The drive home wasn’t nearly as pleasurable for Kennedy as the trip into town had been. He was developing a bitch of a headache from a blow to the side of his head, and, damn it, his hands throbbed from ramming his fists against so many blockheads. Stupid kids. But, no, what they’d done went way beyond stupid. They’d meant to do that girl great harm, and Kennedy could only be thankful that he’d gone out late for a burger. Otherwise she might have been alone, and God only knew where she’d be right now. Maybe lying dead in the woods somewhere.

Minutes later when Kennedy entered the bunkhouse, Wyatt glanced up from where he sat at the table playing cards with Tex and then leaped to his feet, almost knocking over his chair. “Dear God, what happened?”

Tex looked over his shoulder. “What’d you do, son, tangle with a mountain lion?”

Kennedy hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror before driving home. “I’m fine,” he tried.

Wyatt grabbed his arm and guided him to a chair at the table. “No, you’re not fine. You’re bleeding like a stuck hog. Who did this to you?”

While Wyatt parted Kennedy’s hair to examine the wound, Tex phoned the boss, and the next thing Kennedy knew, Slade and Vickie burst into the bunkhouse kitchen. Vickie carried a first aid kit, which she immediately set on the table and opened. But then she saw Kennedy’s head.

“Uh-oh. We’ll have to take him in. That’s going to need stitches.”

“How did this happen?” Wyatt demanded.

Kennedy answered, but Vickie had her hand clamped over his head and he couldn’t lift his face so his brother could read his lips. He heard Tex repeat what he’d said so Wyatt would get the whole story.

“A knife? Dear God, Kennedy, what were you thinking?”

Kennedy told them about the girl and how she’d been overpowered by the boys. Whenever he stopped to take a breath, Tex said it all over again for Wyatt like they were playing a repeat-after-me game. When Kennedy refused to go to the emergency clinic, Vickie said, “This cut has to be stitched up, honey. It’ll never heal like it is.”

Kennedy had grown up watching old westerns on television. “Can’t you just do it?”

Able to see Kennedy’s lips now that his head was no longer bent, Wyatt said, “That will hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt. Why go through that when it’ll barely sting if a doctor does it?”

Kennedy just wanted to get it over with and crawl into bed. As the minutes passed, more places on his body throbbed. “I’m a big boy,” he reminded his brother. “And I can’t afford the deductible on my insurance for something this little. It’ll only be a few needle pricks. I can take it.”

“I’ll pay the deductible,” Wyatt countered. Slade chimed in with, “So will I. This is flat crazy.”

Tex interrupted. “I’ve done my fair share of stitchin’ on horses. I reckon I can fix him up.”