Page 38 of Coyote

"He's still capable of making choices."

"He doesn't know what he wants yet."

"Then he should get time."

"She's already coming."

"To Winston's office. Not here."

"What happens when she asks where he is?"

"Winston tells her he has to speak to John first."

"And then?"

"John decides."

I looked down at the report.

I could picture the kitchen from where I sat. John bent over the table, his knees crowded underneath it.

He belonged here, with me, eating Sierra's food, washing up in the bathhouse, right where I could touch him and be with him and watch over him.

"He said he's staying," I said, my voice tight.

"Then trust him to say it again after he knows the truth."

My jaw clenched. "You want me to tell him," I said.

"He's your man."

The words should have pleased me. They didn't.

"You keep calling him yours," Rafe said. "This is part of it. You put the choice in his hands, even when you don't like what he might do with it."

"And if he leaves?"

"Ask him to come back."

"I don't ask."

"Then learn how."

I showed him my teeth, but Rafe didn't move.

I looked down at Sarah's name again. Socorro wasn't far. If John wanted to go with her, he could be gone before dark. He had no truck, no money, no clothes that belonged to him, but none of that mattered. She would bring everything he needed.

I had a horse in the barn.

I knew trails that left the ranch without touching a road. Places in the hills where no truck could follow. A cave deep enough to hide a fire from below. John would come if I told him there was danger. He trusted me.

By the time he understood what I had done, nobody else would know where to look.

I folded the report once. Then again.

Rafe looked down at my hands. "Coyote."

"I heard you."