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putting the knives into the drawer without giving him any purposeful looks. "C'mon, now, be honest with yourself. We did have fun."
    "Really? When?"
    "Right from the start." He smiled wistfully. "You always liked to get out on the dance floor and make all the other cowboys wish, and I couldn't dance worth a damn unless I had a couple shots under my belt."
    "That isn't true. You're a wonderful dancer. You always were."
    "I've never danced sober." She looked incredulous. "You didn't realize that?"
    "I think you're exaggerating." She glanced away, her lips pressed tightly together. Then the words came in a quiet rush. "You must be doing it now."
    "Doing what?"
    She lifted one shoulder. "Dancing sober."
    "You're the last person I danced with." He caught her chin with his workingman's fingertips and turned her head until their eyes met. "Like I said, straight talk and hard work is all I've got time for these days."
    She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment, as though the smell of his hand offended her.
    The hand pained him suddenly. Its joints seemed suddenly aged. He withdrew it slowly, awkwardly clearing his throat.
    "And Annie," he said quietly. "I've always got time for Annie."
    Her eyes expressed doubt, which didn't surprise him. And a trace of regret, which did.
    "Why didn't you call me about this sooner?"
    "I didn't want to call you at all."
    "You've been cashing my checks."
    "Only for Anna. When we..." She braced her arm on the edge of the counter, steadying herself. "When this is all settled, there'll be some sort of child support anyway." She risked another glance, but it ricocheted off his. "It's kind of remarkable that you're so good about providing that without—"
    "She's my daughter." He wondered if settled meant the same as over. Again he cleared his throat as he patted his breast pocket, searching for cigarettes. Even if he couldn't smoke in the house, it was a comfort to know he had a pack on him. "Have you, uh... filed for—"
    "No. Not yet. I haven't had time." Then, quietly, "Did you want me to...?"
    "I'm in no hurry."
    "Well, right now I think we need to concentrate on Anna's problems," she said with a sigh.
    He sighed, too. And they stood there, close, but not too close. Disjointed, but not completely severed.
    Then, unexpectedly, Clara brightened. "There was a nice piece in today's paper about the Wounded Knee ride. Did you see it?"
    Ben shook his head.
    "They interviewed your father." She started toward the living room doorway, then stopped, disconcerted by a change in the order of things. "I think I saw the paper in Anna's room, come to think of it."
    "She'll probably show it to me tomorrow," he said, and she nodded, dutifully deferring to her daughter. He thought he detected a little disappointment in her eyes, as though she actually liked the idea of showing him something that might please him. Which pleased him more than she knew.
    More than reading about that damned ride would.
    "Must be what started her thinking about making the ride herself. The ol' man's been after me to go, but I don't..." He shook his head again. "That's not for me."
    "He still wants you to become a pipe bearer?"
    "The pipe bearer. I don't know where it's written that the next one has to be his son."
    "It probably isn't. If it's in print somewhere, then it's dubious, according to your father."
    "Probably made up by some white anthropologist," he said, imitating his father. "And if we don't watch out, the sacred pipe's gonna end up in a museum somewhere."
    "He was always willing to share his stories with me, though. I learned so much from him." She shrugged the whole matter off. "Until we were married. After that..."
    Some small guilt brought him to his father's defense as he followed her into the living room. "In the old way, it's not right for him to talk directly to his daughter-in-law. Hell, you know all that better than I do. It's his way of showing you respect."
    "I liked it better when he'd tell me stories by the