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His bare backburned like fire as his gaze tracked what he could see of the room. Another cot, also narrow, sat several feet away behind a half-drawn curtain. Between the two beds was a small table holding a lamp and a pint-sized brown crock. A glass-fronted cabinet filled with things he couldn’t identify from this angle was against the far wall.
    A vague memory of a woman’s voice and gentle touch floated through his mind. He had thought it was Annalise. Real or a dream? He remembered the Stockraisers’ Association meeting in Graham, recalled stopping overnight in Albany on his way home, then being close to Whirlwind when he’d been ambushed.
    He tried to turn on his side and agony seared his back. Hissing out a breath, he went still.
    â€œMatt?” Russ moved next to the bed, going to his haunches so Matt could see him.
    The rattle of a wheelchair affirmed that Pa was there, too. The older man rolled to Russ’s side. “Son?”
    Matt’s mouth was dry, his head throbbing. “Where am I?”
    â€œIn Whirlwind,” his brother answered. “At Annalise’s clinic.”
    Annalise? Hell. So, he hadn’t dreamed her. She really was here. “Why didn’t you take me to Catherine’s?” he rasped.
    â€œAnnalise was closer.”
    A hell of a lot closer than he wanted her, that was for sure. He was surprised she hadn’t turned him away. “What time is it?”
    â€œLate afternoon,” Russ answered. “You’ve been out since we brought you here about two this morning.”
    His back felt raw, torn. “What happened to me?”
    â€œWe’re hoping you can tell us.” J.T. angled his chair out of the way so Russ could help Matt sit up.
    He bit off a curse at the pain arrowing through him. Sweat broke across his forehead as he braced his hands on his knees and panted with the effort to breathe through the misery. “Thanks.”
    His brother sat beside him in case he needed support, for which Matt was grateful.
    â€œAh, you’re awake,” said a smoky feminine voice. Her voice.
    As Annalise walked into the room, his muscles tightened, sending a lash of agony through him. He looked up, taking in her practical gray daydress and the thick mahogany braid hanging down her back.
    Her skirts made a soft swishing noise against the wood floor. “I brought you some water and something to eat.”
    â€œNo whiskey?”
    â€œWater’s better for you right now.”
    Maybe so, but it wouldn’t take the edge off.
    She eased around J.T. and his wheelchair then set a real glass and a china plate on the small bedside table. After she removed the lamp and the crock, Russ moved the table within easy reach for Matt.
    He hoped he could manage to eat under his own steam because he didn’t plan on staying here.
    Annalise stepped to the head of the bed. “I sent Andrew Donnelly for Davis Lee.”
    Evidently, Annalise had renewed her acquaintance with Catherine Blue’s kid brother in the two months she’d been here.
    Russ glanced at Matt. “Are you up for some questions?”
    â€œYeah.” He took another bite of the bread and ham Annalise had brought, realizing how hungry he was. And how weak. “I was ambushed.”
    â€œBy Reuben and Pat Landis?” his brother asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Couldn’t see their faces.” Mindful of the pain in his back, he carefully lifted his glass for a drink. “Why’d you ask about those two?”
    â€œDavis Lee got word yesterday that they had escaped from the jail in Abilene.”
    As Matt talked with his brother and father, Annalise moved behind him into the space between the bed and the wall. When she touched his shoulder, he flinched.
    â€œSorry. I want to make sure your back isn’t bleeding again.” Her voice was cool, detached. And close. Too close.
    Matt tried not to tense up because it hurt like the devil when he did,