Defending Raven (Mountain Mercenaries #7)(6)

Mags shook her head. “I’ll be okay. We do need some water. If you and the others feel up to it, maybe you could make a water run?”

“Okay. We can do that. Mags?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Zara is all right?”

Blinking in surprise, Mags nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“I don’t know. I had a dream about her.”

“Good dream or bad dream?” Mags asked.

“Good,” Teresa said quickly.

“Well, maybe that means we’ll hear from her soon. She said that when she did get back to America, she’d do what she could to send word once she was settled.”

“Hopefully,” Teresa said. “Go on, before it gets too late and someone else takes the bread.”

Mags smiled and nodded. “Be safe while I’m gone.” She stood and, besides running a quick hand through her hair, didn’t think twice about her appearance. Her hair was greasy and dirty and tended to get into knots quite easily, but she couldn’t bear to cut it. It was far longer than it had been a decade ago, hanging past the middle of her back. She’d broken down and trimmed it a few times, but never too short.

A memory of how Dave used to love to run his fingers through her hair flickered through her mind. He’d always had a lock of it in his hand. Whenever they were sitting next to each other, whether they were alone at home or in a crowded restaurant, he’d put his arm around her and run a strand through his fingers. He’d loved her midnight-black hair, and had nicknamed her Raven because of it.

He’d be shocked to see her hair now. Choppy ends, greasy, covered in dirt, dull and limp.

She used to take such pride in her looks, but now she rarely gave her hair more than a second thought. Only enough to pull it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck to keep it out of her face.

She slipped out of the hut and moved the piece of corrugated metal they used as a door back into place before heading down one of the dusty alleys to the exit of the barrio. Praying she wouldn’t run into Ruben or any of his friends, she held her breath . . . and let it out on a loud exhale as she successfully made it to one of the openings in the wall on the south side of the barrio. It was a bit early for any of the bullies who prowled the area to be up and about. They were most likely still sleeping off the effects of the alcohol they’d managed to steal the night before.

Mags tucked her chin into her chest and tried to look as unassuming as possible as she made her way toward the bakery. She was average height for a woman, though when she’d walked next to Dave, she’d felt absolutely tiny.

Cursing under her breath at the way her thoughts kept turning to her husband, Mags took a deep breath. She suspected she’d also been thinking about him lately because of the Americans who had shown up in the barrio a few months ago. Her husband wasn’t a military guy, but something about them had reminded her of Dave. Including their loyalty and determination.

Dave was smart. So much smarter than anyone gave him credit for. And successful. At least, he had been a decade ago. He’d bought a run-down building, kept the outside looking mostly the same—according to the pictures he’d shown her when they met—and spruced up the inside of the bar, making it comfortable and homey, not so fancy that people in the working-class neighborhood would feel intimidated stopping in for a beer after work. He’d been protective of his patrons, insisting on walking single women to their cars and kicking out anyone who dared give another customer a hard time.

Neither of them had a lot of friends back then, but they didn’t need them, not when they had each other. Memories of them just vegging on their couch, watching television and eating takeout, were painful enough that she did her best to push all memories of her husband to the back of her mind.

Dave was in her past. There was no room for him in her present . . . not that he’d want anything to do with her now.

She arrived at the alley behind the bakery just in time. She watched as one of the employees slammed the lid of the trash can behind the store and headed back inside. Mags hurried over to the trash and opened the lid. The smell of rotten food and curdled milk was overwhelming, but she was used to it. There wasn’t much today, but Mags pulled out the plastic bag she always carried around, just in case, and filled it with stale bread. There was also a cinnamon roll, and after brushing off some coffee grounds, Mags knew Gabriella would be thrilled with it.

Knowing she needed to get going, she quietly shut the lid of the trash can and turned around to head back to the barrio.

But she stopped in her tracks.

Standing behind her was a small boy, probably around eight or so. His cheeks were so gaunt he looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. She’d never seen him before, and her heart immediately went out to him. She wished she could just ignore him and go on her way, but Mags knew she couldn’t.

“Hello,” she said in Spanish.

He didn’t respond and, in fact, took a step away from her.

“Are you here looking for food?”

He nodded once.

Knowing she’d taken most of the edible bread out of the trash can already, Mags knelt on the ground, pulled one of the long loaves out of her bag, and held it out. “Here. Take this.”

When the boy didn’t come forward, she said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Have you got a family somewhere?”