The Christmas Journey Read Online Free PDF Page B

less than a foot from the weapon.
    “The way I see it,” her wounded hero continued, “is that no matter how good a shot you are, between Miss Wylie and me, one of us is bound to get you before you can get both of us.”
    Otis looked from one to the other of them, then slowly straightened, one hand still clutching his side.
    “Smart move.” Mr. Lassiter made a sideways motion with his weapon. “Now step away from the gun.”
    Otis moved back several paces.
    “Far enough.” Mr. Lassiter’s eyes flickered her way briefly before returning to the low-down skunk still moaning over his wound. “Are you all right, Miss Wylie?”
    “I’m fine.” The way he insisted on addressing her so respectful-like after all her carryings on today struck her as oddly sweet.
    Now why was she thinking on things like that at a time like this? That fall must have rattled her more than she reckoned.
    She stood, trying not to wince at the pain from her bruised muscles. Nothing broken at least, but she’d be moving gingerly for a few days. “Just bruised up a bit,” she reassured him.
    “Think you can find something to tie up our friend with?”
    “Be my pleasure.” She started toward Scout, but kept a watchful eye on Mr. Lassiter. He held his gun pointed at Otis, but he didn’t attempt to stand. His shirt was soaked with blood, his forehead was beaded with sweat, and as she watched he swayed, then leaned heavily back on his haunches.
    The man had to be keeping himself upright by sheer willpower.
    She pushed herself to move faster, trying to ignore the firethat licked at her ankle with each step. But she’d only covered half the distance when she saw his aim waver.
    “Mr. Lassiter!” Changing course, she made a beeline toward him, but before she could reach him, his eyes fluttered closed. He swayed, then slowly crumpled to the ground.
    Jo charged across the last few yards, her pulse pounding an urgent rhythm. This was her fault. She should have done more to warn him, should have intervened sooner.
    He had to be okay. She would not have his death on her conscience.
    An eternity of seconds later, Jo dropped to her knees beside him, braced for the worst. A part of her registered the sound of Otis’s retreat, but he’d left his rifle behind so she let him go. Right now Mr. Lassiter’s well-being was more important than getting vengeance on that bucket of pond scum.
    Jo gently brushed the hair from his brow. The low moan that greeted her was the sweetest sound she’d heard in quite some time.
    No time to savor her relief, though. He might be alive, but he was far from okay. He hadn’t opened his eyes and his breathing was thready. The red stain that drenched his shirt was getting darker by the minute. Even more worrisome was the blood that matted one side of his head.
    Gorge rose in her throat but she sent up a prayer for strength. This wasn’t the time to act like some prim and proper twit—Mr. Lassiter needed help and right now she was all he had.
    Jo gently probed his head where the blood seemed thickest. Yep, there was the wound. Nothing lodged there—best she could tell the bullet had grazed him, gouging a furrow as it went. No way to know how serious it was until Doc Whitman got a look at it.
    Trying to remain alert in case Otis circled back, she turned her attention to Mr. Lassiter’s arm. Using her pocketknife, shecut open his sleeve to get a better look. The source of all that blood was quickly found—a nasty hole in his upper arm, an ugly, gaping thing that oozed a sluggish stream of blood.
    Tightening her jaw, she gingerly examined the wound.
    When Jo found the exit hole on the other side of his arm, she swiped her sleeve across her forehead and got her breathing back under control. At least she wouldn’t have to try to dig the blamed bullet out.
    Now that the initial gut-churning shock was behind her, Jo’s control snapped back into place.
    First order of business—stop the bleeding. Between the two wounds, and