Page 71 of High Velocity

“I’ve been well-trained in hand-to-hand combat. I can hold my own,” I attempt to placate her.

Her face sets in a stubborn expression I vaguely remember my mom wearing from time to time.

“I’m sure you can, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you were armed. Come with me, you can have your pick from what’s in the gun safe in the office.”

I’m not going to say no to that. I’m quite confident in my abilities to at least make it difficult for someone to overpower me, if it came to that, but it’s nice to have the security of a weapon when you don’t know what you’re walking into.

I follow her to the ranch house, where she unlocks the large safe for me. I select a Smith & Wesson, compact and light enough to slip inside my waistband so I can keep my hands free. To my surprise, Alex reaches for a second compact weapon, expertly slipping in a clip before shoving it in the pocket of her jean jacket.

“What are you doing?”

She jerks up her chin and stares me down.

“I’m your backup. I’m coming.”

I start shaking my head. “I don’t think that’s a good?—”

A hand in my face cuts me off.

“I’m a mother; my son would disown me if I let anything happen to the woman he loves.”

I glance at her with my mouth open.

Love? Whoa. That word hasn’t come up, it’s way too soon for feelings that big.

Isn’t it?

He’d be moving pretty fast, but that shouldn’t surprise me.

Not from a man who earned the nickname, High Velocity.

Yikes.

Jackson

I can’t wait to take this damn fake leg off and hop in the shower.

I’m grimy, sweaty, and I probably reek to high heaven, and despite the new sleeve, my stump feels like rare hamburger at the moment.

Thirty-six hours is a long time to be wrapped in silicone without air circulation, especially inside my old prosthesis. Sitting in the saddle for a day and a half, the edge of the socket rubbed the inside of my thigh raw. I’d be surprised if I didn’t break the skin.

But, all complaining aside, we did manage to get one hiker out before the animals could get at him, and were able to keep his friend alive long enough to get him down the mountain and in the hands of medical professionals. Obviously, it would’ve been nice to rescue them both, but one is better than none.

“You’re limping,” Jonas observes when I round the back of the trailer to help unload the horses.

We’re back at the barn, and I’m eager to get the horses looked after so I can call it a day.

“I’m fine.” I rap my knuckles on the rigid socket. “This old thing was made for walking, not riding.”

Unlike my newer model, which was designed for a variety of physical activities.

“How long before they fix the other one?”

“I’m hoping a week or so. They’ll call me when it’s done.”

Jonas nods as he unlatches the trailer gate and I help him lower it. Then he turns to me.

“Go home, have a shower, you’re bleeding.”

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