view, instead of breathing C0 2 fumes and sand particles. She stalkedaround to the back and kicked the dusty rear tire, wincing as she nearly broke her toe. What was she going to do now?
Wind shook the velvet leaves of a mesquite tree, and somewhere nearby a cactus sparrow twittered from a sage bush, mocking her misery.
Tess's shoulders slumped. The Mercedes couldn't move without help. Given the endless miles of desert around her, walking
definitely
wasn't an option.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tess saw a brown shape slide out of a tangle of bushes above the wash, ears erect and long tongue lagging. Every movement of the spare body was economical and wary.
A coyote.
An honest-to-heaven, in-the-flesh coyote. Now, that was something you didn't see in Harvard Square or Copley Place.
Tess clenched her fists. She was gritty and thirsty and hot, several hours from any sizable dot on the map, and whining wasn't going to help her get out of the wash. She had a cell phone in the car, but it hadn't worked since St. Louis, and Tess hadn't had a chance to stop to have it repaired.
She drummed her fingers on the hood of the car, watching the coyote.
The animal stood frozen, thirty feet away, face to the wind and ears erect. Its ^een eyes tracked her, then the coyote turned abruptly to the mountains, jumping across the arroyo. His paws dug briefly into the sand before finding traction in a narrow strip of scrub and wild-flowers.
Tess stood up sharply.
Traction.
That's what she needed.
She scanned the backseat and saw her new suedejacket. Even one tire track would mark die fine leather, but she had no choice. Tess drew a long breath. Never mind that it had cost her a month's salary. She could buy another one—assuming she managed to get out of the wash alive.
She spread the coat over the sand behind her rear tire, backed up slowly, then jolted forward with her wheels spinning. Sand and gravel scattered, but the car didn't pull free.
Too much weight.
Tess inspected the packed seats and hurled two heavy suitcases out the window. Sweaters, overcoats, and tailored business suits spilled out on impact, scattering over the sandy earth.
Whispering a prayer, she hit the gas again and sat frozen while the engine whined. She tried not to envision her bleached bones littering the lonely wash, discovered by some backpacker from Tucson a year or two later.
The back wheel rocked, dien bit into her coat. The car shook and leapt up the sandy-, grade. Tess gave a shriek of joy and climbed entirely back onto the road before coasting to a halt.
Silence lay heavy over the wash. Her hands shook as she picked up her jacket and suitcases, then checked her battered map. Her next major turn should take her to Almost. If she was very lucky, she might arrive in time for lunch.
Tess slid behind the wheel and looked south, where a paved road crested the rise. Far in the distance she saw a dark outline.
Masonry walls.
Ruined roof beams.
She sat up straighten Her heart did a jerky dance as she was struck by a sense of blinding familiarity.
Impossible.
Dust rose, blocking her view. When she looked back, the ruined walls were gone, lost in rippling waves of heat, as if they had been no more than a mirage.
He watched, high on a jagged ridge.
His face was deeply lined, the color of the weathered sandstone where he crouched, his body insubstantial in the shimmer of midday's heat. He made no sound, staring south, where a retreating car sent plumes of dust across the road.
Somewhere a coyote howled from the chaparral. The old man did not move or raise his eyes from the car sliding behind a hill, not even when the first coyote's cry was met by another and another.
He smiled at the sound.
So the “little wolves” were still here, guarding these bare slopes. Perhaps it was just as well that they favored the higher ground where shadows raced beside ancient saguaros. Here there was no one to threaten or chase the wild creatures. Here there were only
Wind shook the velvet leaves of a mesquite tree, and somewhere nearby a cactus sparrow twittered from a sage bush, mocking her misery.
Tess's shoulders slumped. The Mercedes couldn't move without help. Given the endless miles of desert around her, walking
definitely
wasn't an option.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tess saw a brown shape slide out of a tangle of bushes above the wash, ears erect and long tongue lagging. Every movement of the spare body was economical and wary.
A coyote.
An honest-to-heaven, in-the-flesh coyote. Now, that was something you didn't see in Harvard Square or Copley Place.
Tess clenched her fists. She was gritty and thirsty and hot, several hours from any sizable dot on the map, and whining wasn't going to help her get out of the wash. She had a cell phone in the car, but it hadn't worked since St. Louis, and Tess hadn't had a chance to stop to have it repaired.
She drummed her fingers on the hood of the car, watching the coyote.
The animal stood frozen, thirty feet away, face to the wind and ears erect. Its ^een eyes tracked her, then the coyote turned abruptly to the mountains, jumping across the arroyo. His paws dug briefly into the sand before finding traction in a narrow strip of scrub and wild-flowers.
Tess stood up sharply.
Traction.
That's what she needed.
She scanned the backseat and saw her new suedejacket. Even one tire track would mark die fine leather, but she had no choice. Tess drew a long breath. Never mind that it had cost her a month's salary. She could buy another one—assuming she managed to get out of the wash alive.
She spread the coat over the sand behind her rear tire, backed up slowly, then jolted forward with her wheels spinning. Sand and gravel scattered, but the car didn't pull free.
Too much weight.
Tess inspected the packed seats and hurled two heavy suitcases out the window. Sweaters, overcoats, and tailored business suits spilled out on impact, scattering over the sandy earth.
Whispering a prayer, she hit the gas again and sat frozen while the engine whined. She tried not to envision her bleached bones littering the lonely wash, discovered by some backpacker from Tucson a year or two later.
The back wheel rocked, dien bit into her coat. The car shook and leapt up the sandy-, grade. Tess gave a shriek of joy and climbed entirely back onto the road before coasting to a halt.
Silence lay heavy over the wash. Her hands shook as she picked up her jacket and suitcases, then checked her battered map. Her next major turn should take her to Almost. If she was very lucky, she might arrive in time for lunch.
Tess slid behind the wheel and looked south, where a paved road crested the rise. Far in the distance she saw a dark outline.
Masonry walls.
Ruined roof beams.
She sat up straighten Her heart did a jerky dance as she was struck by a sense of blinding familiarity.
Impossible.
Dust rose, blocking her view. When she looked back, the ruined walls were gone, lost in rippling waves of heat, as if they had been no more than a mirage.
He watched, high on a jagged ridge.
His face was deeply lined, the color of the weathered sandstone where he crouched, his body insubstantial in the shimmer of midday's heat. He made no sound, staring south, where a retreating car sent plumes of dust across the road.
Somewhere a coyote howled from the chaparral. The old man did not move or raise his eyes from the car sliding behind a hill, not even when the first coyote's cry was met by another and another.
He smiled at the sound.
So the “little wolves” were still here, guarding these bare slopes. Perhaps it was just as well that they favored the higher ground where shadows raced beside ancient saguaros. Here there was no one to threaten or chase the wild creatures. Here there were only
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