Page 60 of Coyote

I gripped the saddle horn hard enough to make the leather creak and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from going to help him.

Linc put a hand beneath John's boot and helped him the rest of the way. John settled over the gelding and leaned forward until he could breathe again. When he checked beneath his shirt, his fingers came away clean.

Good.

They started down the wash together. Linc kept his bay close to the gelding's injured side, watching John instead of the trail.

I waited until they reached the bottom before mounting my mare.

John never looked back. He knew I was behind him. He was going to know it the rest of his life.

Sarah had her back to the door when Winston let me into his office, and for one selfish second, I was glad. It gave me time to look at her before she looked at me.

She stood near the window with her arms folded tightly across her chest, staring out at the parking lot. She wore jeans and an old gray cardigan despite the heat, and her hair was shorter than the last time I'd seen her, and more silver ran through it.

Eleven months had happened to her while I was walking, then chained inside a pen waiting for somebody to decide how they wanted to hurt me next.

My hand closed around the folded report in my pocket.

Winston stayed beside me. "You ready?"

No. "Yeah."

He shut the door hard enough for the latch to catch.

Sarah turned.

Her eyes moved over my face, my beard, the shirt hanging loose around my shoulders. She looked at my hands next, as if those might prove I was real when the rest of me didn't.

"Hey, Sare."

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she crossed the room and hit me. She caught my upper arm instead of my face. She hit me again in the same place, harder, and I let her. The third swing never landed. She twisted a hand into my shirt and leaned against me.

The new stitches pulled when I wrapped my arms around her. I held on anyway.

"You asshole." The words came wet against my chest. "You absolute fucking asshole."

"I know."

"I looked everywhere."

"I know."

"No, you don't." She shoved away far enough to look up at me. Tears ran down her face, but she was still gripping my shirt with both hands. "You don't know what I did. You don't know what it's like every time the phone rings and some cop asks if you have dental records."

I'd matched dental records to bodies. I'd never once thought about who answered the phone.

Sarah hit my arm once more. "Eleven months, John."

"I'm sorry."

"That doesn't cover it."

"No."

"I thought you were dead."

Her voice broke on the last word. She pressed her face against my chest again, and whatever I'd been holding together since I walked through the door gave way.