“Now, son, she’ll have to. Every bridge from here to Kingdom Come is blown.” It was the only way to cross the Pecos.
“Duh, then we should look for a boat, not some hellacious bridge,” Justin’s biting tone belittled.
“Trust me, I considered it. As you well know, any petrol west of Last State has long gone bad. And we certainly can’t row our way across this part of the Pecos. Not in those currents.” Not with babies. He looked down at the river swollen from spring’s snowmelt. It’s a shame they hadn’t come across any shallow areas like Horsehead Crossing. That was feasible.
Dean focused on the trestle, scanning the span’s multitiered lattice framework as it curved around the bend, out of sight, smackdab into the rocky canyon walls. He knew what that meant. A tunnel. He tested the first couple of feet for sturdiness, stomping on the wooden planks.
“Like, where does it go?” Justin spouted.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Providing—we get to it. Dean forced a fake chuckle at his feeble joke, already feeling Justin’s dramatic eye roll behind him. Dean turned around to catch Scarlett shaking her head. Luther didn’t look none too happy either.
“Holy crap! Are you serious?” exclaimed Ella.
“Ooh, Grandpa—” Twila moaned. “That looks scary-fun.”
Funny, how he’d grown accustomed to her calling him Grandpa Dean. But the recent promotion to Grandpa made his heart swell every time. His prospects of becoming a granddaddy had manifested in a way he never would have foreseen.
“Lordy, Lordy! The sun done messed up your mind.” Luther peered over the edge. “Just looking at that makes my balls shrivel.”
Twila covered her mouth and turned away, giggling.
“Scarlett, Mindy, Twila—think we can cross it?” Dean finally asked. The two women eyed each other while Twila plopped to the ground. He gave them space to do their meditation thing.
Meanwhile, he hard-headedly fiddled with the wheelbarrow they had scavenged along the way since they had lost the last of their carts to the rocky terrain. He had MacGyvered the axle’s steel base for the umpteenth time. But it was about shot.
Luther knelt beside him. “If you want my opinion”—he hesitated—“it’s too hairy.” He wiped the back of his head. “With kids,” he added. The fellow sure knew how to sweat.
Dean shrugged. Of course, he knew that. Maybe it was too much to ask. “Now, don’t you start in. I feel like an ass for even considering it.” He exhaled away the exasperation settling in and patted himself with the damp handkerchief he kept tied around his neck. “Let’s see what the gals have to say.”
He and Luther messed with the wheelbarrow all the while waiting their response. Thing was, he didn’t think they could make it back to the miner’s camp before dark. Trekking across the rocky landscape in the dark was far too treacherous, especially with rattlers and coyotes, and God knows what else lurking the desert canyon’s nooks and crannies.
Finally, Scarlett shuffled to him. She squatted down to take advantage of the measly shade offered by the emptied wheelbarrow tilted on its side. She met his eyes and offered a thin smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Well?” Dean urged her on.
“Absolutely nothing came to mind,” Scarlett said flatly. “I’m flying blind.”
Twila scurried over. “And what’s your say in this?” Dean asked, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
“We’re so lost, not even the bad-d-d ones know where we are,” his adopted granddaughter replied in the tone of a wise woman. “They . . .” Twila paused and cocked her head at the azure-blue sky. “Think we’re dead.”
“Good to hear,” Dean mumbled. “Now, Scarlett, you know me. I wouldn’t suggest this if I knew of another way.” He felt used up. Defeated.
Scarlett gently massaged his aching shoulders. “I know.”
Luther stormed off in a bout of good ole southern cursing.
“Tell you what,” Dean decided suddenly when images of the gals falling to their deaths invaded his consciousness. “I’ll do a test run.” He should at least see if the trek was feasible.
Scarlett’s brows knitted tighter. But she didn’t try to stop him. Dean studied the sun while taking a swallow from his going-on-empty canteen. The sun would settle below the crestline in another hour or so, making the crossing all the more perilous.
Justin and Ella stared at him as he made it to the edge of the bridge. “You mind if I borrow your tire iron?” he asked Justin. He could use it to pressure test the old wood. “Say, Twila, do you have any chalk left?”
“Dude, I should be the test dummy.” Justin stepped forward. Ella tugged him back by his elbow.
“Naw, this is my brilliant idea.” Dean hadn’t meant it to sound so snide.
After digging through her backpack, Twila proudly offered him a pinkie-size nugget of blue chalk.
“I’ll mark the good spots with chalk. That ought to make it easier.” And safer.
Ella made the sign of the cross, then fondled the crucifix around her neck. “Wait!” She removed the pendant from Mateo’s neck. “Wear my Archangel Michael pendant. He’ll protect you, like he did mijo.”
He could use all the good luck he could muster. “Why thank you, Ella.”
Scarlett fastened it around his neck. “Dean”—fear leached through her voice—“are you sure this is a good idea . . .”
Frankly, this had to be his worst idea since the day he had jumped the ATV over Crooked Creek some fifty-odd years ago. “Evel Deavil,” his cousins had cheered. Of course, the foolish kid in him had been oblivious to the possible fatal consequences.
Luther handed him a flask. “You’ll be needing a swig of Southern Comfort.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Anything to settle his nerves.
Twila darted to him and gave him a
