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During the night, as the temperature outside the motel dropped, Cyrus unconsciously wrapped his arms around Kyna to keep her warm. When he tried to untangle himself the next morning, she refused to let go. |
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"What's your hurry, sailor?" she mumbled, running her fingernails lightly across the flat of his stomach. |
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They made love. Not the way they usually didlike two sumo wrestlers in heat trying to pin each otherbut slowly, carefully, lovingly, the way the Swiss make watches. Afterward they shared a shower and dressed for a cold day in the mountains: cord jeans, flannel shirts, crewneck sweaters, double socks and hiking boots. |
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Cyrus felt good. The vague unease that had plagued his thoughts the night before seemed to have washed away in the shower, and even Kyna seemed to be in a better mood. She was whistling and singing the lyrics to yet another of her favorite rock ditties. After breakfast they loaded the Lincoln with camera gear and water bottles, then Kyna got behind the wheel and took I-40 east out of the city. After exiting the expressway, she followed the main road for about five miles and then took a series of hairpin switchbacks that went up the back side of Sandia Mountain so fast that Cyrus's ears popped. On the way up, they passed the entrance to a fashionable restaurant and ski resort and miles of dark, deserted forest. Just when Cyrus was beginning to think he was going to need an |
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