The bed sagged under his weight, and his face appeared, indistinct in the pre-dawn glow. She licked cracked lips. “Hi.” Even her voice was bruised.

“Hi.”

Where was she? She swung her gaze over plain, white walls. On a wooden peg rail by the door, a pair of pants dangled from suspenders beside a black suit and white shirt neatly arranged on hangers. She blinked, and her lashes stuck like they were coated in half dry glue. “Am I in your bed?”

“Yes.”

Her head hurt way too much to unpack the implications of that discovery. She arched her lower back. “It’s kind of lumpy.”

“How do you feel?” He pressed a hand to her cheek.

Swallowing took monumental effort. “My head hurts.”

He crossed to a spindled washstand by the door and picked up a pitcher.

Water flowed into a basin with a sound that echoed the creek. The creek that tried to kill me. She took in a breath, and searing pain in her ribs temporarily overpowered her headache.

He dipped a washcloth in the basin, wrung it, and draped the cloth over her forehead.

Cool streams trickled down her temples, and her vision cleared. Though Spartan, the room was cozy. Simple, green shades covered the windows, dim light glowing through the spaces around them. A masculine, oak bureau stood alone to the left of the bed. Above the washstand at her feet, the peg rail extended the length of the wall. A beeswax candle in a tin candleholder and a worn Bible lay on the bedside table.

He poured a glass of water and joined her again on the bed. Sliding a hand behind her head, he touched the glass to her lips. “Drink a little.”

She obeyed. The water was sweet and cold. Sated, she settled back and traced her fingertips over her forehead to the burning locus of pain above her left eyebrow. A knobby lump throbbed beneath her touch.

He took her hand and cradled it. “You have a serious welt. I’m relieved you woke on your own.”

“What time is it?”

He rose and lifted a pocket watch from the dresser. “Six thirty.”

In the a.m. she assumed. Then again, could the dim light be dusk the following day? How much time had she lost? She bunched the sheet in one hand. “So, I’ve been here…?”

“About six hours.”

With a sigh, she eased her grip on the bedclothes. “How did I end up in your bed?”

“Not now. We’ll talk when I come back.”

A wave of panic tightened her chest, stinging her lungs like saltwater. She groped for him with one hand, and pain surged from her ribs, nearly knocking her into the headboard. “Wait. Don’t go,” she choked.

He caught her hand again and pressed it to his cheek. “Easy, now.”

The stubble of a tawny beard chafed her palm.