Panic flared through Lucy’s system and she looked to Lynn, who had fixed Fletcher with a cold stare. “We heard there were some places where they had desalinization plants.” She pronounced the word carefully. “Seems you can get the salt out of seawater if you got the right tools.”
“How determined are you to find such a place?” Fletcher’s tone was suddenly as careful as Lynn’s.
“Very,” Lynn said.
“Enough to leave behind a good site in Nebraska,” Lucy added. “Enough to come this far.”
Fletcher was silent a long while. Lucy was very aware of the horses nickering to one another, the sound of the water tripping over the rocks. When he raised his eyes, he looked to Lynn. “Do you trust me?”
“Not yet.”
“And if I said I knew of someplace for you to go, a safe location with water and good people, what would you say?”
“I’d say I need to sleep on it.”
Hope chased the panic through her body, making Lucy dizzy. “What do you mean?”
Fletcher looked at both of them before answering, studying their faces. “There’s a place similar to what you mentioned—desal plants, safety, a variation of normal.”
“This place, it in California?” Lynn asked.
Fletcher leaned in closer to the two of them and dropped his voice. “It’s called Sand City. They had a desal plant way before the Shortage and a small enough population to take care of themselves. You have to understand the majority of people didn’t think the water situation would prove to be as dire as the predictions, but those with foresight moved to places like Sand City. Out here in the west, water isn’t as easy to come across as it might’ve been for you in Ohio. The few decent people who are left tend to band together for protection.”
“You come across these groups of nice people often?” Lynn sounded skeptical.
“Less and less. But last time I was in Sand City, they were doing fine.”
“You’ve been there?” Lucy was filled with the urge to leap up and touch Fletcher just to be nearer to the idea of California.
“A few times,” Fletcher said. “If you use my name to vouch for you, it’ll gain you a spot there. I’d take you there myself if I could, but I’m headed north after we cross the mountains.”
“We?” Lynn said, though Lucy thought she sounded more amused at Fletcher’s assumptions than annoyed.
“Indeed,” he said. “We’re headed in the same direction. And even though I may not be the most imposing figure, even one man in your group will make the two of you a less desirable target.”
“And you gain what exactly?”
“A good deed done,” he said. “And the full benefit of your whimsical conversation, of course.”
Lynn ignored the joke and looked at Lucy. “What do you think?”
“I like having a name to put to it, a place to go,” Lucy said. “It feels more real, like we’re actually heading for something.”
“And him?”
Lucy looked at Fletcher in the white light of the moon, the easy way he’d propped himself against the saddle on the ground, the innocent look of the pale curls his hat had hidden. But his hands were big, and there was no question he was stronger than both of them together. The road had sculpted him into hard muscle, the lines easily seen beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. Placing their trust in him would be a gamble, and she knew it went against Lynn’s better judgment.
But Lucy had grown up safe and sheltered, and she believed people were good. “I trust him,” she said, holding his gaze.
What she didn’t add was that she’d hold the devil’s hand if he offered to help her over the mountains.
Twenty
They hadn’t been in Colorado long before the mountains asserted their presence, and their low line on the horizon could no longer be explained away as an ever-present storm front. The fact that their goal now had a name—Sand City—had buoyed Lucy through their first few days of traveling with Fletcher. But as the slim line of the mountains made itself evident, the weight in her stomach settled again, and she could not sleep.
Lynn was less worried about the mountains and more concerned with keeping one eye on Fletcher at all times, which had interfered with her rest. Hours after they had made camp Lucy would awake to find Lynn lying facing their companion, both eyes open and alert. Lucy knew Lynn’s mistrust was rooted in a lifetime of self-preservation and had only been reinforced by their unfortunate friendship with Joss. So far Fletcher had been everything he’d promised: a guide and a gentleman. But for all his effortless attempts at conversation, Lynn had remained aloof and disinterested.
Lucy would’ve been amused at Fletcher’s vain attempts to corner Lynn’s attention, but there was no room in her mind for anything other than the mountains. Whenever Lynn produced her well-worn map with their new route traced in faded pencil, Lucy’s heart never knew whether to be elated at their progress or dismayed as the continuous battle between what if and I can’t raged.
She almost missed the humid heat of Illinois and the long, flat stretches of land. There she’d looked into the distance and seen heat rising up off the road in liquid waves. In Colorado the heat mirages couldn’t hide the fact that the mountains lay ahead of them. The sun disappeared behind their black peaks long before the rays were truly dead, and Lucy would covet the moments of sun the impassive mountains stole from her. At night she felt their presence as keenly as if she could see them. Although she knew it was only her imagination, it seemed every noise bounced back off those far walls and reverberated in her ears. The night noises of insects and the far-off calls of coyotes filled the dark hours.
The first night they heard the high-pitched yips of the wild dogs, Lynn bolted from her blankets, gun in hand. Fletcher was upright in a second, producing a knife Lucy had never even known he carried from his bedroll.
“What?” He searched Lynn’s face, but she shushed him viciously. Lucy huddled under her blankets, the tiny corner of sleep she’d managed to find shattered.
The calls came again, the leader barking loud and long, the rest of the pack joining in a continuous howl as they ripped apart an animal out in the darkness. Fletcher slid his knife back into his bedroll.
“Coyotes don’t interfere with people,” he said. “Don’t let them steal your sleep.”
Lucy didn’t know how Fletcher could possibly believe Lynn was getting any sleep in the first place. Dark hollows were sculpted under her eyes, and her brows had been scrunched together for the past two days, something Lucy knew was a sure sign she had a headache.
Lynn moved over next to Lucy and laid her gun between them without speaking to Fletcher. He shrugged and curled back into a ball, dropping off to sleep in a moment. Lucy reached out and touched Lynn’s dark hair, offering comfort as well as searching for some. “He has no way of knowing how you lost your mom,” she said softly. “Don’t hold it against him for thinking coyotes don’t hurt people.”
“What I hold against him is how fast that knife came out, and one I didn’t know he had on him.”
Lucy rubbed some of Lynn’s hair between her fingers, letting its inky darkness entangle her hand. She didn’t want to think of Fletcher as anything other than friendly; his easy smile had won her over miles ago, and she wasn’t blind to the way he looked at Lynn, even if Lynn was.
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” she said.
“And he doesn’t think coyotes are anything to worry about,” Lynn shot back. “Here’s hoping you’re both right, ’cause I’m tired as hell.”
“Get some sleep,” Lucy said. “I’m awake.”