Part 6 (1/2)

Nor was he a celebrity law professor.

Book was. After his Supreme Court clerks.h.i.+p, he could have taught at any law school in America. But he came home to be near his mother after she had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Eight years later, she still lived in the same house where she had raised her children, but she did not know her children and could not find her way home. Book entered the outer office of his suite. Myrna held pink message slips in the air.

'Your sister called. She wants to put your mother in a home.'

'Did you tell her, ”h.e.l.l no”?'

Myrna knew not to answer. 'And James Welch called.'

'Who's he?'

'Our boss. Chairman of the Board of Regents. Appointed by the governor himself.'

'Another billionaire alumnus wanting to fire me because he didn't like what I said on Face the Nation.'

'He doesn't want to fire you. He wants to hire you.'

'For what?'

'Didn't say. Might have something to do with his son.'

'Who's his son?'

'Soph.o.m.ore. Arrested for drug possession. On Sixth Street. It made the paper.'

Book took the pink slip. 'I'll call him from Marfa.'

'Marfa?' She groaned. 'Oh, no, not another letter.'

Book waved Nathan Jones's letter in the air as he walked into his office where Nadine Honeywell still sat reading his mail. He grabbed the crash helmet off the bookshelf and held it out to her. She frowned at the helmet as if it were a b.l.o.o.d.y murder weapon.

'What's that for?'

Chapter 4.

'I'm hungry, my b.u.t.t's numb, and I think I swallowed a bug!'

It was just after eleven the next morning. Nadine Honeywell required twenty-four hours' advance notice prior to leaving town. She wore the crash helmet, goggles over her black gla.s.ses, and number 100 sunblock on all skin exposed by her short-sleeve s.h.i.+rt and shorts. She sat higher in the second seat. Book wore jeans, boots, a black T-s.h.i.+rt, black doo-rag, and sungla.s.ses. He glanced back at his intern; she was holding her cell phone out. He yelled over the engine noise.

'What are you doing?'

'Trying to text!'

'Why?'

'I always text when I drive!'

'You're not driving. You're riding.'

'Close enough!'

Book had installed the winds.h.i.+eld so they didn't eat (all the) bugs for four hundred miles, the leather saddlebags to hold their gear, and the second seat for Nadine. He had picked her up at seven. Four hours and three hundred miles on the back of the big Harley hadn't improved her mood.

'There's a rest stop up ahead. I'll pull over. We can stretch.'

'I've got a better idea. Let's turn back!'

They had ridden west out of Austin on Highway 290 through the Hill Country then picked up Interstate 10, the 'Cowboy Autobahn' where the posted speed limit was eighty but the actual limit pushed one hundred. They were now deep in the parched high plains of West Texas. Other than the four-lane interstate and the wind farms-thousands of three-hundred-foot-tall turbine windmills dotted the landscape on both sides, their blades rotating as if propellers trying to push Texas eastward-the landscape remained as desolate and untouched as it had been at the beginning of time. Book steered off the highway and into the rest stop. He slowed to a stop, cut the engine, and kicked the stand down. Nadine hopped off as if she had been adrift at sea and now touched land for the first time in a year.

'My G.o.d, you never heard of cars? With climate control and CD players?'

She yanked off the helmet and goggles, shook out her shoulder-length hair, and wiped sweat from her face. Book removed his sungla.s.ses and the doo-rag then pulled two bottles of water from a saddlebag. He handed one bottle to his intern; she drank half.

'I could really use a caramel frappuccino right about now, but I haven't seen a Starbucks since we left Austin.'

'I don't think you're going to find one out here, Ms. Honeywell.'

'It's like a desert.'

'It is a desert. The upper reaches of the Chihuahuan Desert.'

'What are those?'

She pointed to the horizon where a low ridgeline with craggy peaks stood silhouetted against the blue sky.

'Mountains.'

'In Texas?'

Mountains in Texas. Book had ridden the Harley through much of Texas, but not this part of Texas. Of course, it took some amount of riding to cover all of Texas; the state encompa.s.sed 268,000 square miles.

'How much longer?' Nadine asked.

'Couple of hours.'

'I'm hungry.'

Book reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out a package of beef jerky. He handed a strip to Nadine. She took the jerky with her fingertips and held it out as if examining a dead rat.

'You're joking?'

'High in protein.'

She made a face and extended the jerky his way. He took the jerky and clamped the strip between his teeth then reached into another pocket and removed a granola bar. He offered it to her.

'Good carbs.'