She nearly killed an innocent man.
 
Creighton “Charley” Bondurant drove carefully because his life depended onit. Latigo Canyon was mile after mile ofneck-wrenching, hairpin twists. Charley had no use for government meddlers but the 15 mph signs posted along the road were smart.
He lived ten miles up from Kanan Dume Road, on a four-acre remnant of the ranch hisgrandfather had owned during Coolidge’s time. All those Arabians and Tennessee walkers and the mules Grandpa kept around because he liked the creatures' spirit. Charleyhad grown up with families like his. No-nonsense ranchers, a few rich folk whowere still okay when they came up to ride on weekends. Now all you had wererich pretenders.
Diabetic and rheumatoid and depressed, Charley lived in a two-room cabinwith a view of oak-covered crests and the ocean beyond. Sixty-eight, nevermarried. Poor excuse for a man, he'd scold himself on nights when the medicinesmixed with the beer and his mood sank low.
On happier days, he pretended to be an old cowboy.
This morning, he was somewhere between those extremes. His bunions hurt likehell. Two horses had died last winter and he was down to three skinny whitemares and a half-blind sheepdog. Feed and hay bills ate up most of his SocialSecurity. But the nights had been warm for October, and he hadn’t dreamed badand his bones felt okay.
It was hay that got him up at seven that morning, rolling out of bed,gulping coffee, chewing on a stale sweet roll, to hell with his blood sugar. Alittle time-out to get the internal plumbing going and by eight he was dressedand starting up the pickup.
Coasting in neutral down the dirt road that fed to Latigo, he looked bothways a couple of times, cleared the crust from his eyes, shifted into first,and rolled down. The Topanga Feed Bin was a twenty-minute ride south and hefigured to stop along the way at the Malibu Stop & Shop for a fewsix-packs, a tin of Skoal, and some Pringles.
Nice morning, a big old blue sky with just a few clouds from the east, sweetair blowing up from the Pacific. Switching on his eight-track, he listened toRay Price and drove slow enough to stop for deer. Not too many of the pestsbefore dark but you never knew what to expect up in the mountains.
The naked girl jumped out at him a lot faster than any deer.
Eyes full of terror, mouth stretched so wide Charley swore he could see hertonsils.
She ran across the road, straight in the path of his truck, hair blowingwild, waving her arms.
Stomping the brake pedal hard, Charley felt the pickup lurch, wobble, andsway. Then the sharp skid to the left, straight at the battered guardrail thatseparated him from a thousand foot of nothing.
Hurtling toward blue sky.
He kept hitting the brake. Kept flying. Said his prayers and opened the doorand prepared to bail.
His damn shirt stuck on the door handle. Eternity looked real close. What astupid way to go!
Hands ripping at his shirt fabric, mouth working in a combination of cursesand benedictions, Charley’s gnarled body tightened, his legs turned to ironbars, and his sore foot pressed that brake pedal down to the damn floorboard.
The truck kept going, fishtailed, slid, spattered gravel.
Shuddered. Rolled. Bumped the guard.
Charley could hear the rail groan.
The truck stopped.
Charley freed his shirt and got out. His chest was tight and he couldn’tsuck any breath into his lungs. Wouldn’t that be the shits: spared a free fallto oblivion only to drop dead of a damned heart attack.
He gasped and swallowed air, felt his field of vision grow black and bracedhimself against the truck. The chassis creaked and Charley jumped back, felthimself going down again.
A scream pierced the morning. Charley opened his eyes and straightened andsaw the girl. Red marks around her wrists and ankles. Bruises around her neck.
Beautiful young body, those healthy knockers bobbing as she came runningtoward him—sinful to think like that, she was scared, but with knockers likethat what else was there to notice?
She kept coming, arms wide, like she wanted Charley to hold her.
But screaming, those wild eyes, he wasn’t sure what to do.
First time in a long time he’d been this close to bare female flesh.
He forgot about the knockers, nothing sexy about this. She was a kid, youngenough to be his daughter. Granddaughter.
Those marks on her wrists and ankles, around her neck.
She screamed again.
“Ohgodohgoohgod.”
She was right up to him, now, yellow hair whipping his face. He could smellthe fear on her. See the goose bumps on her pretty tan shoulders.
“Help me!”
Poor kid was shivering.
Charley held her.