"Sticky how?" A tendril of fear curled deep in my belly and sunk roots there.

"She couldn't say. I'll try to contact her again tonight. We need to get moving as quickly as we can. I don't want the ranch to come under suspicion."

"And you think it will?"

"I can't afford to assume otherwise, Angel. Not with this."

As she stood, I rose with her, and noticed for the first time the small deerskin bag, no larger than a quarter, which hung around her neck on a choker-length piece of rawhide.

"Rio's totem," I whispered, blinking back tears which were threatening to form at the sight of it. A streak of her blood had dried on the hide, creating a dark crimson slash which only served to make the object even more precious and profound.

Ice's hand went up to the hollow of her throat, and the touched the totem briefly, reverently, before drawing her fingers away. Her expression was a curious and heartrending mixture of sadness, loss, and steely, stoic determination.

Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn in to her, and circled her waist with my arms even as she closed her own around me.

And there, in the dimness of the stables on that cool winter's day, we finally found the ability to grieve.

We returned to the ranch house, hand in hand. Most of the women were still gathered there, no doubt discussing the morning's festivities. All talk came to a dead stop once we entered, however, and I was struck with a curious sense of deja-vu. The last time I'd found myself the center of attention, I'd just arrived from a blissful evening spent with my lover.

This time, that lover just happened to be with me.

Curious glances darted quickly away, and I knew at once that Ice had given the women a taste of her patented glare. I almost laughed as I realized yet again that most of these women had never met her, and the stories they'd been told were nothing compared to being in her very tangible presence.

A legend come to life, as it were.

Corinne stepped out of the crowd and gestured for us to follow.

Still joined by our clasped hands, we made our way down one dim hallway and into Corinne's bedroom. "I think you should see this," she said, indicating a large television sitting on her bureau. It appeared to have been tuned to a Mexican station, and though the words being spoken by the reporters could have been Greek for all I understood of them, the scene splashed behind the men was clear as crystal.

It was the clearing where Rio had given her life so the rest of us could remain free. Bright yellow tarps dotted the ground close to the river. I knew those tarps hid the bodies of the men she and Ice had killed as the rest of us escaped to the other side of the border.

"What are they saying?" I demanded as Ice and Corinne quietly watched the events unfold. "Do they know who those men are? Do they know what happened? Do they... ."

Ice's hand squeeze quieted my ramblings as Corinne turned to me. "No, they haven't identified the bodies. Seems none of them had any identification." This was said with a significant look in Ice's direction.

"Rio's doing," came my lover's short answer.

"Then how... ?"

"One of the men wasn't dead yet."

"Oh." She turned back to me. "In any event, they're only speculating on the happenings at this point. Though the chain of events is rather obvious, even to the uninitiated, wouldn't you agree?"

I nodded, my heart in my throat.

"Would any of the survivors, assuming there are any, have cause to recognize you?" Corinne asked Ice.

"She was wearing a ski mask," I supplied.

"They were all locals," Ice answered. "Those men," she gestured to the television, "were Cavallo's."

"Ahh," Corinne replied, nodding sagely. "And dead men tell no tales. Or so they say."

"Is there any chance at all that this can be traced back to you?" I asked Ice.

"Likely that's already been done," she replied. "If not, it will be soon. Those guards I left alive are gonna tell someone sooner or later that their meal ticket got stolen. It won't be long before someone somewhere puts two and two together."

"And likely ends up with seven," Corinne snorted.

"We'll need to move as soon as Cavallo's stable."

"Which should be in seventy-two hours, barring any unforeseen circumstances," Corinne reported.

"Why so long?" I asked.

"Our physician in residence wants to make sure there are no internal injuries waiting to surprise us down the road." She looked at Ice, awe glittering hard in her eyes. "How you were able to inflict so much superficial damage without breaking any of his bones is something I'll never understand. It was a pleasure watching a master in action."

I looked away, slightly sickened. Accepting that Ice had beaten someone bloody in anger was one thing. Having someone else express joy in that was another thing entirely.

"So," I said finally, just to break the uncomfortable silence, "what now?"

Ice straightened and released my hand. "I need to contact Donita." And with that, she left.

I sank slowly to Corinne's narrow bed, my eyes still glued to the images on the television. Corinne stood nearby, her dark eyes darting back and forth as we watched the bodies as they were loaded into ambulances. Though I knew in my very soul that these were the men who had killed Rio, injured Pony, and tried their best to kill us all, deep down, I still felt a sense of sorrow.

Not for them, of course, for they were dead and beyond caring.

But for their families and their loved ones. For their children who would spend days, months, perhaps years wondering when their fathers would be coming home. For parents who would grieve their passing, and for spouses or lovers who would never get used to going to sleep in an empty bed.

It could have been me.

It still might, one day, given the life I've chosen to lead.

And that's what it all comes down to, doesn't it.

Choice.

Those men lived by their choices, and died by their choices. As do we all, I suppose, in one way or another.

That's not to say that I was happy that those men were dead, nor that I would have wished their deaths upon them had I the ability to do so.

But as I've come to realize, especially over these last several gut-wrenching days, responsibility is a great deal easier in theory than it is in practice. Everyone bears some responsibility for their actions, and for the pain those actions cause in others.

As the meaning behind that thought hit me full force in the guts, I straightened and turned to Corinne. "I have to talk to them."

She smiled. That wise, almost ancient smile she sometimes uses, and nodded, well knowing of whom I was speaking. "They need that, Angel."

I nodded, sucking in a deep, deep breath. "I know. They're my friends. And even if they weren't, they deserve more than silence from me."

Leaning down, Corinne pressed the smooth, cool skin of her cheek against my own. "That's my Angel."

I squeezed her tight, then stood as she backed away. "I don't feel very much like one right now, Corinne, but thanks."

"We all learn from our mistakes. Even Angels," she said quietly, then sent me on my way.

Swallowing back my fear, I walked the few short steps that would take me to the room Pony and Critter shared. The door was closed, as I'd known it would be, and as I lifted my hand to knock, I played what I would say to them over in my mind. Which didn't amount to much more than "I'm sorry, please forgive me.", but it was the best I could do at the moment. It seemed I was suddenly out of words.

The door opened before I could knock, and Critter stood there. We both looked at one another, uncertain. Such a large part of me demanded my retreat that I almost gave into it. Another part of me just wanted to break down in tears and hug her to try to take the pain from her eyes. I stood between that proverbial rock and hard place for a long moment before this newly born sense of responsibility kicked me in the hind quarters and made my decision for me.

"I...um...may I come in?"

After a second, she backed away, giving me space to enter. "Sure."

I entered the room, my steps slow and hesitant. There, on the bed and covered to her chin with a sheet, lay Pony. She looked somewhat pale and somewhat drawn, but much better than I'd honestly expected. Her dark eyes caught and held my gaze. There was some pain in them, as well as some uncertainty, but none of the anger or loathing that I'd expected. Or, in truth, deserved.

"Hi, Pony," I said softly, coming to a stop several feet from her bed.

"Hey, Angel." Her voice, though slightly raspy, was strong and sure. "How are you doing?"

That question, of course, only made me feel worse. I wasn't the one shot, after all. "I'm doing ok. How about you?"

She shrugged. "Not bad. Doc says I should be up and around in no time." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I just wish Nurse Ratchet here would get that through her head."

Though I wanted to laugh, I didn't, still too scared to hope that things between us could ever be the way they were before.

"How's Ice?" she asked.

"A little better. She's still mourning Rio's death, but... ." I shrugged, conveying the impossibility of guessing my lover's emotions.

Pony grinned. "I heard she beat the shit outta Cavallo."

I nodded in lieu of answering verbally, and watched as Critter came to sit on the side of the bed. With both sets of eyes on me, it became even more difficult to think, and my words tumbled out of me like water going over a fall. "I know you won't be able to forgive me, I can't even forgive myself, but I just wanted you both to know how sorry I am for what I did the other night to both of you. It was wrong of me. I almost killed you both. You're my friends and I treated you horribly. I was selfish and pig-headed and blind and I acted like a total idiot. I just wanted to tell you that. That I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm sorry for avoiding you these past few days. You don't deserve that. Not from me, not from anyone else. I was an idiot, and I was scared. I'm sorry."

I ground do a halt, my words all used up. I stood there, numb, not daring to read anything into the way they looked back at me.

What happened next I'll leave for Pony and Critter to tell, if they ever get a notion to do such. Suffice it to say that these two women, who most of society would look down upon and speak ill of because of their past mistakes, have more honor and integrity, compassion and caring, love and loyalty than any thousand who claim that to have the handle on getting into heaven first.

They taught me something about friendship that day, and about forgiveness, and the power of love.

I can only hope that one day, I can feel deserving of the honor they've given me by calling me "friend".

That evening, as I lay naked between the cool, crisp sheets of our bed, Ice walked in, her eyes dark and distant.

"What's wrong?" I asked, immediately coming up to my elbows as her expression registered.

She tapped her cell-phone absently against her palm. "I haven't been able to contact Donita."

My belly fluttered. "At all? But I thought you had a hotline to her directly?"

"I do. She's not answering it."

"Did you try any of the other numbers? No, forget I asked. Of course you did." I wriggled until I was sitting up, my legs crossed in front of me. "Do you know of anyone up there who might know where she is? The prosecutor, maybe? Or the judge?"

"The only person I trust is Donita."

I nodded, biting my lower lip. "So...what now? Do we wait until you can get in touch with her somehow?"

Ice shook her head. "We can't afford to. As soon as Cavallo is able to travel, we move."

"Even if we don't know where we're taking him?"

"Even then," she replied, firm resolution coloring her tones. "Did the news give any more details?"

"Not really. They still haven't identified the bodies. The story doesn't seem to have made it up here yet. At least not that we heard."

"Good." Laying the cell phone down on the nightstand, she tiredly stripped off her clothes, then slipped between the sheets and rested her head on my thigh.

Smiling, I sifted my hand through the soft onyx strands of her hair, enjoying, as always, the feel of it against my fingers.

A small contented hum made its way up from her throat as her body relaxed against mine, and the very tips of her fingers drew abstract designs on my legs.

Sensing her exhaustion, I deepened my touches and rubbed along her scalp and forehead, doing my best to ease away the day's tension. Almost before I knew it, her own touches slowed to a stop and her breathing deepened and evened out into true slumber; the first she'd had in days, if not weeks.

And though we were standing on a precipice over a chasm so deep I couldn't see the bottom, I hugged this tiny island of peace around me like a warm sweater and let my doubts and my fears be washed away by the awesome power that was love.