Her breathing smoothed to a low rattle, her heart an occasional thump. Yolanda opened the bottle with a quick twisting-yank. She stared at the man as she lifted the beer and downed three good swallows.
Something held her attention, something familiar yet imprecise.
He could smell her fear. She sat poised on the edge of the chair.
As he drew close she seemed to shrink back. She was a large woman, rolls of flesh covered by yards of bright colored cotton. Thick braids of black and silver wound into a crown on the top of her head. Sunlight caught beads of perspiration like diamonds gleaming on her skin.
She was still a beautiful woman.
She backed up to the rocker and sat down. She looked behind her, saw the rifle within reach. She had an uneasy feeling that the gun would be of no use.