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Bass muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer and a threat fighting for space.

Carolina came to the bedside. “She is not leaving town this minute, if that is your fear.”

Jesse looked at her.

“She is hurt,” Carolina said. “She is thinking. Emily is with her.”

“Good,” Bass said.

Jesse swallowed. “Tell her…”

He stopped.

What could he tell her?

Sorry was too small. Come back was too selfish. I didn’t mean it was a lie because he had meant something, just not what he should have meant.

Carolina waited.

Jesse forced the words out. “Tell her I was wrong. No. Don’t tell her. I’ll tell her.”

Carolina’s face softened. “That is better.”

“When?”

“When she is ready to hear it.”

He hated that answer.

He accepted it because he had earned no better one.

Bass moved toward the door, then paused. “Jess.”

“What?”

“If you ask a woman to marry you again, try loving her first.”

Carolina made a small sound.

Jesse pulled the blanket higher, though it hid nothing. “Get out.”

Bass did, but he was smiling as he left.

Carolina stayed long enough to check Jesse’s bandage and make him drink three more swallows of tea. He obeyed because he was tired, ashamed, and in no mood to earn another of her quietly disappointed looks.

When she left, he lay alone.

Rain had started again, soft against the window.

The chair by the window remained empty.

Jesse turned his face toward it.

For the first time since waking in the clinic, he did not pray for his leg, his hand, his memories, or even for someone to catch Rusk.

He prayed for the Lord to guard Eden Whitcomb from men who mistook her kindness for something they could use.

Then, with shame burning clean through him, he added himself to the list.