Chapter Twelve

Whether Rowdy spoke to Crystal or she just took her job seriously, Bob never got the chance to book Brenda's next visit. Crystal pre-empted him by calling the Ronsons and setting it up herself, a week hence. She didn't tell Bob about it until the day before it was scheduled. Nobody said much of anything to him during that week. He was like an injured bear.

"You did WHAT?!" he yelled.

Crystal stood firm, her shoulders back, and her fabulous breasts thrust at him, like they were a defense of some kind.

"You SAID she was welcome any time," she reminded him. "I did my JOB, Mr. Nivens!"

Her formal response took the wind out of Bob's sails. He couldn't be mad at her. She did, after all, just do her job. He felt panic in his gut. He knew what Brenda would want to do when she came back. He was quite aware that he wanted to pick up where they'd left off too.

That was the problem.

He saddled up Ranger and went for a ride. He'd been gone for maybe an hour when he heard hoof beats behind him. It was Rowdy.

The old foreman pulled up, facing him.

"You need to go see Greasy Face," he said. He said nothing else.

"Why?" asked Bob. He knew why, but he was being stubborn about it.

"You know why," said Rowdy. "If she's still got a hold on you, then talk to her."

"You don't believe that stuff," said Bob. "He's got half the people in this county spooked, but you're not one of them."

"I don't know what to believe," said Rowdy calmly. "Go see him."

Rowdy's horse reared, turned, and was off at a gallop before Bob could say anything else.

Bob rode another hour, and thought about Greasy Face. Greasy Face was a Native American, and he was old when Bob was a kid. Bob had been fascinated with him as he grew up, and spent as much time with the old Indian as he could. That wasn't much, because Greasy Face was a ranch hand at the Lazy N, and, even though he had to be in his seventies, he did the same kind of work as all the other ranch hands. According to Bob's dad, the Indian had showed up on foot one day, saying he was there for a job. He'd looked as old as Rowdy was now, even then, though nobody knew his actual age. When Bob's dad had told him about this, he'd had a far off look in his eyes. "He said he was SUPPOSED to work here."

"What did that mean, Daddy?" young Bob had asked.

"Hell if I know," his father had answered. "But something told me to give him a job. I did, and he's one of the best there is."

Bob, over the years, had learned that Greasy Face was from the Wind River Reservation, and member of the Forks-of-the-River Men tribe, part of the Arapaho Nation. It eventually came out that he had been a medicine man of the tribe, but he said he had "retired" to make way for a younger man to take his place. It was common knowledge, among the cowboys on the ranch, and not a few people from other ranches, that Greasy Face could see things about people, like when they were sick, even before they knew it. It was also widely believed that he could talk to the spirits. Bob had heard some tales about Greasy Face that had made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He'd thought about going to Greasy Face when Dannie had died. To be honest, he was afraid to do so. On the one hand, he was afraid that the old man couldn't do what was claimed. On the other hand ... he was afraid that maybe he could.

Both fears resurfaced as Bob rode that day. What if he COULD talk to Dannie, through the old man? What would she say? Would she rail at him for what he'd already done with the girl? Would she curse him? And what if nothing happened at all. What if he got his hopes up, only to have them dashed? He'd already been through ten months of pure agony, with a three day respite of sorts, while he was with Brenda. That, too, had turned into agony, first when he was sure she'd die, and now, again, when he found out maybe she wouldn't.

He didn't know what to do.
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He still didn't know what to do when the car pulled up and parked outside.

When she got out, she looked the same ... and completely different.

She had the same slim legs ... same gorgeous smile ... same hourglass shape ... same bald head. She looked different in ways he couldn't quite put his finger on. That she had on a sundress, instead of jeans and a shirt, was obvious. That she wasn't wearing a wig, was obvious too. She looked healthy, he decided. He hadn't noticed, before, because he had nothing to compare it to, but now, stepping into the sun, she looked vibrantly, gloriously healthy. Her skin didn't look so pale any more.

When she saw him, she walked sedately towards him. As she got closer he realized she wasn't actually bald any more. Almost transparent blond hair sprouted all over her head, mimicking the darker inch and a half long fuzz that he sported under his hat. Bob saw her parents get out of the car as she came up to stand in front of him. The first thing she did was reach up and take his hat off.

"Good," she breathed a long sigh. "I was afraid you'd kept it shaved. I worked hard to grow this," she said, rubbing her head and smiling. "I didn't want to have to shave it off to be like you."

Bob noticed that just about everybody who wasn't out on a job assignment was there to meet this family. Even Greasy Face was there, standing beside Rowdy. Dammit ran up and sat down beside Brenda, wagging her tail. The girl bent her knees gracefully and scratched behind both ears.

"I'm happy to see you too," she said to the dog.

Bob felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like running. He thought he might pee his pants. The feelings that flooded him were even stronger than he'd been afraid they'd be. He felt like he was ten years old again.

She stood back up.

"Hi," she said, putting his hat back on him. "Thank you for inviting me back."

"Uh ..." Bob choked.

"I'm still sick," she said. "I mean the tumor is still there." She looked over at her parents. "It got smaller, but it's still there. They think it was something from here that did that."

Bob just stared at her. He was so overwhelmed by her mere presence that he couldn't function.

"You're not very talkative, today," said the girl, cocking her head and staring at him.

"I don't ... feel too good," Bob whimpered.

"Well, go get some rest or something," she said. "I want to go for another ride." She pursed her lips and made a kissing sound. The look of invitation in her eyes was as loud as a shout. Then, she turned, and walked back toward her parents. Her father was taking a suitcase out of the trunk of the car. Linda said something to Brenda as they passed each other, and walked over to Bob.

"Thank you, again," she said, as she approached Bob. "Dave and I can't stay long, but there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Talking to Linda wasn't as terrifying as talking to Brenda, and Bob managed to make the appropriate sounds. "What's that?" he asked.

The woman looked over her shoulder. "I think she has a little crush on you."

Bob's stomach, which had just begun floating back up to where it normally was, sank again.

"You do?"

"All she's wanted to do since we took her home is come back here," said Linda, looking at Bob's strained face oddly. She tilted her head the same way her daughter had. "She's done everything the doctors ask her to. They keep doing all these tests on her, and she puts up with all that just fine, but she keeps talking about the ranch, and the dog ... and you. I think she had a very good time when she was here." The woman looked shrewdly at the pale man in front of her. "A VERY good time."

"I tried," said Bob, meaning he'd tried to resist the girl's seduction. He had decided, in his mind, out of pure emotional self defense, that he had been seduced. He knew that wasn't likely. Young, virginal girls just don't go out and seduce the first cowboy they spend a day or two with. But he had been, for the most part, helpless when she wanted to explore the new feelings that riding had brought her.

"You succeeded," said Linda. "There's one other thing," she said.

Bob felt the axe coming. They had found out he had fucked their little girl. He was sure of it. If he'd been thinking more clearly, he would have realized that couldn't be it. They wouldn't have brought her back if they knew. But he wasn't thinking clearly. He hadn't thought clearly since the second day of their ride together.

"You never sent us a bill for the trip," said Linda.

"I didn't?" asked Bob. He hadn't even thought about that aspect of things. Crystal handled all the bookings and billing.

"No," she said. "We're supposed to turn it in to the foundation, and they've been asking for it."

"I'll ... um ... talk to Crystal about it," said Bob.

"Thank you," said Linda. "We're going to get her settled in. Crystal said she can stay a whole week. She didn't know what the itinerary was going to be, but she doesn't really care. She just wants to be here. I'm a little worried about the crush. I'd like to ask you to be gentle with her."

"Gentle?" Bob almost whispered.

"You know how these crushes are. I don't want her to end up getting hurt ... or anything. If you can, I'd appreciate it if you'd let her down gently."

"Gently," muttered Bob.

"Are you all right?" asked Linda, concern in her voice.

"I've ... uh ... got a lot on my mind ... that's all." He tried to get control over himself. "Why don't you get her settled in. I didn't actually talk to Crystal about what we're going to do while she's here. I have something I have to take care of, and then I'll be back."

He turned around and walked away. He went to the barn, but he didn't have anything to do there. He was, in truth, just trying to separate himself from the emotional storm that had just arrived at the ranch. It was Brenda who had brought that storm, but her mother was wrong. It wasn't Brenda who was in danger. It was Bob. He recognized what he had felt instantly, as soon as she smiled at him. He was a twenty-seven-year-old man in love with a sixteen year old girl, who might live to be seventeen ... and might not.

Phillip, Crystal's son, came out of a stall.

"You need something, boss?" he asked, his voice piping. He called Bob "boss" like all the cowboys did. "You taking Ranger out for a ride? I can get him ready, if you want."

"No," said Bob. "I'm just thinking."

"I never thought of coming to the barn just to think," said the boy.

"I guess I never did either," said Bob. "It's quiet here, I guess."

The boy lit up. "Greasy Face is teaching me to met ..." He screwed up his face as he tried to remember the word. "Metiate, or something like that," he went on. "That's thinking about stuff, except that you aren't supposed to actually think about anything." Phillip was in just as much awe over Greasy Face as Bob had been when he was the same age.

"Meditate," said Bob.

"Yeah! That's it," said Phillip happily. "It's hard! He's going to give me another lesson today. It's his day off."

"You listen to everything Greasy Face tells you," said Bob. "He's a very smart man."

"I know!" said Phillip excitedly. "He tells the best stories too!"

"You go on now," said Bob. "Get your chores done so you can play."

"Yes SIR, boss," said the boy, sticking his chest out. He turned and went for the oat bucket at a run.

Bob watched him go. The interlude had helped him calm down. It had also reminded him of Rowdy's insistence that he talk to Greasy Face about all this. He thought. If it was the old Indian's day off, he'd likely be down at the bunkhouse.

He turned toward the other end of the barn, beyond which the bunkhouse lay. He had to stop and talk to his horse, who was restive. He'd thought about taking a ride, but he left the horse there. He had to get this done.
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Greasy Face was sitting on the porch of the bunkhouse, braiding a rope. Greasy Face made all his own rope, turning up his nose at the modern stuff. Just seeing the old man had a calming effect on Bob. He had spent countless hours, sitting and riding with the man when he was younger. The old man's familiar countenance, and the pure normalcy of what he was doing, gave Bob some control back, and he took a deep breath. The old Indian looked up when Bob's shadow crossed his feet.

"Heebe neneeceeb," said the wrinkled dark face. Bob knew that was Arapaho for "Hello, boss".

"Heebe neiteh'ei," Bob said back, returning the greeting and calling the man his friend.

"What brings you to see an old man today?" asked Greasy Face.

"Can't a man come see a friend?"

"Your face is troubled. Your heart is heavy." The man went back to braiding his rope.

Bob suddenly felt silly. Asking Greasy Face what to do about Brenda suddenly seemed frivolous, somehow.

"How did you ever get the name 'Greasy Face' anyway?" asked Bob, suddenly. He knew it was an attempt to talk about something else ... delay the real point of his visit, but did it anyway.

"My mother was a 'Forks-of-the-River Men' woman. My father was from the 'Greasy Face People'," said the old Indian. "They met at a dance, and he corrupted her. He made me in her belly that night, and then went back to his lands. My mother never saw him again. My people said she should throw me in the river, because the Greasy Face People were scoundrels."

"Obviously, they didn't," commented Bob. "Throw you in, I mean."

"My mother was a hard headed woman," said the old man, grinning. "She told me no man had ever made her feel like that, before. She named me to honor him, and to tell my people that they should mind their own business."

"I'm surprised you rose to such a high level in the tribe," said Bob.

"The people don't choose a medicine man," said Greasy Face, seriously. "The talent comes upon him, and he is what he is. Your people should learn that." He braided for a few minutes as Bob sat down on the porch beside him. Eventually he looked over at Bob.

"Why is your heart so heavy? Do you still grieve for Huhu'yookox?" Greasy Face had called Dannie "Little Willow." When she asked him why, he said she was beautiful, and bent with the winds of turmoil and change, instead of letting troubles break her spirit. She had planned for Kyle to take lessons from Greasy Face, when he was old enough.

"Can you really talk to the spirits?" asked Bob.

"Why would you want to?" asked the old Indian.

Bob thought for a minute. "When I lost her, I never thought I'd find feeling for another woman."

The old man's fingers never faltered with the rope he was making. "Man was made to love woman," he commented.

"I don't know what to do," Bob said. "I thought her spirit might tell me."

Greasy Face's hands stopped, and he looked over at Bob.

"I could perform the ceremony ... but it is not necessary."

"I don't understand," said Bob.

"If you had been taken by the avalanche, instead of Huhu'yookox, what would you have her do?"

Bob sat. He had often wished it HAD been him in the car, that day ... alone, of course. If he could have traded his life for theirs, he would have done it gladly. Now he tried to think past the selfishness of that fantasy. The answer was obvious, but it seemed self serving too. He concentrated on a vision of Dannie ... alive. What would he want for her? The answer was still obvious, self serving or not.

"I would want her to be happy," he said.

"And you think she would want something different for you?" asked the old man, his eyes pinned to Bob's.

Bob swallowed. "I feel like I'm betraying her. I don't know what to think."

The old man went back to making rope, and spoke as if it were to that rope.

"She was a good woman, even if she was white." Bob knew that wasn't a racist statement. The old man was just being blunt. "She would want her man to be happy, just as you would want her to be happy. I don't have to ask her about that. I already know what she would say."

"You never took another wife," said Bob. He knew that part of the reason Greasy Face had left his tribe was because his wife had died.

"That's because the next woman I saw who was worth the trouble was already taken," said the old man. He looked up and grinned. "She had already been claimed by you." He chuckled. "You choose good women, neneeceeb. If you decide not to take this girl-with-the-wasting disease, let me know. It has been long since I was able to make a woman happy."

Bob was flabbergasted, both by the compliment, and by the fact that this man somehow knew that Bob's question had involved Brenda.

"How did you know?" he asked, uncomfortably.

"You're eyes were different when you brought her back from the mountains," said the man, shrugging. "I could see you had come nearer to her." He looked back down. "And she to you. This, too, was plain. Your spirits were entwined." He smiled. "And now she has come back. She wants to claim you."

"Her parents didn't see that," said Bob.

"Why, then, did they bring her back?" asked the man. "And so soon after her last visit?"

Bob didn't want to go into why Brenda was back. She was supposed to be dead. In the tortured recesses of his mind, her death had been transformed into his punishment for what he'd done with her ... for betraying Dannie with her. Now that she wasn't dead, he hadn't been able to justify what had happened between them. He boiled it down to the minimum he could say without the panic coming back.

"Her parents only cater to her last wishes. I don't think they know how she feels about me ... or me about her."

Greasy Face's fingers were busy with the rope again. "They are blinded by their grief. They think she is going to die, but she has much life left in her."

"She still has the cancer in her," said Bob. "It isn't as bad now, but it's still there."

"Her cei3wooo ... her spirit ... is strong, stronger than when she was last here." The old man looked almost puzzled. "Perhaps what I am seeing is the téí'yoonehíhi' na."

"Tey-yoon..." Bob tried to pronounce the unfamiliar word.

"The baby ... inside her. What I see could be the baby. I don't know for sure."

"Baby?" Bob's voice was an octave higher than normal. He blinked.

"She is with child, neneeceeb. She has lain with a man."

"What?!" gasped Bob. "She's pregnant?"

"Did I not already say this?" Greasy Face looked concerned. "Do not let this trouble you, neneeceeb. Woman was made to lie with man. She is a good woman. I can see that too. Do not hold it against her that she has done what woman is made to do."

Bob shot to his feet, and left at a run.
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When he hit the porch he was panting like he'd run a mile. He stopped suddenly, and stood, wild-eyed, unsure of what to do. A party of guests was having an early lunch on the veranda, and looked at him curiously.

He went inside and saw Crystal, talking to another guest. She looked over at him, frowned, and said something to the guest before coming his way.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I ... I ... she ... she's ..." Bob felt faint. He looked for a place to sit down.

"What?" Crystal had concern in her eyes now.

"Where are they?" he gasped.

"Who?" Crystal wasn't dumb, and she figured it out before he could answer. "The Ronsons? They're up in room six. What happened?"

"Where's Rowdy?" he gasped again.

"Bob Nivens! Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked, almost angrily.

"Where's Rowdy?" he insisted.

"I don't know," she said. "He said something about riding somewhere with the chuck wagon this morning. That would have to be the Fiskins group. They're the only ones scheduled for the chuck wagon."

Bob moaned. The Fiskins group was ten miles away. That was too far.

"Bob," pleaded Crystal. "Talk to me."

He darted a look around. The guest she had been talking to was standing there, obviously waiting for her to come back and finish their conversation.

He looked at Crystal, pain in his eyes. "She's pregnant," he whispered.

"Pregnant?" Crystal asked, startled. "Who?" Again, her mind caught up with things before he could answer. "That girl? Brenda?" Her eyes were wide open now, and her mouth hung open.

"Yes," panted Bob. "Greasy Face told me so."

"Greasy Face?" She looked confused. "But what does that have to do with ...?" Her eyes narrowed. "You mean you ...?" She looked even more startled. "Last time she was here? You mean you ...?"

"Yeeesss," he moaned.

For once, Crystal was caught off guard. She'd thought she knew this man pretty well, but this was something she'd never have even dreamed he might do. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts. As a woman, who had been through hard times, she was outraged that a man would take advantage of a poor sick girl like that. At the same time, she'd seen that poor sick girl upon their return, and there hadn't been a sad bone in her body. Crystal had been awed by the poise the young woman had in dealing with her situation. Thinking back on that, it was obvious that nothing had happened that had bothered the girl. As a woman who had been pregnant, her heart reached out to the girl now, and as a single mother, the thought that Brenda might have to go through what she had gone through made her want to cry.

"How could you?!" she yipped.

"I didn't MEAN for it to happen," he moaned. "I don't even know how it DID happen. We were at the hot springs, and ... and ..." He gave up. "What do I do now?" he asked.

"You have to tell them," she said instantly. Her eyes opened wide again. "Did she say anything to you?"

"No," said Bob, his voice more normal now. His eyes flicked to the guest. She saw and looked over.

"Stay there!" she ordered. "Don't go anywhere!"

She went back to the man she'd been talking to. They spoke for two or three minutes, and the man left. She came back to Bob.

"She didn't say anything to you about being pregnant?" she asked.

"No," moaned Bob.

Crystal thought. "She can only be a month or so along. She might not even know. No ... wait .... she has to have missed a period."

Bob remembered their conversation on the trail. "She said something about how the medicines screwed up her cycle," he said. "She said she hadn't had a period for a long time."

Crystal leaned back. If they had talked THAT intimately, then it wasn't just some casual, emotional little fling. It must have meant something to the girl. Now she thought of how the girl looked, when she had arrived that morning. The joy on her face took on new meaning.

"She's in love with you, Bob," she said.

"I know," he groaned. "I'm in love with her too."

"Well, then, it's a workable situation," she said promptly.

"No it isn't!" he hissed. "She's only sixteen! She's got cancer! She doesn't NEED this kind of problem!"

"Didn't they say she's in remission?" asked Crystal.

"Yes, but the tumor is still there," said Bob. "And she's still sixteen."

"You have to tell them, Bob," said Crystal. "If they've started treatment again, it might kill the baby." She straightened up. "You have a responsibility to her, Bob."

He blinked. He'd been thinking selfishly again. He hadn't thought about the baby ... his baby.

Crystal took his elbow. "I'll go up and get Brenda. I'll tell her I need to talk to her about her itinerary. You have to talk to her parents, Bob. You have to."

The first thing Bob felt was panic. Strangely, though, the thought of what he'd go through ... admitting to her parents what he'd done ... suffering their wrath ... calmed him a little. He'd always tried to punish himself for Dannie's death. Now the thought of the punishment he would receive from Dave and Linda seemed only fitting.

He suddenly felt very calm. He would take that punishment. He deserved it.

"OK," he said suddenly. "Yes. Let's do that."
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He watched, from down the hall, as Crystal led Brenda off, and down the stairs. It wasn't until he was walking towards the door of the room she'd been assigned that he realized he was about to tell two adults that the reason he knew their daughter was pregnant was because of the vision of an old Indian man. They'd never believe it. He would go in there, confess everything, and they wouldn't believe it. Oh, they'd believe that he'd soiled their virgin daughter, but they wouldn't believe she was pregnant. Not on the say-so of a retired medicine man.

He was standing in front of the door, wondering what to do, when Linda Ronson pulled the door open.

"... just need to find out ..." She had been talking to her husband, as she opened the door. She stopped, startled, as she was confronted with Bob, a foot away.

"Oh!" she said. "You startled me!" When Bob didn't say anything, curiosity came over her face. Then concern, as she saw Bob's eyes.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Yes ... I'm afraid there is," said Bob heavily. "I need to talk to you."

"Is Brenda all right?" the woman became anxious instantly.

"She's fine," said Bob, automatically. "She's talking to Crystal."

"I know," said Linda. "She came here to get her ... I don't understand…"

"May I come in?" asked Bob. "We need to talk."
