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Page 282
Thorn barely spared a thought for whomever had first shot from the inn. If René and Holly were here, that danger must have passed.
Anguish swept through him. "Is she" He could not go on.
She had relied on him, damn her!
Once more he had let someone down.
But this time it hadn't been a mere friend or relative.
This time, it was someone he loved.
He sank to his knees in the dirt, smoothing the waves of her honey-colored hair from her face. Her cheek was cool. Too cool.
Filled with terror, he looked at René.
It had been years since he had felt deeply enough to cry, but now his eyes filled.
"She is still alive," the Frenchman pronounced. His voice seemed to come from far away. "For now. The bullet, it went through her shoulder, but perhaps it grazed her heart, it was that close. We must get her inside."
Thorn carefully scooped Mariah into his arms and stood. Her limpness made her difficult to carry, but he treasured her slight weight. He inclined his head toward her face.
He felt the slightest of breaths from her mouth, but the metallic smell of blood hovered around her.
He took her to his own cabin. René pushed open the door. "I'll boil water," said Holly, who had followed.
Thorn deposited his precious cargo upon his bed. Wincing as though he could feel the pain he'd cause if she were conscious, he peeled away the garments over her wound.
It was an ugly one, covered in seeping blood. Already it had begun to swell. He raised her slightly and pulled her dress from her shoulder. He saw the bullet's exit wound at her back.
Holly arrived with clean rags and a pail of water. "Some is on the fire for boiling, but I can begin cleaning her with this."
For a moment Thorn hesitated. He had done this to her. He should be the one to care for her.

 
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