Page 4

Her fingers brushed his shoulder as she passed. The small touch steadied him.

When she left, the room changed.

Only brothers remained now. Nate lifted Jesse’s head a little higher. Jesse’s fingers clamped around his wrist, cold and shaking.

“Not there,” Jesse whispered.

“Not where?”

Jesse’s eye rolled toward the ceiling. His face went slack, then tightened again. “Piano.”

Beau’s head came up. Simon stopped sweeping mid-motion, broom handle going still in his hands.

Bass returned to the bedside, boots heavy on the floorboards. “What about the piano?”

Nate looked over his shoulder at his brothers. “No questions.”

Bass’s jaw hardened. He had raised them after Pa died—taught them to rope and ride and stand their ground with their boots dug in and their fists ready if words weren’t enough. Standing here now, waiting on broken words from Jesse, was tearing at him.

“Nate.” Bass’s voice was low, a warning rumble.

“No.” Nate didn’t turn from his brother. “His mind is sorting through broken glass and pain. Push him now, and you might not get him back.”

Bass’s boot scuffed the floorboards. “Back from what? He’s already—”

“Yes,” Nate cut in, quieter. “There are ways for this to get worse.”

No one answered. Bass’s gaze dropped to Jesse, who lay pale against the sheets.

Nate leaned closer to the bed. “Let him find his way. It has to be slow.”

Jesse’s chapped lips parted with a dry sound.

Nate bent until his ear nearly touched Jesse’s mouth. “What is it?”

“Don’t sell.”

Simon’s spectacles flashed as his head came up.

Bass took a heavy step forward. “Say that again.”

Nate watched the flicker beneath Jesse’s eyelid, the way his breath hitched between words. It could have been delirium. A fragment of nightmare tangled with memory.

Jesse’s hand twitched, fingers digging weakly into the sheet. “Don’t … sell.”

Bass’s jaw tightened. Beau’s shoulders went rigid near the wall.

Simon was the one who said it aloud, voice thin. “The ranch?”

Jesse gave no sign he heard.

Nate set the spoon down on the side table, the medicine still in it. “Out. All of you.”

Bass turned on him, broad shoulders blocking the lamplight. “I am not—”

“You are if you want his heart to keep its rhythm.”

“He said—”