HE WAS HOME. IT wasn’t yet dark, and already he was there, kicking against the porch step to rid his shoes of dust before walking into the cottage. Mia could see him through the window of her living room, where she sat on the sofa, eating her steamed vegetables. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night she’d given him the kitten. He had intimidated her then, the way he saw through her, the way he seemed to know more about her than she knew about herself.
She was putting the leftover vegetables in the refrigerator when Jeff knocked on her door, and he opened it a few inches before she had a chance to get to it herself.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Of course.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel as he stepped into the room, carrying what looked like a yellow stool with a wide circular seat.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I made it for you,” he said. “It’s to save your back.”
He rested the stool on the plastic sheeting in the center of the living room and smiled at her confusion. He moved one of the kitchen chairs next to the stool and motioned her toward it. “Sit down,” he said. “I want to see if it’s the right height.”
She sat down on the chair, and he whisked his hand along the edge of the stool’s circular top, making it spin like a lazy Susan. “You put your work on here and you’re all set.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, pleased. “Thank you.”
“Will it be sturdy enough?”
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the circle of wood, and nodded.
“Good.” He put his hands on his hips, looked around the room. “It smells great in here,” he said.
“Have you had dinner? I have leftovers.”
He sniffed the air. “Onions. Carrots—no, sweet potatoes, right?”
“Both,” she said.
“And something else. Cabbage?”
“Close. Brussels sprouts. I’m impressed.”
“No meat?”
“Just vegetables. Would you like some?”
“Please.”
He followed her into the kitchen, where she took the bowl of vegetables from the refrigerator and put it in the microwave she’d brought from home.
“Vegetarian?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Moral or health reasons?”
She hesitated, turning away to take a plate from the cupboard. “I just think it’s better for all concerned.” She glanced at him and knew he didn’t quite buy the explanation, but he didn’t seem inclined to push her.
“Have a seat.” She motioned toward the small kitchen table. When the microwave beeped, she handed him the bowl of vegetables. “How’s the cat?” she asked.
“Smart. And fortunately very independent. He takes what I can give him and doesn’t ask for anything more. And he’s turning out to be a watch cat. He sits on the window sill and guards the place.” He took a bite of sweet potato. “So where are the pictures you took of me?”
“I’ll get them.” She walked into the living room and picked up the pictures from the coffee table, along with the sketches she was making of the pose she would use for her sculpture. Back in the kitchen, she laid the pictures next to his plate.
Jeff set down his fork, and his eyes widened. He picked up the top photograph, one of him standing, shirtless, next to the computer.
“My God,” he said. “I’m falling apart.” He touched his hair, his abdomen, just below the ribs, and she was surprised by his reaction, by the sudden vulnerability she saw in him when he had seemed so thoroughly invulnerable.
“You’re excellent,” she reassured him. “You’re a perfect subject.”
His face was still creased with worry. “It’s been so long since I’ve really gotten a look at myself. I need to do a few sit-ups or something.”
Mia shook her head and took the photograph from his fingers. “The real beauty in this body,” she said, “is that it’s not the body of some young student model paying his way through college. There’s a maturity to it. Your pectorals and abdominal muscles are still defined, but with a certain softening.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“It’s very subtle, the softening, and it gives you character. It makes you a lure to an artist, Jeff. It makes you irresistible.”
He raised his eyebrows, a half-smile on his lips.
“To an artist,” she repeated firmly.
“Well, Mia,” he said. “At least I know right where I stand with you, huh? All you want is my body, and you don’t even try to cover up your dishonorable intentions.”
She laughed, but she could see he was still disconcerted as he fanned through the rest of the photographs. “Who is this stranger?” he asked, more to himself than to her. “Who the hell is this guy?”
She showed him the nearly finished bas-relief of the window she planned to use as the backdrop for his sculpture. He admired her work, then suddenly looked up at her.
“Could you make a fountain?” he asked.
“A fountain?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t it be nice if—once there’s some water to spare—Valle Rosa had a small fountain to celebrate? Maybe in the little park next to Chris’s office?”
She smiled slowly. “You’re nuts, you know. Water to spare?”
“Could you do it?”
“It’s not the kind of thing I usually do, but it might be fun. I could do it in clay, then make a plaster mold and pour concrete into it.” She was as crazy as he was.
“That sounds great.” He pushed his chair back from the table, and stretched his arms above his head. “Do you know what time the coyotes start up?” he asked.
“Close to eleven, I’d say. Why?”
He looked at his watch. “I plan to tape them tonight.”
“You mean, on video?”
“Just audio.”
“From your cottage?”
He shook his head. “The canyon. I’ll walk out a ways.”
“It’ll be eerie,” she said. “Scary.”
“No. I like the way they sound. It’s a natural sound. It’s other noises I’m afraid of.”
She felt a surprising surge of envy at the thought of him walking in the cool darkness of the canyon.
“I can see the idea appeals to you,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”
She hesitated only a second or two. “All right.”
At ten-thirty she met him on the porch of his cottage and they set out in darkness, down into the canyon. From somewhere in the distance came the faint but unmistakable smell of smoke.
Jeff carried a flashlight with him, but he didn’t turn it on, not wanting to disturb the wildlife any more than he had to. The half-moon spilled enough light on the chaparral to help them negotiate the steep drop into the canyon. At one point, though, she began to slip and had to grab his arm to steady herself. She let go quickly.
“Here,” Jeff said finally. He climbed onto a broad flat boulder; white-lit in the moonlight, and nodded for her to follow him up.
The boulder still held some of the warmth of the day. She sat next to him as he stretched out on his back, resting the recorder on his stomach.
“Ah,” he said. “This is nice. This is complete freedom. Not a soul knows I’m out here. No one. Not even Miz Perez.”
“I know,” she said.
He turned his head toward her, and she could see the moonlight on the sharp lines of his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “Yes,” he said, “but you don’t count.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t count because you’re on the run, too.” He circled her wrist with his fingers, and although it sent a chill up her spine, there was nothing romantic, nothing suggestive, in his touch. He squeezed his fingers closed around her skin. “You value freedom as much as I do,” he said. “I don’t know your reasons, and I don’t need to know. But we’re kindred spirits, Mia.”
She drew her wrist away with the pretense of smoothing her hair from her cheek, but she lay down on the boulder, not too close to him. Above her, the sky was a dome of stars. “For me, though, it’s temporary,” she said. “It’s not my choice.”
He laughed. “It’s not my choice either. I didn’t decide one morning that I’d enjoy the life of a fugitive.”
“What will you do with the tape of the coyotes?”
“Take it with me wherever I go.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re free.” His voice was soft. Mia had to strain to hear him. “They’re adaptable. They can live where it’s fifty degrees below zero or a hundred and twenty in the shade. They’re loners, but they’re smart enough to band together to catch something fast and big, like an antelope or a jack rabbit. Which is why I’m not out here taping antelopes and jack rabbits.” He chuckled. “And they’re clever. When they dig a den for themselves, they always make sure to dig an escape tunnel out the back.”
“Do you have an escape tunnel?” she asked softly.
He was quiet for so long she wondered if he had understood her question.
“I had one,” he said finally, “but it’s getting a bit muddy, a bit impassable, and I don’t seem to have the motivation any more to clear it out.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m being seduced,” he said. “By Valle Rosa. By the water problem. By the challenge. It’s all clouding my judgment and I… Shh.”
He closed his fingers around her wrist again, and she heard the soft, distant yips that had caught his attention. They came from the north. Jeff let go of her to turn on the recorder.
The yipping grew to a high-pitched whine, and then into the familiar, chilling howl that cut across the moonlit canyon. Mia shut her eyes and shivered, closing her arms across her chest. From far behind them, a second howling began, and a third joined in from the east. The sound filled Mia’s head and wrapped itself around her body, and she felt the threat of inexplicable tears. She wanted to touch Jeff, to remind herself that she wasn’t alone, to still the quickening of her heartbeat, but she kept her hands locked tightly over her arms.
It was several minutes before the howling faded away. Jeff clicked off the recorder, but for another moment or two they lay still, not speaking, barely breathing.
“Does it sound like joy or sorrow to you?” he asked finally.
“Sorrow,” she answered quickly.
“Ah,” he said, and she heard a smile in his voice. “Perhaps you and I are not kindred spirits after all.”