Nanci took no notice, hanging a left up 376, into Big Smokey Valley.
Which was where they stopped for the night, pulling off into what had once been a picnic area on the right of the narrow road. Nanci edged the vehicle past an abandoned camper truck and stopped finally near a fast-flowing stream, among the dead stumps of a grove of Sitka spruce.
It drizzled as evening came crawling in from the east, lurking behind banks of high cloud. Nanci put up the soft-top, bringing in the heater with a gentle warmth.
As the afternoon had slipped by, Jeff had dozed, enjoying the comfort and the security. Now, in the security and darkness, with a thin layer of snow on the higher ground around them, he felt as close to happiness as he’d felt for longer than he could remember.
Nanci touched him on the arm as they sat for a moment in the peace and stillness.
“At one with the wonders of nature, Jefferson?” she said quietly.
“Yeah. Reminds me of that old, old vid. My father had a worn copy. Three guys on motorbikes, hogging across the place. They all get wasted. One says something about how this…”
“Used to be a hell of a good country once,” she concluded, giving him a rare smile. “I know it, too, Jefferson.”
“I like being with you, Nanci,” he whispered, amazed and scared by his own daring.
“That right?”
“Yeah. What is it we’re looking for? You got an idea, don’t you?”
She pursed her mouth, and he almost winced, anticipating some kind of violence. But she smiled again. “Aurora? North? Sounds like the land of Oz. We’re following the yellow brick road. I don’t have the ruby slippers, but I got me some shining black leather boots, don’t I?” He didn’t answer immediately and she touched him on the hand. “Do I not, Jefferson, with very thin, spiky heels?”
“Sure do, Nanci.”
“I don’t know what you are, sonny boy. Cowardly lion? Straw man? Tin man? Bit of the cowardly lion. Bit of the wicked witch, as well. If you were holding a whip, Jeff, then you’d love to use it. Someone else has the whip, and you’re on your belly, kissing it, aren’t you?”
He didn’t say anything, but this time she didn’t seem to mind.
A flurry of snow blew against the car, making it rock slightly.
Nanci stretched and yawned. “Enough of this,” she said. “Tent and fire, Jefferson. Something to eat, then…” She laid the palm of her hand flat across his crotch, laughing quietly at his instant response. “Jump to attention, don’t you? Well, some food first, then we’ll see about other needs maybe.”
JEFF THOMAS HAD LIVED most of his life in and around cities. It didn’t mean that he hadn’t experienced some rough times early in his career when he was a fire-eating and profoundly ambitious young reporter, seeking out all the danger spots that the ailing planet could offer.
The first of his brace of Pulitzers had come after he’d spent eight months locked into a state mental hospital, under total cover, investigating allegations of physical and mental abuse.
There had been three suicides among staff the first week his articles ran in the West American.
His second major award had come when he successfully infiltrated a cadre of high-ranking spies in London. That had led to a grotesquely bungled attempt on his life, which he’d later inflated to more than it had been.
But Nanci wasn’t quite right about Jeff, and not quite wrong.
He wasn’t exactly a coward.
If risking his life might advance his career, he’d do it. And, like a cornered rat, if his life was threatened, Jeff Thomas was capable of rapid and violent action.
Even capable of a sort of courage.
MUCH LATER that night, huddled in the double sleeping bag, trying to steady his breathing, he touched Nanci with a hesitant hand.
“What is it, lover man?” She rolled over, and he could taste her breath on his face.
“Just… that I’m happy to be with you.”
“Sure you are,” she said. “Sleep well, Jefferson.”
Angered and hurt at the cool rejection of his tentative whisper of real affection, he felt his eyes prickling.