Five minutes after he dropped his head on his flat burlap pillow, he was dreaming of her. e mattered?Let me be free in my mind, as free as the horses along the Drop, and don’t let her hurt me. From behind them, inside the bunkhouse door, came a less unpleasant sound—the cooing of pigeons. Susan turned away, her face a composed mask .
”Roland didn’t smile; repartee had never been his strong suit. Now it b’longs to the Horsemen’s Association—that’s a little local group of farmers and ranchers. She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Now he was glad.
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