“I should have known better than to come,” he said. “This is worse than gawking at a car wreck.” He looked across the river at Luke. “I’m on the wrong side of the river anyway. I’ll see you later, Maggie.”

Billy made his way back up the ridge as the helicopter rose and vanished over Wolf Cliff.

The sky was silent again, and still mainly blue, but darker clouds pressed in from the north.

Allen stood with Phillips now. I took out the Nikon and photographed Brennon’s men in the river drilling, the others assembling portions of the dam. The water continued to clear. First glints of mica came to light, then the white sand, and finally the scuttle of minnows and crayfish and the drift of caddis fly pupas. It was like watching a photograph rinse into clarity.

Luke now watched through a pair of binoculars. The binoculars aimed at Brennon’s men then shifted to the bulldozed gash before returning to the river. I had known Luke for eight years, and in that time my feelings toward him had covered the emotional gamut from love to hate. Only now did I feel something close to sorrow.

“PHILLIPS CHECKED IN WITH EARL WILKINSON UP AT THE bridge,” Allen said when he sat down. “The river is up to one point nine.”

“And they’re still going to try?”

“Phillips isn’t thrilled, to say the least. I get the feeling if it were his call he’d stop it, but he’s getting big-time pressure, and it’s evidently coming from the governor on down.”

Allen shrugged.

“Who knows. Brennon says it will work, even with the water high.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said.

The helicopter clattered back over the gorge.

“How long will it take them to put it up?” I asked.

“Two more hours at most. They’ll drill seven holes, then bolt the supports together and stretch polyurethane across it. Then the divers go in.”

I looked at Randy and Ronny.

“Has Brennon asked the Moseleys what they think about the water level?”

“I doubt it. This is Brennon’s dam. I suppose he figures he knows more than anyone else about what it can and can’t do.”

Allen and I sat down on the shore. He pressed his hand against the back of my neck, his fingers kneading the muscles. I closed my eyes and let my head lean back into his touch.

“That feels good,” I said, rolling my head from side to side, the sun warm on my upraised face. The tensions of the last few days broke free and drifted away. “It’s obvious Freud never gave a woman a neck rub, else he’d never have asked what a woman wants.”

“I see,” Allen said. “I’ll have to remember that.”

I leaned my head in the crevice between Allen’s neck and shoulder.