“He’ll be fine,” Shane assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. “He’s too stubborn to let this beat him.”
“I know. I just keep seeing….”
The image of Jim pale as the blowing snow with his face contorted by pain and leaning back against Shane, too weak to hold himself upright in the saddle, was branded into her mind’s eye, as was the grim tension on Shane’s face when he’d told her to hurry to the house ahead of them. And her break-neck race to tell Jessie that her husband of fifty-some years was having a heart attack. It was a miracle they’d made it without going down in the treacherously uneven snow and howling wind, and an even greater one that Jim hadn’t died out there in the storm.
He’s alive, she reminded herself, choking a little as the what-if questions threatened again. What if Sh
