The Ford weaved side to side down an old dirt road. A pack of deer ran in front of the truck. He barely missed them.

Followed her from close behind. She drove straight to her home without a glitch. Smooth. Cats were there to meet her.

He pulled into the driveway. Did not bother saying a prayer of forgiveness or think of any regrets. He knocked on the door softly.

The tall blonde welcomed him in. Wiped off his boots on the welcome mat, which read, Come On In.

Have you ever done this before? She asked. He looked at her. Candles lit. The young husband shook his head, looking at her, not pausing. Took off his shirt.

I’ll be right back, she said. Left him there on the couch. Played a record, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis. He hummed along to So What.

There were pictures  on the walls of different kinds of horses. Race horses she had photographed over  the years, moving down the backstretch, and photo finishes. Gray horses. White horses. Black horses. Old studs put out to pasture along with old mares being fed in barns. A foal being born.

She came to the bedroom door wearing only a grin. Her hands moved through her thick hair. Blue eyes shined in the candlelight. Come here, she said. He came to her. Thought briefly about his wife back home, then kissed her. Held her tightly. And then suddenly, she was gone. Disappeared like a banshee in the night. Howling as she left his arms. He screamed out, come back. She never did.

His wife lay next to him. She felt his forehead. Placed her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. No idea what he was dreaming. She kissed his eyes and closed them with her soft fingers.

Goodnight, dear. She whispered. Goodnight. She turned over on her side. Sun would rise soon.