They stood on the porch, Parrot against the balustrade sucking in air, Cole beside him with the woman’s rifle firmly jammed in his back.
“Who is that?”
Cole craned his neck to look at her. Out here, in the daylight, he could see her face so much more clearly, and she was a woman of staggering beauty. Amongst her perfectly formed features, however, lay a heavy, all-consuming look of grief. Full lips so pale, startlingly blue eyes red rimmed and cheeks sunken. He turned his gaze to settle on Parrot’s horse, and the old sheriff slung across the animal’s back. “It’s Spelling.”
Her breath hissed. Cole snapped his head to face her and for a moment, he thought she might collapse. Although already ghostly white, her face seemed to drain of whatever blood remained, and she teetered backwards, st
