Part Two, Chapter Two

Donovan awoke the next morning in a shaft of sunlight streaming from a broken window. Carina was gone and the hollow in which she had slept was cold. He shivered as he pulled on his boots and jacket before going in search. The smell of coffee gave her away and he found her in the remains of a tiled kitchen full of odd appliances, most of which he could not identify. She had made a fire in a bowl-shaped grill.

She murmured a greeting, poured some coffee into a mug and handed it to him but took none for herself. One of their baskets was resting on a counter and she took out a few items, set a skillet on the grill and cooked a mixture of eggs, cheese and shredded tortillas. It took only a few minutes, but it was enough time for Donovan to wander to the broken windows, musing on the mangled patio furniture and the dry swimming pool full of blown leaves and debris. In the distance the flat-topped mesas stretched into what seemed infinity. "If it wasn't such a cold morning it would've been nice to eat outside," he remarked, not really expecting an answer. "I'm sure at least some of that furniture is still good."

Carina set a plate in front of him. "It's too windy. I would've rather cooked outside. It's safer. But I couldn't have kept a fire going in the wind."

Donovan found a chair and sat down. "Thank you for going to all this trouble. I wasn't expecting a hot meal."

She started putting things away. As if anticipating his next remark, she said, "I already ate."

"I don't believe you."

"I can't do anything about that." She picked up a basket and made to take it to the wagon. "Will you be having any more coffee?"

"How about you drink some?"

"I had some already."

"No you didn't."

"I don't want any."

"Fine." He finished what was in his cup and held it out to her. "I'll take the rest of it, then."

* * *

Before they left, he made her drink two cups of Amalia's herbal drink. She protested, but he was vehement, with the result that she sat sullenly on the wagon seat, unspeaking, for most of the day. Stopping to gather piñones was out of the question, but that was just as well. Donovan was ready to put the abandoned rancho behind them.

The wagon trace wound across and between the mesas and they suffered most of the day through cold rough winds that whipped across the flat tops and whistled through the passes. Just as it was once again time to start thinking of where they would stop for the night, the trail merged with a larger road which dipped into the foothills. In the distance was a cluster of buildings.

"I don't think we'll reach town before it gets dark," Donovan said.

"It's only an old ghost town, anyway."

He looked at her sharply, then again at the town. It was too far to tell from here, but yes, it did seem too quiet, blanketed in a hushed intrigue. "You and Amalia never said Catalunia was deserted."

"There's a ranger's cabin around one of these bends in the road," Carina said, ignoring his remark. "We can stop there for the night."

The stone cabin was small and had a friendly, cozy look to it, in spite of its broken windows and loose door. A small stream burbled nearby, perfect for watering the animals, and there was a barbeque pit that still retained its cast iron grill. Donovan set some baited hooks in the creek and settled Goneril and Regan in an outbuilding for the night.

By the time they had finished their few simple chores, Donovan was pleased to find a couple of small fish on his lines. He cleaned them and gave them to Carina, who fried them and gave them to him for dinner, wrapped in tortillas. For herself, she made a quesadilla out of a single tortilla and a bit of cheese. Donovan didn't think it was much of a meal, but since she ate without him having to connive her into it, he let the matter go.

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