A young nun, dressed in a black habit, stretched out in the open like the prairie had spit her out and left her there. No shade. No wagon. No horse. No footprints except the faint scuffing trails in the grass that told Jake she hadn’t fallen so much as given out.
Jake swung off his horse so fast the dust rose up around his boots like smoke. His knees hit the ground beside her, and the heat rolled off her like a stove door opening.
Her feet were bare.
That hit him first, sharper than anything else.
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