She’d been taking care of him for four days? His often dormant conscience railed at him for his behavior. Colt made a mental note to apologize to her, but other concerns soon crowded out his guilt. How far was he from Red Deer? Had he put enough distance between himself and the Matthews brothers, or at least enough to give him a few days to regain his strength? He recalled at least three, maybe four sunrises on the painful, hard ride from Red Deer. He hoped a four days’ ride was enough, because at the moment, he doubted he could stand, much less ride. But once he could ride, he would really put space between himself and the Matthews. Colt shut his eyes for a moment, cursing whatever Fates were toying with his life. He was so damn tired of never staying long in one place, of forever looking over his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable to happen—a bullet in the back, or being a fraction of a second too slow. Like he’d been in Red Deer. That fraction of a second had almost cost him his life.
What do You think about The Devil's Own Desperado?
