Rocky Start

CHAPTER 12

P oppy was still combing the knots out of Maggs’ hair. There was a lot of it, and I hadn’t done a good job with it on the trail, which meant I hadn’t done anything, so she’d be distracted for a while. Rose was in the front of the store dealing with whomever had come in; I’d checked and the customer seemed harmless, although who knew in this town.

“I’m going out to get my ruck,” I told Poppy. Just saying it made me feel tied down, as if I were answerable to somebody, who in this case was a high school senior. She nodded and kept combing, sure of my return since she had my dog. What kind of woman raised a daughter with such confidence?

I slipped out the back door to the alley behind the stores. It was narrow with dumpsters jammed in behind back doors. The old Pathfinder was there, combat parked, facing out. It had a four-inch lift and oversized tires and a roof rack with a thirty-seven-inch spare tire on it. A Hi-Lift Jack was bolted to the back bumper and a winch to the front bumper. Both looked well used. The truck was painted flat black, not the color it had come from the factory in years ago. Spray paint unevenly applied. There were various bumps and scrapes that indicated it had seen many miles on the narrow dirt roads in the mountains. It was a cool vehicle and while Rose seemed edgy enough for it, I figured it had been Ozzie’s because Rose would have painted it something colorful. I could envision her in a Volkswagen Beetle with a flower in a vase on the dashboard. Then again, with that temper she might be more of a road warrior than she appeared.