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Extra info for Anna Pigeon 08 Deep South
No stranger to these marvelous beasts, Anna bad seen them in the Guadalupe Mountains, where she'd been a ranger once upon a time. " There was even a Joke made for them: Why did the chicken cross the road? To show the armadillo it could be done. The animals were slow, nearsighted and not terribly bright. The armor they'd evolved to defend themselves was no match for speeding automobiles. This was the first one Anna could remember seeing alive. An old alcoholic's tale said that, when sneaked up on and surprised, the compact little animals would jump straight up, sometimes as much as four feet.
You'll feel better when the sun rises," she promised herself. " Taco slathered reassurance on her kneecap. The air through the window was cool but lacked bite. There'd been snow on the ground when she'd driven down off the mesa above Cortez. Heady scents she didn't recognize swept the cab free of the odor of stale McDonald's fries and cat vomit, but they could not clear the head as the scent of pine or rain on the desert did. Smell was primal. This stirred an image deep in Anna's subconscious.
Dark hair, low over deep-set eyes, and a wide mouth set above a long chin lent his face a crushed and cruel aspect. His left eye was crossed and it was hard to tell where he was looking. But for a bit of a paunch, he was a powerfully built man. A ludicrous assortment for Civil War soldiers, Anna thought. Then it came home to her that soldiers in every civil war were just merchants and boys, thieves and laborers, husbands and bankers. While Ian brought her a three-legged stool, the captain insisted she take a doughnut, fried that morning and liberally dusted with powdered sugar.