This is a fan fiction story based on characters from the
Lonesome Dove television show,
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Beyond Hannah, I always felt there was an unspoken, almost grudging sort of bond between Call and Clay that the following brief encounter illustrates. The ending? You decide.
Clay squinted into the summer sun as he stood outside the Ambrosia Club surveying the streets of Curtis Wells.
Flicking his cigar butt into the street, he turned to go back in when something struck him as odd. Narrowed eyes swept the landscape again and this time noted that the town’s landmark had gone missing. Call's bench was unoccupied.
Mosby frowned, then spotted Call down at the livery, hanging on a corral. Shrugging, he again started inside and again he paused. It took considerable motivation for Call to leave his bench. Perhaps he'd just go see ... not that Zeke, or one of the others, wouldn't tell him if there was anything worth knowing....
Suddenly exasperated with himself for this ridiculous debate -- over Call of all people -- Mosby smiled ruefully and headed toward the livery.
"You aren't possibly considering gainful employment by any chance are you, Call?" Mosby smiled slightly as he closed the distance between them. "My, my, now that would be somethin’...." The words died in his throat as he saw what Call was looking at.
Call glanced back, the corners of his mouth twitching with a suppressed grin at the sight of a suddenly speechless Mosby. Their eyes met and for a single moment they shared the wonder and the beauty of her.
Clay climbed the fence beside Call. "My Lord." His tone was almost reverent.
"Yep," was Call's succinct reply, but the grin won out and together they gawked like overgrown schoolboys.
She stood her ground and met their eyes defiantly.
"Where on earth...?"
Call shrugged. "Army's payin' top dollar. Hudson and his boys rounded up some mustangs. She was in the herd."
"That's no soldier's pony," Clay spat out indignantly.
"She ain't nobody's pony," Call chuckled. "Least not yet anyway. Took three of 'em just to get her into the holdin' pen. One of 'em won't be walkin' fer awhile."
They shared a brief grin and looked back at her.
Clay broke the silence first. "Think you'd have better luck?"
Another shrug. "Maybe."
Clay tore his eyes from the horse, arching a brow. "Or maybe not?"
Call's eyes followed the mare's effortless motion as she circled and tested the boundaries of her prison. Slowly, he let his gaze meet Mosby’s. "Or maybe some things should be left as is. Maybe she's one of 'em."
Clay's eyes darkened as he gave Newt a long hard stare. He glanced briefly at the mare, then back at Call as he stepped down, brushing off the dust she stirred up. "You are, of course, referring to the mare?"
With sudden, cat-like grace, Call jumped off the corral rail, landing lightly on his feet directly in front of Mosby.
"Ain't you the one with all the answers? Why ya asking me?"
The mare came to a stop, sides heaving, nostrils flared. Pawing the dirt, she nickered demandingly.
They looked, and again shared the most grudging of grins. And something more. Something unspoken.
The gleam in Mosby's eyes found its match in Call’s and with the slightest of nods they parted, each to take their separate paths.
It would be daybreak before anyone else saw the open gate.
Send Sharon your feedback here!