Page 50 of One Last Chance

Please let her not have been followed as she struggled off the mountain, only to collapse here in the dirt for the shooter to finish her off.

She couldn’t die here?—

“Sparrow, just calm down—calm down!”

Flynn hadn’t even realized she’d been thrashing, pushing Axel’s hands away from her as she came back to herself.

One second she’d nearly shot the man standing on her porch, the next she’d been trying to grapple with his voice—so wonderfully familiar—while the world spun.

“What happened?”

She opened her eyes to find herself tucked into her sleeping bag on the porch, Axel bent over her with a wet cloth, dabbing it to her head with one hand while the other held her wrist.

Her hand was balled into a fist.

“Did I punch you?”

He bore the faintest hint of red on his cheek. “It’s nothing. You were a little confused. I think you might have had a seizure.”

She remembered nothing except—“Axel.”

“That’s right.” He met her eyes. Blue eyes, just like she’d imagined. Almost brown hair, except for highlights that turned to deep bronze in the sun, and a smattering of golden-brown whiskers across his face, as if he hadn’t shaved in his hurry to get to her.

Oh yeah, she’d hit her head, and hard, careening down that mountain.

“What happened to you?” He leaned away, his eyes on the wound on her head. “That needs a stitch or two.”

“I fell down a mountain.”

“You did what?”

“After someone shot at me.”

His frown deepened.

“I thought . . . I thought maybe he’d followed me back to the cabin. Then I heard your bike and I hid and . . .” She winced, her head really starting to bang now. “Sorry I shot at you.”

“Please tell me you were trying to miss.”

She closed her eyes, but her mouth tweaked up one side. “Yep.”

“Okay. Listen, I need to take a look at your wrist, and did you hurt your leg too?”

“Yeah, I sprained my knee. Landed pretty hard on it. And it’s not my wrist—it’s my shoulder.”

“Hence the sling. How far did you fall?”

“All the way?” She opened her eyes.

Now he narrowed his eyes at her. “Smarty pants, huh?”

“Listen, Mr. I-Scare-People-To-Death-And-Don’t-Answer-My-Ham-Radio, I think you had it coming—oh, ah. Okay, no more talking.”

“Agreed. And I only went dark because a wave took out the ham. Yeah, your knee is really swollen.” He’d zipped open her sleeping bag and now put his hand on her leg gently, moving it around the joint. “As for your shoulder, lemme see how bad it is. I don’t want to try to put it back into place if your shoulder is broken.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, kneading gently.

“I don’t think—oh, oh, that hurts. Okay, that’s good—that—oh.” She grabbed his wrist. “Thank you so much, doc, but I think let’s leave it to the professionals.”

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