“Awesome! I'd just bullied Jesus into doing a shot with me. Nobody would ever believe it, but I didn't care. We ordered the insanely expensive stuff, seventy-five dollars for a 1.75-ounce pour of premium Irish whiskey, because if you're doing a shot with Jesus, you don't buy him scotch.”

“That would do the trick," he said hoarsely. "Jesus, Harper, I don't understand why we don't have guys following us from town to town just to watch you do that." "Because I've never done it for anyone but you," I said. "You don't think I'd say something like that to anyone else, do you?""Please," he said. "Please do that for me. And no one else.”

“Wooo!’ he said, slamming his shot glass down and coughing a bit. ‘That’s good stuff.’I agreed heartily. ‘Shall we do another one?’ I asked.‘Oh no,’ Jesus said quietly, his eyes growing round. ‘This is one of those situations where I have to stop and ask myself, what would I do?”

“Who shot you?"For a moment he looked annoyed. "I fail to see what that's got to do with anything. Reading assures me that anyone who's ever met me would have reason to shoot me, so I mustadmit with all candor that I have no idea. Was it you?""If I'd shot you I wouldn't have missed," she said."Was that wishful thinking or are you in fact a practiced shot?""Desire would have made up for lack of expertise.”

“I don't want him hurt because he got out of hand with me.""Yet you would have shot him."I shrugged. "I never said I was consistent, just serious.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was shot?” he finally asked with a mischievous glint in his black eyes. Cameron stared at him. “Shot? Like, shot? By a gun?” Julian tilted his head and nodded. “It’s hard to be shot with a knife.”