm,” said Mary. And big. Very big.

Susie Grace giggled. “Here-give her some grain. She likes to eat out of your hand. Only you have to keep your fingers flat, or else she might bite them. Not on purpose, though. Horses can’t see what’s down there by their mouth, you know. It’s kind of hard to tell fingers from something good to eat, just with the end of your nose. You should try it sometime.” She shot Mary a look full of mischief as she held out the bucket of grain.

“Thanks-I’ll take your word for it,” Mary said dryly. She scooped a handful of grain from the bucket, closed her eyes, sent up a prayer, and thrust her hand between the boards of the fence. And gave a little gasp of surprise. It felt as if somebody was nuzzling her hand with a velvet boxing glove.

“You can pet her,” said Susie Grace. “She likes it when you scratch her under her chin-like this.”

Not wanting to disappoint the child, Mary did…then, when nothing terrible seemed about to happen, ran her hand along the hard round jaw…then daringly over the neck…then the shoulder. Shivering inside with fear and wonder and excitement. She thought again of velvet, except this was warmer and damper than velvet, and underneath the velvet was a whole lot of muscle. Mountains of muscle.

Another velvety muzzle bumped against her arm, demanding a share of the attention, and Mary said, “Oh-” and laughed as she transferred her stroking to the newcomer. This one was a lovely mottled gray, like dappled shade on snow. It had a darker gray muzzle, and the softest darkest eyes she’d ever seen. “What’s this one’s name?”

“That’s Angel.” Susie Grace’s eyes were on her scarred hands as they methodically stroked Tootsie’s neck. “She’s my mommy’s horse. Her name used to be Dancer when she was a barrel racer, but now it’s Angel, because my mom is an angel, too.” There was a pause, and then she looked up at Mary and said, “She’s real gentle. You can ride her if you want to.”

Mary’s heart dropped into her shoes.

After that, what could she do?

Which was how it happened that the next morning, a bright sunny Sunday in May, Mary found herself where she’d have been content never in her whole entire life to be-in a saddle on the back of a horse. A horse named Angel.