Okay, July, Roscoe said. Wanz started it. She sipped her coffee. The handsome young cowboy who sent her countless looks of love meant nothing to her.
The _llano_ is a big place. It had been months since the afternoon in Lonesome Dove when he had got so drunk, and in all that time he had not even spoken to her. To most men, that's sassy. It seemed to him he had spent half the trip imagining how it would be to be sucked down into a deep river, and he wanted it understood that he was only willing to take so many chances.
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