Nicholas Evans - The Horse Whisperer

'Don't put it on,' Robert said softly. She turned to look at him and he smiled. 'Come here.'

He held out his arms to her and she swallowed and did her best to smile back, praying he couldn't read what she feared was in her eyes. She put the T-shirt down and walked to the bed, feeling shockingly exposed in her nakedness. She sat on the bed beside him and couldn't help the shiver of her skin as he slipped one hand around the back of her neck and the other to her left breast.

'Are you cold?'

'Only a little.'

He gently pulled her head down to him and kissed her, in the way he always kissed her. And she tried, with every atom she could muster, to blank her mind of all comparison and lose herself in the familiar contours of his mouth and its familiar taste and smell and the familiar cradling of his hand on her breast.

She closed her eyes but could not subdue the welling sense of betrayal. She had betrayed this good and loving man not so much by what she'd done with Tom but by what she longed to do. More powerfully however, and even though she told herself how foolish it was, she felt she was betraying Tom by what she was doing now.

Robert opened the sheets and shifted to let her in beside him. She saw the familiar pattern of russet hair on his stomach and the engorged pink sway of his erection. It slid hard against her thigh as she laid herself down beside him and found his mouth again.

'Oh, God, Annie, I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too.'

'Have you?'

'Shh. Of course I have.'

She felt the flat of his hand travel down her side and over her hip to her belly and knew he would stroke between her legs and would find how unaroused she was. Just as his fingers reached the rim of her hair, she slipped away a little down the bed.

'Let me do this first,' she said. And she eased herself over between his legs and took him in her mouth. It was a long time, years even, since she'd done it and the thrill of it made him take a sudden shuddering breath.

'Oh Annie. I don't know if I can take this.'

'It doesn't matter. I want to.'

What wanton liars love makes of us, she thought. What dark and tangled paths it has us tread. And as he came, she knew with a flooding sad certainty that whatever happened they would never be the same again and that this guilty act was secretly her parting gift.

Later, when the light was off, he came inside her. So dark was the night they could not see each other's eyes. And, thus protected, Annie at last was stirred. She turned herself loose to the liquid rhythm of their coupling and found beyond its sorrow some brief oblivion.

Robert drove Grace down to the barn after breakfast. The rain had cleared and cooled the air and the sky was a faultless wide curve of blue. He'd already noticed Grace was quieter this morning, more serious, and he asked her on the way down if she was okay.

'Dad, you've got to stop asking me that. I'm fine. Please.'

I'm sorry.'

She smiled and patted his arm and he left it at that. She'd called Joe before they left and by the time they got there he'd already fetched Gonzo from the paddock. He gave them a big grin as they got out of the Lariat.

'Good morning, young man,' Robert said.

'Morning Mr Maclean.'

'It's Robert, please.'

'Okay sir.'

They led Gonzo into the barn. Robert saw that Grace seemed to be walking with more of a limp than yesterday. Once she even seemed to lose her balance and had to reach for the gate of a stall to steady herself. He stood to watch them saddle Gonzo, asking Joe all about him, how old the pony was, how many hands, whether paints had a special kind of temperament. Joe gave full and courteous answers. Grace didn't say a word. Robert could see in the gathering of her brow that something was troubling her. He guessed from Joe's glances at her that he saw it too, though both knew better than to ask.

They led Gonzo out the back of the barn and into the arena. Grace prepared to mount.

'No hat?' Robert asked.

'You mean no hard hat?'

'Well, yes.'

'No, Dad. No hat.'

Robert shrugged and smiled. 'You know best.'

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. Joe looked from one of them to the other and grinned. Then Grace gathered the reins and, with Joe's shoulder for support, put her left foot in the stirrup. As she took the weight on her prosthetic leg, something seemed to give and Robert saw her wince.

'Shit,' she said.

'What is it?'

'Nothing. It's okay.'

With a grunt of effort she swung the leg over the cantle and sat in the saddle. Even before she'd settled he could see something was wrong. And then he saw her face screw up and realized she was crying.

'Gracie, what is it?'

She shook her head. He thought at first she was in pain, but when at last she spoke it was clear they were tears of anger.

'It's no damn good.' The words were almost spat. 'It's not going to work.'

It took Robert the rest of the day to get hold of Wendy Auerbach. The clinic had an answering machine with an emergency number which, curiously, seemed permanently busy. Maybe every other prosthetic in New York had cracked in sympathy or through some lurking defect whose time had suddenly come. When at last he got through, a weekend duty nurse said she was sorry but it wasn't clinic policy to give out home numbers. If however it really was as urgent as Robert said, which by her tone she seemed to doubt, she would try to contact Dr Auerbach on his behalf. An hour later the nurse called back. Dr Auerbach was out and wouldn't be home till late afternoon.

While they waited, Annie called Terri Carlson, whose number - unlike Wendy Auerbach's - was listed in the phone book. Terri said she knew someone over in Great Falls who might be able to rig up another kind of prosthetic at short notice but she advised against it. Once you'd gotten used to a particular type of leg, she said, changing to another was tricky and could take time.

Although Grace's tears had upset him and he felt for her in her frustration, Robert felt also a secret relief that he was to be spared what, it now emerged, was to have been a surprise staged specially for him. The sight of Grace climbing up on Gonzo had been nerve-racking enough. The thought of her on Pilgrim, whose calmer demeanor he didn't quite trust, was downright scary.

He didn't query it however. The failing, he knew, was his. The only horses he'd ever felt at ease with were those little ones in shopping malls that you slotted coins in to make them rock. Once it was apparent the idea had the backing not just of Annie but more crucially of Tom Booker too, Robert had set about salvaging it as though it had his full support.

By six o'clock they had a plan.

Wendy Auerbach at last called and got Grace to describe precisely where the crack was. She then told Robert that if Grace could get back to New York and come in for a new molding late on Monday, they could do a fitting on Wednesday and have the new prosthetic ready by the weekend.

'Alrighty?'

'Alrighty,' Robert said and thanked her.

In family conference in the creek house living room, the three of them decided what they'd do. Annie and Grace would fly back with him to New York and the following weekend they'd fly out here again for Grace to ride Pilgrim. Robert couldn't return with them because he had to go again to Geneva. He tried to look convincingly sad that he'd be missing all the fun.

Annie called the Bookers and got Diane, who'd earlier been so sweet and concerned when she heard what had happened. Of course it would be okay to leave Pilgrim here, she said. Smoky could keep an eye on him. She and Frank were getting back from L.A. on Saturday, though when Tom would be back from Wyoming she wasn't sure. She invited them to join them all that evening for a barbecue. Annie said they'd love to.