Chapter 9
Jessie woke slowly, wisps of chloroform clogging her mind like fog. She tried to sit up and fear jolted through her when she realized she couldn't move. She was laying on a soft surface with her wrists bound above her head. She struggled, trying to twist free, but her legs refused to cooperate. Her ankles were also bound. For the love of God, this was the second time in three days she'd woken to find herself immobilized. She snarled in frustration and turned her head to look at her surroundings. She was on a bed in an ornately furnished room. Gas lights on the walls cast flickering shadows over the only other person present.
"Oh, my precious – don't fight it." A cold hand stroked her cheek. "It won't be long now and you won't have a thing to worry about."
She recoiled as the face of her stepfather wavered above her. Madness distorted his features, making him appear more cadaverous than ever.
"Maurice?" Her voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel.
"Really, my dear, you should call me father. I have your best interests in mind."
"You've never had my best interests in mind." Jessie yanked at her hands again but the bindings held tight. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"
"To see you married to the Baron." He smiled coldly. "You didn't really think you could elude me forever, did you? Once you're his, the last piece of the Trouble River valley will be mine and I'll have the resources to launch my takeover. The territorial government will fall before anyone in Washington knows what happened."
"You're insane! I am not marrying anyone!" She struggled furiously. LeClaire gripped her shoulders and pushed her down against the pillows.
"Stop acting like a child. You'll cooperate soon enough." His smile sent ice down her spine.
"What do you mean?"
"The doctor will be here soon and we'll put an end to this rebellious behavior. You'll be the proper, compliant bride you were meant to be."
Compliant? Jessie was pretty sure she wasn't having any of that. She redoubled her efforts to break free but the bindings didn't give.
"Doctor? What doctor?"
"Just be quiet and it will be over soon enough. He promises you won't remember a thing."
"What are you going to do?" her voice rose in a panicked shriek as realization dawned.
"Just a little of my magic potion." Maurice patted her cheek again and stepped away from the bed. "You'll forget everything about who you were before. The only thing you'll care about is doing whatever your husband tells you. Just a little dose and – " he glared at her, all false semblance of a loving parent vanishing as his voice hardened, " – then you'll marry Von Krauss and stop being such a pain in my ass."
"I will not!" Genuine fear was starting to creep in. She'd seen the results of that serum, remembered the vacant-eyed servants in her stepfather's house. And given that she was tied hand and foot, she wasn't in any position to say what she would and would not do.
"Oh, yes, my dear, you will. You won't remember a thing about your former life and you won't argue with the Baron." LeClaire waved a hand negligently. "He can do whatever he wants with you, I don't really care."
The door opened. A stout man wearing a white lab coat and carrying a Gladstone bag stumped into the room. He had rumpled gray hair and the thick lenses of his glasses distorted his eyes. LeClaire greeted him with an oily smile.
"Ah, Dr. Scheidt. I've been expecting you. The girl is right here."
"Ah, very vell. Vee vill begin. A little of my magic serum and you vill start a brand new life, yah?" the man said to Jessie.
Jessie glared. Her current life wasn't exactly what she'd always dreamed of but she suddenly found herself very unwilling to give it up.
The doctor approached the bed and gave her a long appraising look. He leaned over her, lifted an eyelid, squeezed her mouth open and poked her in the ribs. She squirmed furiously, trying to get away.
"Get your hands off me!" she snarled.
The doctor laughed. Jessie thought there was something oddly familiar about that laugh.
"You are pretty girl, yah? You vill make beautiful vife." Dr. Scheidt leaned closer and prodded her arm as if checking her veins. She tried to wrench away. He winked at her and lowered his voice. "Don't say anything, Jess. Just keep fighting."
With a jolt, she recognized Artie's warm brown eyes behind the thick lenses. She let out a shriek and redoubled her efforts to get loose.
"Get away! Don't touch me! You can't do this, you evil, horrible man!"
Artie turned his back, blocking LeClaire's view, and grinned with amusement.
"Don't vorry, it vil not hurt, not one little bit, zen you vil be oh so happy, no pesky memories to make you sad. You vill do vat you are told and ve vill all be happy, yah?" Artie reached up under the pretense of checking the strips of cloth that bound her wrists. He pressed something into her hand. Jessie's fingers closed over the small knife.
"Wait for my signal," he said quietly. She nodded, then cut loose with a string of Scottish invective.
"Can't you hurry up?" LeClaire asked, pacing. "Her yelling grows tiresome. I want her sedate by the time the Baron arrives."
Artie made a great show of laying out a hypodermic needle while Jessie continued to swear at him. He removed a small glass vial from his bag. Somewhere on a lower floor of the house, she heard muffled shouts and a series of crashes. It sounded like furniture breaking or bodies hitting walls. Or both. Artie heard it, too, and began talking loudly.
"Zis is zee potion, right here, just a few drops and zee memory – pouf!" he made an exploding motion with one hand. "Zee memory is gone. Nothing, just happiness and peace. And zat is zat, yah?"
"Yes, yes, just hurry it up. We're wasting time," LeClaire snarled.
"Yah, yah, just so." Artie drew the liquid into the syringe.
Another crash sounded, this one just outside the door, followed by the sound of fists pounding flesh. There was a great deal of swearing and grunting and Jessie thought she felt the bed shake as something heavy ricocheted off the wall. Artie made a show of pressing the needle against her arm. She let out a heart-rending scream just as the door to the room flew open and Jim staggered in.
"Now!" Artie jumped back, all traces of the phony German accent gone. Jessie hacked blindly at the cloth binding her wrists as Artie tore off the white lab coat to reveal his usual jacket and gun.
Jim spun and slammed the door into the face of the man pursuing him. The man crumpled. Jim grabbed a second guard by the shirtfront and tossed him back over the threshold. The man stumbled and fell down the staircase, crashing into several others who were running toward the commotion. They all vanished in a tangle of limbs and gravity. Jim shoved the fallen guard out of the way, slammed the door shut and jammed a nearby chair under the handle.
"What is the meaning of this?" LeClaire demanded, charging at Jim. The agent didn't bother to answer and dropped him with an almost casual punch. LeClaire collapsed to the floor like a deflated balloon.
"I take it the real Dr. Scheidt is out of the picture?" Jim asked, wiping blood from a cut at the corner of his mouth.
Artie grinned and pulled off the glasses and frizzy gray wig.
"Out like a light, bound and gagged in the basement. I thought about giving him a dose of his own medicine but that seemed extreme. He'll just have a headache when he wakes up tomorrow."
The bedroom door shook violently as fists pounded against it.
"I thought we planned to go out the same way we came in," Artie observed, "but I also thought this was supposed to be a quiet rescue. It appears that's changed."
"Plan B." Jim surveyed the room. "There were more guards on duty than we anticipated. Half of them have had their minds altered. Apparently LeClaire showed them a picture of me and told them to kill me. You, too, Artie." He turned to Jessie. "You all right, sweetheart?"
She shook her wrists free and sat up.
"Dandy. You took long enough."
"Everyone's a critic," he said, grinning.
Jessie used the razor sharp knife to slash through the leather straps holding her ankles and swung off the bed. The combination of being chloroformed and tied up left her dizzy. She swayed and felt her balance abandon her. Jim caught her before she fell, one arm circling her waist, and propped her up.
"What do we do with him?" Artie gestured at LeClaire, who was still sprawled on the hearth rug.
"Leave him. I'd hoped we could take him with us but we're going to have our hands full just getting ourselves out in one piece."
"No! We can't let him get away!" Jessie yanked loose from Jim's arm, teetered and bounced into Artie, who gripped her shoulders and steadied her. Across the room, the door bulged ominously.
Jim strode to the window and looked out.
"Jess, there are a house full of armed men on the other side of that door with orders to kill me and Artie on sight. God knows what he's told them to do if they see you outside of this room. The horses are 50 yards outside of the gate. If we get out of here, can you run?"
Jessie swallowed hard. Artie was still holding her upright. The room tilted alarmingly when she tried to take a step.
"I don't know." Whether or not she could run seemed insignificant. There wasn't anywhere to go. That didn't seem to bother Jim. He made a dismissive gesture.
"One of us can carry you." He studied her. "You wouldn't happen to have your collection of pig stickers with you? Or your Derringer?"
Jessie shook her head.
"Just my boot knife. I thought you two were taking me out to dinner. If I'd known the night was going to come to this, I would have dressed for the occasion."
"Coming from any other girl, that wouldn't make sense." Jim grimaced. "We're outnumbered, low on weapons and if we have to fight our way out, one of us has to keep you from falling on your face."
Angry voices yelled outside the door and a volley of crashes rattled the frame. On the floor, LeClaire began to stir. Jim flattened him with a blow between the shoulder blades, then strode back to the window and threw open the sash. Jessie watched as he gauged the distance from the window to a large tree just beyond the spikes of the tall, wrought-iron fence that surrounded the house. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal piton attached to a length of thin filament and fitted the end into his Colt. Taking careful aim at the tree, he fired a single shot. The piton's head stabbed into the trunk with an audible thwack and the wire uncoiled neatly behind it. With efficient movements, Jim attached a pulley with a wooden handle to the line, then secured the wire to the massive, carved headboard of the bed.
He motioned to Artie.
"You go first – take Jessie, then cover me."
Artie hesitated.
"Jim, I don't know if that wire's strong enough to hold two people at the same time. If it breaks with us on it, how will you get out?"
"If it breaks when you're 50 feet in the air, I'm going to be the least of your problems."
Artie shook his head.
"How will you get down if we take the handle?" Jessie pointed out. "You don't have any gloves and you can't slide across on that bare-handed."
Jim picked up one of the restraints LeClaire had used to secure her legs. He flexed the thick leather, curving it into a loop, and shrugged.
"This will have to do."
"The wire will cut through that before you get half way down!" Artie protested.
"Maybe you'd rather wait and see what they have in mind." Jim jerked a thumb toward the door. "I don't think they're going to ask us to stay for after dinner drinks."
It sounded like someone in the outer hall had procured a battering ram. Wood splintered. One of the door panels bulged, then crashed inward. A hand wielding a gun appeared and began firing blindly.
"Go!" Jim yelled and chopped down hard on the arm. The unseen opponent howled with pain and the gun clattered to the floor. The assailants in the hallway revisited the wisdom of entering the room and started firing through the door. Jessie snatched up a lantern from the bedside table and lobbed it through the jagged hole in the door panel. The sound of shattering glass was followed by screams as the oil splattered and ignited. Jim reached into another pocket and tossed a small object out into the din. There was a resounding explosion and smoke billowed, adding to the confusion.
"That will hold them off for a minute, now go!"
"Ready?" Artie stepped onto the window ledge and grasped the zip line handle. Jessie climbed up next to him. The ground seemed dizzyingly far below them.
"Tell me you've done this before," she muttered.
"Jumped out of a window while being pursued by mad men?" He laughed. "A couple of times."
Jessie squeezed her eyes shut as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Artie grabbed her tightly around the waist with one hand and gripped the handle with the other.
"I'm right behind you, don't stop for the sights," Jim said.
Without another word, Artie pushed off the window ledge. Jessie would have screamed if she hadn't been too scared to draw a breath. The angle of the line ensured they didn't accelerate too rapidly but soaring through the dark, 50 feet above the ground, was terrifying no matter the speed. They careened madly across the courtyard and Jessie swore she felt fence spikes brush the soles of her boots. Then they were at the end of the line, colliding painfully with the tree trunk. Artie let go of her and they dropped the final four feet to the ground.
Jessie looked up to see Jim silhouetted in the window. She bit her lip when he launched himself onto the zip line, moving with inexorable slowness as the leather strap began to slide jerkily. Gravity helped increase momentum and he slowly began to gain speed.
Jim was nearly to the fence when several figures appeared in the window and the sound of gunfire ripped the night. Jim swung his legs up and wrapped his feet around the wire to present a smaller target. Artie shoved Jess behind the tree as the gunmen peppered the night with multiple rounds. Darkness and distance hampered their accuracy but bullets bit into the trunk above them, shredding leaves and showering them with bark.
When Jim was 10 feet from them, the leather strap snagged on the wire and he dangled in place, suspended above the wicked fence spikes. Then one of the shooters in the window got lucky. Jessie saw Jim's body jerk as a bullet slammed into him and a fine mist of blood erupted from an upper arm. The leather strap chose that moment to break and only an athletic twist of his body, like a pole vaulter clearing the bar, kept him from being impaled on the fence. He fell heavily to the ground and lay, motionless.
Artie thrust his Colt at Jessie.
"Cover me." He didn't give her time to reply and, crouching, ran toward Jim. The shooters above them sent a rain of hot lead pouring into the darkness. Jessie stepped from behind the tree, took aim at the figures backlit in the window and squeezed off several rounds. The big gun bucked in her hands and the shots went wild but the figures dropped back in the face of return fire. She clenched her smaller hands around the grip, steadied herself and fired again. One of the silhouettes plummeted out of the window and fell to the paving stones below. Artie got a shoulder under Jim's arm and drug him back into the relative safety of the shadows. Jim leaned against the trunk with a groan.
"How bad is it?" Artie asked.
"Flesh wound. They just winged me." Jim pressed a hand to his head. It came back bloody. "But I cracked my head when I landed. Come on, we've gotta get out of here. I think Jessie set the house on fire when she threw that lantern but they'll be after us in no time."
The trio started deeper into the surrounding woods. Jim stumbled. Artie grasped him firmly around the waist and hauled him upright. Jim's face was pale and sheened with sweat. Jessie wondered if he was hurt worse than he'd let on but they didn't have time to stop. His right hand was clasped over his left arm and blood oozed between his fingers. Her eyes on the dark trickle coming from the gash on his temple, Jessie wasn't looking where she was going and caught her boot in a tree root. She reeled, staggering, and nearly collided with another tree.
"Give me my gun back before you shoot yourself in the foot." Artie held out his hand. Jessie returned the Colt and he holstered it. Not letting go of Jim, Artie wrapped his other arm around her waist and steadied her. "Why do I always end up doing all the work?"
"That's what I like about you, Artie," Jim laughed weakly. "You're always here to remind me what a slacker I am."
"Everybody needs a hobby," Artie muttered.
It took an eternity to reach the horses. Jack and Liberty waited quietly as Artie untied their reins. Jim slumped against Jack, his face etched with pain.
"Where's Diamond?" Jessie asked sharply.
"We only brought two horses," Artie said. "We figured you could ride back with one of us. I hope you can ride better than you can walk."
In the distance, she could hear hoof beats. LeClaire's posse was coming after them already.
She nodded. Their adrenaline-inducing flight from the house had cleared her head.
"Good, you can ride behind - Jim!"
Jim tried to spring into Jack's saddle but dizzy from the head wound and unable to use his left arm, didn't make it. Artie leaped forward and caught him before he crashed to the ground.
"All right, we'll go to Plan B," the older man muttered.
"Artie?" Jim got his feet under him and pulled himself upright. He leaned heavily against the black, hand clenched on the saddle and eyes closed. "I think we passed Plan B a long time ago."
"Fine. Jessie, you ride Jack." Artie laced his fingers together. She stepped into them and he tossed her into the saddle. The horse dropped his head at the unfamiliar rider and gathered himself to buck. She reined him in, checking him with a soft word and he stilled, snorting. Jessie leaned down and grabbed Jim's wrist. He grasped hers in turn, and with Artie's help, climbed up behind her. His breathing was ragged with pain.
"Try not to fall off," she said and felt his good arm tighten around her waist. She ignored the metallic scent of blood. "I don't have time to stop and pick you up."
"You're all heart. Go!"
She gave Jack his head and with Artie and Liberty running next to them, they galloped into the darkness, leaving their pursuers behind.
XXX
They easily outdistanced LeClaire's men who proved reluctant to follow them into town. Artie and Jess reined the horses to a sedate walk as they approached the main street. Not wanting to draw attention by staggering through the lobby in torn, bloody clothes, Jim insisted they stop at the hotel's back entrance. Artie took the horses to the stable while Jessie draped Jim's good arm over her shoulders and with her fingers clenched on his belt, drug him up two flights of stairs to their room. Panting, she dumped him unceremoniously into a chair and collapsed against the bed. Her muscles were burning and her cheek throbbed where one of her stepfather's henchmen had struck her. Her shirt was sticky with blood. She took little satisfaction in noting none of it was hers. She looked at Jim. His eyes were closed but his breathing was steady. The head wound had quit bleeding.
"Are you all right?" she asked. It was a stupid question, considering the circumstances, but she wasn't sure what else to say. The adrenaline rush of the last hour was fading, leaving her drained.
"Do I look all right?" Jim didn't open his eyes.
"Depends what part of you I look at." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
That brought a slow chuckle. Jim heaved himself upright in the chair.
"I'll live. Tell me more about the parts that look all right."
Jessie was saved from answering by the sound of a key in the door. She turned to see Artie enter with a basin of hot water, antiseptic and bandages. When she raised her eyebrows in surprise, he only shrugged.
"If you're around him long enough, you learn to be prepared. Come on, Jim, let's see how bad it is this time."
Jim eased out of his ruined coat. The upper part of his left shirtsleeve was a bloody rag, the deep scarlet contrasting garishly with the gold brocade of his vest. Methodically, he unbuttoned the vest and shrugged it off. When he began loosening his tie with the same deliberate motion, Jessie couldn't stand it any more.
"For heaven's sake," she muttered, stepping forward. Her fingers were quick to unwind the fabric and she tossed it aside, ignoring the surprise on his face. She looked at the bloody tatters of the shirt sleeve and after unbuttoning his collar, took both hands and ripped his shirt open and down over his shoulders. Buttons popped, sounding like hail as they landed on the floor.
"Nothing like a woman's gentle touch," Artie mused.
"The shirt was ruined anyway," Jessie said defensively.
"You don't see me arguing, do you?" The look Jim gave her was a little warmer than she thought the situation warranted.
The bullet had gouged a bloody furrow that ran from deltoids to biceps. Blood continued to trickle from the torn flesh. Jessie winced but Jim didn't seem terribly concerned and Artie was pouring whiskies all around. Jim tossed his back and held the glass out for a refill. Artie set a glass at her elbow. She ignored it. Dipping a cloth in the basin of water, she set to work, sponging away the blood caked on Jim's arm. She wasn't sure why she was doing this. His right hand was fine. He could have done it himself and she was about to tell him that when he twisted his head to look at what she was doing.
"You've got a nice touch, McCallister," he said quietly. "That's the first feminine thing I've seen you do." He paused, then laughed softly. "Maybe the second." His eyes sparkled and a vision of the kisses they'd shared that afternoon in the stable rose, unbidden, in her mind's eye.
"Oh be still," she hissed, then glancing at Artie, "What are you laughing at?"
He leaned against the armoire, chuckling.
"I'm just enjoying watching someone else clean him up and put him back together. It's a refreshing change."
"Does he do this often?"
"You have no idea."
Jim sipped his whiskey and didn't say anything. Jessie thought his color looked better and he'd stopped sweating. He wasn't fighting her, though, and she thought that meant he hurt worse than he was letting on. While she could have done without the bloodied and torn flesh, she couldn't help admiring the well-muscled lines of his body. Something in her face must have given her away. Jim put a hand on her arm.
"Jessie?" His voice was low, with a note of unexpected intimacy, and he gripped her wrist, stilling her hand. She was unprepared for the physical reaction his voice sent through her and jerked back involuntarily. He grinned but didn't let go. She caught her breath as those blue eyes held her as helpless as the solid grasp of his fingers on her skin.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"You're welcome," she returned automatically without even thinking about what he was thanking her for. For covering Artie so his partner could drag him out of the line of fire? For keeping him from falling off Jack as they raced back to town? No, he'd held his own during that frenzied flight. For hauling his sorry butt up those stairs? For cleaning up the mess of his arm? Now that she thought about it, she thought maybe he owed her more than just a verbal thank you. Not that she needed to start thinking about that again.
"Do you think this needs stitched?" she asked Artie, to take her mind off non-verbal thank yous.
The three of them all studied Jim's arm.
"Could you do it?" Artie asked. "If you can't, I can."
She shrugged.
"I've sewn up horses and cows before."
Jim pulled his arm out of her grip.
"If it's all the same to you, just put a bandage on it and be done."
She finished cleaning the wound, feeling the heat of his gaze on her the whole time. When she reached for a bandage, Artie handed her a small tin of salve.
"Use this first. It's an antiseptic and will numb the site for about 24 hours," he said.
Jessie opened the tin and sniffed cautiously, realizing too late she probably shouldn't inhale or ingest anything Artie had cooked up unless she saw him do it first. Her suspicions were unfounded. The salve was iridescent green and smelled cleanly of eucalyptus. She scooped it onto her fingertips, which immediately went numb in a warm, tingly sort of way. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and began working it around the bloody furrow on Jim's arm.
"One of your concoctions?"
"One of my favorites," Artie confirmed.
"I hope you re-formulated that stuff," Jim muttered. "The last time I used it, I couldn't feel my ribs for a week."
"Good thing. I'm pretty sure they were broken," Artie returned.
Jessie finished with Jim's arm, then cleaned the cut on his temple. She refrained from making any remarks about his hard head.
"You'll live," she said matter-of-factly, determined not to show any more emotion than he was. She was exhausted, her cheek ached and damn it, her backside felt like one big bruise. She'd hit the tree first when they came to the end of the zip line. Artie had a relatively soft landing by comparison.
"Your nursing skill is exceeded only by your compassion," Jim said drily. "Here. You better take this back." He stood and reached into his pocket. "For the next time you need to leave a trail of bread crumbs." He flipped the object toward her and she caught it reflexively. The silver concho was warm from his body heat. She slid it into her pocket without saying anything and started to turn away, her fingers unconsciously touching her bruised cheekbone.
He reached up and caught her wrist.
"Hold still."
"What - ?"
Before she could move Jim flipped the lid off the green salve, dipped his index finger in it and turning her face toward his, stroked it over her cheek. She jerked in surprise, both at the lightness of his touch and at the immediate numb warmth that spread over her abraded skin. He let go of her.
"Better?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Abruptly and with no sign of self-consciousness, Jim pulled off his boots, stripped out of his trousers and wearing only his small clothes, threw back the blanket and got into bed.
Before she could react, Artie picked up the pillow and blanket she'd used the previous night and fashioned a bedroll on the floor. He stretched out on it and clasping his hands behind his head, sighed and said, "There's nothing like pulling up a nice soft patch of floor at the end of a long day."
"But I was going to . . ." Jessie started. She looked around desperately. There were no other spare pillows or blankets, only the ones on the bed. Jim put a possessive hand on the pillow next to his and grinned at her.
"Your choice," he said and patted the quilt.
"Don't even! I'll go sleep in the stable with the horses." Her hand was on the doorknob when Jim's voice stopped her.
"LeClaire's men are still out there, Jessie, and I've already rescued you once today. It's a little much to expect me to do it again."
She turned back, resigned.
"You're welcome, by the way," he added.
She blinked in confusion.
"What? Oh. For rescuing me. Thank you." She turned to Artie. "Both of you."
"Think nothing of it, my dear," Artie said and made a show of tipping his hat down over his eyes.
She stood awkwardly. Jim cleared his throat.
"Are you going to stand there all night?"
She didn't answer. Her options were becoming increasingly limited.
"Come to bed, Jessie. I can't feel my left arm and my head feels like someone hit me with a rock. Trust me, you've never been safer."
She narrowed her eyes. There were a lot of words she could use to describe Jim West and she was damn sure safe wasn't one of them. Especially if she was faced with climbing into bed with him.
"We all need a good night's sleep if we're going to figure out what to do with LeClaire," he continued, as if that were really the topic at hand.
She stared at him. He was sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head, watching her with lazy interest and looking better than he had a right to. He was as insane as her stepfather if he thought she was going to sleep with him. She bit her lip. It didn't look like she was going to sleep anywhere else, either. Artie had commandeered the spare blanket and pillow.
Fine. Just fine.
Reluctantly, she pulled off her boots. She tugged the leather tie out of her hair and let it fall loose over her shoulders, then untucked her shirt. She paused, hands on her belt buckle.
"You're a suspicious little thing," Jim said dryly. "Don't you trust me?"
"Ha. Do you trust me?"
He only grinned. Glaring, she deliberately unfastened her belt and trousers and let them drop, then stepped behind the screen to change into her nightshirt. Jim chuckled and flipped the blanket back as she emerged.
"Not entirely, sweetheart, but don't worry, I'll stay on my side."
This was insanity, she thought, but he was right. Jim was hurt and Artie was sleeping three feet away. Nothing was going to happen. She trusted both of them. That wasn't the problem, she thought. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted herself.
She settled herself into the feather mattress, deliberately hugging the outer edge, and felt the avalanche of the day's emotions slowly fade as warmth and comfort overcame her. The last thing she remembered before she fell asleep was a warm hand brushing her bruised cheek, then resting on her hip. Clearly, Jim had forgotten his promise to stay on his side of the bed. She was too exhausted to argue.
TBC
