Patrick was walking toward her. Thallia stared at him as he stopped and held out his hand. She looked at it, then at him while Patrick waited.
“You know,” Thallia said, “I'm beginning to have concerns about shaking hands with people in this town.”
A hint of amusement touched Patrick's expression. “Your irrigation is set. Don't touch the valves.”
He still hadn't lowered his hand. Thallia narrowed her eyes and accepted it.
The ocean roared.
Cold swept over her skin. Waves hammered rock, vast and relentless, and for one dizzying second, the dry Utah landscape disappeared beneath the certainty of endless water.
Thallia snatched her hand back. The ocean vanished into silence.
Patrick nodded toward the garden. “Don't touch the valves.”
Thallia frowned. “You already said that.”
Patrick's
