And maybe worst of all, Kevin, her big brother, her closest confidant, the man she trusted most in the world, a man who had once saved her—he’d betrayed her.

And she couldn’t wait to get shut of all of them.

She’d do it as soon as Wyatt got over this most recent gunshot.

She’d thought Kansas—before, during, and after the Civil War—had been dangerous. They’d called it Bleeding Kansas, after all. A state acting out the Civil War before the real one got started, with people deciding elections by shooting the opposition to stop them from voting. There was a half-witted way to run a state.

But Wyoming was no Sunday picnic party, either.

“Chey!” Wyatt tossed his head. His fever had come back up. He was calling for his sister, Cheyenne, whom he called Chey. It sounded like shy, and no woman Molly had ever met was less likely to be called shy.

But tough, dangerous, not-shy Cheyenne wasn’t here to help with her brother. Her real brother—not the connected-but-not-by-blood brother she was marrying. And her absence upset Molly’s patient. And that made Molly want to punch Cheyenne right in the face.

Of course, if she did, Cheyenne would probably beat her to a lump on the ground and shoot her, so Molly would just daydream about swinging a fist while doing all the work and taking care of everyone.

Something that, in all honesty, she felt like she’d been doing all her life.

She caught herself again. Breathed in and out. Bathed Wyatt’s fevered brow and calmed down, counting her blessings.

“Chey. Chey.” Wyatt tried to throw the covers back. He couldn’t. Molly had a firm hold of his right hand, and his left arm was strapped tight to his body because, in Molly’s doctorly opinion, he’d broken his collarbone. It wouldn’t heal if it wasn’t kept still.

Cheyenne should be here helping with this.

Yes, they’d gotten home late last night. Yes, they’d captured four gun-slinging outlaws. Yes, they’d found and rescued Amelia Bishop, who’d been kidnapped, and yes, they needed to go with the Pinkerton agent, Rachel Hobart, to talk to the sheriff today about the crimes committed by people far and wide. The wedding was going to be in there somewhere, so yes, they had a lot to do.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Fine!

With a moment of desperate recklessness, Molly sat down beside Wyatt, cradled his rough, calloused hand as she’d seen Cheyenne do, dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper, the best she could do to imitate Cheyenne, and said, “I’m here, Wyatt. I’m here. This is Cheyenne.”

She held tight. Her right hand to his. A bullet wound in his upper left shoulder. She rested more weight on him, trying to keep him still, and set the cool cloth on his forehead.