I turned and walked into the living room.
Robair was more than just a friend. In a way, he was my guardian angel.
I don't know how I would have held together after Rina died if it hadn't been for Robair.
By the time I'd got back to Reno from New York, I was a wreck.
There was nothing I wanted to do. Just drink and forget.
I'd had enough of people.
My father rode my shoulders like a desert Indian on a pony.
It had been his woman I had wanted. It had been his woman who had died.
Why did I cry?
Why was I so empty?
Then one morning, I awakened in the dirt of the yard, back of Nevada's room in the bunkhouse, to find Robair bending over me.
I vaguely remembered having leaned my back against the wall of the bunkhouse while I finished a bottle of bourbon. That had been last night. I turned my head slowly. The empty bottle lay beside me.
I placed my hands in the dirt and braced myself.
My head hurt and my mouth was dry and when I tried to get to my feet, I found I didn't have the strength.
I felt Robair's arm slip around behind me and lift me to my feet.
We started to walk across the hard-packed earth.
"Thank you," I said, leaning against him gratefully. "I’ll be all right once I get a drink."
His voice had been so soft that at first I thought I hadn't heard him.
"No more whisky, Mr. Cord."
I stared up into his face. "What did you say?"
His large eyes were impassive.
"No more whisky, Mr. Cord," he repeated. "I reckon it's time you stopped."
The anger pulled up in me and gave me strength.
I shoved myself away from him.
"Just who in hell do you think you are?" I shouted. "If I want a drink, I'll take a drink!"
He shook his head.
"No more whisky.
You're not a little boy no more. You can't run an' hide your head in the whisky bottle ever’ time a little bad comes your way."
I stared at him, speechless for a moment, as the shock and anger ran through me in ice-cold waves.
Then I found my voice.
"You're fired!" I screamed. "No black son of a bitch is going to own me!"
I turned and started for the house. I felt his hand on my shoulder and turned.
There was a look of sadness on his face.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Cord," he said.
"There's no use in apologizing, Robair."
"I’m not apologizing for what I said, Mr. Cord," he replied in a low voice.
Then I saw his giant, hamlike fist racing toward me.
I tried to move away but nothing in my body seemed to work the way it should and I plunged into the dark again.
This time when I woke up, I was in bed, covered with clean sheets.
There was a fire going in the fireplace and I felt very weak.
I turned my head. Robair was sitting in a chair next to the bed.
There was a small tureen of hot soup on the table next to him.
"I got some hot soup here for you," he said, his eyes meeting mine levelly.
"Why'd you bring me up here?"
"The mountain air'll do you good."
"I won't stay," I said, pushing myself up. I'd had enough of this cabin when I was here the last time. On my honeymoon.
Robair's big hand pushed me back against the pillow.
"You'll stay," he said quietly. He picked up the tureen and dipped a spoon into it, then held the spoon of soup out to me. "Eat."
There was such a note of authority in his quiet voice that involuntarily I opened my mouth before I thought.
The hot soup scalded its way down. Then I pushed his hand away.