A log on the flames shifted and popped, sending up a plume of sparks. Coughing, I fanned smoke away from my face and repositioned my sore foot on the camp stool. In the distance, I heard the yipping of coyotes, a feral, lonely sound, and I was glad of good company and a bright fire.
Tipping my head, I wet my whistle in preparation for telling my story, the beer no longer cold, and going flat. I finished the bottle and Theta brought me a new one as she came through, collecting empty plates. Her long hair swirled around her shoulders as she stooped and turned, and the fire teased red highlights from it, glinting like rubies. Mesmerizing.
Clint followed her with his eyes, his gaze wistful and hungry. I needed to do my job and get his mind off her. Putting some energy into my voice, I began
