Chapter Twenty-One
‘Drive faster! I’m not a porcelain doll.’
Aileen snorted. ‘Not porcelain, but a human who almost got shot.’
‘The bullet barely grazed my arm.’
‘You were unconscious.’
‘Was not.’
Aileen rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. He’d frightened her when he lay unresponsive in the tent. Apparently, he couldn’t hear her over the ringing in his ears from the gunshot.
She manoeuvred a bend in the road before intertwining their hands. The doctors had bandaged Callan’s left arm, which had taken the worst of it: a grazed bullet wound and a sprained wrist. They’d advised him to refrain from picking up heavy objects or jostling the arm too much.
Aileen took a deep breath, thanking god for keeping him safe. The oaf had gone against a gun-wielding madwoman. ‘Thank you, Callan.’
‘Wh
