White spots that swirled behind his eyes. Whirled in front of his head. Only this time, ’twas caused by the bounty in his arms, the one who squealed out her own release, rode his spent hanger with jerky abandon and renewed her kisses upon his lips. His cheeks. The stub of his arm…
Tears and stars spun together, and for the second time in his life, he lost consciousness.
Only this time, it wasn’t under a brusque surgeon’s saw but beneath the loving acceptance of a lass he couldn’t have. Couldn’t keep.
Of a caring, cat-cracked lass every bit as unattainable as his five missing fingers…
After keeping watch over the outside of the cottage where they’d retreated…
After gleefully, if quietly, spilling and spreading the stacked wood beyond the lean-to intended to keep it dry (utterly brilliant idea, that)…
After ensuring the couple within would likely exhaust the supply already inside…
Mayhap—dare he hope?—huddle together for warmth…
The four-footed observer decided he had done what he could, regarded his efforts here complete and returned back the way the three of them had all traveled scant hours before, one last, remaining notion to see accomplished before he too sought shelter and slumber.