The stranger walked over, gravel sc.r.a.ping under his scuffed Red Wing boots. He had the look of a construction worker, skin dried like an old cow hide, lanky body wiry but strong, arms corded and muscled without the slightest hint of fat. A tattoo of snakes and skulls entwined both arms from his shoulders to his wrists. He smelled like beer. And sweat. And rancid Skoal.
Letting loose a low whistle, he regarded the wheel and shook his head. "Made a mess of it, didn"t you?"
"Seems that way."
"I reckon it don"t matter if you got a spare or not. No way in h.e.l.l you gonna get anywhere on that axle." He spat again. "If I was you I"d get rid of the whole d.a.m.n thing. This baby"s "bout seen its last mile." Looking out at her from beneath the brim of his cap, he said, "What"s a good-lookin" lady like you doin" out on a highway this late at night?"
"I"m a vet. I was on my way to a call."
"A vet?" He grunted and looked her up and down. "You mean like an animal doctor?"
She nodded as another car rounded the curve and barreled toward them, blinking its brights to acknowledge Leah"s presence on the shoulder. Perhaps if she jumped up and down and waved, it would stop. She could tell the tattooed snuff-sucker to beat it-she did not need the help of someone who looked as if he were spending his first night out of Attica prison.
Then again, if it did not stop, her actions would indicate exactly how she felt about standing in the dark on an isolated highway with someone who smelled like road kill.
The car roared by, its driver invisible behind tinted windows. Leah watched its taillights dwindle into specks, then disappear completely.
His hands on his hips, the stranger watched the car disappear into the dark, then he looked around slowly, his eyes invisible under the low brim of his gimme cap. Leah focused on his mouth. Lips said a lot about people"s thoughts, even more than eyes. She didn"t much care for the thoughts running through the Bronco fan"s head in that moment.
"Tell you what," he said. "I don"t mind givin" you a ride into town."
Leah looked up and down the dark highway again.
"Looks to me like you ain"t got much choice, lady. It"s me or the road."
"I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn"t leave my truck unattended. There"s all of my supplies... I can"t afford to have them stolen. Why don"t you drive into town and send out a tow truck?"
"I"d feel real bad about leavin" you out here alone. A lady was discovered murdered along here just last month. Cops ain"t ever found out who done it..."
Her scalp began to sweat. And her hands. She was tempted to wave the broken rusty pipe in the man"s face as a warning that she would not go down without a fight, but the realization that he just might decide to use the pipe on her made her think again.
"Relax," he said. "You"re lookin" a little like a "possum caught in the lights of an oncoming semi."
"I ... can"t leave my truck."
He took a step closer.
She gripped the pipe more tightly. Go for the throat, the face, the eyes-the eyes were most vulnerable...
A truck rounded the bend, its row of night lights across the top of the cab glowing like orange fireflies, as were the lights on the fenders over the double rear tires. The smart thing to do would be to step out into the road and wave her arms. The driver would be forced to hit her or swerve around her. Either way he could not ignore her. So why wouldn"t her legs move?
The truck slowed and blinked its headlights.
The Ford dually emerged gradually from the dark, illuminated with enough white and orange lights to rival a carnival ferns wheel. A white white dually. Like Johnny"s. Only there were probably a thousand such trucks in the area. What were the chances that Johnny Whitehorse would be on this highway at this time of night? dually. Like Johnny"s. Only there were probably a thousand such trucks in the area. What were the chances that Johnny Whitehorse would be on this highway at this time of night?
Slower, engine rumbling, ghostly in the dark, a guardian angel sent to rescue her from a man who probably was safe as a priest. Brake lights flashed; the truck stopped. A tinted window buzzed down, revealing Johnny Whitehorse.
Leah sank back against the truck, vaguely aware that the pipe was dropping from her fingers. It hit her boot, then bounced to the asphalt, clattering in the darkness.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she mouthed, trying not to look relieved.
Johnny glanced at the stranger. "Is there a problem here?"
"A blowout," Leah replied. "Wheel"s wrecked."
"Seems every time I see that truck it"s giving you problems."
She nodded and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Seems to be the story of my life recently."
"No joke." Johnny checked the rearview mirror, then did a U-turn in the highway, pulling up behind the 442. Leaving the truck running, he stepped onto the highway, shirttail out of his faded jeans, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tonight he was without his hat, allowing his dark hair to flow freely over his shoulders.
The stranger made a sound, not quite a laugh, more like a grunt as Johnny moved toward him. "If it ain"t Geronimo. I don"t recall the lady sendin" up any smoke signals, chief."
Johnny grinned. "Careful, Bubba. Just "cause I haven"t scalped anyone this week doesn"t mean I can"t be tempted."
Leah closed her eyes, telling herself that Bubba would be foolish to pick a fight with a man nearly a head taller than him, with shoulders twice as broad. Johnny had not gotten the scar on his chin and over his right eyebrow by turning the other cheek ... not during his angry youth.
Bubba wasn"t amused. But neither was he a fool, Leah surmised. Without a glance her way, he sauntered to the 442 and sank into its bucket seat. He gunned the engine before flooring the accelerator, tires screaming and stinking of hot rubber as he streaked off into the night, leaving her and Johnny standing in the bright pool of his headlights.
She could not quite make herself look at his eyes, so she focused on the top b.u.t.ton that was b.u.t.toned on his plaid shirt. A vee of dark skin was exposed to the middle of his chest. "I recall a time when you would have made cottage cheese of that creep"s face for what he just said."
"It"s called Anger Management 101. Someday I"ll probably explode and take out a dozen or more Bubbas with an Uzi."
She smiled at her feet. "After my behavior the other day I wouldn"t have blamed you if you had waved and kept on going."
"You know I was always a sucker for a pretty face. Especially when it was yours." He walked around her and stooped to have a better look at the demolished wheel. "Hope you weren"t on your way to something important, Doc. This wheel is history."
"Ramona Skunk Cap"s goats are dying. They ran through a barbed-wire fence."
"Again?" He laughed. "If it wasn"t for Ramona"s goats, every coyote around the Sacramento Mountains would starve to death. She might as well change the name of her farm to Cabrito Burrito."
Leah smiled as her gaze reluctantly found its way to Johnny"s profile. Thank G.o.d he wasn"t looking at her. She had never been one to hide her feelings; they radiated like neon in her eyes. Right now there were so many emotions bombarding her insides she felt like a target at a shooting range.
Johnny stood.
Leah looked away.
"I"ll run you out to Ramona"s if you want," he offered.
"Don"t you ever sleep?"
"Don"t you?"
"No, actually. I don"t think that I do."
"Get what you need from the truck and lock it up. I"ll call Triple A and have a tow come out and get it. That way it won"t cost you anything."
She started to say something smart-a.s.s, like "I don"t accept charity from former lovers," then decided there was no point. She could not afford another towing expense, not when what little budget she had was going to be blown by buying a new wheel and tire. Besides, this camaraderie between her and Johnny felt much better than their earlier hostility.
As Johnny walked back to his truck, Leah collected sutures, scissors, clippers, sterile gloves, syringes, and teta.n.u.s medications. Then there were antibiotics, and bantamine for pain. She put them all in a box with gauze and vet wrap, double-locked the drawers of prescription medications, and buried the key deep in her pocket, praying they would all still be there when she got her truck back.
Johnny was on the cell phone to Triple A when she crawled into the truck. With the box resting on her lap, she sank into the dove-gray leather seats and closed her eyes.
After all these years, Johnny"s voice sounded the same. Deep and smooth as a slow-flowing river. Funny how safe she suddenly felt, as if the world could disintegrate around her yet her reality would remain unscathed. Then again, he"d always had that effect on her.
Johnny hung up the phone and tossed it onto the back seat. Glancing over his left shoulder, he eased the truck out onto the highway.
They rode in silence toward the Sacramento Mountains, which were little more than a black silhouette against the star-filled sky. Occasionally, Leah peeked from under her lashes to see Johnny focused on the road ahead, wrist caught on the top of the steering wheel, shoulders c.o.c.ked just slightly toward the driver"s door.
Finally, she sat up, hitting something with her foot. She fished around the floorboard until coming up with a black kid-leather makeup bag that smelled strongly of floral perfume. The zipper had been left open. Inside were tubes of Estee Lauder lipsticks, a compact, nail polish, and a package of condoms-ribbed and lubricated for enhanced pleasure. One was missing.
Leah zipped the bag closed and placed it carefully on the console between her and Johnny. "Coming home from a date, I take it."
He glanced at the bag and shrugged.
"Anyone I know?"
"You know I don"t kiss and tell, Leah."
"Still a gentleman where women are concerned." She smiled and fingered the bag. "She has money, I take it. Must have. Only a successful career woman can afford to spend twenty bucks for a tube of lipstick."
Hitting the blinkers, Johnny turned the truck onto Highway 70, bypa.s.sing the turnoff to downtown Ruidoso. If they continued to travel east they would ultimately arrive in Roswell-home of crashed UFOs and embalmed aliens. Once upon a time, at least once a month, she and Johnny had driven all the way out to Roswell, parked amid the cactus and tumbleweeds, made love under the night sky, and waited to be abducted by little green men with eyes like dragonflies.
They had not used condoms back then, ribbed or otherwise. She had wanted as much of Johnny Whitehorse inside her as she could get, consequences be d.a.m.ned.
"So ... is it serious between you?" she asked.
"You"re sure asking a lot of questions."
"Am I being too personal?"
"I just wonder why you care."
"I don"t. Just trying to make conversation."
He grinned. "I don"t know if it"s serious."
"Are you in love with her?"
"I don"t know."
"Is she Native American?"
"Yes." He nodded.
"Figures."
"What"s that supposed to mean?"
"Only that the last few years you"ve worked to focus the public"s attention on the plight of the Native Americans, and most recently to shatter the stereotype of what most people think of Indians. It seems natural that you would settle down with a woman who reflects your ideals and beliefs."
"Jesus, you sound like Dolores."
"Is that her name?"
"No comment."
"Spoken like a fledgling politician."
Silence again, neither of them desiring to traverse the topic of politics, which would lead them to her father, which would ultimately cause a fight.
Johnny made a sudden turn down a gravel-topped road that was little better than a footpath, or so it seemed in the dark of the crowding forest. Had anyone else been driving, she would have questioned his motives. But Johnny Whitehorse knew the region around the reservation better than most people knew their own backyard. After ten minutes of bouncing over rocks and splashing through remnants of previous rains, they came out on Carrizo Canyon Road and headed south, pa.s.sing signs pointing to Mescalero Lake and the Inn of the Mountain G.o.ds.
Laying her head back against the seat, Leah closed her eyes.
"Where is your husband?" Johnny asked.
"I don"t have a husband," she replied sleepily.
"Your ex-husband then."
"I"m not sure. The last I heard he was living in the Florida Keys with some nineteen-year-old swimsuit cutie of the month and trying to write the great American novel. I think he believes he"s Hemingway reincarnated. I expect to hear anytime that he"s in Spain running with the bulls."
"You married a writer? I thought you had better sense than that."
"I married a petroleum engineer with a master"s in business who, at the time, was vice-president of an independent oil company. Just after our son"s third birthday he decided life was too short to waste it doing something he didn"t enjoy. His dream had always been to live in the Keys and write. So bye-bye marriage and responsibility. I"m outta here for the good life. I"ll drop you a line when I get settled. That was four years ago. The only correspondence I"ve gotten is a sad tale of his inability to pay his child support because "those fools in New York publishing couldn"t see a good book if it leaped up and hit them between the eyes.""
"So you"re getting nothing in the way of child support from the jerk?"
Leah opened one eye and found Johnny frowning, his hands clutching the steering wheel as if he were strangling it. "No," she replied, sounding much too weary for her own liking. "And when he quit his job there was no more insurance..." Clearing her throat, Leah sat up again and rubbed her eyes. "I really don"t like to talk about it. There isn"t any point. I learned a long time ago not to get mired down in what ifs what ifs and and if onlys. if onlys. You can drive yourself crazy wallowing in self-pity." You can drive yourself crazy wallowing in self-pity."
"f.u.c.king loser," Johnny mumbled.
"My sentiments exactly," Leah replied, laughing softly.
"So how did you meet such a prize?"
"I hesitate to tell you."
He looked at her with his dark eyes, which were not amused, and something inside her trembled. "My father introduced us. He approved of Richard, so naturally I told myself that I could, eventually, come to love Richard."
"And did you?"
"Hey, for someone whose replies to me were made up of little more than "no comment," you sure are getting personal."
"I just want to know if you loved him."