CHAPTER 12

For several minutes no one said anything. Even the car’s mechanical noise stopped as the smoke began to clear.

“What are we going to do now?” the cowboy demanded.

In response, Luis reached into the overturned car and pulled out his backpack. “I’ve come too far to stop now,” he said in his southern accent. “Domínguez mentioned the slot canyon below those two rocky fingers. I’ll see whoever there tonight.”

He set off without waiting to see if anyone wanted to travel with him.

“Fool,” the cowboy called out. “Crossing the desert on your own is suicide.”

“Yeah, so what’s your plan, sabiondo?” María Dolores demanded.

He held his immobile arm across his chest like some kind of salute. “I’m staying right here. If you’re lost, you stay put so someone can find you.”

María Dolores reached for Alegría, who held out her arms to be transferred from Santiago’s. “Who do you think is coming for you? The guys in the SUV? Or the girl you’re so dressed up for?”

The cowboy’s face burned red.

“I think we should head back to the main road,” Tano said. “At least that road tiene movimiento. Someone will help us from there.”

“And then what? Go back to Capaz to find another idiot to get us nearly killed?” The cowboy continued raising a fuss. “I gave all my money to Domínguez. Actually, I should get it back.”

Vivian raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re going to steal from a dead man?”

“I paid him to do a job que no cumplió. I demand a refund. Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.”

Santiago turned to María Dolores. As much as he didn’t want to retrieve the money, he would if she asked him to. And she surely would. With three of them, she’d paid—and lost—the most. For her, after everything she’d done for him, he’d frisk a dead body. If she asked.

Which she didn’t.

Instead, she taunted the cowboy. “Go ahead, get your money back.”

But the cowboy didn’t budge.

“That’s what I thought,” María Dolores said.

She jerked her head at Santiago. But away from the crash site, not toward it. Again, he marveled at her strange attitude about money. Had it been his cash they’d lost, would he take it back? He honestly didn’t know.

They walked a short distance from the others and kept their voices low. She boosted Alegría back on her hip, keeping the five-year-old from sliding. “What do you think we should do?”

“The cowboy’s right,” Santiago said. His head gash no longer hurt, but another ache took over in his heart: responsibility for these two. “From the stories I heard at the cantina, crossing the desert alone, not knowing where we’re going—we won’t make it.”

“We’re not alone.” María Dolores rested a hand on his shoulder. “We have each other.”

Warmth spread through Santiago’s body that had nothing to do with the blazing sun. But he shouldn’t encourage desert travel on their own. It could go terribly wrong in so many ways. Those migra officers he’d seen with the rifles. He’d overheard one coyote in the tavern mention something about tear gas. Then there were the natural dangers: heat, fatigue, dehydration.

Still, the normal brightness in María Dolores’s eyes had returned. “We have food and water for a couple of days. Plus a phone with a full battery.”

“You won’t get reception here.” Santiago clung to reason.

“No, but I might on top of that mountain range. My sister is expecting a call once we cross; she won’t be more than four hours away, driving. Maybe less.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should go back,” he said. But the idea of being in the crosshairs of those SUV thugs didn’t appeal to him either. He had definitely seen a gold watch along with the gun; he remembered the three thugs in Capaz plotting against Domínguez, despite the fourth brother’s rebukes. Santiago may have been invisible while clearing their table, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t recognize him.

“You really want to return to Capaz?” María Dolores dropped her voice lower.

Going back to Capaz would be that much closer to going back to his old life. No, not an option. Even with the fear of the desert, forward was the only way to go. Especially with María Dolores’s words beating like a mantra inside his head: We have each other.

“Domínguez did tell us where to go.” Santiago worked on convincing himself. “And I’m good at finding my way around.”

María Dolores accepted that as a decision made. They walked back to the others. “We’re checking out the border and trying to cross. Unlike our other friend, we will wait for you if you want to join us. There is safety in numbers.”

Tano nodded. “You can come with us instead. My wife and I are going back to the main road, where we know someone will come along.”

“Well, I can’t go anywhere in my condition, and you can’t abandon me to die.” The cowboy gestured to his busted arm.

“We’re not sacrificing ourselves to babysit you. You make your own choices,” María Dolores said as she set Alegría on the ground and reached into the overturned car to retrieve their backpacks. The smoke from the hood had blown away completely.

Santiago went over to help, careful not to look into the car at the driver. Something red caught his eye near the damaged driver-side. Domínguez’s lighter. Right there at his feet. Santiago pocketed it. Domínguez wouldn’t mind. It had been there, in the dirt. Almost like he was meant to find it.

Once he straightened, Alegría tugged at his hand to be picked up again. Instead he crouched to her level and spit a few times into the hem of his shirt. Carefully he cleaned the blood from the few scratches on her face.

“There, now you don’t look like you’ve been in a car wreck.” He threw her up into the air and caught her as she giggled.

“Mamita,” María Dolores asked Alegría as she held out the three bags, “are you going to walk?”

The little girl snuggled into Santiago’s neck; her cheek muscles against his throat contracted into a smile.

“I don’t mind carrying her. She’s so light, I barely notice.” He threw her up again before he reached for his bag and threaded his arms through the straps one at a time. Between Alegría in the front and the backpack in the rear, the weight balanced out nicely. It also helped that Alegría rested on his hips and didn’t hang from his shoulders. From the bags, María Dolores extracted their new baseball hats—green for Santiago, grayish purple for Alegría, and rusty brown for her.

“Good luck.” María Dolores waved at the others after settling her backpack on her back and Alegría’s on her front. Santiago walked at her side, and the three of them headed toward the two fingers of the distant mountain range. To the north.

They had barely taken ten steps, when the cowboy called out, “Wait for me!”

Santiago stopped and turned. The cowboy ran to join the married couple as fast as his fancy boots and “broken” arm allowed him to go. Relief washed over Santiago.

Once they were clear of the crash site, but still with no visible signs of the border, Alegría squirmed down from Santiago’s arms. She ran this way and that as she chased lizards and insects. From the corner of his eye, Santiago could have sworn he saw a glittery creature chase after her. Princesa. Maybe the invisible unicorn would look after them. He reached for María Dolores’s hand and received a squeeze as each step they took brought the mountain range clearer and closer.