“Can you tell how bad it is?”
“The bleeding seems to have stopped and that’s good, but I don’t know how much blood he lost before you got him here.” She felt her way up his strong denim-covered calves, the backs of his powerful legs and then his sides. “I don’t feel more injuries.”
“So, we can take him to the hotel now?”
Her gaze caught his. “No. He shouldn’t be moved. Not now anyway.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do?”
“What do you mean? He can stay here, just like any other patient.”
“He’ll kill me if I leave him here.”
Russ’s wife started, pinching his arm.
Even though Annalise knew the man’s words were said out of worry for his brother, she couldn’t keep the sharpness from her voice. “Well, we certainly can’t do something he might not like. You go ahead and move him. When he starts bleeding again, send for me. Or don’t.”
Russ frowned.
Lydia tugged her husband’s head down to hers and said in a half whisper, “For goodness’ sake, Russ, she isn’t going to hurt him. Especially since he was the father of her baby.”
Anger shot through her. How many people knew about that? She had foolishly believed—hoped—that his brother would be the only one privy to the information.
Matt stirred, his big hand clamping hard onto her knee. His heat reached through her skirts and skimmed along her nerve endings.
“Matt?” Russ stepped forward.
Blue eyes opened, clouded with pain as they focused on Annalise. “Angel?” he whispered.
At the endearment, an unexpected knot of longing tangled in her chest, but it was quickly gone. His calling her that surely meant he was out of his head with pain.
His brother leaned over the bed. “Matt?”
Matt’s eyes closed and his hand slid from Annalise’s leg.
Reading the look of concern on the other man’s face, she said, “It may take him a while to come to.”
Russ nodded. “I want to stay with him tonight so I can be here when he wakes up.”
“All right.”
After Ef was convinced he’d done all he could for now, he handed the lamp over to Russ and said good-night. Russ assured the blacksmith he would send for him if anything changed and told Lydia the same when she offered to stay with him.
When he returned from walking his wife out, Annalise had retrieved a crock of honey from her cabinet and was carefully applying it to Matt’s back.
“Why are you putting honey on him?” Russ asked sharply.
“It will form a barrier to keep the dirt from getting into his body. It may also help dull his pain.”
“I’ve heard of that, but I didn’t know if it really worked.”
“I’ve had good results in the past.”
Russ nodded, a brief glint of respect in his eyes.
She pointed to the second cot. “Feel free to sleep there if you want.”
“Thanks, I might do that later.” He pulled over a chair from beside the door and sat down at the foot of the bed.
She worked in silence for a few moments. As she finished treating the wounds, Russ spoke, “Sorry about what I said earlier.”
“It’s all right.” She gave him a small smile. What had hurt more than that was what Matt had said. Angel.
Her throat closed up. Feeling suffocated, she rose and walked to the sink across the room to wash her hands.
Between this and Josie’s threat of miscarriage, Annalise felt trapped. The best thing for her would be to send Matt to the hotel with his brother, get him out of her clinic. That was what she wanted. But seeing the extent of his injuries had changed her mind about getting him out of here. He could start bleeding again and he might get a fever.
She stared at the medical certificate hanging above the supply cabinet. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable she found this situation, Annalise knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t turn her back on him the way he had on her.
Feeling as though he’d been beaten with a fence post, Matt forced his eyes open, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window a few feet to his left. He sorted through his fuzzy brain, trying to get his bearings. Buttery-yellow light slanted in a wide band across a clean pine floor. He was on his belly in a narrow bed that smelled of fresh air and lye soap. And something sugary-sweet.
He wore trousers, socks, but no shirt. His bare back burned like fire as his gaze tracked what he could see of the room. Another cot, also narrow, sat several feet away behind a half-drawn curtain. Between the two beds was a small table holding a lamp and a pint-sized brown crock. A glass-fronted cabinet filled with things he couldn’t identify from this angle was against the far wall.
A vague memory of a woman’s voice and gentle touch floated through his mind. He had thought it was Annalise. Real or a dream? He remembered the Stockraisers’ Association meeting in Graham, recalled stopping overnight in Albany on his way home, then being close to Whirlwind when he’d been ambushed.
He tried to turn on his side and agony seared his back. Hissing out a breath, he went still.
“Matt?” Russ moved next to the bed, going to his haunches so Matt could see him.
The rattle of a wheelchair affirmed that Pa was there, too. The older man rolled to Russ’s side. “Son?”
Matt’s mouth was dry, his head throbbing. “Where am I?”
“In Whirlwind,” his brother answered. “At Annalise’s clinic.”
Annalise? Hell. So, he hadn’t dreamed her. She really was here. “Why didn’t you take me to Catherine’s?” he rasped.
“Annalise was closer.”
A hell of a lot closer than he wanted her, that was for sure. He was surprised she hadn’t turned him away. “What time is it?”
“Late afternoon,” Russ answered. “You’ve been out since we brought you here about two this morning.”
His back felt raw, torn. “What happened to me?”
“We’re hoping you can tell us.” J.T. angled his chair out of the way so Russ could help Matt sit up.
He bit off a curse at the pain arrowing through him. Sweat broke across his forehead as he braced his hands on his knees and panted with the effort to breathe through the misery. “Thanks.”
His brother sat beside him in case he needed support,
