CHAPTER 26
The next morning, a hangover gripped Chaco. At one time, he could drink three bottles of wine with no ill effects. Not now. His head throbbed, and each movement hurt as though he’d swallowed needles and they’d worked their way into every artery and muscle, stabbing into his joints, his neck and gut. He sat on a stump, pulled a blanket around himself, and rubbed his temples one-handed.
Margo walked to him and squeezed his shoulder. “Me and Rocky have been watchin’ you. You don’t look so good, and yer up so late this mornin’ you missed breakfast.”
“Sorry, I…”
“That ain’t like you in the least.” She shook her head. “Yer either sick, or you drank too much of somethin’. Yer head hurt? Want some food?”
Chaco shook his head.
She leaned over to examine his face. “What’s that suppo
