The door slammed behind them. They crossed the dirt yard, their breath hanging in the air in glittering clouds until they climbed into the truck. Lucas turned over the engine and shoved the heat to high.
Blond hair with the dull sheen of gold slid free from its mooring behind her ear when Alana bent over the sketches. “I asked him for input on what teens would like from the library,” she said distantly. “I thought he’d give me a list of bullet points. A few ideas. Not these.” She looked up at the trailer, then down at the sketches again before lifting the pages to the dimming overhead light. “He erased drawings. I can make out the lines . . . it looks like one of his younger brothers. He erased drawings to do this because this is the only sketch pad he has. And I stopped him—oh, God.”
The light dimmed to black. “Stopped him from what?”
“Never mind,” she said, and lowered the picture. “I’ll fix it.”
He backed down the dirt ruts to the road. “You’re not hearing what I’m saying. Don’t get too involved with a kid like Cody.”
“Why not? Because he’ll fail and let me down?”
“No. Because you’re leaving.” Because he’ll start to hope. He’ll start to need you, and you’ll be gone.
She blinked. “But that’s not a surprise. Everyone knows I’m here temporarily.”
She really had no idea. She had no idea whatsoever of the impact she had on people. It took a former senator, a political hostess, and her sister the genius to make her unremarkable. In the everyday world inhabited by lesser mortals, she went off like a nuclear bomb.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You come in, you do your thing, and you leave. Do you ever think about what happens after you leave?”
She bristled slightly. “Of course we do! The foundation underwrites and supports local organizations to carry out the day-to-day management of whatever programs we implement,” she said.
“What does that mean?” he asked. “It means you leave.”
“But other people are there. People from the communities,” she said. “I can’t be there. I can’t be in one place and do what I do.”
“Never mind,” he said.
“Don’t do that. I want to understand.”
He shook his head. “I can’t explain this.”
“Fine,” she said. “Where’s the nearest art supply store?”
Lucas shook his head. “Don’t make Cody hope for something that’s not likely to happen.”
“Why do you think he doesn’t have a chance? Have you seen his work? He’s talented enough to get a full-ride scholarship to art school.”
“Cody’s got ties here. Family. People he’s responsible for. You understand that. Trust me on this one. Keep him busy for a hundred hours, then send him on his way.”
She went back to flipping through the pages, even though he knew she couldn’t see very well by the dim dashboard lighting. He watched her, that hair, her hands, the soft curve of her lips, and very nearly missed the figure stumbling along the dirt road.
“Christ!” he barked, slamming on the brakes at the same time he flung his arm across Alana’s chest. Both seat-belt harnesses locked as the truck skidded to a stop, angled across the road. Behind him, Duke scrabbled to his feet on the floorboards.
“Who on earth?” Alana started, but he was out of the truck and running.
Tanya.
He caught her by the shoulders and spun her around, her head tracking a good two seconds after her body. “Christ,” he said again, and this time the word was half prayer, half curse. He clapped his hand to her cheek, then looked at her fingers. Her skin was ice under his palm, her fingernails purple in the garish light. She wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Dirt and blood smeared her feet. She’d been walking for hours.
He tipped her head back, using the Blazer’s headlights to get a read on her pupils. “What is it this time?”
“Fuck off,” she said. A little shake got her attention, and his. He smelled enough beer to stage a party for the entire football team.
“Are you just intoxicated, or did you take something else?” he demanded.
An angry laugh was her answer, then she sagged in his grip. “Get Duke into the back of the Blazer.”
Alana ran around to the passenger door and called Duke out. “Up,” she said as she swung open the hatch. The dog’s tail had barely cleared the frame before she slammed the door again. She reappeared beside the Blazer with the blanket from the emergency kit. “Do you want my boots?” she said.
She must not have seen the dirt and blood smeared on Tanya’s feet. “Her feet are filthy,” he said.
“It doesn’t—”
“No,” he said tersely, manhandling Tanya to the rear passenger door, then into the truck. Once she was inside, the fight went out of her. Alana held out the blanket, and he tucked it around her torso, then her calves and her bare feet.