skin between her thumb and forefinger. With a battle cry, she bashed the shovel into the snake, crushing its head repeatedly until it lay limp.
Dropping her weapon, she brought her left hand to her eyes to inspect the damage. Two tiny fang holes punctured the skin, and were rapidly swelling a sickly shade of violet.
“Antonia,” Robin cried, seizing her hand. At once, he thrust the affected area into his mouth.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, yanking away in disgust. But he spit onto the ground and brought his lips back over her punctures.
“Sucking out the venom,” he exhaled, after spitting again. “I’ve no idea what sort of snake that was. But if it’s poisonous, this is the only way to save you.”
“Ugh.” Antonia shuddered as he sucked on the space between her fingers again. “Are you almost done?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Annie. You could die. ”
She frowned, her discomfort increasing at the sensation of his lips on her hand, as he worked to extract whatever venom the snake had injected. Finally, he wiped his mouth and spread apart her wounds. She winced.
“I think that’s all of it,” he muttered. “Nothing more’s coming out.” He looked up at her, and she couldn’t help but soften at the apprehension in his eyes. His beautiful aquamarine eyes… “Does it hurt?”
She glanced down, hoping to hide the unwelcome blush at her cheeks. “A little.”
“Well, we’ll keep an eye on it.” He released her. “Goodness, Annie. Seems everything happens to your left arm.” He grunted. “A snake attack, your ciqédo bites, that scar on your left shoulder…”
Antonia’s stomach flipped. “How d’you know about my scar?” she demanded.
“Oh.” The man cleared his throat as she watched him indignantly.
No one but she and her parents knew of the scar. And it was something over which Antonia was rather self-conscious. In fact, she often worried what her someday-husband would think, once she revealed it to him. Would it make her unappealing, unwanted?
Robin stammered, amplifying both of their discomfort. “When you were unconscious, and we w-went to give you antihistamine, I, ah…rolled up your sleeve and saw...”
Antonia inhaled. So he’d only rolled up her sleeve. So long as that was all he saw.
He scratched his returning beard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right.” She rubbed the spot on her shoulder absently. “I was attacked by a dog when I was four. To this day, I bear the scar. S’pose I’ll never be rid of it.”
Comprehension crept across Robin’s features as he watched her with evident empathy. “Is that why you’re so afraid of dogs?” His tone was more tender than she’d ever heard it.
She only nodded. She didn’t want to talk about it. It had happened long ago, and she was stuck with both the phobia and unsightly scar forever. What more could be done by speaking?
“Forgive me,” he besought her. “Your fear is valid. But…” He sighed, reaching down to pet Maverick, who had rejoined them. “Maybe don’t judge all dogs by the acts of one bad one?”
Antonia leveled with his gaze. “Perhaps I could suggest the same to you of friends, Rob.”
THEY GATHERED THEIR THINGS, INTENDING to move on. But Maverick whimpered, arching his head in the other direction. “Come on, Maverick,” Antonia said.
But Rob eyed the dog, curious. “What is it, boy?”
The animal circled back downhill. Rob followed, beckoning Antonia, as the animal led them to something familiar. Lying upturned in the gritty sand was none other than the straw basket the coyote had stolen. Maverick stuck his rubbery nose inside and sniffed, black tail bobbing proudly.
“Good boy,” Rob praised him. His heart suddenly infused with hope, the man crouched down and picked up the basket. There was a glass water bottle inside, startlingly hot to the touch, and some shredded paper wrappings, but no food. He felt along the woven base of the basket
Dropping her weapon, she brought her left hand to her eyes to inspect the damage. Two tiny fang holes punctured the skin, and were rapidly swelling a sickly shade of violet.
“Antonia,” Robin cried, seizing her hand. At once, he thrust the affected area into his mouth.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, yanking away in disgust. But he spit onto the ground and brought his lips back over her punctures.
“Sucking out the venom,” he exhaled, after spitting again. “I’ve no idea what sort of snake that was. But if it’s poisonous, this is the only way to save you.”
“Ugh.” Antonia shuddered as he sucked on the space between her fingers again. “Are you almost done?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Annie. You could die. ”
She frowned, her discomfort increasing at the sensation of his lips on her hand, as he worked to extract whatever venom the snake had injected. Finally, he wiped his mouth and spread apart her wounds. She winced.
“I think that’s all of it,” he muttered. “Nothing more’s coming out.” He looked up at her, and she couldn’t help but soften at the apprehension in his eyes. His beautiful aquamarine eyes… “Does it hurt?”
She glanced down, hoping to hide the unwelcome blush at her cheeks. “A little.”
“Well, we’ll keep an eye on it.” He released her. “Goodness, Annie. Seems everything happens to your left arm.” He grunted. “A snake attack, your ciqédo bites, that scar on your left shoulder…”
Antonia’s stomach flipped. “How d’you know about my scar?” she demanded.
“Oh.” The man cleared his throat as she watched him indignantly.
No one but she and her parents knew of the scar. And it was something over which Antonia was rather self-conscious. In fact, she often worried what her someday-husband would think, once she revealed it to him. Would it make her unappealing, unwanted?
Robin stammered, amplifying both of their discomfort. “When you were unconscious, and we w-went to give you antihistamine, I, ah…rolled up your sleeve and saw...”
Antonia inhaled. So he’d only rolled up her sleeve. So long as that was all he saw.
He scratched his returning beard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right.” She rubbed the spot on her shoulder absently. “I was attacked by a dog when I was four. To this day, I bear the scar. S’pose I’ll never be rid of it.”
Comprehension crept across Robin’s features as he watched her with evident empathy. “Is that why you’re so afraid of dogs?” His tone was more tender than she’d ever heard it.
She only nodded. She didn’t want to talk about it. It had happened long ago, and she was stuck with both the phobia and unsightly scar forever. What more could be done by speaking?
“Forgive me,” he besought her. “Your fear is valid. But…” He sighed, reaching down to pet Maverick, who had rejoined them. “Maybe don’t judge all dogs by the acts of one bad one?”
Antonia leveled with his gaze. “Perhaps I could suggest the same to you of friends, Rob.”
THEY GATHERED THEIR THINGS, INTENDING to move on. But Maverick whimpered, arching his head in the other direction. “Come on, Maverick,” Antonia said.
But Rob eyed the dog, curious. “What is it, boy?”
The animal circled back downhill. Rob followed, beckoning Antonia, as the animal led them to something familiar. Lying upturned in the gritty sand was none other than the straw basket the coyote had stolen. Maverick stuck his rubbery nose inside and sniffed, black tail bobbing proudly.
“Good boy,” Rob praised him. His heart suddenly infused with hope, the man crouched down and picked up the basket. There was a glass water bottle inside, startlingly hot to the touch, and some shredded paper wrappings, but no food. He felt along the woven base of the basket
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