Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [129]
She stirred while the others continued to sleep, climbing to her feet stiffly, surprised by what a chill marked the air. Hands on hips, she arched her back, leaned left and right, pondering the irony of her having ventured so far only to be less sure now of finding him than she had been the day before.
Maybe this was worse than a fool’s game. Risking her job, ditching her parents, not to mention deserting poor Granna, all for an unprodigal father—sheer folly. What could he have to say for himself that would matter? Could Kip truly know one single thing his daughter couldn’t very well live without? She looked at Marcos and thought she’d never seen such a blameless face. Maybe should open up to him about some of these confusions. Surely he’d gotten to know Kip during these last years in Nambé.
Walking lightly across the room, her boots in hand, she stepped outside into the muted purple, half expecting to see silhouettes of the men who were going to throw Delfino Montoya off his ranch one final time. She imagined they would have irked expressions on their faces. Pictured the posse lined up as if in an uninspired western, black Stetsons on their heads, their rifles held at angles, chewing cheroots, spitting tobacco. She climbed into her boots, zipped the front of her jacket, and turned up the collar. A peach moon was just now rising on the far side of Tularosa basin.
Toppling jostles of Virginia creeper vines crowded the broken panes along the southeastern face of the building. Hadn’t noticed them earlier. Pendant flowers glistening in the thin light. She looked around for kindling. Her boot laces remained untied, trailing behind her as she tramped around what had once been the foreyard. Odd how she had become accustomed to moving around in the dark. Ariel gathered greasewood sticks, staves of mesquite, and brought them back to the firepit they’d built earlier. Kneeling, she lit a match, blew softly into the kindling. The air filled with smoke and then, as if some spirit leapt, the fire danced into fast flames. She fed it with old lumber they’d salvaged from a shed Delfino proposed be sacrificed for the purpose. Fire in the night—Delfino had said it would be one of the best ways to signal their presence. She hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d lit it while he still slept.
A cool draft spilled down the eastern declivity of the mountains. Remarkable how seductive the earth and sky were here, so recurrently dwarfing one’s human problems. Long way from home, she thought, yet the basin was oddly embracing in its way. Home is the place where you’re most alive, Brice once told his young daughter. She couldn’t now remember the circumstances that prompted the paternal adage, but could hear his voice. —Home can be anywhere. On the road, in a rut. Home is wherever you are most at home.
“Ariel?”
Her surprised shriek resounded up the canyon. A silence before they both broke out laughing.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Marcos apologized.
“My mind was a thousand miles away.”
“Pretty good fire building for a city girl,” he teased. “You planning on burning the barn to make the coffee?”
“Probably not.”
“I could use some coffee myself. Besides, I want Kip to see we’re here, too.”
Ariel said, “The military must already know, so I figured—”
“I’d be shocked if they didn’t. Most likely they’ve already identified us and are running some checks through the computers, seeing if any of us are wanted on other charges.’’
“Isn’t that a little paranoid?”
“Ariel, you’re standing at the epicenter of global paranoia. They probably know your shoe size by now, your dental history, your favorite color, whether you put butter on your bread or margarine. They’ll swing by when it suits them.”
“All I really want to do is hang