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is.”
    Serge’s chest exploded. The man didn’t even have time to look down. He just fell over, dead, exposing Brady standing at the top of the rise, his gun smoking.
    Unlike Serge, Hale couldn’t even manage to fall over. He just stayed there, on his knees, staring at the dead man. “There’s at least three different brands in there,” he said matter-of-factly as Brady slid down the rocks toward him.
    “Sheriff! Oh, shit, you’re bleeding bad.”
    “Go on and get help.”
    “It’s too far!”
    “Yeah,” Hale sighed. “I know.” And then the sky finally tilted.
     
    He woke to white-hot pain and lingering dreams of Lily. “Stop,” Hale murmured, meaning to scream at the doctor who must be digging the bullet out. His world wobbled roughly before the pain came to an abrupt end.
    Brady appeared, leaning down.
    “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’ve got to get you to town.” He pressed blessedly cool water to Hale’s lips. No doctor yet. He hadn’t made it home.
    “It’s no use, Deputy,” he said, knowing full well that Brady wouldn’t leave him. “You should hurry back to your wife.” His deputy just remounted and they moved on, the makeshift sled bumping over every last pebble and rut in the trail. Hale thought of telling Brady he’d be better off if he slung Hale facedown over his mount, but the mere thought made his stomach turn. Probably not a good idea to ride upside down in this state.
    He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. When the faint took him, he was with Lily again. He was inside her, trying to hurt her the way she liked, but for some reason all the pain traveled into him and swelled up deep inside his belly.
     
    He woke again, days later. Or maybe only a few minutes had passed. They were still on the trail, after all, and the pain was worse, as if broken glass were being ground into his side with every inch of movement.
    Hale pictured his insides turning black and putrid already, and couldn’t seem to care. He was dying. He knew that. His life didn’t flash before his eyes, but some of his sorrows did.
    His first marriage, of course, but it wasn’t the open wound it had been. Lily had begun to convince him that Marie may have been at fault, as well. It hadn’t been a good match, clearly, on either side. She hadn’t liked sex and he’d wanted something even more.
    No, what he really regretted now was that he hadn’t bothered to sue for divorce. He hadn’t been free to love Lily.
    It was too soon for love, of course. Even his obsession with her body couldn’t convince him that he loved her yet. But he should have had the option.
    What he and Lily had might be wrong, but damned if he didn’t want it to go on for a long while. Hell, he’d once known a man obsessed with women’s feet. Didn’t seem to shame him none, either, as he fantasized aloud about the Chinawomen he’d seen in California.
    Now Hale found himself wishing he could go back and start over again with Lily, with a little less shame this time.
    And he wished he’d seen her library, too.
    Damn it.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    “Tom,” a woman sobbed over him.
    “Lily,” he tried to answer, but his tongue was too thick.
    “My poor little girl will be a widow now.”
    But Lily was already a widow, so that made no sense. His confusion drifted away, replaced by soft thoughts. He had a new idea of how he’d like to have Lily the next time he saw her. Something totally unnatural and sinful that she’d probably love. But wait…He’d be dead the next time he saw her.
    “Shit,” he muttered.
    “Tom?”
    Lily didn’t call him Tom, didn’t even know his first name as far as he could tell. Which was fine, because he didn’t like being called Tom anymore. Only Marie’s family called him Tom now, and…
    Oh, now it made sense. It was his mother-in-law leaning over him, jostling his belly with every movement. Jesus Christ, couldn’t he at least die without Marie’s memory prodding him like a white-hot poker?
    “Celia!” a