“Too tired to know it. But the fear is gone. ” I leaned against his chest. “How is your hand?”
His grunt was mostly laughter. “Sore. Don’t think it’s broken after all. Doesn’t matter, though. It still would have been worth it.”
I shut my eyes. “Do you suppose we could leave now?”
“I think the police will want to talk to you.”
“Can’t they do it at Smoketree?”
“Maybe. But they’d probably rather do it here.”
I thought about it. “Tell them you have an injured horse.”
“They’d just send you down later in a cop car.”
“So we’ll say we didn’t know.” I pushed off the trailer and stood upright, pulling on his arm. “Come on, cowboy. Buy the lady a drink.”
He smiled. “Whiskey?”
I grinned back. “Rot-gut.”
He put out a hand and smoothed back my hair. Gentle fingertips traced the scar. “Let’s go home,” he said.
We went.
Smoketree Page 17
