Page 65 of Desert Rain
But I got it. Wasn’t just a truck. It was her way out. Her proof. Her whole life tied down in the back under tarps. New job, new apartment, new state, new skin she hadn’t grown into yet. Dolores wasn’t transportation.
Dolores was escape.
And escape had just died under my hands.
Sienna cleared her throat. “Can you patch it enough?”
“No.”
The word came out rougher than I meant.
She flinched anyway.
I pushed off the truck. “Not safely.”
“How unsafe?”
“Sienna.”
“How unsafe, Mason?”
Hearing my name like that—tight, angry, scared underneath—made something in me pull hard.
I stepped closer. “Unsafe like you break down in the middle of the desert with no AC, a dead phone, and a cat that would eat you before help got there.”
Bandit screamed.
Amber muttered, “He would.”
Sienna ignored her. “I have to be in Santa Fe.”
“We’ll get you there.”
“I need my truck.”
“Your truck is done for today.”
“For today?”
“Maybe longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Depends on parts. Depends what the knock is. Depends how much money you want to throw at a truck that might throw it back.”
Her laugh came out small and mean. “Great.”
Regan stepped in gently. “We’ll figure it out.”
Sienna shook her head. “I can figure it out.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
Sienna’s face sharpened, all the soft gone in an instant. “I have done almost everything alone. I can handle logistics.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Regan said.
