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The tree shot out into nothingness and hung there for a breathless moment. It plunged downward and she couldn’t resist looking down at the waiting maelstrom. Somehow Brady pushed away from the dropping tree and pulled her with him so they seemed to fly free. They hit with an explosive jolt and then she knew nothing.

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Brady kept his head above water until his feet touched the muddy bottom not far from the riverbank. Pain assured he remained conscious. Every part of his body hurt though none as bad his head and the blazing agony in his left shoulder.

Now that he no longer needed to swim, he switched his grasp on Cara’s wrist to his right hand. It gave him little relief as the current slapped against his left arm. He didn’t feel the grating of broken bones against one another, but at the least his shoulder was dislocated. The jolt of landing while holding too tightly to Cara had torn the joint apart. She’d lost consciousness when they struck the boiling bottom of the falls. He worried how badly she was hurt but he could do nothing for her until they reached land.

That either of them lived was a miracle. That she had leaped into the water in some foolhardy attempt to save him confounded him. Why?

He dragged her over the slippery mud. After a few steps the ground changed into a rough mixture of sand and short, wiry tufts of grass.

It hurt to lift his head, but he looked around. Sand and grass stretched alongside the river until it joined the sea in a clash of brown liquid with blue. Up the river toward the falls, the sandy lowland gave way to stands of brush and then a forest fronting the cliffs. He saw nothing moving except the white gulls diving and hunting in the waves of the sea.

He let go of Cara’s wrist and her arm dropped lifelessly to her side. His head spun and he took a few deep breaths to calm his stomach. With the little grace he could manage, he dropped to his knees by her side. Again he fought off nausea and unconsciousness.

Cara’s skin was cool but not cold, and he found her pulse strong in her thin neck. Her wet clothing clung to her body and distracted his mind though his body was not in any condition to listen. Her limbs looked straight and unbroken but she could have internal injuries.

His mind drifted in a muddled haze with pain the only clear thing in his thoughts. How could he help her? Not move her. Warm her. His own body trembled with wild shivers that hurt his head and shoulder. Driftwood littered the riverbank and even an entire tree from a previous flood sat not far away.

He only passed out once trying to remove his packs from his shoulders. The heavy bag of bullets was especially difficult. He woke facedown in the sand and pushed himself back to his knees with one hand. He dumped his personal pack out and pushed aside the various bags scattered among his clothing. The extra shirt and pants were damp but dryer than what he wore.

Not that he could change with his shoulder in such a mess. The oil cloth bag holding his matches was folded within his extra pants.

He rose on unsteady legs and gathered some bits of kindling then slowly pulled a few larger chunks of wood close to Cara. Cold sweat beaded on his upper lip and brow as he worked. His shivers now alternated with waves of heat and nausea.

He pulled some handfuls of the browned grass and arranged it in a sloppy stack that he topped with the kindling. His hands shook as he struck a match on the bit of sandstone he carried for a striker.

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He nursed the little tongues of fire until some of the larger pieces of kindling caught.

Blacks spots danced before his eyes, but he shook out his wet blankets and spread them near the fire. He struggled to Cara’s side again and covered her with his extra shirt.

If only he could fix his shoulder he knew he would feel much better. He couldn’t lay down or find any relief. Even breathing caused discomfort. He tried to tug off his boots but having strength in only one hand made it impossible.

“Cara, wake up. I need you.”

* * * *

Cara had expected death to be less uncomfortable. Her head pounded and cold bit her toes. Shouldn’t there be a warm comfortable blackness after death? Instead bright light flickered and pricked against her eyelids and heated her face while ice pressed against her back.

She held Brady’s hand still so they must have dragged each other into the afterlife. The calluses on his palm and fingers lightly scratched her skin. Strange how the pleasant scent of burning wood drove the stench of the river mud from her senses.

How much water had she swallowed that her stomach cramped and protested even now when she was dead?

“Cara?”

Brady? Her sluggish thoughts stirred reluctantly and the messages her senses sent her coalesced into something more reasonable. She opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. A fire crackled not far from her and her face pressed into something coarse and warm. Her clothing clung to her in damp discomfort. Her boots were soaked and aches visited every part of her body. But she was alive. Alive and still holding Brady’s hand. She flung it away from her and sat up.

The world spun for a moment, and she moaned.

“Careful. You might be hurt worse than you know.”

His blue eyes blazed with so much pain she couldn’t look at him. She jumped up. “How the hell are we alive?”

“Don’t shout. It hurts my head, and we don’t know if we’re alone.”

Trembling raced through her muscles. She’d prepared herself to die, yet here she remained in the world with all her demons still on her back. And worse, alone with a man who confused her and upset her in ways foreign to her experience. But she was strong. She took a few deep breaths and looked around. Juston had taught her to be tough and live again if only on the surface of society.

The Watara River rushed by only a few steps away from their fire, and the falls grumbled nearly half a mile to the west.

“There must be a way back up into the mountains.” A thick stand of trees fronted the bare rocks of the cliff face.

“Maybe, but the Parlanians never found the way down.”

Something in his voice brought her attention back to him. “How bad are you hurt?”

A new fear clutched at her guts. No matter how much she dreaded spending time alone with Brady, she was terrified to be completely alone. Though her demons often interfered, she trusted Brady more than most men. And his death would hurt her in a way she didn’t want to contemplate.

“Concussion, I think, though it’s mostly a headache. It’s my shoulder that I need help with.”

“Your

shoulder?”

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His left arm lay limply on his lap as he leaned against a large piece of old wood.

“Dislocated. Hopefully, I didn’t break anything.”

“How did that happen?”

He gave her a strange look. “You don’t remember?”

“The last thing I remember is the sea from mid air when we went over the falls.”

He sighed and then winced. “We were holding on to each other pretty tightly. I managed to pull us free of the tree before it crashed and broke apart but our landing jerked us apart.

Somehow we held onto each other but I think your weight pulled my shoulder apart.”

“I don’t remember any of that. How did we get here, out of the water instead of drown or washed out to sea?”

“Something knocked you out, but I caught your wrist before you went under. I swam to the bank but this is as far as I could go.”

“You swam with a dislocated shoulder?” She’d seen people with dislocated shoulders. It was hideously painful.

“Actually, I pulled you with that one and did the swimming with the other.”

Realm warriors were made of stern stuff. Hadn’t Juston Steele overcome the slave collar forced on him at his wedding?

“I need you to put my shoulder back in place.”

She stepped back from him. “I don’t know how.”

“I’ll tell you how.” He unlaced his dirt-smudged shirt. “Help me get this off. I think it’ll be easier to grip my arm without it.”

Take his shirt off? His skin was warm despite the damp shirt and browned in the way of the Realm. Their colony sat on the coastline and basked in the sun and warmth of the lowlands unlike her mountain colony home.

A few scars decorated his torso with thin white lines, but mostly he was … perfect.

He uttered not even the slightest groan as she threaded his shirt down over his injured shoulder and arm. But his breath came shallow and fast along with a light film of sweat beading on his skin. Now that his shirt was off, she could see the misalignment in his shoulder. He shivered despite the heat of the fire.

“You have to kneel in front of me.” He directed her to a very disconcerting position with her knees on each side of his left leg. The deep lines of pain overcame her trepidation.

“Help me lift my hand onto your shoulder.”

Trembling shook his entire arm, and his face drained of color beneath his tan. She braced herself to catch him, but he stayed conscious.

“Now,” he said between panting breaths. “I don’t think you’re strong enough to do this without help, so we’re going to have to time it perfectly.”

“I’m strong enough. Tell me what to do.”

“Cara, I outweigh you twice over. Wrap your hands around my arm above the elbow.

On the count of three, you’re going to jerk my arm toward you and I’m going to pull back.”

“That’s going to hurt.”

He snorted, nearly a laugh. “You think? If this doesn’t work, I might pass out. If I do, try to lay me down flat, put your foot in the middle of my chest and try to yank it back into place while I’m out.”

“Yes, sir.” Her sarcasm provoked a smile from him, or was it a grimace?

“I’ll let you be the commander if you can fix my shoulder.”

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“And if I can’t?” She tightened her grip around his arm muscles above his elbow. Her fingers couldn’t close around his firm flesh, and his skin was clammy to further impede her grip.

Why was she gazing at his bare chest? She snapped her gaze up to his and the dullness in his eyes stopped her purposeful delaying. “My count or yours?”

“Together.” Pain roughened his voice. “On three.”

“One, two, three.” She didn’t let herself think, but she held his gaze. She yanked on his arm with all her strength and weight. He threw himself back at the same time.

The bone in his upper arm slipped and silently thunked back into place. Brady’s eyes rolled toward the sky and his body tilted slowly toward her. She couldn’t catch him.

His unconscious body pressed her backward. She scooted away but ended up beneath him with his head resting on her chest.

Hot panic rose in a molten tide up through her stomach and took her breath. She pushed and kicked her way free of his weight. He sprawled facedown in the sand, his limbs going this way and that. When she could breathe again, she moved his right hand away from its dangerous position too close to the fire.

Her hands shook but she touched his shoulder and gently felt the bones. They seemed in place. She straightened and looked more closely at their surroundings.

Brady’s packs were on the far side of the fire, one of them with its contents dumped in a messy pile on the ground. He’s spread his two blankets to dry and gathered some wood to feed the fire. The sun was on its down swing. Could this disaster have happened all in a few hours?

It seemed days ago since she’d waited at one end of that stupid bridge for Brady to walk across and disrupt her life.

Well, he’d done that. She didn’t want to leave him alone, but they should move out of the open before nightfall. The dry wood made little smoke, but it could still be smelled. Spring nights could be very cold so they needed the fire. They only had one blanket a piece unless they shared ….

Never. She would stand watch all night until he recovered. She could never sleep while he stood watch. Never would she allow herself to be so vulnerable.

* * * *

Brady watched Cara sleep. She’d done most of the work moving his packs and setting up their camp in the stand of trees. They had no food, but she’d searched out a small stream dashing down the slopes to join the river and found fresh water to fill their water bag. He carried a small bag of black tea leaves so they at least had a hot drink though no honey to sweeten it.

Dark had caught them still gathering firewood. Cara insisted she needed to stand guard, and he’d slept for a few hours. He woke a short time ago and found her dozing against a tree.

He worked the soft piece of cloth he carried in his pack to clean his gun through the barrel of his revolver with the metal bar made for that purpose. He should have cleaned it earlier but it wasn’t something that could be done one-handed. His shoulder felt so much better he didn’t even care about the lingering ache. A new sympathy for the men whose shoulders he’d reset over the year made him smile grimly.

The mindless task of cleaning his gun relaxed him. It also gave him lots of time to comtemplate the situation and the woman caught in it with him.

Why had she jumped in the water after him? Not even the strongest swimmer in the world could have saved him and not many Solonian women could swim at all. It might take them a long time to find their way back home. He didn’t doubt they could find a way, but they ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 16

might have to hike for months along the coastline. Months when everyone who cared about them back home would think them dead. He couldn’t think about that now.