Angela lit the Coleman, a twin of the one sitting in the rear of her Blazer. When she'd seen him taking his in, she left her own, and it made her think about their vehicles. They hadn't just picked the same camping equipment. Of all the cars and trucks in the country, they had chosen the same one, even year ('93) and make. Was that just a coincidence?
"Can you use that gun on your hip?"
Angela turned the fire higher on the small pot of water, thinking again that he looked like a cowboy from the Old West with his silver, crisscrossed gun belts and matching, ivory-handled weapons.
"I can load it and pull the trigger. Does that count?" she asked, dumping the packets into the mugs.
Smiling, Marc shook his head, noticing she bagged the garbage instead of just leaving it. "Not really. You use it before tonight?"
"No. I didn't want to attract attention. Guess I did that anyway, but I had a flat and the flashlight wasn't enough."
She turned to him then, and her eyes were hard to look at, as he read the pain and miserable years she had also spent. His dread of her story increased.
"Thanks for coming. There's no one else I can turn to."
Marc instinctively wanted to comfort her, wanted to say she could count on him, and stopped himself. "I'll help if I can. It's the best I can do."
"Hope you feel that way later."
Angela sighed, dumped in the hot water and stirring. When she brought their cups over, she set his down and moved quickly back despite his hand being out for it.
She balanced on each foot to slide her shoes off and could feel his eyes on her, but didn't look up. She didn't want him to see she was terrified of being alone again at dawn. Settling herself on her bedroll, Angela pulled the blanket over her lap before easing out of her sweater to reveal a simple white T-shirt with an American flag on the front. The jeans now hidden under the quilt, were unfastened around her aching guts, had been for hours while she drove. She had been pushing herself, and now she was paying for it.
Lips tightening at the attempt to hide her pain, Marc settled on the floor too. He busied his hands with cleaning his Colt as the rain drummed steadily and the thunder rolled, but his eyes were mostly on her and the small details that many years of training allowed him to pick out.