“Introduce me,” he said, eyes narrowed.
Rosa smoothed her braid back over one shoulder, staring the man down. “You don’t get to make demands, Falco.”
TEN
Rosa didn’t back down so much as walk away with the win. Quite a trick. Back turned, pace achingly calm, she owned her exit like she owned the loyalty of everyone in town.
Except maybe for Falco. The jury was still out on him.
Chris wasn’t riveted because of mere intellectual curiosity. Years spent studying animal behavior made the signs easy to read: tight shoulders, unblinking stares, intimidating postures. But he watched Rosa and Falco with a deep gut interest. This wasn’t just a sexual showdown; it was a battle for control of Valle de Bravo.
Back with the dancers and their female admirers, Wicker wrapped up his speedy jig. A dry desert evening breeze scooped against Chris’s cheeks and neck. The air was cool compared to the hot flush of awareness soaking his skin. This wasn’t what he needed. Rosa was more off-limits than the dead zones. And Chris . . . he should’ve moved on. He would. Soon. No one needed a thorn like him in her side.
But he’d promised Rosa to stay. And in spite of his reservations about bringing a new life into this world, he had to admit that Tilly’s optimism and happiness were as potent as a drug. He would do what he could for the woman.
At the moment, however, he wanted more than permission to eat and recover. He was far more interested in Rosa herself.
Chemistry. Libido. Dangerous things.
“Going to follow her?” Chris asked, keeping his voice even.
“And get a face full of saguaro needles? Hell, no.” Falco muttered something that sounded like “uptight bitch.”
“Well, then,” Chris said, mostly to see what the guy would do, “I think I’ll give it a try.”
Falco smoothed his hair back. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Best case, you get somewhere with her that doesn’t involve losing a nut. But then you’d have to face me.”
Chris nodded. “Seems I’d have already taken on the scarier opponent.” He clapped Falco on the shoulder. “Sleep tight.”
“Eh,
pendejo
?”
“That seems to be my new name here. Is ‘Chris’ too plain?”
“You won’t last long here if you keep up that bullshit.”
“Sorry, friend, but again—I’ve survived worse. We all have.”
He stalked into the night, away from the party, loosely following Rosa. The evening breathed a quiet vigor. The sounds of the desert urged him to open his senses. He’d gotten into the habit of walking during the late, dark hours. Not out of any need to conserve resources or avoid trouble. Water only required the patience to find it, and the creatures were more active at night.
No, Chris just liked it. Always had. Maybe that was why he’d started sleeping out in the desert once again, no matter his small, private accommodations above Wicker’s store. It didn’t make sense, he knew, to abandon the safety of the town. But the people, the activity—he hadn’t felt this hemmed in for years. The caves along a ridge outside town were where he went to get away from the busyness of Valle.
He strode across the baked dirt. Its dusty warmth held a comforting smell, but also one that made him restless. Sage and juniper added a spicy perfume.
“Jefa?”
Moonlit, she sat cross-legged on a flat, tall rock. Her forearms draped loosely over her knees. Her back was straight but not rigid. Loose wisps of hair softened the strong line of her jaw. She looked like a yoga teacher in the midst of guided meditation.
He’d set out after her in part to provoke Falco. But again it came back to the simple things. Here was a beautiful, interesting woman. Chris had a terrible track record at caring for others, for keeping them safe, but he was still a man. And he was just passing through. Maybe they could have some fun before he moved along, since he wouldn’t tip the balance of power. Nobody needed to know.
“What do you want?” she asked with a weariness he hadn’t expected.
“Does he always give you trouble?”
“Not generally. I think you bring it out in him.
Gracias
.”
“De
nada
. May I sit?”
She broke the serene balance of her pose and scooted to one side of the rock. Chris hoisted himself up. “Wow,” he said. “Some view.”
“Good lookout.”
The sloping valley lay beneath a blanket of silver light. Cacti stretched angular arms toward the moon. Bounded by sharp peaks in the distance, it was truly the perfect location for a settlement.
“Good lookout, my ass,” he said. “You sit here because it’s worth appreciating.”
Rosa jerked her head around, staring at him. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? Nothing wrong with small pleasures.” He stared out across the saguaro and scrub. “Hell, you don’t allow yourself any others.”
“Think you’re smart, don’t you?”
“I was once. Damn, what I wouldn’t give for something to read. My brain feels like mush.” He rubbed his jaw, enjoying how it felt freshly shaved. “But I do know one thing.”
She bent her neck low, as if the burden of taking another breath had suddenly become too great. Chris knew that feeling. Knew it. Ignored it.
“What do you know?”
“That you’ve backed yourself into a tidy little corner here.
La jefa.
A general doesn’t consort with her officers.”
“So I should consort with you? Because if that’s where this conversation is going, I’d rather be silent.”
“Nope.”
He picked a bone-dry thistle where it had caught on his pant leg. He held it up and silhouetted it against the moon. Once, he’d had great stores of patience. The majestic mountain lions he tracked for weeks had demanded such discipline. Quiet. Watching. He had waited for them to make the first move.
Rosa was no different—her wariness and strength.
“So why are you here, then?” she asked.
Chris stifled a smile. A disinterested cat would walk away. An angry one would attack. The curious ones stayed in plain view, finding excuses to keep an eye on him. He glanced toward her, noticing the glint off her smooth black hair. A sweet scent clung to her skin, along with the salty musk of dried sweat.
“If I could have sex with you, I would.”
“Oh, I bet,” she said.
Few women were as naturally seductive as Rosa. Sexual encounters since the Change were ones he’d rather not recall—mercenary swaps, bodies at work, the mind as distant as possible. In the ten seconds it took for a passable orgasm to fade, he was back to lying with a woman for whom he cared nothing, feeling unclean.
Rosa was different. Perhaps it was because she didn’t need a damn thing from the likes of him. That wasn’t cause for shame. It was reason to pursue.
“Just wanted to get that out there,” he said. “You’re sexy as hell. Maybe you don’t know that, but I think you do.”
“So let’s do it right here,
sí
? There’s a moon out tonight.”
“No, you have a town to lead. I get that. I’m not here to destabilize your regime.”
She abruptly stood and dusted her cargoes. “Get lost, Welsh.”
Instinctively he reached up and took her hand. She stilled, her body snapping rigid. He was ready to get coldcocked at any moment, but the surprise of contact seemed to paralyze her—like it did him. Her skin was a little chilly from the night air. Underneath was blood and flesh, all warm, all vital. Pulsing.
He’d been alone and wandering for more than three years. So much space, almost all of it deserted. The number of times he’d touched and held another living being was so small. Rock was rock. The air was the air. He felt more in common with the elements than with these people. The draw of coming back into their fold was undeniable. And terrifying.
Chris gave her a little squeeze and let go. He fisted his fingers and wrapped his other hand around them, as if capturing a butterfly.
“I wanted you to know something else,” he said. “The other day at the store—there’s no way I would use trade goods to bargain a woman into bed.”
Rosa cleared her throat. The curve of her thigh was right at Chris’s eye level. That closeness urged him to cup the back of her leg, right where it met her ass. Turn her body toward his. Nuzzle her stomach.
“Then why did you say those things?”
“Honestly? To goad you. You’re a hard woman.”
Her laugh spilled out.
“But I also wanted to know what sort of place this is. What kind of people you’ve become.” He stretched out and extended his legs. The rock bit at his elbows where he rested his weight. “You asked what’s out there.”
“I did.”
“Some really dire shit.”
“Shit where women have to use sex to get medicine?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I’m not that.”
“Neither is Valle de Bravo. I won’t let that happen. Ever.”
The starkness in her voice told him so much, but left all the mysteries in place. Chris closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sky. He could almost feel the starlight. Every sense had opened, reading in high def. He tongued the top of his mouth, pressing it there to keep his mouth shut.
“How did
you
survive the Change?” she whispered.
Chris indulged in a soft smile and a little bit of nostalgia. “Got lucky. The right people pounded on my door. You?”
“I’m too stubborn to die, I guess.”
His smile broadened. “I like the sound of that. You must make life interesting.”
“What can I say? Pure talent.”
She shifted her weight. Chris wanted to look up and watch her. Was she smiling? He heard the levity in her voice but didn’t dare move for fear of scaring her off.
“Chris?”
“Hmm?”
“I have books.”
He didn’t know which kept him silent—the glorious possibility of finding new reading material or the fact that she’d admitted as much. He knew a leap of faith when he saw one.
A wash of déjà vu slid across his line of sight.
That dream.
He’d had a dream a few nights earlier, in which that moment’s pieces lined up exactly. Rosa standing, her hip at eye level. The night air. The rock overlooking the valley. And she’d mentioned having books. Then they’d fast-forwarded in that disjointed way dreams worked, with moments flooded by cloud. He’d seen himself jumping down from the rock, knowing stealthy violence had come to Valle—filthy men on foot.
Chris had awoken believing it a ridiculous farce, if only because no one had books. They’d all been used for kindling years ago. That one mistake had been enough for him to let the dream go.
But this . . . this was too strange. Looking out over the same desert, adrenaline surged like floodgates flinging open. He clambered to his feet. Rosa made a little yelp sound in her mouth and skittered back. Afraid she might fall off the rock, Chris grabbed her for the second time.
“What the hell—”
“Quiet.”
She twisted his thumb backward. “Let me—”
“Quiet,” he cautioned. “Do you hear anything? Out there?” He thrust his chin toward the empty night desert.
“Welsh, if this is some kind of game . . .”
He let go of her hand and stepped to the edge of the granite slab. The spiking dread beneath his sternum said they were in danger, just as he’d felt in that uncanny dream. But from where?
“Wait, you’re not joking.” Rosa joined him at the precipice. “Talk to me.”
So many sounds, when broken down one by one. Fiddle music that sounded like a lullaby. Breezes. His own galloping heart. Chris breathed through his nose to try to focus.
“Quit talking and let me listen.”
“Fuck off.”
“There. I hear it.” Chris froze, dead still, and Rosa took his cue. “Do you?”
“Hear what?”
“Engines.”
Had she been a woman prone to panic, she would’ve staggered. That was what he saw in the way her eyes flared wider than usual, the way her lips parted. Instead she seemed to gather into herself, concentrating as he did. Chris counted three of his own heartbeats for each second that passed.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Engines,” he said again. “There, over that ridge. More than one. Diesel. Trucks, not motorcycles.”
Her nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. “Dust pirates?”
“Who?”
“Men who live in the desert. No families. No community. They venture into our territory to strike shipping trucks, but they don’t leave survivors. Lately they’ve been looking hard at Valle. Little strikes to gauge our defenses. Maybe they’re tired of roving.”