"Justin Stanchfield - Bone Lake" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stanchfield Justin)

BONE LAKE
Justin Stanchfield

Montana Territory, 1883

Ice melted off the sod roof, fat drops wicking down the icicles hanging from the eaves, split splat, split
splat to the frozen ground. The Chinook was late, February bleeding into March, the dawn outside the
little cabin sullen and cold. Annie Tate poured coffee into a chipped enameled cup, trying not to spill, her
hand shaking despite the smoky heat blazing out the cookstove. Her left eye hurt, the bruise around it
puffy, painful to the touch. A few drops sloshed over the rim, darkening the plank table. For a moment
she thought the man seated in front of her might strike her again, but he did nothing, silent as death. She
set the pot back on the stove.

"DonтАЩt go." She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip to keep from crying. She was so tired of tears.
"Isaac... donтАЩt go."

He said nothing, simply drained his cup then pushed away from the table, his shadow large in the coal-oil
flicker. Spurs jangled, sharp rowels dragging the hard dirt floor. Annie watched as he pulled on his long
canvas coat then wound a silk scarf around his throat, the bright red cloth a contrast to his dark nature.
Isaac Tate stared at her, his eyes lost in the gloom. Outside, a horse whickered, hooves sloshing through
the knee-deep snow. He reached for the door handle.

"Isaac?" Annie wrapped her arms around herself. "How long will you be gone?"

"Long as it takes," he said at last. "Why should you care?"

"YouтАЩre my husband."

"Fine time to realize it." He pulled the door open, the dank smell of melting snow pouring in. тАШBillyтАЩs here.
IтАЩve got to go."

"YouтАЩre just going to leave me here?"

"The cows are starving. They canтАЩt wait till spring." He reached behind the open door, found his carbine,
the barrel gray in the half-dawn, knuckles white around the stock. Isaac snugged his tattered black hat
down and stepped outside. Annie took a deep breath and followed him as far as the doorway, shivering
in the chill.

"IтАЩm going to have a baby."

Isaac stopped, but didnтАЩt turn, rain-rich wind whipping around him, moaning through the little stand of
pine behind the corrals. His grip tightened around the rifle. "Maybe you ought to talk to Billy about that."

Annie watched through tears as he wandered the muddy path to the barn, icy water spilling down her
back like blood across the killing floor.

***

DeweyтАЩs Flat, Montana, Present Day