He’d leave for Denver the day Big John got back, he decided, in an attempt to save himself. Make some excuse and light out and move on to some new place. Half the ranch was his, half the money they’d already earned, and half the cattle that would arrive in the spring. If his friend wouldn’t buy him out, well, he’d leave all the same. Cut his losses and run.

He’d never turned his back on trouble in his life, but neither had he ever encountered a situation just like this one. What he felt toward Evangeline Keating might not be true love, but it was something damn similar, and it ran deep. He didn’t expect to get over it real soon.

Don’t get down in the mouth, he counseled himself, remembering his physical wounds. After all, you might not live to see the sun come up.

* * *

With more hindrance than help from Abigail, the cabin floor chilly beneath her bare feet, Evangeline dragged Scully’s cot in from the lean-to and put it within range of the cookstove, where he would stay fairly warm through the night. She hoped to sleep if she could, and get up intermittently to add wood to both fires, as well as to check on her patient.

She touched his unbandaged shoulder gently. “Scully,” she whispered. “Scully, wake up.”

His lashes fluttered—they were unreasonably long, for a man’s eyelashes—and then he was looking at her. “Can I have some more of that whiskey?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, without hesitation. “Not now, anyway. Too much all at once might make you sick. You need to get up, Scully, so I can help you to the cot. It’s just over there by the stove. Do you think you can manage to stay upright that long?”

“I can manage,” he confirmed. “But I need the bottoms to my long johns before we start out.”

She had forgotten, unbelievably, that he was naked under the covers. A hot flush burned in her face. “Where might I find a pair?”

“There ought to be some hanging on the peg in the lean-to,” he answered. He sounded weak, but she would have sworn there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Evangeline had lost her sense of detachment by the time she returned with the off-washed woolen underwear; she was only too aware that she would have to help Scully put them on, as well as supporting him all the way across the room.

Reaching his side, she squeezed her eyes shut, jerked back the covers, and did her best to find his feet and pull the long johns on over them. The process was awkward, and Evangeline felt like a fool, but she finally managed to get the garment as far as the middle of his thighs and, mercifully, he took over from there.

Getting him up and out of bed was even more difficult, and he nearly fell twice, taking her with him, when they started toward the cot. Abigail, still seated at the table with her school slate, watched their progress with wide eyes, the kitten on the floor at her feet, swatting at a dangling shoe lace.