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“You’ll hang for this,” Whit said, as Crowley struggled.

Bass wrenched Crowley’s wrists behind his back as Whit hauled him upright by the elbow.

“You have no idea what you’re spoiling,” Crowley spat.

“I’m willing to be surprised,” Whit said. He pushed Crowley towards the front room.

Eden remained beside the bed, hardly aware her hem was soaked. The danger had arrived and passed so quickly her body had yet to believe it was over.

“Eden.”

Jesse’s voice brought her around.

He had pulled himself partly upright and was clinging to the edge of the mattress. His face had gone ashen.

“Are you hurt?”

“My sleeve is torn.” She held out her arm. “He caught me, but I got away.”

“Your wrist.”

The skin was already reddening where Crowley had seized it. She lowered her hand. “I’ll have Nate look at it.”

Jesse tried to shift toward her. Pain stopped him, and Eden reached to steady him before he slipped sideways.

Nate came running from the front room. He took one look at Jesse and moved to the bed. “What happened?”

“Crowley came through the back,” Eden said. “Bass and Whit have him.”

“I can see that much.” Nate eased Jesse against the pillows. “Is anyone else hurt?”

“Crowley might be,” Jesse muttered.

“Then he can wait his turn.”

Nate checked Jesse quickly, then beckoned Eden closer and examined her wrist. She winced when he pressed near the bruise.

“Nothing broken,” he said. “Keep it cool. Tell me if the swelling gets worse.”

Jesse hadn’t taken his eye off her.

“I’m all right,” she told him.

“You threw the pitcher.”

“I did.”

“Missed his head.”

“Unfortunately.”

His mouth twitched. “Chair was a good idea.”

“I was rather proud of the chair.”

“Both of you,” Nate said, “are forbidden to make a habit of this.”

A laugh escaped her, thin with nerves. Then she saw the blood on Jesse’s lip, where he’d bitten it in his fight to rise, and the laugh deserted her.