“She mentioned that,” Josie said.
“Yes.”
“I love Desperado,” she said.
“So do a lot of other people.”
“Don’t you like hard rock?” she asked.
“Occasionally. I prefer Debussy.”
So did she, but she didn’t dare say it.
He glanced at her. “Do you have a favorite group?”
She nodded.
“What is it?”
She sighed. “I like the Zac Brown Band. And The Weeknd. And I love Jelly Roll.”
“Modern stuff,” he guessed.
“I like Def Leppard and Guns N’ Roses, too, though,” she laughed.
“Nothing classical?”
“Resphigi,” she returned.
He glanced at her.
“I know. Nobody in my whole circle of friends even knows who he was. But when I play ‘The Catacombs’ fromThe Pines of Rome, I can absolutely hear the Roman legions marching,” she said, her eyes out the window.
“I know who he is,” he said. He didn’t add that he had several recordings of it, by multiple orchestras.
“How about opera?” he added.
She would never admit that she had season tickets most years. “Opera?” she asked, and made a face.
“Figures,” he said.
“Well, we can’t all like the same things. Isn’t that Percell up ahead?” she added, naming a medium-size town between the Big Spur and Fort Worth.
“Yes, it is.”
“That’s where my motel room is,” she said. She laughed. “I wasn’t sure you’d know where it was.”
“Everybody in this part of Texas knows Percell,” he replied. “It’s the main store for ranch supplies for folks who don’t want to drive all the way to Fort Worth.”
“Fair enough,” she said, and laughed.
“Where’s your motel?”
She hesitated. She hoped company wouldn’t be waiting for her. After all, she hadn’t said she’d be back this late from her foraging trip to Branntville.
“You could let me off anywhere in town,” she said.
He stopped the truck at a traffic light and turned toward her. His set features spoke for him. He wasn’t putting her down like a stray animal. He gained points in her sight.
