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“None of them live in the area. It’s way cheaper outside of Olechu County. Doesn’t seem like it would be, but those big companies in Fort Pleasant? They bring in employees from Silicon Valley, the Bay, L.A. And up go the property values.”

“A representative from one of them, a computer chipmaker, said he has a lot of residents of Hinowah on the payroll.”

“Well, he’s lying. I know the company. They brought in their own employees. Some locals have middling jobs, low-pay, while the property values and taxes keep climbing. It’s gotten so crazy, my people have to live thirty, forty miles away. Sometimes farther.”

Shaw thought of the developer, Theo Gabris, the huge houses he was building.

Inside Coyne’s home, with the interior lit in warm yellow and rosy shades, they took off their jackets, hung them and wandered into the kitchen, which was outfitted with scores of appliances and utensils, a number of which Shaw couldn’t begin to identify. Dominating the room was an old, unevenly planed farm table, which had hosted many, many meals, he sensed. Had she ever been married? The mantel pictures were inconclusive.

As she got the beers, he called Fiona Lavelle, in her escapee cave. She was fine, was getting a lot of work and was actually enjoying her time in “Nerworld,” which, she explained was a massive network ofcities and roads and even lakes and rivers under the surface of the earth in her novel. He decided that his nieces, Rebecca and Mary, would enjoy the story.

When she brought the beers, Shaw asked a question that had been nagging. “Big companies in Fort Pleasant, you said. Plural? I only know about the chipmaker.”

Coyne handed him an Anchor Steam. “The other big one is a bottled water operation. The second or third largest in the country. Even more controversial than computer chips.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“They don’t use the Never Summer water—under the Law of the River, they have no rights. But what they do is just as bad. They pump up groundwater from the aquifers. It’s basically theft, even though there’s no law to stop them. They purify it, mark it up a thousand times and say fuck you to the people of the county…and farmers like me. I don’t use just Never Summer water. I need groundwater too. The aquifers around here aren’t going to last forever. My wells? Six hundred and seven hundred feet. The way it’s going, I’ll be tapping into the lava in the earth’s core pretty soon.”

She took two large swigs of beer and walked to a large window looking over plowed fields, lit by bright spotlights on the roof of the house. Shaw joined her. The two of them were standing close, their shoulders brushing briefly. “You know, Colter, I can run this spread pretty much by myself. A thousand acres? A lot of work, but I can manage it. I’ve got the suppliers, the equipment, the chemistry. But it’s useless without the one magic ingredient.”

“Water.”

“Water’s to farming what light is to photography. It’s not the main thing but the main thing wouldn’t exist without it.”

“Why did the Coynes settle here, and not San Joaquin Valley or Sacramento?”

“Why does anybody settle anywhere? Maybe my great-great-greats were tired of pushin’ west. And back then the Never Summerwas a real river. Plenty of water for a copper mine and a two-thousand-acre farm.

“Ah, it’s getting worse and worse everywhere. All the rivers in the U.S. are drying up. The Colorado you hear about mostly. But also the Arkansas, Red River, Rio Grande, the South Canadian. Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking…Hey, Colter, this reward business of yours doesn’t work out you can make a mint as a C-fifty-seven. A licensed driller in California.”

She fell silent.

Shaw was aware their biceps now pressed together. Firmly.

He thought of the glance they had shared earlier.

You’re funny, Colter…

Simultaneously they set their bottles on the table, each noticing and each smiling at the sort-of coincidence.

Then they were in the other’s arms, kissing fiercely, hands finding buttons. Hands finding flesh. And zippers.

The rarest of moments, these. When, miraculously, all the elements come together. The time, place, the sensibilities, the desires—that indefinable but certain and perfect alignment like the pins in a tumbler lock and the teeth of the key.

Click…

Clothing dropped as they made their way to the bedroom.

Then they were inside the spacious room, which continued the theme of rococo as if some settler from the East Coast had carted with them this warm and gaudy Victoriana as a foil against grim, dusty and muddy pioneer life.

Though this reflection lasted less than one second.

Colter Shaw had in his mind only one thought.

How to get the towering array of satin pillows from the bed as fast as possible without flinging them to the floor.

He needn’t have worried.