“It is not that funny.” Sierra said. “Yes it is.” he insisted. He splashed through the puddle towards her, wearing hiking boots and blue jeans. His dark eyes were alight with mirth. He held out his hand to her. She didn’t take it. ...
It was obvious to him from the moment he had looked at her that she was not well; the ripped scratches along her arm, and her shoulder, would have to be seen to, certainly. When she had fainted, he had gathered her into his arms, lifting her off the ground without paying a...