The Last Ride
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 6
The town had grown quieter during Rigg’s absence. He had been gone a month on duties that could not be postponed, leaving Ione in Dr. Krüger’s careful hands. He returned in late afternoon, dust still clinging to his coat, the sun dipping behind the red rocks, casting long shadows across the town.
When he entered the small room, he found Ione sitting propped up in her traction frame, the spine brace adjusted precisely, plastered legs elevated. The difference was immediate and astonishing. She could shift slightly, her arms moving with more control than before, flexing fingers deliberately. Her toes, tiny and delicate, now wiggled in the plaster, signaling circulation and nerve return.
“Marshal,” she greeted him with a faint smirk, green eyes bright and teasing. “Back so soon?”
Rigg stepped closer, heart tightening at the sight of her improved condition. The faint curve of her body, the delicate motion of her limbs, even the small, precise flex of her toes—all spoke of a slow, stubborn recovery.
“I see you’ve improved,” he said, voice low, almost careful, but tinged with something he hadn’t intended to feel—pleasure, admiration, something more personal.
“Dr. Krüger has been ... methodical,” she replied. “And annoying.” Her humor was thin, but it held warmth.
Rigg knelt beside her again, carrying a bowl of soup. “Still can’t manage this yourself?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical.
“I can try,” she said, flexing her arms experimentally, “but it’s not wise.”
He fed her slowly, spoon by spoon, noting the way she now held her arms steadily, guiding the bowl with a small, controlled motion. Every movement drew his attention—the curves of her shoulders, the way her elbows bent, the subtle rise and fall of her chest under the brace.
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