Aspen trunks glowed in the pale November sun. Dale’s grey hair blew about her face as she walked aimlessly through the stately maze, playfully crunching her boots through the deep carpet of dry leaves. Overhead Stellar Jays perched on bare branches and yelled at the old black dog limping behind her. A burst of wind sent them screaming and scattered leaves in the nearby grove of sage.

“Back then, this was Cole’s land,” she thought. “We came often to check on his cows. Some days we sat under this big pine.” She touched the rough bark and gave the tree a squeeze.

“We would lean against the trunk watching cows graze and we talked. We laughed, and slowly we slid closer until our bodies became one,” she sighed.

“It’s been forty years since he phoned to tell me he would be gone for a while. He said he needed to tend to some business with the Utes, then go into town for some truck parts. There was a rodeo coming up in Gunnison, he thought I might like to see. Maybe we could catch it when he got back. (And some gaming going on the side, I thought.) He said he would call when he got back. The call never came.”

Cole was a rascal, a scoundrel, a cheater, and a thief. In spite of all that, many were attracted to this smooth talking, good looking man, and Dale was one of them. Even after all these years, her heart ached for his touch. Dale knew he was no saint, but their friendship was true. She gave a lot of slack to his wandering ways.

The days passed. Late summer chores kept Dale busy but when there was no word from Cole, she began to worry. He didn’t answer his phone, so she drove by the house on his ranch. There was no sign of Cole. No sign he had been there, for a long time.

Dale called Cole’s neighbor, Rusty, who fed the horses when Cole was away. Rusty agreed that it was taking Cole a lot longer this time. “Maybe he’s in jail,” he thought. Sparing Dale that worry, he wondered about Cole’s horses and his house.

“I wonder if the sheriff has any way to trace him.” Rusty said.

“I’ll call the office to report him missing,” Dale said. “Can you keep the horses at your place until he gets back?” Rusty agreed.

A feeling of dread washed over her as Dale dialed the number. After talking with the deputy on duty, she felt even worse.

Law enforcement agencies would be notified but the area Cole said he was going was vast. The time he was missing, too long to call out a search party. They would have to wait until some clue turned up. “Or a body is found,” the deputy thought.

Dale and Rusty conducted searches of their own but never found a clue. The Utes Cole often played cards with, denied having seen him. The auto parts dealer sent his order back to their warehouse, unclaimed.

Drinking buddies in town had all but forgotten him. I was as if he had just vanished. Weather and lack of upkeep slowly took their toll on Cole’s house. Wind tore hunks of roofing from the barn. The place was depressing. Dale paid property taxes for years, but now, with her own declining income, she was forced to let it go for taxes.

So, on this late autumn day, Dale trudged with a burden of sadness. She spent half a lifetime grieving for that love in her heart. It was time to move on, but she knew it was too late. She lowered herself to the ground under the big pine. Her dog sat beside her. Pulling him closer, they watched the afternoon sun slip behind the ridge. The air chilled. Wind roared in the boughs above her and picked up leaves at her feet. It uncovered something lying against a nearby stump. Thinking it was a large leaf that looked like tooled leather, Dale leaned over and grabbed it. Not a leaf, but a shiny leather wallet.

‘Cole carried one like this.’ She thought, as she opened it. Inside were a few crisp bills and a driver’s license for Cole Greene, dated 1978.