Of course, she wasn’t the one who had been shot. So she admitted, as much as she’d been called on to doctor people, she was better off than the wounded. And they weren’t yet sure they’d caught whoever had shot Wyatt, so that danger remained until they got a confession out of one of the outlaws.

Yes, in calmer moments she admitted that tending gunshots wasn’t as bad as being shot. So she wasn’t the only one who’d had it hard.

God’s answer was to make Wyatt’s fever come back up, so Molly tried to quit feeling sorry for herself and just pray for her patient, tend him, worry, and pray some more. His fever had been up and down several times.

The work didn’t occupy her mind. It occupied endless hours with no sleep and precious little help, but soothing his fevered brow with ice-cold water and pouring willow bark tea and a few other concoctions she’d contrived didn’t take much thinking. While she cared for Wyatt, she considered how much her life had changed in just a month’s time.

One big change: Kansas.

She most certainly wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

She had been born and raised there. Now she was long gone, living at a ranch in Wyoming. It was only two states away from Kansas, but they were big states. She thought of what she’d left behind in Kansas and fervently hoped they were big enough.

Another change: Kevin, her brother, got married. His bride, Winona Hawkins Hunt, seemed decent enough. She worked in the kitchen to keep the broth and tea brewing for Wyatt. She’d started talking to Molly a few times, as had Kevin, but it seemed they both had a talent for wanting to talk right when Wyatt started burning with fever.

A second wedding was joining Wyatt’s big sister, Cheyenne, and his big brother Falcon. Molly would have enjoyed watching them explain that to the parson.

Andy, her little brother, was turning into some kind of cowboy.

And of course, Molly—her own life had changed.

Somehow she’d become the cook, housekeeper, and doctor for a crowd of strangers. What did they call it? She remembered something . . . oh yes, chief cook and bottle washer. Or maybe jack-of-all-trades, master of none.

Or just the dupe who’d found it her lot in life to care for a herd of thankless strangers who kept getting themselves shot.

She caught herself. Breathed in and out. Bathed Wyatt’s fevered brow and calmed down, counting her blessings. Then she thought of Kevin getting shot and forgot about calm. He was no stranger. And he was mostly well by the time he got home, so he required no doctoring. And neither Kevin nor Andy was thankless, but they weren’t around all that much.