“I don’t know exactly. One of the first things I remember is being put up on a pony at my grandfather’s: it seemed miles high, and broad as a sofa. I was two or three, I guess.”

“Lucky bastard.” Roo made a fist and hit him playfully, but not lightly. “I would’ve given anything-I was crazy for horses when I was a kid, and so were most of my friends. We were a little nuts about it really.”

“Yeh, I knew girls like that. Funny social phenomenon. I always thought it must be a reaction against this mechanized world-women maybe mind that more than men do, even as kids.”

“Some women.” Roo shrugged. “Then there’s also the Freudian explanation, but personally I think that’s all crap. I never imagined I was making it with a horse; I thought I wasa horse. It was the same for the rest of us, I’m positive. Y’know there were two kinds of little girls in my elementary school: the goody-two-shoes types who liked pretty clothes and baking cookies and playing with dolls; and then me and my friends who wanted to run around outside in old jeans and sneakers and get dirty and were crazy about horses. The way I figure it, it was sort of identification with energy and strength and freedom. Wanting to be a different kind of female than everybody wanted us to be.”

“I remember those good little girls,” Fred said. “They were no use for anything.” He pulled Roo down toward him. “Ahh.”

“Hey,” he said a little later. “You really mean you never went out riding with anyone before and ended up like this?”

“Oh, well.” Roo’s breath was warm against his face. “Sure, a couple of times.” She rolled back so that she could look at him. “But it wasn’t the same. A lot of guys I’ve known can’t ride, not worth a damn anyhow-it’s worse when they pretend they can. And the ones who could, they were mostly nice sexless dopes like my stepbrothers… I never brought anyone up here before; not to this place.” Her voice thickened, and their glances locked.