“They wept no animal's tears. They mourned in a great wickerwork of hard muscle and ragged breath. The hot smell of their coats, their black lips pulled back over ivory teeth, stiff sprays of white whiskers; their heavy hair plaited with silver and faience. Their thick hides shivered, as cattle will shiver away flies.I sweated and tried not to clear my throat.”

“I peek over the back of the couch and there she is, my goddess of death, her hair snaking out in a great black cloud, her teeth grinding hard enough to make living gums bleed.”

“I close my eyes again. There’s the smell of mountain snow on the air. I shiver. I would have brought a coat if I’d known I was going to be in Wyoming today. I’m a wuss about cold.You’re my California flower, I remember Tucker saying to me once. We were sitting on the pasture fence at the Lazy Dog, watching his dad break in a colt, the leaves in the trees red just like they are today. I started shivering so hard my teeth actually began to chatter, and Tucker laughed at me and called me that—his delicate California flower— and wrapped me in his coat.”

“He settled over me, not touching, not quite. The electricity between us snapped and pulled. A wild feeling pulsed through me. I lifted my hands, sinking them into his hair, pulling him closer. I swept my lips over his, and his body trembled. His fiery eyes drifted shut as my thumb moved on his bottom lip. My hands were on the move, slipping over the thick cords in his neck and back, around his chest and down. Lower, over the hard planes of his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath.”

“His hands slid up my neck, searing hot. Pressing his thumbs gently into my throat, he tipped my head back. I felt his lips come against mine so hard he stopped whatever name I'd been about to call him from coming out. His hands dropped to my shoulders, skimmed down my arms, and came to rest at the small of my back. Little shivers of panic and pleasure shot through me. He tried to pull me against him, and I bit him on the lip.He licked his lip with the tip of his tongue. "Did you just bite me?""Is everything a joke to you?" I asked.He dabbed his tongue to his lip again. "Not everything.""Like what?""You.”

“The church smelled like leftover tears. Sadness was tucked into corners and hidden under beams and pasted so thick on the walls that it was hard to breathe.”