It was beautiful. Just as God had created the majesty of a mountain scene, Jed, for the first time in his life realized that God had meant for two people in love to enjoy each other without shame or guilt. And that no price was meant to be paid.

They were brought back to the reality of the day by pillow talk about the horse Jenny wanted to buy, all for herself. Jed straightened out a few of her misconceptions about Thoroughbred Appaloosas —"Purebred dogs can be called thoroughbred, but Thoroughbred horses are only a breed, or type, of horses bred for racing; even if some can be called dogs." She finally settled on the idea of a purebred, registered, dapple grey Arab, that could shake his head yes and no to a question, and would come running at the call of his name —Button— for a handful of oats.

"Oats!" Jed suddenly sat up, "Get dressed, Jenny. We have to go shopping, pick up the mail, and make it back to the station by feeding time."

"When we get home, do I have to sleep in that old bunkhouse?"

"Why of course, little girl. What would your father think if you didn't?"

"Well, it gets so cold in there, I might catch my death from hypothermia. He wouldn't like that at all."

"Yes."

"And I'm too young and fragile, and in love to die, kind sir. My father did ask you to take care of me. Do you know how to treat hypothermia? Won't you please save my life?"

Since Jed just happened to know one of the recommended techniques of rapidly warming a hypothermia victim's inner core, it wasn't until later, laying on a opened goose down sleeping bag spread in front of the cabin's fireplace, that he remembered to read his mail.

The usual requests for a brochure, rates, and available dates, plus the odd piece of junk mail advertising two pair of slacks for an incredible $19.95, made up the bulk of the letters he had thrown into a brown paper sack while on the move to complete all of their errands in town. The last envelope to be opened was a buff colored 9 x12, sealed with a brass fastener, and without a return address other than a 'NY' postmark. Jed, reached in, found nothing, and was about to file the envelope in the fire. He tapped it one final time and out fluttered a newspaper clipping. Nothing more.

"That's Dad's handwriting," Jenny answered Jed's grunt of curiosity examining the envelope once again. "I wonder why he didn't dash off a note to explain his reason for being in New York?"