Squirming, she tried to shift beneath Griff’s weight—and failed. Finally, he pushed up onto his elbows to take a long look around. As far as she could tell from her prone position, nothing moved in the stillness of the night. The only sound was the distant lowing of cows. Had the animals been disturbed by a trespasser with a rifle? “You’re sure someone shot at us?” Her whisper echoed in the silence. “Something whizzed past my ear at warp speed.” He kept his tone quiet. “And it sure as hell wasn’t a mosquito.” “Can we get up?” Her voice came out as a weak grunt. “You’re squashing me.” “If he’s still out there…” “I’m turning into a pancake.” “Okay. Okay.” When Griff rolled off her, she drew air into oxygen deprived lungs before trying to speak again. “Who would shoot at us?
