They had almost reached the carriage house when the plane burst through the veil of smoke and flame over the hotel. Clods of earth exploded as the gunner shredded the ground beneath him. Piotr shoved her forward, and Sophie landed hard halfway through the doorway of the carriage house. His weight came down on top of her as the plane roared past, punching the air from her lungs and driving her chin into the ground. She squeezed her eyes closed, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She tried to move but Piotr’s weight still had her pinned.

“Piotr?” she rasped.

He didn’t answer.

“Piotr?” she asked again, a new sort of terror surging through her. Sophie shoved herself to her elbows, Piotr’s weight shifting slowly from her back. She made a sound she didn’t recognize and struggled feverishly out from under her husband, dread giving her a strength she didn’t know she possessed.

“No, no, no, no, no.” She was on her knees beside him now, afraid to touch him, afraid not to.

He had rolled onto his back, and his dark lashes lay still against dust-caked cheeks. Blood bloomed across his chest, mottling his once white shirt with a macabre pattern of red.

He was breathing, but barely. With shaking fingers, Sophie used the torn hem of her dress to wipe a smear of blood from his lips with as much care as she could manage.

His eyes fluttered open.

“Did you…run me over…with your bicycle again?” he managed roughly.

Sophie swallowed a sob. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t…think so.”

“You’re going to be all right,” she told him. “If you survived me, you can survive this.”

He might have smiled but his eyes fluttered closed again. “Don’t cry.” His words were barely audible.

She dashed away the tears that had escaped and tucked her hand in his. His fingers were cold. So very cold.

“Look in my…front shirt pocket,” he whispered.

Sophie did as he bid, her hand shaking. In the pocket of his shirt she found a photo, a black-and-white image of her mounted bareback on a big-boned gelding. She was grinning triumphantly at the camera, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, her clothing muddy at the elbows and knees. Sophie recognized it instantly.

“You took this picture the first day you took me riding.”

“Yes.”

“I lost count of how many times I slid off that poor horse.”

“Yet you kept…getting back up.” Bright blue eyes opened again to meet hers. “You need to get up again today.”

She shook her head, her breath catching on a sob. “Not without you.”

“Make it count, Sophie. Every day after this one. Make it all count.”

“I love you.” Her tears were falling unchecked now.