Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel by Rebecca Nightsong Page B
Authors: Rebecca Nightsong
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right.
All the more reason to get these men out of there so she could get Jett some real help.
* * *
Maybe Marlee had cracked.
Jett glared at her and tried to get her to read reason in his eyes. But she wasn’t paying any attention to him. Her gaze was locked on his gun.
“Gonna get us both killed.” His voice was so hoarse from pain, he could barely hear it himself.
Maybe she hadn’t heard him either. Because she didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t even blink.
Like it or not, he was going to have to somehow get moving, even though every painful movement assaulted him with waves of blackness closing in. The minute she got a hold of his gun, the situation was going to get out of control real fast.
But to his horror, he couldn’t move his arm. He tried again and again as her hand came down, closer and closer to his holster. But each time, his vision clouded over with pain, and the nausea nearly overwhelmed him.
Between the adrenaline and the pain, everything happened both fast and slow at the same time.
Marlee drilled him with one last look—her brown eyes hardened with determination—and then in a flash, she’d un-snapped the holster and slid his gun out in such a smooth motion, he wasn’t sure she’d really gotten it.
And in the next moment, she’d whirled and fired three times toward the darkness where the men lurked.
Somebody yelped, and Marlee hollered like a banshee. Silhouetted against the fire, she charged toward the darkness, hair flying, and knife-blade flashing. She cocked her arm and threw her chef’s knife hard in the direction of the yelp.
A solid thunk, and a shriek. And then dust and curses flew, and the ground shuddered with hooves.
And then her face floated up above his, curls falling over her shoulder and brushing his face as she cupped his face in her cold hands.
She didn’t look like a banshee now. Nope. She looked like a woman who was about ready to dissolve into tears.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marlee couldn’t help it. The tears came so fast, they dripped off her chin and splashed his face before she could stop them. Jett’s face was as white as whipped cream, and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. It was too dark to tell if he was bleeding.
“Please, God, let him be okay,” she whispered.
A few minutes ago, he’d been awake enough to insist she leave his gun alone. But now, his eyes were closed, and he lay so still.
Was he even breathing?
Her arms trembled as she bent over him, holding her cheek to his lips. They barely warmed from his breath.
“Jett,” she whispered.
But he didn’t respond.
Complete helplessness closed in like a pack of wolves circling their prey. She choked back a sob and smoothed his hair back from his face. She slid a trembling finger under his jawline, searching for his pulse. It was there. But she wasn’t a trained medic. She had no idea if it was too fast, too weak, or too slow.
“All Your paths are mercy, steadfast love, truth and faithfulness.” She murmured the verse she’d read last night and as her heart reached for God’s help, the panic began to clear.
At least enough for her thoughts to come one at a time.
Should she move him? She’d heard that was a bad idea. But he was probably in shock, and it was cold and growing colder. Cold was very bad for shock. And people could die from shock.
She leaned in, pressing her flushed cheek to his as she gathered her thoughts.
Even if she did try, how could she drag him all the way over to the fire?
“Jett, wake up and please tell me what to do,” she whispered, even as her mind raced to piece together a plan of action.
“What you’re doing is good.”
Jett’s rough whisper startled her, and she jerked her head back.
His white face lay motionless, except for a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m glad you appreciate my concern, cowboy,” she bit out. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. Nothing doused panic like a flood of anger.
He started to
All the more reason to get these men out of there so she could get Jett some real help.
* * *
Maybe Marlee had cracked.
Jett glared at her and tried to get her to read reason in his eyes. But she wasn’t paying any attention to him. Her gaze was locked on his gun.
“Gonna get us both killed.” His voice was so hoarse from pain, he could barely hear it himself.
Maybe she hadn’t heard him either. Because she didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t even blink.
Like it or not, he was going to have to somehow get moving, even though every painful movement assaulted him with waves of blackness closing in. The minute she got a hold of his gun, the situation was going to get out of control real fast.
But to his horror, he couldn’t move his arm. He tried again and again as her hand came down, closer and closer to his holster. But each time, his vision clouded over with pain, and the nausea nearly overwhelmed him.
Between the adrenaline and the pain, everything happened both fast and slow at the same time.
Marlee drilled him with one last look—her brown eyes hardened with determination—and then in a flash, she’d un-snapped the holster and slid his gun out in such a smooth motion, he wasn’t sure she’d really gotten it.
And in the next moment, she’d whirled and fired three times toward the darkness where the men lurked.
Somebody yelped, and Marlee hollered like a banshee. Silhouetted against the fire, she charged toward the darkness, hair flying, and knife-blade flashing. She cocked her arm and threw her chef’s knife hard in the direction of the yelp.
A solid thunk, and a shriek. And then dust and curses flew, and the ground shuddered with hooves.
And then her face floated up above his, curls falling over her shoulder and brushing his face as she cupped his face in her cold hands.
She didn’t look like a banshee now. Nope. She looked like a woman who was about ready to dissolve into tears.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marlee couldn’t help it. The tears came so fast, they dripped off her chin and splashed his face before she could stop them. Jett’s face was as white as whipped cream, and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. It was too dark to tell if he was bleeding.
“Please, God, let him be okay,” she whispered.
A few minutes ago, he’d been awake enough to insist she leave his gun alone. But now, his eyes were closed, and he lay so still.
Was he even breathing?
Her arms trembled as she bent over him, holding her cheek to his lips. They barely warmed from his breath.
“Jett,” she whispered.
But he didn’t respond.
Complete helplessness closed in like a pack of wolves circling their prey. She choked back a sob and smoothed his hair back from his face. She slid a trembling finger under his jawline, searching for his pulse. It was there. But she wasn’t a trained medic. She had no idea if it was too fast, too weak, or too slow.
“All Your paths are mercy, steadfast love, truth and faithfulness.” She murmured the verse she’d read last night and as her heart reached for God’s help, the panic began to clear.
At least enough for her thoughts to come one at a time.
Should she move him? She’d heard that was a bad idea. But he was probably in shock, and it was cold and growing colder. Cold was very bad for shock. And people could die from shock.
She leaned in, pressing her flushed cheek to his as she gathered her thoughts.
Even if she did try, how could she drag him all the way over to the fire?
“Jett, wake up and please tell me what to do,” she whispered, even as her mind raced to piece together a plan of action.
“What you’re doing is good.”
Jett’s rough whisper startled her, and she jerked her head back.
His white face lay motionless, except for a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m glad you appreciate my concern, cowboy,” she bit out. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. Nothing doused panic like a flood of anger.
He started to
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