Badlands (13 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

P
ENNY
DREAMED
OF
TRAINS
.

She was running along the tracks with Cruz, trying to escape the oncoming train. She pushed him to safety, but her foot got caught between the railroad ties. Stumbling, she fell down. The whistling juggernaut struck her at full force, cutting off her legs.

She woke with a start, sitting up and gripping her calves. They were both cramped, the muscles rock-hard and quivering.

Owen loomed above her, his eyes silver in the dark. “Let me,” he said, crouching down to massage her legs. She smothered a moan as he worked out the kinks in her muscles. Cruz was asleep beside her, tucked into a little ball. He had a blanket made of wool seat covers wrapped around his body. It was cold.

When her cramps eased, Owen straightened. He watched her for a moment, as if expecting her to go back to sleep.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

“Near dawn, I think.”

Careful not to wake Cruz, she crawled away from him, keeping one of the seat covers as a shawl. Owen helped her up. Her knees threatened to give out. She clung to his arm, swaying on her feet. Her soles felt bruised and tender, as if she’d been walking barefoot on sharp rocks. Her belly ached from emptiness.

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded, letting him lead her to the front of the railcar. Once there, she sat again, clutching the fabric over her chest. Her hair had come loose from the braid.

“Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

There was just enough moonlight to see the concern in his expression. He put his arm around her, offering her a drink from the canteen. “The temperature is comfortable. Warm, by L.A. standards.”

She took a thirsty gulp of water, aware that she was showing signs of dehydration. Her stomach jerked in protest, screaming for something more substantial. Then the quivering settled, and the fluids stayed down.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a train.”

“Sore?”

“My whole body is,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“That might get better as your muscles loosen up. You slept for several hours.”

“I had a bad dream.”

“You were whimpering.”

“It was scary.” She told him about running down the tracks and pushing Cruz to safety.

Owen smelled of sweat and dust and rusted metal. Old blood, perhaps. They were quite a pair. With her own soiled clothes and tangled hair, she felt about as fresh as an old rag. She inched away from him, self-conscious.

“Do I stink?” he asked.

“No.”

“Right,” he scoffed.

She squirmed in discomfort. “I just have to pee.”

“I’ll help you.”

Her cheeks burned at the thought, but she didn’t think she could manage on her own. So she let him guide her down the steps, into the cool predawn air. Squatting was beyond her current capabilities. He seemed to know this.

“There’s a cinderblock,” he said, pointing. “You can sit on it.”

With his assistance, she hobbled to the concrete form. “Check for spiders.”

He kicked it over and stuck his arm through the hole to show her it was clear. Then he set it upright and brushed off the top. She wiggled her panties down to her knees. Keeping his gaze averted, he lowered her to the impromptu toilet.

“Now go away,” she said.

He turned and walked about ten feet.

She emptied her bladder quickly, embarrassed. When she was finished, he glanced over his shoulder. “Done?”

“Yes.”

He came back to lift her up.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice wavering.

“What’s wrong?”

She pulled her panties into place, blinking the tears from her eyes.

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

He put his arm around her and guided her inside the railcar. She sat down and stared out the window, wallowing in self-pity. Although seduction was the last thing on her mind, she wanted him to see her as sexy and irresistible. Instead she felt like an invalid.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything. This whole fucked-up situation.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You shouldn’t be out here, hungry and weak and...peeing on concrete.”

“I’m not too fancy to pee outdoors, Owen.”

“You’re upset.”

“Because I feel dirty and...unattractive.”

“Unattractive?”

She refused to elaborate.

“You could pee
on
me, and I wouldn’t consider it unattractive.”

“Really?”

“Maybe not on my face. That would be degrading.”

Her mouth dropped open. “People do that?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t care how dirty you are, and I’m not disgusted by anything you do. I saw a baby come out of you, remember?”

“I wish I could forget.”

“If that didn’t turn me off, nothing will.”

She wasn’t sure why she started laughing. Maybe it was the combination of shock, discomfort and stress. Maybe it was his strange, honest admission. Maybe it was just the bizarre complexity of human behavior.

He laughed along with her, so something must have been funny.

When she regained control of herself, wiping the tears from her cheeks, she remembered that she’d also seen him during some vulnerable moments. And she found him more appealing for it, not less.

“I don’t care if you smell bad,” she said.

“That makes one of us,” he replied, smiling wryly.

“I’d kill for a shower.”

“Me, too.”

She’d also kill for a cheeseburger, but she didn’t want to torture him by continuing a conversation about things they couldn’t have.

His gaze caressed her face. “I was worried about you last night.”

“Why?”

“I’ve had heatstroke before. I got really sick.”

She was stiff and sore, not sick. “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to hiking all day, especially in this kind of weather.”

“Should I go on without you? I could probably reach the highway in a few hours.”

“How long will it take with us?”

“Six, maybe more.”

She didn’t want him to leave her. The idea of sitting here without him scared her. When the sun came up, the interior of the train would get hot. They had no food and only a little water. “What do you think?”

“I’d rather stay together.”

“Even if you have to push me in a wheelbarrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” she said, squeezing his hand. He didn’t pull away. His eyes met hers, and a familiar heaviness hung between them. The feeling had shifted from unrequited to unspoken, however.

Instead of
I wish,
her heart whispered,
soon
.

Although he hadn’t admitted to anything, she’d seen the desire in his gaze. The kiss he’d given her yesterday afternoon had been smoldering with it. His reasons for holding back might be complicated, but she no longer thought he wasn’t interested.

“Do you still want to be a firefighter?” she asked, tentative.

“Yes.”

“Why did you take this job?”

He hesitated before answering. “Your father promised me a recommendation letter to the Los Angeles Fire Department. I don’t have a chance of getting hired without it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a convicted felon, and it’s a competitive market.”

She’d wondered about that. Another friend of theirs from the earthquake, Sam Rutherford, had helped Owen get the job at Sierra National Park. Of course he needed a reference to gain entry to the LAFD.

“Your father also arranged for my transfer from Santee Lakes to Pleasant Valley. I owe him big for that.”

It was the least her father could do, after Owen had risked his life for Penny and the others trapped under the collapsed freeway. She was sure her father would come through with the recommendation, as well. Assuming they survived this horrible experience. Owen had gone above and beyond in his bodyguard duties.

“Speaking of letters, you never responded to mine.” She’d written him several times at Pleasant Valley State Prison. She’d asked him about it once, years ago. He’d merely said that he’d read them and changed the subject.

“I promised your father I wouldn’t contact you.”

She frowned at this unexpected news. “Why?”

“It was one of the terms of the transfer.”

“And after you got out?”

“I was a free man,” he said, shrugging. “As powerful as your father is, I doubted he’d get me thrown back in prison for being friends with you.”

He said this jokingly, but her father’s actions didn’t sit well with Penny. It felt like a conspiracy, an attack on her autonomy. Had he suspected she had a crush on Owen, even then? Her cheeks burned with indignation. She couldn’t believe Owen had gone along with all of this and never told her about it. She suspected that her father’s sneaky machinations fed into Owen’s lack of self-worth.

He thought he was doing the right thing by keeping his distance.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Owen got up and prepared to leave the train. She woke Cruz while he took some of the seat cushions to the wheelbarrow, making a comfortable padding. Penny climbed in with Cruz, who went back to sleep on her lap.

“How’s your arm?” she asked Owen, glancing at the bandage.

“It’s not bad.”

She took that to mean it hurt. He needed first aid and antibiotics. The man he’d...killed...had probably bled all over his open wound. The risk of contracting a communicable disease that way was small, but not insignificant. It was more likely that he’d get parasites or a bacterial infection from the water he’d used to wash with.

The injury didn’t seem to slow him down. He pushed hard as the sun blossomed over the horizon, shining warm rays across the barren landscape. Cruz woke up, hungry and irritable. He walked along the tracks until he got bored.

Penny’s muscles started to feel better as the temperature rose. She traded places with Cruz, stretching her legs. It was difficult to keep pace with Owen. Her feet hurt and she was hungry. But sitting in the wheelbarrow gave her a claustrophobic vibe that reminded her of the San Diego earthquake. In this vast wasteland, escape seemed impossible. There was rubble everywhere, death around every corner. No end in sight.

A blue flag fluttered in the distance. “What’s that?”

“Water station,” Owen said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

When they reached it, he removed the lid from a blue plastic bin. There were rocks inside to weigh down the bin, along with a gallon jug of water. Owen unscrewed the top and took a long drink, his throat working. Then he handed it to Penny, who shared with Cruz. As he reached up to steady the jug, an object slipped from his grip.

She bent to retrieve the pocketknife. “Where did you get this?”

“I gave it to him,” Owen said. “I forgot to ask for it back.”

“He could have cut his fingers, or tripped and fallen on the blade.”

Owen replaced the lid on the bin, appearing contrite.

“Can I keep it?” Cruz asked.

“No,” she said, appalled. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You could hurt yourself playing with knives.”

His brown eyes filled with tears. “I wasn’t playing with it.”

“What were you doing with it?”

“Just holding it. In case I needed to protect you.”

She looked at Owen, whose gaze reflected her heartache.
“Mijo,”
she said, curving her hand around her son’s neck. “You can protect me when you’re all grown up.”

He jerked away from her, refusing to be consoled. “I want to protect you now. Owen showed me how.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“I won’t get hurt.”

“You can’t have the knife, Cruz.”

He stared at Owen, his mouth trembling. When Owen didn’t offer any rebuke, he turned to Penny. “Owen said I could.”

“He’s not your mother,” she said, touching the center of her chest. “I am.”

“I wish you weren’t!”

She’d heard this kind of outburst before. Cruz had temper tantrums when he was tired or overexcited. Once, at Disneyland, he’d kicked her shin because she’d refused to wait two hours in the line for the Dumbo ride. Although she knew that this behavior was normal for children, especially during stressful situations, it made her feel like a failure. Maybe she wasn’t meeting his needs as a single parent.

Cruz stomped away from the tracks. He lay down on the ground and cried, his little body full of frustration.

She crossed her arms over her chest, sighing.