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Jake: A Fictional Narrative

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Jake winced at the sharp burn below his rib cage and slowed his stride. He slid his vest aside and peeled the bloodied shirt away from his wound, revealing a toothed patch across his skin. The bullet had missed his gut, and the bleeding had eased. He wouldn’t need a doctor. On the other hand, Duvall was probably raisin’ dust toward the nearest town. Jake struggled between his urgency to warn the sheriff and the diligence he owed the civilian. However, one glance at the boy and he made up his mind. With a grimace, he closed the distance between them. “Much obliged. Damn outlaws ambushed me,” he said. His savior, taller than Jake first thought, slanted his chin upwards, his wide-brimmed hat cloaking his eyes. Jake moved in closer. “Most people wouldn’t pick sides. I’m lucky you did.” He stretched, offering a handshake. “Are you hurt?” …show more content…

The hat slipped off center and dropped to the ground. What the hell? Jake dipped his brows together, stretching the bruised skin above his temples. A woman, her face tanned and smooth, stared back at him. A thick braid with light hues of gold and honey slid to her shoulder. What was she doing out here? He aimed to find out. “The name’s Jake Fontaine.” She stooped low, reclaimed the hat, and placed it on her head. “Kat . . . Katlin Collins.” Her air remained indifferent, but she rubbed her palms on the side of her pants. Worried? Did Miss Collins think he was a desperado? Perhaps she should’ve pondered that earlier. Despite his throbbing head, he stepped around her and glanced at her horse. Since she didn’t have saddlebags or a canteen he assumed she lived close by. “Are you alone?” A shallow gasp escaped her throat. “Even if I am—it’s no concern of yours.” She retrieved her

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