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If any of the guests recognized the flush and lazy smiles and languid movements of postcoital liaison, they did not mention it—at least not to the honored host and hostess. There probably were at least two there that evening, however, who recognized it and were irrevocably drawn to it.An hour later, the crowd was beginning to thin out when I noticed Bianca circling Mariah. I had heard rumors about Bianca Gifford, and I felt an immediate lurch of protectiveness toward Mariah. I’d heard that Bianca—and her husband, Thane, for that matter—were sexual predators and bi swingers, who, thanks to their millions, were used to getting what they wanted.As I watched Bianca corner Mariah near the shadows of the stairs to the gallery mezzanine and clink glasses with her to the delight of both, my first instinct was to fly to Mariah’s side and assert my recently solemnized position in her life. But people were leaving. Very important and influential people were demanding one last short conversation. I’ll be home soon.”Brad came rushing in, grinning like crazy, and saw me. His grin got wider until he remembered why he was there. “Better come outside, Zeke. We got company coming.”I wondered who it could be. It seemed here lately the only visitors we had wanted to kill us. I picked up Clair’s ten gauge and walked out on the porch. Two wagons and about a dozen riders were coming through the gate. I saw why Brad was grinning. Only one man could sit a horse like that. The white stallion he favored stilled shined in the sun despite the trail dust. I called my wife outside.They stopped in front of the house, the horses lined up, the ladies sitting in the wagons grinning. I stepped down, pulling Claire along. The older man dropped down off the white, still athletic despite his age. I held my hand out. “Hello, Pa. It is truly a pleasure to see you again.”He shook, then hugged me, then did the same to Brad. The others had dismounted, and we walked down the line shaking and hugging, making.
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