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Read an excerpt of the book below, and then head to the "GMA" Library to find more good reads. Okay, he was missing half his teeth, looked like he swallowed shadows when he opened his mouth, and had a bulbous, knobbed face, the sort of ugly man, somewhere in his forties or fifties—she couldn't tell—who could never have been good looking, even as a boy. Once he got around to tipping up his brim, however, she could see that his eyes were spilling over with kindness, and despite his filthy fingernails she liked him for the thin crucifix he wore around his neck—a sure sign, in her opinion, that he had to be a good fellow—un hombre decente.
Still, to be racing along at such bewildering speeds, of some twenty or thirty miles an hour, overwhelmed her. She'd never even ridden in a truck before, let alone anything faster than a horse and carriage, and the thrill of traveling so quickly for the first time in her life seemed worth the queasiness in her stomach, it was so exciting and frightening at the same time.
Naturally, they got to talking. You know anyone? I think they live in a place called Los Humos. Have you heard of it? I'm sure there'll be somebody to show you how to find it.
A job? He nodded, scratched his chin. She was looking at herself in the rearview mirror, off which dangled a rosary. As she did, he couldn't resist asking her, "Well, how old are you anyway, mi vida? And you have nobody there? That's a rough place, if you don't know anyone. That worried her; travelers coming through her valle sometimes called it a city of liars and criminals, of people who take advantage.
