“It never will!” Gus said cheerfully. “Get it moving, Thatch.”

Thus did another fly walk into the spider’s nest. Wait until Blondie heard about the onerous duties of citizenship!

“What’s your name?” Gus asked. “I’m Gus; this is Thatch, and she’s Zena.”

“Gloria,” she said, smiling properly. “Gloria Black. My car ran out of gas, and no one would stop! I’m soaked!”

“Horrors!” Zena muttered behind her hand.

“There’s dry clothing in back,” Gus said, putting his familiar hand on her damp shoulder. Zena winced. “I’ll show you.”

“Thank you,” Gloria said, ultimately feminine even when dripping. She did not seem to find it remarkable to be welcomed in to a traveling bedroom. Zena resented the type but found it expedient to remain silent.

“Do you know how to sew?” Gus inquired.

“Excellently.”

“Well, let me tell you where we’re going,” Gus said enthusiastically. “You know, there’s a sewing machine here! This rain won’t stop. We have food—”

“That’s fine, but I’m only going to Gainesville.”

“I’d better explain,” Gus said, guiding her back. “This rain—”

Zena transferred to the seat Gus had vacated, so that she could talk to Thatch privately. The chair was capacious and comfortable; one could readily fall asleep in it. But what a contrast to the fury of nature outside, so thoroughly visible here! “Hello,” she said.

Thatch’s eyes flicked over to her, then back to the road. He didn’t answer. The rain made driving dangerous, even at the moderate speed he was going, but he could talk if he wanted to. She wondered if the heat of physical struggle had made him forget his shyness before, while her direct approach in the absence of Gus choked him up.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said.