covers some cheap-ass who doesn’t bother, or who leaves a gigantic mess and fifty cents.”
Rigo’s brows rose. “I never thought of that.” And he matched the amount she’d laid down. No argument, no mansplaining.
It made her feel good . . . until she climbed into the car, noted the darkness, and wondered if he was about to suggest they get a motel now. That meant a long evening stretching ahead. Would he expect her company or would they sit alone in rooms side by side as the hours ticked by before falling asleep?
He started up the car, then said, “How about this? The tank is full, and so are we. I figure we’re good for another hundred miles or so. If you want to get in some of the scenic route, we can take the 93 to Kingman, then follow the 40, and maybe even some of Route 66 east to the Grand Canyon.”
“Kingman Arizona,” Godiva said reminiscently. “I remember that city. When I was there, it was like the town that time forgot.”
“I was told it’s the thunderstorm capital of the United States, though when I blew through on my drive west, the sky was clear as a bell. Wouldn’t mind stopping there again, if you’d maybe like to cruise the rim of the Grand Canyon tomorrow?”
“I’ve never seen it,” she said. “I was on the Greyhound, stopping along this part of the world in the middle of the night. If they took the scenic route, I never saw any of it.”
“Grand Canyon it is.”
Chapter 10
RIGO
Rigo fought his damndest against letting the mate bond connect to her thoughts. It was a little like holding yourself at attention without ever relaxing into an ‘at ease’ but he was afraid that Godiva might sense him there, and get spooked.
She was still skittish, he could feel that much despite his best efforts. His basilisk waited silently, constantly on the alert inside him. Yes, he knew that the basilisk and he were one and the same. It’s just that he’d fought against it for so long as he was growing up that he knew he was never going to lose that sense that he and his animal were two separate beings.
Anyway, the basilisk, separate or part of him, was no help now. Finding a way back to Godiva’s trust was a 100% human project. It wasn’t going to happen with claws that could tear metal, a beak that could snap a pine in two, or eyes that burned anything living to ash.
So far, the day had gone better than he’d let himself hope. She was still wary, but he’d expected that. Now, as his flying goddess hood ornament—which looked to him like a shifter—sliced through the crystal clear night, flashes of headlights lancing past in the other direction, the quiet slowly became a silence.
He glanced over from time to time. At first Godiva sat upright, her slight form erect. In the dimness of the car the years softened her contours, though her white hair gleamed softly. When he first met her, she was eighteen going on ageless. It was he who’d been completely clueless. The drink and the basilisk had kept him from coming within speaking range of a woman, but then one day on the Texas border, there she was, with that same profile as she hitched herself up on the makeshift corral fence to watch the horses.
In this light, she was again ageless, sublimely, wonderfully herself:
But when he glanced again, it was to see her head nod, then jerk upright. Once, then twice. Then she glanced his way.
He said, “Go ahead and snooze if you like. Kingman isn’t that far now.”
She sat up straight again, saying, “And snore like a hog in a bog? Or even better, drool all over your fine leather seats? I wouldn’t blame you if you booted me right out of the car.”
“I can promise you there will be no booting,” he said, trying not to laugh. “If you want, I can try to find a rap station to play. Alejo saw to it this car has a first class sound system. Some rap, heavy on the bass, should keep us alert.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her dark eyes gleaming briefly in the light of a car passing on the other side. “Though I like a lot of rap. It makes me think of those old Viking bards and poets, who used to be able to turn out rhymes by the hour. Rappers do the same.”
“Where did you