I nodded and headed toward the kitchen. Penney and Jose were peering at me from the kitchen door.

"So far, so good!" Jose said, giving me a thumbs-up.

"What does he want to drink? I'll get it for you," Penney said. I wondered if she was afraid I'd spill it.

"c.o.ke. But why are you guys freaking out? He's my age."

"He is an O'Connell," Jose snapped. "His family owns the old mine."

"There's an old mine in Silver City?"

"Why do you think it is called Silver City, gringa?" Jose answered, tugging his mustache. "Now go back over there and recommend my fish tacos."

I strode over to Bridger. He'd been watching my reflection in the window with an amused grin on his face. "Do you want to order, or would you like to try our chef's specialty?"

"What's your favorite entree?" he asked.

"The fish tacos. They're awesome." And the only thing I'd ever eaten.

"All right. I would like two servings of fish tacos. And another c.o.ke. I'm expecting company."

My shoulders slumped. I looked at him, so gorgeous and dressed to kill. Of course he'd be expecting a date.

"You're frowning," he said.

I forced a smile to my mouth. "Two fish tacos and another c.o.ke coming up."

"Wait. May I speak with Jose, please?"

"Two fish tacos, one c.o.ke, and one Hispanic chef, coming right up," I amended and hurried to the kitchen.

"Jose, he wants to see you. And he wants fish tacos. Two plates. He's expecting company."

"Ah! Good girl. Penney, go home. Magdalena will finish up tonight," Jose said before removing his ap.r.o.n and hurrying out to the dining room.

Penney looked at me and shrugged. She removed a wad of tips from her ap.r.o.n pocket and crammed them into her jeans pocket. "Good luck with Bridger," she said, pulling her denim jacket from a coat hook on the door.

"Thanks."

She studied me for a moment. "Yana told me about the creepy dude. Be careful."

"Don't worry about-" I started to say, but Jose came running into the kitchen all frantic and out of breath.

"Change of plan!" He gasped, tugging the jacket from Penney's shoulders and handing her a clean ap.r.o.n. "Penney, you stay and wait tables. Magdalena, go talk to Senor O'Connell." Without a word, he untied my ap.r.o.n and set it on the counter.

Penney and I exchanged confused looks. "Well, go on," she prodded.

My palms turned cold and damp as I approached Bridger's table. When he saw my reflection in the window, he stood and watched me. I stopped in front of him.

"Maggie?" he said.

"What?"

"I was hoping you would have dinner with me. I've taken the liberty of ordering your favorite entree."

I swallowed hard and studied him for a moment. "Are you serious?"

"Totally."

"Did you get stood up? Am I your last resort?"

"No. You're my first choice. And Jose said you're done for the night."

He was so gorgeous, I would be a total idiot to say no. And it had been hours since I'd eaten. But on the other hand, I didn't want to get attached. I looked down at the A on my shirt and felt the sting of tears in my eyes.

I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stop the tears and turned my back to him, blinking furiously. I turned back around.

"Thanks, but I really don't think dinner would be a good idea," I said. "I'm tired."

"So ... we'll eat fast and then you can go home to bed," he reasoned.

"Look, I don't want to ... I don't want to date anyone."

"Anyone? Or me?"

"Anyone."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to get attached. Every time I get close to someone, I get hurt." And I didn't mean cute boys. Every time I got close to a foster family, I was removed from their house, never to hear from them again.

"And what makes you think that eating a meal with me is going to hurt you? All I want is to get to know you a little better."

Well, that right there's the problem, I thought. Knowing me better is what makes everyone despise me. All right, I told myself, just dish and he'll never want to see me again. I rushed in before I had time to chicken out.

"You want to get to know me better? I'm a dirt-poor orphan that has been pa.s.sed around to more foster homes in the past thirteen years than I can remember. I had fifteen run-ins with the law before the age of eighteen. Yana is my first and only friend. I've never had a boyfriend. The only date I ever went on, my date was so miserable he ditched me and left me standing on the dance floor. The scar in my eyebrow? I got it from an abusive foster father. Wanna know why I stayed with his family for two years even though he hit me? His wife was southern and cooked the best food I ever tasted ... on a regular basis. You think I look like a nice person, and I am nice, but I come with a lot of nasty stuff." I crossed my arms and hardened my face into my best "I won't take c.r.a.p from you" look.

"Interesting. So tell me the part that is going to make me hurt you," he said sarcastically. "Don't you realize that everything you've said makes me think you have the potential to be one of the most interesting people I've ever met?"

I struggled to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

Jose arrived with two steaming bean-and-cheese-covered plates of fish tacos. My stomach rumbled.

"Sit, Magdalena!" Jose ordered, setting a plate down on the table.

"Come on. Just one painless meal," Bridger coaxed, sliding into his seat.

I looked between Jose and Bridger, then gave in and sat across from Bridger. I didn't know what else to do. This totally hot, smart guy wanted me to eat dinner with him, even after I gave him the dump truck version of my past? Well, minus the turning into an animal. Maybe I hadn't made it clear enough?

"So, if you've never had a boyfriend, have you ever been kissed?"

I caught my bottom lip in my teeth and shook my head.

"Huh. If the A on your shirt is for 'Adulterer,' but you've never even been kissed ... isn't that the slightest bit contradictory?"

A smile lit my confused face. "Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Very. So, tell me about your foster families."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. And sorry I ditched you."

I talked while we ate, yet even with me doing all of the talking, I finished my food long before he did. Penney kept our drinks full and asked if we'd like to see a dessert menu when our plates were empty.

"Would you like dessert, Maggie?" Bridger asked.

I looked at my watch. It was past eleven.

"No, I'm good," I said.

After Bridger paid for the meal and left a pile of bills on the table for a tip, we left the restaurant.

"So, where are you parked?" he asked, pausing beneath a streetlamp. In the dim light, his eyes were sparkly black.

"Parked?"

"Your car?"

"Oh. I don't drive myself home from work. I walk-"

"You walk to Mrs. C.'s house? Alone? In the dark?" Bridger asked incredulously.

"No, I don't walk. I ..." I change into an animal. That slip of the tongue would have gone over well.

"You ride a bike?" he guessed when I didn't continue.

"No, I ... run," I said awkwardly. It was true-I did run. Usually in the shape of a mountain lion or a coyote. They were faster than other animals.

"In your work clothes? In the dark? Aren't you afraid you'll trip and fall?" Bridger glanced at my freshly torn jeans and frowned. "Aren't you exhausted by the end of the day? Aren't you afraid some psycho will see you and hurt you? There are really dangerous people out there."

Every single thing he said was true. Were I a normal girl, I'd worry about those things. But I was abnormal. "I run fast," I said lamely.

"I know you run fast, but still. It seems dangerous. Can I drive you home?"

The night was dark, a thin layer of clouds hiding the moon. I thought of the man looking for me and wrapped my hand around the bracelet. "I suppose you can give me a ride," I told him.

Relief softened his beautiful face and my heart felt full of sunshine.

"Let's go." He looked me over once, his eyes lingering on my hands, before he shoved his own into his pockets and walked down the sidewalk. I walked half a block beside him till we came to his car. It beeped, the lights flashed, and the doors unlocked. I opened the pa.s.senger door and climbed in, hoping my dirty jeans wouldn't ruin the seat.

"What kind of car is this?" I asked. I'd never seen anything like it.

"Toyota FJ Cruiser. And it is definitely not a car. It's an SUV."

His FJ Cruiser was really nice. If I had to choose between some of the foster homes I'd lived in or Bridger's SUV, I'd live in his SUV in a heartbeat. The seats were soft and lined with pale gray leather, and when he turned the car on, Native American music filled it. I was immersed in sound, swimming in music.

Eagle feathers and beads hung from the rearview mirror, swinging with the movement of the car as he pulled away from the curb. We drove to Mrs. Carpenter's house in silence, just listening to music. When the car stopped in front of the porch, he glanced at me and turned off the engine. The car became pitch black inside.

"Why did you turn off your car?" I asked, instantly nervous.

"It's dark out. I thought I'd walk you to the door," he said as if this should have been pretty obvious. I glanced at the house. The porch light flooded the night and the windows glowed.

"I'll be fine by myself. Thanks for dinner. And the ride. It was nice, not ... running ... home in the dark."

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to the door?" he asked, unhooking his seat belt.

"No!" I blurted, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait," he said.

"What?"

"Thanks."

"For what? You paid for the meal."

"Thanks for giving me a second chance."

"You're welcome." I opened the car door and the interior light flashed on, giving me one last look at his face. My gaze lingered on his lips and the truth was, I wanted him to walk me to the door. Really wanted it. Because I could imagine him kissing me good night.

I climbed out of the car and darted to the front door. "Don't get attached, don't get attached," I chanted as Bridger pulled out of the driveway.

16.

It was Sunday morning and I couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Bridger O'Connell were sprinting through my brain. Thoughts like, if I were a smart girl, I'd stop being friends with him. Because I felt a lot more than plain friendly every time I thought of him.

I rolled out of bed and put on grubby clothes, then went outside to work in the garden. It needed a good weeding.

The day was warm, the air utterly still. The screech of a bird filled the morning as I dug the tip of a shovel into the soil at the base of a weed. It screeched again, swooping overhead. I looked up and a small gray bird soared to the far end of the property and into the branches of a k.n.o.bby pine. Something at the property's edge caught my eye. It shone white in the morning sun, like a bleached tree skeleton with branches pointing to the sky.