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Not her? It took a moment for the truth to penetrate his panic.

Slowly, he swiveled to face his foe and processed details he'd failed to note earlier.

The large and still growing pool of blood by his left side.

The bent arm that had been under Callista.

The fingers near his waist. Fingers that would have pulled the trigger.

He shot himself?

Everett glanced back at Callista and found her beautiful brown eyes filling with tears as she stared at Batton. "I-I didn't mean to . . ."

Bending over her, he took Callista's face in his hands and turned her away from the gruesome sight. "You saved my life, Callista. Nothing that happened here is your fault. Batton pulled that trigger. Not you. Understand?" A tear fell but she gave a nod. "That's my girl."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, treasuring the feel of her breath against his neck. She was alive!

Easing back, he sought her gaze. "I'll see to him. You stay here, all right?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle and nodded.

Not sure what he'd find, he kept the small knife in his hand and approached with caution.

"Spartacus. Down."

The Mastiff relinquished his perch and trotted to Everett's side. When Batton failed to spring to his feet, Everett patted the dog's head and gestured for him to go to Callista.

"Batton?" Everett stepped around the blood and drew alongside the man's shoulder. He crouched down.

Knife in his right hand, he gingerly placed his left on the man's chest. No movement.

Batton's eyes stared at the sky unseeing.

Everett bowed his head, his gaze traveling down to the wound in Batton's side.

The bullet must have hit a major artery to bring about such a swift demise. Nothing could be done for him now.

Reaching up to the man's face, he closed his lids over his eyes.

"May God have mercy on your soul." He murmured the standard prayer, surprised at how much he meant the words.

As a redeemed beast in constant need of the Lord's mercy himself, Everett found he couldn't withhold it, even from his enemy.

Everett retrieved a blanket from the cabin and draped it over Batton's lifeless form then returned inside to wash his hands and face and find clean cloths so that Callista could do the same.

He carried a chair out to her and arranged it facing away from Batton then tended the wound beneath her chin.

It would leave a small scar, but thankfully not in a place where she'd be reminded of her trauma every time she looked in a mirror.

Like he had been. Yet, even had Batton's knife marred her face, Everett doubted Callista would have hidden herself away as he had done.

She had far too much zest for life to become a hermit.

No doubt, she'd continue working at her father's side, serving the public, her smile as bright and friendly as ever.

Only the hardest of hearts would fail to see the beauty of her spirit.

Perhaps it was time for him to leave his own self-imposed prison. To cease caring so much about what others thought of his face and help them see who he was as a man. A man who had put his beastly ways behind him after being tamed by love.

Callista hissed quietly as he made a final pass over her cut.

"Sorry." Everett winced with her. "After the sheriff arrives, we'll get you home and dab some of Mrs. Potter's salve on this. She's got a cure for just about everything in that cupboard of hers. I don't think this is deep enough to need stitches, but I'll bring in the doctor to confirm."

Her fingers pressed against his forearm. "Everett?"

He glanced down at her hand then up to her eyes. Eyes shimmering with tears. Tears he suspected had little to do with her injury.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. "Yes?"

"I want to go home. I need to see my papa."

Something cracked inside him.

"I can take the last few books with me . . . finish them at the bindery . . . I'll bring them back, I promise, and you won't need to pay anything until the job is complete. I just . . . I need some time . . . I—"

"Shh." He covered her hand with his. "Of course you can go home. I'll make all the arrangements. Don't give it another thought."

She leaned her head forward, and he raised up on his knees to cradle her face against his chest, careful not to touch beneath her chin.

Moisture filled his own eyes as he held her to him.

His beautiful Callista. The woman who had brought him back to life.

She loved him. She'd said the words. He could still hear the echo of her vow in his mind, the sweet sincerity of it ringing pure and true.

Yet at this moment, she craved the nurturing love of another.

He wanted her to turn to him. Heaven knew that if Everett loved her any more, his heart would split apart at the seams. Nevertheless, love meant doing what was best for another, not seeking one's own happiness.

So as much as he wanted to hold her tight, he knew he needed to let her go. He just prayed it wouldn't be forever.