“I’m here. Stay still, please. Lie still.”

For a moment, his eyes fluttered open. They were dazed and cloudy with the fever. The bullet wound didn’t appear to be suppurating. It gave her hope that he just needed to beat this fever, and he’d be fine.

But that didn’t help her get through this moment, right now.

“You’re not Cheyenne.” He’d quit thrashing at least.

“I’m taking care of you until Cheyenne gets back. She’ll be here right away.”

Let him think she just went to get supper or tidy her hair. Molly wasn’t about to remind him that his sister was off marrying Falcon Hunt. That news had almost shot him out of bed before. Cheyenne had at least told him though. More than Kevin had managed when he’d sneaked off to his wedding.

“Why is it so h-hot?” Wyatt’s throat worked as if he was parched. “Oh. Summer.”

Molly gingerly released his hand, got a few sips of water down him, more willow bark tea. Then she dipped the cloth in the basin again to cool it, then wrung it out and folded it, keeping an eye on him in case he started rolling around. Trying not to say anything that got past his dazed confusion. Once he started remembering things, like the bullet wound, who knew what all he might recall.

“You’ll be fine. You need to rest.” She had a doctor’s voice, and she used it as best she could. She lifted the cloth away so he could see her, and he shook off the hold she had on his right hand, grabbed at her left with the cloth, and pressed it back to his brow.

“Feels good. Stay, stay with me.” He held her hand with the cloth beneath it. “Burning. Hot. Hot.”

His eyes locked with hers as he refused to let her go. Of course, she wasn’t exactly fighting to escape. The poor man needed someone to care about him. His cheeks were flushed. His gazing eyes were that same brown shot through with gold that Kevin and Falcon both had. There was a dimple in his chin that was barely noticeable with his three-day scruff of beard. All three brothers had those eyes and that chin dimple in common, features they shared with their worthless father, Clovis Hunt.

Beyond that they didn’t look much alike. Wyatt was a handsome man, though he could use a haircut. Falcon was a rough-looking mountain man dressed in homespun clothes with little interest in haircuts and shaves. She had her suspicions about his interest in baths, but Falcon had recently been swept a long way down a stream, and they’d cleaned him up when he got back, so that was two baths in a short stretch of days.

Kevin was . . . well, Kevin was her brother. It was hard to think of his looks because he just looked like himself.