I galloped ahead of Cheryl and Tom, on account of Cheryl riding with the baby. I needed to get to Jon. There was no time for me slow down.

I swapped horses in GloryLand, leaving Diana to rest, and borrowing a mare from someone drinking inside the Rusty Nail. Being Sheriff had its perks—but even if I wasn’t, if it meant saving Jon, I would have stolen a hundred horses.

Every time I was forced to stop and rest the horse, it was torture. Every moment I couldn’t go full speed toward my love was painful. He was dying without his soul and I held the cure, but time and distance are cruel enemies that I hoped I could vanquish.

When the lights of New Duluth finally shown in the distance, I dug my heels in hard, spurring my borrowed horse. Normally, I’d never ride a horse so hard—so haphazardly. But Jon was so close. He needed me.

The jar was wrapped in cloth and nestled in my saddlebag. It glowed bright, its light shining through the material and peeking through leather cracks of the bag. It seemed the closer we got to the town, the brighter it shown.

Faster. Faster, dammit! I kicked, knowing I was doing no good. The horse was doing its best. Running its fastest.

I reached the city limits without slowing down. On main street, the mare slowed and refused my commands.

Come on! I dug in my heels but it did no good. The horse grunted and wobbled, but refused to hurry.

I pulled the reigns and the horse stopped completely and abruptly. “You’ve been good,” I whispered. “Go find water. Go rest.” I slid from its back and dug the jar from the saddlebag. I wasn’t imagining it—it glowed so brightly, I had to look away. I rewrapped it in the rag. Even through the cloth, it was warm in my hand, and seemed to pulse and ebb under my touch, reminding me of a heartbeat that grew stronger for a few beats, before weakening, then returning to full strength.

I began to run in the direction of Lindsey Willing’s home.  The tall, four story structure appeared and I fought my fatigue, using adrenaline to spur myself onward.

I cut through the side alley and to the backyard of the boarding house, when they appeared from the shadows.

“What do we have here, boys?” The tall, angular man snarled. He had familiar eyes—they resembled the ones that had stared lifelessly back at me from the end of a rope months before. The man spit. “Where do you think you’re going, Sheriff.” He said Sheriff as if it were the most reprehensible cuss there was.

Two men flanked him—both shorter and rounder—but with the same eyes.

“I don’t want no trouble,” I growled. I’d made it this far, and I wasn’t about to let these idiots keep me from Jon for even one minute longer. “If you value your life, get out of my way.” I didn’t stop moving forward.

The man in the middle—I was guessing the three of them were members of the Rosemary Boys—drew his pistol and pointed it in my direction. “I’d slow down little lady. If anyone could call you a lady. You wear trousers like a man and run around shooting people. Hanging people. Maybe you ain’t a woman at all.”

“I only shoot bad people. And the people that swing at the end of my rope have it coming. Now get out of my way. I won’t say it again.”

The man threw his head back in a guffaw, but made a fatal mistake. He didn’t lower his weapon—and I’d warned him twice. I drew my pistol and fired. The tall man dropped to the ground, grasping his knee. “You bitch!” he howled. His minions both were slow on the draw, but now had their weapons pointed in my direction.

“I warned you. I don’t know if you have heard about me—maybe you have. And if you have—then you will hopefully head any advice you may have heard. There is nothing you can do to harm me. Your bullets won’t pierce me. Neither will your blades. Your rope can’t hurt me neither, so get out of my way.”

The minions still held their weapons while their brother howled at their feet, but now they looked less sure of themselves. They obviously weren’t the brains of the outfit. Though Lindsey had said there were no brains in that outfit...

“What are you waiting on?” The downed Rosemary Boy screamed. “Shoot that bitch!”

One of the men was dumb enough to listen. He fired. The bullet hit me in the shoulder. It knocked me backward, but glanced off of my skin.

“Now you made me angry,” I yelled. I still clasped Jon’s soul in one hand, and my gun in the other. I took deliberate steps in their direction, unsure if I would aim for the knee or the heart, when the back door opened.

Lindsey stepped outside. She held a rifle in her hands, and she cleanly and without pause, shot one man, then the other. She looked down at the man I’d shot in the knee.

“Lindsey, darlin’ don’t do it,” he pleaded.

Lindsey snarled, cocked the rifle, pointed it at the man’s chest, and fired.

I watched her. My mouth hung open. I was guilty of taking lives—but only when I had to. This woman had just killed three men. Granted—they would have died one way or the other because I’d have seen them come to justice. And if Jon didn’t make it because of my delay, I’d have shot them myself.

But Lindsey didn’t seem bothered at all. “Trust me when I tell you they have had it coming a long while.” She spit on the bodies.

“Is Jon—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. I wouldn’t jinx it.

“He is hanging on for you. Just barely though. Now hurry on in. I will take care of this mess. I know someone who will get the bodies. They will pay me good money, actually.”

I frowned. Of course she knew someone. The more I spoke with Lindsey Willing, the more I wondered about her. She killed without worry. She had no fear about riding off with a monster to his ranch. She knew how to get rid of bodies...who was this woman? And why did I feel like I could trust her?

I couldn’t worry about that now, but one thing was for certain—Lindsey Willing was no ordinary prostitute. There was more to her story and oneday I’d have to do some digging.

I left Lindsey on the steps and ran into the house. I bounded up the stairs to the little rented room on the third floor. The door was open and I barged in.

The place where we’d left the dead shell of Malachi was now empty and scrubbed clean as if there had never been a body at all.

Jon was no longer laying on the floor where I’d left him. Thank God, it really had killed me to leave him there.

Jon was tucked into Lindsey Willing’s bed, the thick purple cover pulled up to his chin. His skin was waxy. His natural tawny gold complexion was ashen and washed out. And even though I knew it was completely silly—that it was idiotic—seeing him lying there in another woman’s bed unleashed a bought of jealousy I didn’t realize I possessed. I pushed it away. How stupid to feel that way? Of course he was in her bed. That was where he needed to be. She’d done me a service by not leaving him on the floor.

I sat down next to him. The coils of the mattress squeaked under my weight.

“Jon?” I whispered. “Jon, it’s me.”

His eyes fluttered open into two tiny slits and his lips parted. “Little Wolf.” He began to move his hand under the cover, but paled and let his hand drop.

“Shh. Don’t move, Jon. I’m here. I have your...well, I have your soul.”

Suddenly sadness flooded me as I realized—Jon was dying. He was so far gone that I knew he’d tipped over the edge no return. He was going to die.

My stomach twisted and tightness grew through me, filling me like liquid and pressing against every bone in my body. Jon—my Jon—the man I loved...the man I’d always loved but been too stupid and too hard headed to realize it—was going to leave me. What would I do without him? We’d only recently confessed our true feelings to one another. We should have forever to explore what that meant. And now we had his son...he had Jacoby. It wasn’t fair! He should get to be a father to the boy. He’d be a great Pa and they both deserved that experience—he and Jacoby.

And me... Tears welled in my eyes. I never cried—not even when my own mother had passed to the clear blue yonder, but the hot wet tears in my eyes didn’t care. They were coming. They erupted over my eyelids and barreled down my cheeks like out-of-control rivers cutting a new and uncharted path.

“Oh, Jon. You can’t leave me. You can’t.” I had his soul. At least I could do him this last kindness. He could die and travel onward toward whatever came next. But this offered me no comfort. I am a selfish woman and I wanted him. I needed him.

Jacoby needed him. What would I do with the boy? I was no mother! Parenting alongside Jon—Jon who could teach me—that was one thing. Raising a child...what if I screwed him up?

“Jon, please. Stay with me.” It was a selfish thing to say to a dying man. A man who had no choice on the outcome of his destiny. I was terrible for saying it but at that moment I couldn’t have held the words in if someone had a gun pointed on the people I loved most. I’d have still spoken.

Jon’s eyes closed and then opened. His lips parted, and with a deep raspy voice, he said, “Little Wolf. Jacoby...promise me...Promise—“

I squeezed his hand. “Yes. I promise. I promise with every fiber of my being.”

I meant it.  I didn’t care what I had to do. I decided that if I had to spend every dollar I earned—I would give the boy a life that Jon would approve of.

I’d sat Jon’s soul on the floor near my feet. I’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of my love, lying in bed, struggling to breathe, that I’d dropped it to the ground without a thought. Now it glowed bright and hot. No longer the soft glowing yellow—now it was a white hot and glaring light.

I leaned forward and kissed Jon on his dry lips. I kissed him long and I kissed him hard. His skin was deathly cold and clammy, but still I kissed him. I threw my arms around him and squeezed him.

Then I sat up and picked up the jar. It was almost too hot to hold.

“Goodbye Jon,” I whispered. I unscrewed the lid.