Page 110 of Lost Trust

We return the keys and head back toward Wildhaven.

A few miles down the road, I spot a used car lot.

I slow down.

Marina looks over at me. “What are you doing?”

“Comparison shopping.”

Her smile comes easy this time.

And I turn us into the lot.

***

We’re back in my truck with the doors shut and the air conditioner blowing when Marina lets out a long breath.

“Well,” she says, staring through the windshield, “those were definitely nicer.”

I glance over at her. “Much nicer.”

“They were also more than two thousand dollars.”

“Little bit.”

“A lotta bit.”

We looked at a couple of pre-owned trucks, and while neither one was exactly what she needed, they were a hell of a lot cleaner than the F-150 in Moran. No rust crawling up the body. No mystery trash in the beds. No rancid smell embedded in the upholstery.

But they were closer to five grand than two.

Marina drums her fingers against her thigh. “I think I’m just going to wait,” she says. “See if the condo sells soon. If it does, I’ll have a little more to work with.”

“That’s probably smart.”

She nods. “I can manage until then.”

“You can borrow my truck anytime you need it.”

Her head turns toward me. “Royce—”

“I mean it. I rarely leave the ranch. You can use it to haul little man to and from wherever, and I’ll leave a key with you when I go back on the road in August.”

“I appreciate that,” she says. “Thank you.”

A small smile touches her mouth.

I nod and look back through the windshield.

She’s quiet for a moment.

Then she says, “I’m just not used to relying on anyone.”

Something about the way she says it makes me turn toward her.

“Nothing wrong with accepting help from others,” I say.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always just handled things myself.”