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understand, she bolted from the car, not even bothering to shut the door. For a moment Hannah watched the girl’s retreating figure. Then, stretching across the passenger seat, Hannah pulled the door shut and righted herself, stricken.
    “What was that all about?” Cameryn asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Why did you even pick her up? Hitchhikers can be dangerous.”
    “Not little girls. She was hiding in the restroom at the gas station and she told me she was desperate. I know how desperate feels. I promised I’d help.”
    “What did she say just now? I couldn’t hear.”
    “She said, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’ I—” Hannah stopped abruptly as she stared at the floor, her eyes wide. “Oh my God!”
    “What?”
    “No.” The eyes narrowed to slashes. “No!”
    “Mom, what is it?” Cameryn asked, straightening so she could see inside the car. “What’s wrong?”
    That’s when she saw her mother’s purse. The black leather gaucho handbag lay open on the floor. Scooping it up, Hannah dumped the contents on the passenger seat, quickly sifting through them. Her face twisted. “My wallet—she stole my wallet!”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure!” With her arm Hannah swept the contents of her purse onto the car floor. “I used my card to buy gas. What am I going to do without money?” She slammed her fist against the steering wheel. “That little thief! ”
    Cameryn had never seen a person’s mood change so fast; it was as if a tornado had suddenly landed inside her mother’s small body. “Go and get my wallet!” she cried. “Run! Catch her!”
    “Me?”
    “ Please!” Muscles stretched and pulled on Hannah’s neck like cords beneath her skin. “Jayne’s pictures are in my wallet! I need them!”
    It took Cameryn only a moment to decide. She could still see the girl’s bright blue jacket on the sidewalk ahead. As she sprinted, Cameryn’s teeth jarred with every step, her body on automatic. Her mother had told her to get back her wallet, and if she could, she would. Hannah needed her.
    Over the icy streets, over the dingy gray mounds of snow, Cameryn flew. Mariah had turned west on Greene Street, and Cameryn, determined, followed in hot pursuit. The girl had a head start but had been slowed by a backpack, bulky and oversized for her small frame. Her braid was long, whipping through the air as she ran. Once Mariah looked over her shoulder, and for a moment they caught each other’s eyes: Mariah’s were scared. Cameryn felt a flash of exhilaration as she registered this fact. She could catch this girl, if for no other reason than that Mariah was afraid. She would grab her and reclaim the wallet, and her mother would be proud.
    The two of them became like runners in a frieze, with pumping thighs and knifing arms. It was hard pushing through the people. Mariah knocked into a woman, whose cup of hot chocolate flew into the air. "Hey!” the woman yelled, but Mariah kept running. Cameryn, intent on her prey, slammed into a man dressed in biker leathers. She fell so hard to her knees that tears stung her eyes. The next moment she felt the man’s strong arms pull her to her feet. “You okay, kid?”
    “Yeah,” she panted. “Sorry.” Her knees throbbed as she scanned the street. People stood in clusters, their coats and hats as brightly colored as Christmas ornaments, but she saw no girl with a backpack, no long braid of hair undulating. Still searching for blue, Cameryn leaned against the wall until her breathing became even, but she could see only revelers.
    Mariah was gone.

Chapter Four
    IF ONLY SHE hadn’t worn the boots.
    Snow had begun to fall harder. The flakes were powdery, like bits of silk. Cameryn hadn’t been able to gain traction because of the leather soles on her cowboy boots. Why had she worn them today of all days?
    “I want a pair like that, too, now that I’m in the West,” her mother had announced on her second day in Silverton. “It’s a