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“I washed your dried blood off my cuffs twice tonight. You stopped breathing while I was working on you.” His voice faltered. “I spent the better part of a week wondering whether I’d have to tell Bass his little brother was dead. Don’t you dare call this something I wanted.”

Jesse’s grip loosened.

Nate pushed away from the bed. He stood with his back to Jesse for several breaths, then righted the chair and sat.

Jesse fixed his eye on the narrow crack in the plaster above the window.

“Sorry.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

Nate’s anger was easier to bear than another gentle assurance. Jesse could do nothing with gentleness tonight.

Carolina opened the door with a cup in her hand. “Emily wants to know whether Bass may come in.”

“No.”

She stopped beside the table. “All right.”

“Bass has been asking after you,” Nate said.

“I said no.”

Carolina set down the cup. “I’ll tell him you’re resting.”

The door shut behind her.

Jesse listened to the footsteps fade. Bass would be pacing the front room, furious at being made to wait. His brother had never been much good at waiting when someone he loved was in trouble.

“How long?” Jesse asked.

Nate leaned forward. “Since they brought you here?”

Jesse managed a nod.

“Seven days.”

Seven days.

The last thing Jesse remembered clearly was a deck of cards in his hand. He’d gone to Miss Marcy’s with Peter. Izzy had been at the piano. Then a crash, somebody shouting, and a blow that blotted out the lamplight.

A whole week lay between that moment and this bed.

“Who did it?”

“We’re still sorting that out. Whit and Marshal Davis have spoken to Peter and Izzy.”

“Silver tooth,” Jesse whispered.

Nate came closer. “You remember him?”

“Fancy boots. Too clean for the place.” Jesse closed his eye, hunting for the rest. “Smelled like peppermint. Tobacco, too.”

“I’ll make sure Whit knows.”