By Linda Howard
He used to be slightly alive. an individual had shot him two times. Trusting her instincts, Rachel did not name the police. Her 6th feel informed her that she used to be his in basic terms desire. With him mendacity subconscious prior to her, Rachel needed to come to a decision his destiny, in addition to her personal.
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It should be safe to leave him alone for an hour. She would do her shopping early the next morning, which would give those men time to move out of the immediate area. She carefully locked the house when she left, and told Joe to stand guard. Her patient was sleeping quietly; she had just gotten him settled, so he should sleep for several hours. Her gun-metal Regal ate up the miles as she pushed her speed as fast as she could, anxiety gnawing at her. It should be all right to leave him alone, but she wouldn't breathe easy until she was back home and could see that for herself.
Or did the vet help you? " "I put you on a quilt and dragged you up here, with help from the dog. " Her gray eyes darkened as she thought of the Herculean effort she had made to get him inside the house. " "The vet. " Sabin watched her quiet face, wondering at what she wasn't saying. How far had she dragged him? How had she gotten him up the steps to the porch? He had carried wounded men out of battle, so he knew how difficult it was, even with his strength and training. He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds; there was no way she could have lifted him.
The same treatment had been given to his shoulder; gauze had been wrapped around it, then anchored around his chest. He was totally naked, but that didn't bother him. His first priority was to establish his mobility; his second was to find out where the hell he was. He stood, the wounded muscle in his thigh quivering in outrage at being forced into motion. He wavered, but didn't fall, merely stood there until the room stopped swaying and his leg was steady under him. Despite the coolness of the room a fine sheen of sweat began to form on his body.