”Instead of answering, Jazz said, “I should really look at your ass. Roll over.”Emily groaned, but obeyed. “Please tell me I’m not going to ...ave a scar on my ass.”Jazz didn’t answer until she’d cleaned the scratch at the top of Emily’s right leg with peroxide and put a wide bandage over it. “It’s not on your ass and I don’t think it’s going to scar.”Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Jazz cleaned a couple of other small abrasions. Quietly, she said, “I know you didn’t deliberately sprain your. Fred had called my cell to tell me. Fred was my only remaining living relative. After dad and our younger brother had died, Fred and I had become very close, almost protective of each other.Fred, was an ex marine with a hardon against women in general for the way he had been treated by his ex. Hell, I could relate. Retired military, he spent most evenings at the Buscadero, a country western bar and grill where men with good manners were hard to find and women with virtue rarer still. My kind of. More

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