“Had a gay bull I had to sell last year. That was a damn nuisance. Gay son? That don't cost me nothing.”

“He‟d told Ty that he loved him, no ifs, ands, or buts. There was no going back now, and Zane wouldn‟t if he had the chance. But damn, they had to call some kind of moratorium on important declarations during life-threatening situations.”

“Zane sighed. He knew no one had died. He knew exactly what had happened last night. He just didn‟t have perspective, because when he drank, he focused in on whatever he thought his goal was to the exclusion of everything else. Last night, Ty had been part of “everything else.” That was the problem: Ty wasn‟t his keeper—Ty was his conscience.”

“How can you approve of them? Does it not bother you that your son, your only son, the very last male to carry the Garrett name, goes home from work every night to another man? That doesn’t offend your sensibilities?” “Not one bit,” Harrison said. He picked up his newspaper again. “At least he looks forward to going home.”

“Feet pue tan!” she shouted. Ty cleared his throat, looking at Zane wryly. “She just called me a goddamned son of a bitch.” “I like her,” Zane responded.”

“I want you to put 'He didn't want to ride the damn horse' on my tombstone.”

“Zane didn’t laugh this time. In years past he had sat uncounted times in the dark of night,smoking, shooting up, drinking, wondering if the coming morning would be the one when he didn’t wake up. Sometimes he’d even prayed for it. But not since Ty. Yeah, he believed in miracles.”