I take his hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need.” If only I could take the pain for him.

He nods again, but his eyes trace up into the rafters of the church as he readies himself.

I watch his face as Rayburn takes the scalpel and presses it into the bullet hole in Clay’s thigh.

Clay’s grip tightens on my fingers. His teeth pierce the leather. Rayburn begins muttering as he digs.

“Hurry, Rayburn,” I say, as Clay’s back arches and a little moan escapes his lips.

“I’m, uh, trying,” Rayburn says. He swipes his forearm across his sweaty brow and goes back to searching for the bullet. Clay’s hand tightens around mine again. The smell of blood and antiseptic makes my stomach churn, but I clench my jaw and fight the sickness. Clay needs me. Finally, Rayburn sighs and holds up bloody tweezers. At the end is the red slug.

I let out a puff of air. “Over,” I say, patting Clay’s hand. He gives a slight nod, but his face is still twisted in pain. He’s more pale than usual. A shiver runs through him, though it’s still nearly eighty degrees inside the church. I press my lips to his sweaty forehead. “You did great.”

He leans into me and tries to smile. “Nursemaid, too,” he says. “Nothing you can’t do, hmm?”

I smile and wipe sweat from his brow with the hem of my shirt. “Can’t keep you from getting shot up. Can’t do that, can I?”

Rayburn finishes bandaging the wound and packs up his med kit. “I’ll, uh, go out to the fire.” He looks at me, adjusting his bleary glasses. “I gave him some morphine. He, uh, he needs to rest.”

Clay nods, his eyes drooping. “You go out to the fire,” he slurs. “I’ll be fine.”

I kiss his hand, the one that’s not a giant, bandaged mess. I tuck the ratty curtain he’s using as a blanket around him. Before I’m out the door, he’s breathing evenly.

In the barren churchyard, Ethan’s built a small fire. Rayburn sits Indian-style on the ground, digging into a can of food from the van. Mama and Ethan sit hip to hip. She’s got her arms around him and he leans into her embrace. It’s so good to see them sitting there together. Now it’s my turn.

“I told her everything,” Ethan says as I walk up to the fire.

“Lord, I hope not,” I say smiling. She smiles back. It’s so good to see my mother smile.

“He told me all the best parts,” she says, her voice lilting, musical. “He saved the gory details for later.” She pats the curtain she’s spread over the dust. “Come, darling. Fill in the rest.”

I fold myself into her.