AMÉ HAD CHECKED ON HIM A FEW TIMES on the radio, and he could tell by her questions that she was worried he might be having a hard time. Struggling. Despite what he’d told her about his dreams, or what she’d already come to suspect on her own, there was no way she could understand how bad it had gotten. But her voice was still a welcome relief—she’d calmed him, giving him space to breathe, as if she was sharing some of her own air.

So far, she’d somehow kept that huge hand from squeezing him in half.

She apologized again and again, promising him she would make things right. She talked about their date, the things they’d do, the places they could go.

All he had to do was hang on.

But she never mentioned that kiss, that quick moment they’d shared on the porch. Neither of them did. He didn’t know what to say about it, and maybe there wasn’t anything to say.

How had he described it to West? “It’s something . . .”

And some things just spoke for themselves.

SIXTY-FOUR

Coyotes and Danny.

And the sun.

That had been it, all damn day.

Although the sheriff had called him earlier, leading Marco to believe things were finally starting to happen, the hours after his call had passed in maddening silence and heat. The good-time radio in the truck was a bust—for some reason, Denbrow had knocked it out with a hammer—so he’d had only his own thoughts to distract him, and that hadn’t been a good thing at all.

At least now the sun was finally giving him a break, settling lower behind the mountains, turning the horizon pink and orange and blood-red. Eventually the sky would go purple, then dark, before brightening again with stars.

He’d run the AC earlier in the day until the truck had nearly overheated twice, so he’d finally had to shut it off, leaving him to sit with the windows rolled down, tapping his hands on the torn leather steering wheel to keep his focus.

Trying not to think, not to worry.

At least he hadn’t drifted off again, not after his talk with Danny, but now he was afraid they’d all forgotten him.

Maybe everything was already over, or the people he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for had changed their minds about showing up, and the rest of them were all up there at the ranch drinking beers and relaxing or something.

Or maybe something bad had happened up at the ranch, while Marco was sitting out here alone in Walt Denbrow’s truck.

He was about to grab his phone and just call the sheriff or Danny himself, when it buzzed on its own.