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could do to hold him and keep him from bolting for the trees," Laura said, then reached forward and gave the pinto's arched neck a pat. "But you settled down for me right away, didn't you, boy?"
    "He's a good horse." For all the piebald's showy color and showy ways, the gelding had a calm and steady disposition, making him the ideal mount for a young girl.
    "He's the best," Laura replied matter-of-factly.
    Old Tom Bannon caught that last statement as they joined him at the drag. "Who's the best?"
    "The Pie, of course," she answered blithely.
    "Humph." He cast a critical horseman's eye over the pinto's lathered sides and neck. "He's all sand and no bottom," he announced, picking out the animal's one major fault--lack of endurance. "Now, you take that buckskin your father's riding, he can go all day and still be as fresh at the end of it as when he started."
    "Gramps, that's not fair."
    "Fair or not, it's the truth."
    She knew better than to argue. Instead she changed the subject. "Did you see the plane, Dad?" She tipped her head back to look at the sky, her expression all soft and dreamy.
    "Who do you think was in it?"
    "Fools, that's who."
    "Gramps." She flashed him an exasperated look, then resumed her idle musing. "Do you suppose it was Cher? Or maybe Melanie and Don Johnson? Or John Travis? Or
    that guy who played the Joker in Batman?"
    "Jack Nicholson," Bannon supplied the actor's name, certain she'd been closer to the mark when she'd mentioned John Travis. And certain as well that Kit had been onboard with him, making a triumphant return as the co-star of Travis's new film to be shot in Aspen. No one deserved success more than Kit. Bannon was glad for her. Yet the thought of her brought a nagging feeling of guilt and regret.
    "I wish I was going to the party at the Jerome with you tonight," Laura said with a sigh. "It would be neat to see all the stars."
    Bannon smiled at the wistfulness in her voice. "Look at it this way, Laura, in a few more years you'll be old enough to be my date."
    "Get real, Dad." She threw him a sidelong look of admonishment. "Girls don't date their fathers."
    "My mistake." He laughed and gave the front of her hat brim a tug, pulling it low on her forehead. She pushed her hat back to its former angle and laughed with him, making the moment something special between father and daughter, something to be stored away and remembered at a faraway time.
    The shared laughter left a soft curve to his mouth as he cast a measuring glance at the sun, gauging the time by its position in the sky. "If we don't get these cattle moving, your granddad and I are going to be late for the party, and you're going to be late for supper with Buffy."
    Immediately the three of them picked up the pace, pressing the ambling beasts in front of them into a trot.
    "How many cows got away in the trees?"
    Old Tom wanted to know.
    "About a dozen." Bannon slapped his coiled rope at a lagging cow that briefly considered making a break for it. "I thought we'd get them tomorrow."
    "But that's Sunday, Dad," Laura protested. "Our youth choir is going to sing at church and I have a solo. Aunt Sondra's coming and everything. You've got to be there. We've been practicing for weeks and weeks."
    "We can't miss that, can we?" he murmured and winked at his father. "Do you think we can leave them till after church?"
    "I don't know." Old Tom pretended to give the matter serious consideration. "They could get so lost we'll never find them."
    Laura knew she was being teased. "You can't fool me. I know you'll be there tomorrow," she said with complete conviction, then touched a heel to the pinto and sent it cantering ahead to assume a position on the flank.
    Bannon watched her for a moment, then shook his head in bemusement. "I think she has our number."
    Old Tom grunted an acknowledgment, then both men lapsed into silence. For a time Old Tom watched the black-rumped cows in front of them, their chunky hips rising and falling in rhythm with their