Raven Publishing, Inc. 
Absaroka received Honorable Mention in the IPPY Awards: Best Fiction for the Mountain West category. (Independent Publisher Book Awards, 2006)
Chapter 2
Jake could feel Matt watching him as they drove out of town. Damn that Joe. Never did know when to keep his mouth shut. Jake’s head ached; his thoughts were a jumble. Sooner or later Matt was going to ask for an explanation. How could he understand? He hadn’t been here. He hadn’t watched Ellie change from a vibrant woman with girlish eyes into a frail stranger, wracked with pain. He hadn’t spent months going from doctor to doctor, searching for a different verdict. What did Matt know about dying a little each day, anyway? Oh, God, he had loved her! Until he had realized Ellie was going to die, he would have sworn that the Rocking R meant more to him than anything else in the world. The Rocking R had been his life, his pride, his sense of worth, and he had neglected it badly in his futile search for a miracle.
“Thank God his father wasn’t around to see it. Jake had always been a little afraid of his father. He had been so powerful. Jake could still remember the summer he was twelve when his Pa was leading a movement to secede from Wyoming and start a new state. He had most of the folks in northern Wyoming, southern Montana, and western South Dakota all set to elect him governor of the new state—what was the name of it?
“Matt,” he asked, “do you remember what your granddaddy was going to call that new state?”
“What? What new state?”
“Oh, you remember, don’t you? Back in 1934 or ’35, Pa was convinced that Cheyenne was giving this part of the state the short end of the stick. He and a bunch of other folks decided to start a new state. Damned if I can remember the name of it, though. I’m sure you heard him talk about it.”
Matt laughed. “Oh yeah. He was really going to do it, huh?”
“You bet. I can’t remember now what stopped him. Some legal issue or something.”
Matt chuckled. “Probably the state Constitution, don’t you suppose?”
“I think Ma thought he was crazy,” Jake said. “Pa said he nearly lost her over that one.”
Big Bart Reed. Always in the middle of some sort of issue, and always it involved the land. He had a special feeling for the land, seemed to think he had been personally appointed by God to take care of it. He had hated it when they opened the coal mine in 1917. There were some nasty rumors that Bart had tried to sabotage the whole operation. Jake didn’t know if there was anything to it, but Pa sure was jubilant when the mine closed. What would he think about all this talk about coal methane beds these days?
“Dad,” Matt said, “I’d like to stop by and see Mom’s grave.”
Jake winced. “No. Why don’t you go down there tomorrow, son? I don’t feel up to it right now.”
Jake didn’t tell Matt that he hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. He had tried, but he just couldn’t. That wasn’t Ellie lying there—it was some stranger who had robbed him of the Rocking R and his son’s inheritance.
“Dad, are you okay?” Matt’s face was intent.
God, Jake thought, he sure favors his mother; the same gray eyes, and one rebellious eyebrow lifted in constant curiosity. They rode in silence, Matt’s unanswered question a barrier between them.
“Sure can feel fall in the air,” Jake commented finally.
“Feels good to me. It beats the jungle.”
“Never been in a jungle. Pretty hot?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah, hot and sticky and green and thick and reeking with death … ”
Jake looked sharply at his son as his words trailed off. Matt seemed to be someplace else, unaware that he had even spoken.
“I caught Old Blue this morning, son. Figured you two would want to get reacquainted.”
“Thanks. I suppose he’s as cantankerous as ever. I sure did miss him, though.”
As they drove west, the Bighorns seemed to grow. Jake noted a new sprinkling of white on the peaks. Winter wasn’t far off. He remembered other winters—always a challenge and always bringing their own special trouble. The year Matt was born, for instance. What a blizzard that was. He had tried to get Ellie to town, but there was just no way. He had been young then, young and strong. He could still feel her in his arms as he carried her back to the house to birth his son himself. Matt had come into the world kicking and screaming, ready even then to take on most anything that came his way.
Then there was the winter Matt was eighteen, and they had that awful argument about him wanting to be a veterinarian. Matt had left home and spent two months in the cabin up on Clear Creek. Ellie had refused to talk to him until he rode up there and made peace. I was wrong, of course, Jake thought. He’d be a damn sight better off now if he’d gone off to school. But I wanted him to run the ranch. What a stubborn fool I was. But then, how was I to know that anthrax would wipe out my herd just when Ellie got sick.
“Watch it, Dad!” Matt cried.
Jake twisted the wheel to the left, barely avoiding the deer that had bounded into the road.
“Guess I wasn’t paying attention,” he said sheepishly. “You want to drive?”
Matt got out of the pickup and Jake slid across the seat. His hands were shaking. He felt Matt’s glance as he started the truck, concerned and curious.
“Pretty doe,” Jake commented.
Matt nodded, but said nothing.
“Absaroka.” Jake murmured. “That was it, Absaroka. Now ain’t that a hell of a name for a state?”
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