Counterfeit Bride by Sara Craven Page B

wishing that she'd checked more carefully on the fuel situation ages before, although it would have made very little difference. She'd seen no village, filling station, or any other sign of human habitation since she'd embarked on her headlong flight. Plenty of cattle, the odd burro, but no people. At first she had been reassured by this, because it also meant no sign of pursuit, but gradually that niggle of anxiety had begun to increase, and now, with the approach of nightfall, anxiety was giving way to fear.
    She had no idea where she was. The distant hills seemed no nearer, although that might be some trick of the light, but somehow she didn't think so. She had so constantly had to adapt her route to terrain the truck could cope with that she had begun to suspect she could be driving in a large circle.
    The cab had been bakingly hot all afternoon, but now that the sun had set, Nicola knew that it would soon become chilly, and her thin dress would not be adequate protection.
    As the truck wheezed to its final stop, she could have burst into tears, but that would solve nothing, she told herself. She had to think. As a stopping place, this was far from ideal. She was in a shallow depression, surrounded by rock and scrub, and it was all too easy to imagine that there were unseen eyes looking down at her.
    No more of that, she adjured herself firmly. Positive thinking, my girl, and another more thorough search of the truck. This time she discovered a jerrycan in the back, but it was empty, and she threw it down with a disappointed groan. Under the seat, she came across a couple of lurid girlie magazines which indicated that the truck driver had his own priorities.
    She had hoped for a lighter, or at least some matches so she could build a fire. There was enough dry brush around, certainly, but it seemed that the driver didn't include smoking among his vices.
    She picked up his jacket and regarded it with disfavour. It was far from clean, but this was no time to fuss about inessentials. Any kind of warmth, however unsavoury, was better than none at all.
    She had a long and hungry night ahead of her, and she didn't dare think what the following day would bring, on foot under the blistering sun. She could hardly stay here in this hollow and hope to be found. Even when the inevitable search was mounted, the surrounding rocks would hide her. She tried to think about what she knew of this part of Mexico. It was pitifully little. All her interests had been concentrated on the areas where Aztec and Mayan remains were to be found, yet she could remember one of the men at Trans-Chem talking about a particularly deadly white scorpion which was to be found in the Durango area. Was she anywhere near there? She wondered frantically. And even if not, might there not be other scorpions in various colours it would be wiser to avoid? And mountain lions—she felt certain someone else had mentioned them. Bears too...
    Oh, stop it, she thought biting her lip. All the same, she wished she had paid slightly more attention to the flora and fauna of this wild country. She'd read somewhere—or had she seen it in a film—that you could keep alive by taking moisture from cactus. But which variety? She'd seen so many. There were others, she knew, which were prized by the Indians for their mind-blowing side effects. That might be the answer, she thought. I could get so high, I'd just float out of here. She chuckled weakly.
    It was getting dark very rapidly now, and after only a momentary hesitation she switched on the truck's headlights. Without fuel, there was little point in conserving the battery, and perhaps there, was a chance that the lights would be seen, perhaps by a passing aircraft, and investigated. That was a more rational explanation for her action than admitting she was afraid to be alone in the dark, or that if there were wild animals in the vicinity, the lights might keep them at bay.
    She picked up the jacket and huddled it round her