The Brave by Nicholas Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

he'd grown up in little countryside and how, when he came to live in the States, the sheer scale of the real thing had blown him away; then his fascination at discovering the brutal truth behind all that myth and legend.
    "You mean, like, the true story of the West."
    "Yes. I remember that first time I went to Little Bighorn—"
    "Tommy!"
    A hand clamped his shoulder and as he turned, Troop locked him in a bear hug that squashed Tom's glasses into one eye. Luckily he'd finished his drink or it would have soaked them both. The Tommy had given him a shock. He thought he'd lost that name forever at boarding school. Along with his innocence and much else besides.
    "Hello, Troop," he said. "How're you doing?"
    "Good, man. Good! And all the better for seeing you."
    Troop partially released him but was still gripping Tom's upper arms with his massive, hairy hands so that he could inspect him.
    "You're looking good, man. You must work out?"
    "No. Never have, never will."
    "How's that gorgeous wife of yours—Jan, right?"
    "Gina. We split up fifteen years ago."
    "Shit. I'm sorry. You had a daughter, right?"
    "A son. Daniel."
    "Daniel. How's he doing?"
    "Okay, I think. I don't see a whole lot of him. He's in Iraq at the moment."
    "Jeez. A journalist?"
    "No, he's with the Marines."
    "An officer."
    "Corporal."
    "Well, I'll be damned."
    "Won't we all."
    Tom turned to Karen O'Keefe, who was watching them with a wry little smile. He introduced them and noted the way Troop fixed her with his dark eyes and gripped her arm while he shook her hand, holding it a few moments longer than was necessary. Tom had seen Bill Clinton do the same many times on TV.
    "Karen is one of your greatest fans," Tom said.
    "There's no accounting for taste," Troop said.
    "Actually, I've never read a word you've written," Karen O'Keefe said. Tom was getting to like her more each moment.
    "Well, that's okay too."
    "Too drenched in testosterone, I'm afraid."
    "And you know that even though you've never read a word I've written."
    "You'd probably call it female intuition."
    Troop smiled but his eyes had already hardened.
    "Would I?"
    He turned to Tom.
    "Still living in Missoula?"
    "Don't seem to be able to escape."
    "It's a great part of the world. I just bought a place down in the Bitterroots."
    "Great."
    "It's just a cabin, really. But I figure on spending more time up here. LA gets a little frantic sometimes. Well, listen, I'd better—what do they call it?—circulate a little. Catch you later, Tom."
    "You bet."
    Troop nodded at Karen O'Keefe and she gave him a smile that somehow managed to be both courteous and insolent.
    "What a jerk," she said when he was barely out of earshot.
    "Remind me to stay on the right side of you."
    She laughed and put her hand on his arm, letting it stay there for a moment.
    They swapped numbers and e-mail addresses and went their separate ways. When Tom left she was talking with a cruelly handsome guy her own age. It had been a long time since he'd let himself feel attracted to a woman in that way. But he probably wouldn't call her. Since Gina left he'd had two or three romantic skirmishes but nothing that had lasted. He lived alone with his dog and that was how he liked it. He got lonely sometimes and missed the companionship, the physical intimacy, not that there had been much of either with Gina at the end.
    The house they had built together sat in the bend of a creek about a mile east of town. As he came around the last corner his headlights found a small herd of deer holding a meeting in the middle of the road and he slowed and stopped and sat watching them until they melted into the trees. It was early spring and there was no moon and when he got out of his car, he stood for a long time in the driveway, staring at the stars and listening to the rush of the creek.
    Makwi was there, as she always was, to greet him when he came in through the front door. She was a mongrel mix of deerhound, greyhound and collie, what in England or