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hurt at all. I shot over fifty rounds that afternoon, and I knew that my love of shooting would never go away.
    It was only a matter of time before I decided to share my new skill with my best friend Missy Red. Missy was the outcome of a late-night affair between Crackerjack, Lettie’s prize-winning Quarter Horse stud, and a stray mare. One morning we found the little Appaloosa mare contentedly munching hay from our very satisfied stud’s manger. All we could figure was that she had jumped the fence sometime in the night for an indiscretion with Crackerjack. We checked with the locals, but no one claimed her and I fell in love with the rough-riding old mare. “I think I will name you Lady, because there’s nothing ladylike about you,” I laughed as I watched her frolicking around Crackerjack. She seemed to understand and drew her velvety lips into a big horselaugh as she tossed her head and blew soft, friendly snorts at me.
    She was a jug-headed, hard keeper, but that horse knew everything about riding and roping, and she was a patient and understanding teacher. Lady died shortly after giving birth to Missy, so Missy and I became a herd of two growing up together. I never had many friends, and Missy needed someone like me who understood her birthright or lack thereof.
    Missy didn’t shy away from the sound of the rifle, and soon we were riding and shooting whenever we got a chance. We humbled many a cocky cowboy at Lettie’s rodeos. Ma used to say, “Ada, you can shoot the feet off a rabbit at a full gallop.” I always laughed back to her, “I would much rather make the shot through the neck, Ma. You get dinner that way!”
    My pleasant memories were swept away as the realization that I would probably never see my Ma again. Patrick could never meet her, Lettie, or even Jeremiah. Sarah’s words came back to haunt me: “You won’t be able to reveal the truth about yourself ... you’ll be setting yourself up to live a lifetime of lies.” My whole life with Patrick would have to exclude the three people I loved most. My shaking lower lip needed a solid bite to steady its quivering. I turned so Patrick didn’t see my betraying emotion.
    ***
    I quickly regained my composure and renewed my attention to his animated conversation. “We’ll go to church tomorrow with Grace, Frank, and the kids. I can’t wait to introduce you to the congregation, and then I have a very special surprise for you. Can you fix a picnic supper for the two of us?” Patrick asked.
    “Oh yes.” My sadness lifted, and I eagerly communicated an idea for the picnic. “When I went out for the eggs this morning, that old rooster flew up in my face. He’s a menace, and he’s been pecking at the laying hens. I can have that ornery old cock ready for the frying pan this afternoon.”
    A mischievous fire danced in Patrick’s dark chocolate eyes. “Be careful, woman, I don’t want you mistreating my cock!”
    “You get back to that dirty old barn with that kind of talk,” I said. Laughing, I fell into his arms. “Now go before I put you to work here in this kitchen.”
    Later that afternoon with my hatchet in hand, that nasty old rooster met a quick, painless end as he flew at me one last time. Carrying my bounty back to the house I heard Patrick yelling from the barn and looked up in horror.
    “Coyotes are after the cows! Ada, get me the rifle!” screamed Patrick. I looked across the pasture as three grey cannon balls of fur and teeth nipped at one of the hysterical heifers. Kicking and bawling, the heifer ran towards the safety of the herd, but another attacking wraith cut her off. The other frightened cows stood unable to protect their sister as the three howling banshees besieged their prey.
    My thoughts quickly snapped into place. I remembered Patrick had left the Winchester propped on the porch. Reflexes from years of riding the herds on Lettie’s ranch came back quickly. Instinctively I raised and settled the rifle’s butt deep in