The Silver Bullet

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Jake Stewart Gibbs stepped through the finely carpentered doorway and was immediately hooked around the neck. With a sharp yank, he was dragged inside the upstairs room of the small inn on the northern outskirts of Albany.

Taken by surprise but far from bested, Jake used only a portion of his strength as sham resistance until he could map a counterattack. It was soon done: Kicking the door closed to cut off any pursuers, he lunged forward. The momentum of his lean, six-foot-two frame pushed himself and his assailant face-first onto the large featherbed, which after all wasn't that horrible a place to be.

"So I see you've missed me," Jake said.

"You told me you'd be back in a week," answered his captor. "I've waited all this time."

"Two years?"

"Nearly."

"You never got my letters?"

"Not one," she said, a little too quickly to be believed.

"But I heard you were engaged." Jake paused to take advantage of his situation with a kiss. He'd spent the entire day riding from Kingston, hoping Sarah Thomas' lips were as full and warm as he remembered.

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