by Connie Vines
Brede swallowed, trying to ignore the thick, tight feeling wedged in his throat. He didn't welcome the onslaught of emotion that filled his chest and caused him to stroke her jaw with an unsteady finger tip. He reminded himself that he didn't need to be involved in her problems; he had enough of his own. As soon as the roads were passable, he'd get her to a doctor and the police could take care of the rest.
Still, no matter how hard he tried to remove himself from the situation, he kept remembering how fragile she'd seemed in his arms. he felt as if he'd carried a sparrow, all feathers and tiny bones, out of the gully.
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Stop back next week for a few lines from Joan Hall Hovey.