How do you survive being shot and left for dead in the Chihuahuan Desert? By being found by a beautiful wildlife photographer willing to risk her life to save yours.
A bitter ex-cop fights for his life after he runs to the sound of gunfire on the Ri...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Character Designs by Dana Nicole Joiner
The next morning Mendocino said goodbye to Patty as attendants rolled him from intensive care to a private room in another wing of the sprawling, single-story hospital. It served 12,000 square miles.
"You'll have a window." She winked. "Maybe I'll stop in to check on you. God bless you, Mendocino."
"You've been great, Patty. Thanks, for everything."
He was free of tubes but every part of him hurt, even his calves, which never ached. He willingly took the pain medication the new nurse brought, the doctor's voice in his head. "You had an angel on your shoulder... Had either bullet been a fraction of an inch, either way, you wouldn't be here." Against all reasoning, he survived.
Despite the drugs, his mind wouldn't rest. Eight years on the Dallas police force. Two years with Abilene PD. Never shot. He walked away from law enforcement into the open arms of madness. Lying on his back counting tiles on the ceiling, Mendocino wondered for the first time, had he made a terrible mistake? Maybe he should have listened.
He should call his parents. He sighed. They'd worried about him constantly since the divorce. He'd seen it in their expressions. They thought he lost his mind when he quit his job.
"Eight years!" His father had roared, drumming the table. "You don't throw away that kind of seniority, son!"
Yeah, they should know what happened, but he couldn't bear the thought of them hovering over him; his mom crying, wringing her hands, his father's angry disapproval. He rested his eyes. They were so tired. He'd think about it tomorrow. At last, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
He opened his eyes to see the sky painted in watercolor brush strokes of peach and melon. Bare trees were still, as if frozen in a painting.
He turned his head. A woman sat in the room's only chair, a recliner that dwarfed her. Lying still, he watched her play on her cell phone. She seemed oblivious to his attention. Thick, wavy, almost-black hair fell to her shoulders. She wore a fuzzy green sweater. Around her neck and on her ears, turquoise jewelry. Real turquoise. Not that fake stuff women wore in Dallas. She had a long neck. A delicate chin.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She looked over, eyes wide and smiling. "Hey!" She set her phone aside and stood. "I'm glad you're awake." She was petite.
Mendocino tilted his head. "Do I know you?"
"I'm Tillie Tomlin." She walked to his bedside, smiling, standing so near he could touch her, their eyes holding for what felt like a long moment. He inhaled her soft scent.
"I found you," she said.
His brows shot up; his neck strained forward. "You?"
She nodded and grinned. Deep green eyes were framed by black eyelashes and brows. A luscious mouth and at once he remembered hair brushing softly across his face in the yellow light of a vehicle.
