‘Worth it,’ she said, her eyes steely.

Worth every drop of sweat, every leap without a net, every goddamn dollar. That last one – the cost – was a timebomb whose ticking she had trained herself not to hear. A shudder flitted up her spine remembering all the nights Bette spent poring over spreadsheets, her determination to impose this exact house on this exact patch of land the site of an almighty battle that had burned through seven architects in five years. It can’t be done. How many times had they heard that? The land was too hard. The client was too fussy.

And yet here they were.

Time passed. The sun cleared the horizon. A breeze lifted Tina’s hair and presently brought the sound she’d gone out to await. Muffled thuds, their rhythm slowing as their volume grew. She perched her mug on a fencepost and climbed up, settling the sheepskin under her backside for comfort then shielding her eyes as horse and rider approached.

Bette was wearing Levi’s, shitkicker boots and a charcoal woollen sweater. Her hair was up under her riding hat, which she took off as the horse – a dappled grey mare named Nickel – slowed to a walk about ten yards away.

‘Hello,’ said Tina. 

Bette took in Tina’s bare legs, tightly crossed, her free foot bouncing a little. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked, tugging off her riding gloves.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Incredible, the number of rabbits on the back slope.’ Bette dismounted gracefully and stroked Nickel’s neck. The horse inclined her head, their affection for one another sweet to see. ‘I don’t know what the coyotes are doing. Sitting on their asses playing mah jong or something.’ 

Tina laughed and Bette smiled at her. The skin under her eyes was etched with papery crinkles, like the ones on Helena, on Dylan, on Concetta, on Tina herself. This place taught a new understanding of dryness and lately it seemed the will to fight it had gone.

Tina held out her mug. Bette took a sip. ‘You sure you’re not cold?’ she asked, rubbing her eye.

‘I’m fine,’ Tina said again.

Something in her gaze turned Bette’s mind in a certain direction. She looked down. The sheepskin was open enough to show, within its shadows, the inner outline of Tina’s boobs.