Grand Passion

in a beam of blinding light.
    “Get away from me,” Valence screamed. He held out one hand as if in supplication, aimed the pistol toward the source of the light, and pulled the trigger.
    The crack of an unsilenced revolver shot rang out at the same instant. Valence slumped to the floor, motionless.
    The flashlight fell to the floor, its beam still illuminating Valence's body.
    “Max,” Cleo shouted as she dashed across the room. “Max, answer me.”
    “Shit,” Max said. “The same damn leg.”

Chapter

19

    V alence was dead, but the following morning Max decided he was still pissed at him and would be for a long time. Every time Max felt the lancing pain from the new stitches in his thigh, he was reminded of how close he had come to losing Cleo. Rage and fear had surged through him last night as he had made his way up the stairs to the attic. The damned cane had never felt so clumsy in his hand. Trying to manage the revolver and the flashlight had been a difficult task. He had never resented his bad leg so much.
    But Cleo was safe now, and Max intended to keep her that way even if he had to put a leash on her.
    Ensconced in a bed in the local community hospital, Max studied the ring of anxious faces gathered around him. He was still not accustomed to having people fuss over him, he reflected. He wondered if he would ever get to the point where he would take such concern on his behalf for granted. He doubted it. When you had spent most of your life looking for something, you weren't likely to treat it casually when you finally stumbled into it.
    The whole family, with the exception of Ben and Trisha, who were still blissfully unaware of events, was hovering at Max's bedside. Cleo had insisted on spending what was left of the night in a chair in his hospital room. The others, who had been sent home by the staff a few hours earlier, had crowded back in right after breakfast.
    The nurses had already complained twice that there was no room for them to carry out their duties. The doctor, a smiling woman in her mid-fifties, had told Max that it looked like he was in good hands.
    “Does your leg hurt real, real bad?” Sammy clutched Lucky Ducky and gazed at Max with wide-eyed concern.
    Max considered the matter closely. Getting shot had been a definite screwup. When he'd gotten a fix on Valence's location, thanks to Cleo, he'd switched on the flashlight with the intention of blinding Valence.
    Knowing that Valence would fire toward the beam of light, Max had taken pains to hold the light well off to the side while he aimed his own weapon. Unfortunately, crazy as he was in some ways, Valence had still been enough of a cool-headed professional to shoot to the left of the light. Most people, after all, were right-handed. It was a safe bet that whoever had entered the room would be holding a gun in his right hand and the flashlight in his left. If that person was thinking, he would be holding the flashlight as far from his body as possible.
    Valence had been right on all counts. Max had taken the bullet in his left thigh. He would have another scar two inches away from the first one. The doctor had assured him that it was only a flesh wound. Unfortunately, that didn't make the stitches any more comfortable.
    “It doesn't hurt real, real bad,” Max said. “Just sort of bad.”
    “Hey, could have been worse.” O'Reilly grinned. “Could have been the other leg this time, and then you would have had to use two canes.”
    “You're a real ray of sunshine, O'Reilly.” As it was Max knew he was going to be on crutches for a while. He looked at Cleo, who was standing at the head of the bed. She had such a fierce grip on his hand that the ring on her finger was leaving an imprint on his skin. It felt good. “You're sure you're okay?”
    “For the hundredth time, I'm okay.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thanks to you.”
    “You're a hero, Max,” Andromeda told him proudly. She poured some of her special tea out of a thermos she had brought with her. “The local newspaper wants to do a feature on how you rescued Cleo from that horrid Mr. Valence.”
    Max grimaced as he took the mug of tea from Andromeda. “I don't want to talk to any reporters.”
    “It's just Bertie Jennings from the Harmony Cove Herald ,” Daystar assured him. “Don't worry. I've already told him that he can't talk to you until you're back on your feet.”
    “Thanks.” Max scowled. “Maybe by that time he won't want to do the