John Wesley sat sprawled on the floor of the little bunkhouse, nursing Maria"s head in his lap. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. The bullet had passed through her bodice and shredded her lungs and now she was dead, her eyes staring lifelessly into nothingness.
He"d burst through the door too late. One of their assailants had skirted around the taverna in the hope of taking the couple unawares. But with Hardin already making his way to the taverna, the stranger must have waited, hoping Hardin would return. At the sound of gunshots, he"d acted. And now he, too, was gone, the dust clouds thrown up by his horse"s hooves a clear sign of his escape.
“I never even got to say goodbye,” he said softly, stroking Maria"s hair. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then g
