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“Completely.” Eden set her basket beside a chair. “I cared for Josiah, but I know the difference between nursing a family member and practicing medicine. I’ll follow your instructions. If I can read to Jesse or keep him company while you rest, I’ll be glad to.”

Carolina’s shoulders eased. “That’s exactly the sort of help we need.”

A man appeared in the passage behind her. His sleeves were rolled, and exhaustion showed beneath his eyes.

“Miss Whitcomb? I’m Nate.”

“It’s good to meet you, Doctor.”

He glanced toward the sickroom. “Jesse’s asleep. He woke earlier and knew me, but the injury has affected his movement and memory. I don’t want him excited or questioned about the attack.”

“Neither do I.”

Nate studied her, then pulled a chair away from the passage to clear the way. “Emily told us about Josiah. I’m glad you understand what a difficult recovery can be.”

“I do. Josiah and Jesse are different men. I won’t presume to know what Jesse needs until he tells me.”

From behind her, Bass made a low sound of approval.

Eden faced Emily. “Does Jesse know you asked me to come?”

Emily’s expression changed. “He knows I wrote to you. He was unhappy about it.”

“He said he didn’t want a bride,” Bass added.

“Then we agree on one thing.”

Emily pressed a hand to her forehead. “Eden—”

“I haven’t come to marry a man who can’t choose for himself,” Eden said. “I came because you asked for help and because I wanted to meet him. What happens after that is for Jesse and me to decide.”

For the first time since entering the clinic, she could hear the kettle bubbling on the stove. Bass stepped away from the doorway.

Nate offered a faint smile. “I think you and Jesse might have quite a conversation when he’s better.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

Nate gestured toward the rear room. “Would you like to see him?”

Eden’s fingers found the worn handle of her reticule. She had prepared herself for an unconscious stranger. She was less certain how she’d manage a conscious man who resented her arrival.

“Yes, please.”

Emily caught her arm. “The bruising is dreadful. I don’t want you frightened.”

Eden covered Emily’s hand. “I’ve seen a man badly hurt before.”

“I know. Only remember he’s still Jesse.”

“I will.”

Nate opened the sickroom door.

A narrow bed stood beside the window. Jesse lay beneath a quilt, one arm resting awkwardly at his side. Bruises spread from his cheek to his temple, and swelling had sealed one eye. A bandage covered part of his forehead.

Emily’s letters had described a young man who worked cattle and loved his brothers, a man with a quick temper and a quicker grin. Eden searched the battered face for some trace of him.

Jesse shifted.