The last lace is abandoned. Peggy scoots herself to the truck-bed's edge and folds her legs over the lowered tailgate. Her fingers don't touch the bowie knife, but they're near enough. When she sees the young woman, her instinct is to relax. And yet -- she's danced with Dottie recently enough to remind herself it's no use underestimating anyone. So her muscles stay primed.

"Are you?" Primed, but performing too. She smiled a guileless smile and spoke in a voice that was leagues more confident than she felt. "I've told myself the same thing at least half-a-dozen times since arriving. Damned odd dream, though."