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“I know.”

Breathless from the run, Megan burst into the kitchen. “Holt said— Oh, God.” She streaked to Nathaniel's side, grabbed his sore hand so tightly he had to bite down to suppress a yelp. There was blood drying on his face, and there were bruises blooming. “How bad are you hurt? You should be in the hospital.”

“I've had worse.”

“Holt said two men came after you.”

“Two?” Coco's hand paused. 'Two men attacked you?” All the softness fled from her eyes, hardening them to tough blue steel. “Why, that's reprehensible. Someone should teach them how to fight fair.”

Despite his lip, Nathaniel grinned. “Thanks, beautiful, but I already did.”

“I hope you knocked their heads together.” After a huffing breath, Coco went back to work on his face. “Megan, dear, fix Nate an ice bag for his eye. It's going to swell.”

Megan obeyed, torn into dozens of pieces, by the damage to his face, by the fact that he hadn't even looked at her.

“Here.” She laid the cool bag against his eye while Coco cleaned his torn knuckles.

“I can hold it. Thanks.” He took it from her, let the ice numb the pain. “There's antiseptic in the left-hand cupboard, second shelf,” Coco said. Megan, feeling weepy, turned to get it.

The door opened again, this time letting in a crowd. Nathaniel's initial discomfort with the audience turned to reluctant amusement as the Calhouns fired questions and indignation. Plans for revenge were plotted and discarded while Nathaniel suffered the sting of iodine.

“Give the boy air!” Colleen commanded, parting her angry grandnieces and nephews like a queen moving through her court. She eyed Nathaniel. “Banged, you up pretty good, did they?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Her eyes were shrewd. “Dumont,” she murmured, so that only he could hear.

Nathaniel winced. “Right the first time.”

She glanced at Coco. “You seem to be in able hands, here. I have a call to make.” She smiled thinly. It helped to have connections, she thought as she tapped out of the room with her cane. And through them she would see that Baxter Dumont knew he had put a noose around his own neck, and that one false move would mean his career would come to an abrupt and unpleasant stop.

Nobody trifled with Colleen Calhoun's family.

Nathaniel watched Colleen go, then took the pill Coco held out to him and gulped it down. The movement sent fresh pain radiating up his side.

“Let's get that shirt off.” Trying to sound cheerful, Coco attacked the torn T-shirt with kitchen shears.

The angry mutters died away as Nathaniel's bruised torso was exposed. “Oh.” Tears stung Coco's eyes. “Oh, baby.”

“Don't pamper the boy.” Dutch came in holding two bottles. Witch hazel and whiskey. One look at Nathaniel had him gritting his teeth together so hard they ached, but he kept his voice careless. “He ain't no baby. Take a shot of this, Captain.”

“He's just taken a pill,” Coco began. “Take a shot,” Dutch repeated.

Nathaniel winced once as the whiskey stung his lip. But it took the edge off a great many other aches. “Thanks.”

“Look at ya.” Dutch snorted and dumped the witch hazel onto a cloth. “Let 'em pound all over you, like some city boy with sponges where his fists should be.”

“There were two of them,” Nathaniel muttered.

“So?” Dutch gently swabbed the bruises. “You getting so outa shape you can't take two?”

“I kicked their butts.” Experimentally Nathaniel probed a tooth with his tongue. It hurt, but at least it wasn't loose.

“Better had,” Dutch returned, with a flash of pride. “Tried to rob you, did they?”

Nathaniel's gaze flashed to Megan. “No.”

“Ribs're bruised.” Ignoring Nathaniel's curse, Dutch prodded and poked until he was satisfied. “Not cracked though.” He crouched, peered into Nathaniel's eyes. “D'ya pass out?”

“Maybe.” It was almost as bad as another thumping to admit it. “For a minute.”

“Vision blurred?” “No, Doc. Not now.”

“Don't get smart. How many?” He held up two thick fingers.

“Eighty-seven.” Nathaniel would have reached for the whiskey again, but Coco shoved it aside.

“He's not drinking any more on top of the pill I gave him.”

“Women think they know every damn thing.” But Dutch sent her a look, reassuring her that their charge would be all right. “Bed's what you need now. A hot soak and cool sheets. Want I should carry you?”

“Hell, no.” That was one humiliation he could do without. He took Coco's hand, kissed it. “Thanks, darling. I'd do it all again if I knew you'd be my nurse.” He looked back at Holt. “I could use a ride home.”

“Nonsense.” Coco disposed of that idea instantly. “You'll stay here, where we can look after you. You may very well have a concussion, so we'll take shifts waking you up through the night to be sure you don't slip into a coma.”

“Wives' tales,” Dutch grunted, but nodded at her behind Nathaniel's back.

“I'll turn down the bed in the rose guest room,” Amanda stated. “C.C., why don't you run our hero a nice hot bath? Lilah, bring that ice along.”

He didn't have the energy to fight the lot of them, so he sat back as Lilah walked over and touched her lips gently to his. “Come on, tough guy.”

Sloan moved over to help him to his feet. “Two of them, huh? Puny guys?”

“Bigger than you, pal.” He was floating just a little as he hobbled up the stairs between Sloan and Max.

“Let's get those pants off,” Lilah said, when they'd eased him down to sit on the side of the bed.

He still had the wit to arch a brow at her. “You never said that when it counted. No offense,” he added to Max.

“None taken.” With a chuckle, Max bent down to pull off Nathaniel's shoes. He knew what it was to be nursed back to health by the Calhoun women, and he figured that once Nathaniel got past the worst of the pain, he'd realize he'd landed in heaven. “Need some help getting in the tub?”

“I can handle it, thanks.”

“Give a call if you run into trouble.” Sloan held the door open, waiting until the room cleared. “And, when you're more up to it, I'd like the whole story.”

Alone, Nathaniel managed to ease himself into the hot water. The first flash of agony passed, transforming gradually into something closer to comfort. By the time he'd climbed out again, the worst seemed to be over.

Until he looked in the mirror.

There was a bandage under his left eye, another on his temple. His right eye looked like a rotting tomato. That left the bruises, the swollen lip, the nasty scrape on his jaw. All in all, he thought, he looked like hell.

With a towel slung around his waist, he stepped back into the bedroom, just as Megan came in the hallway door.

“I'm sorry.” She pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying all manner of foolish things. “Amanda thought you might want another pillow, some more towels.”

“Thanks.” He made it to the bed and lay back with a sigh of relief.

Grateful for something practical to do, she hurried to the bed, plumped and arranged pillows for him, smoothed the sheets. “Is there anything I can get you? More ice? Some soup?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Please, I want to help. I need to help.” She couldn't bear it any longer, and she laid a hand to his cheek. “They hurt you. I'm so sorry they hurt you.”

“Just bruises.”

“Damn it, don't be so stupid—not when I'm looking right at you, not when I can see what they did.” She pulled back on the need to rage and looked helplessly into his eyes. “I know you're angry with me, but can't you let me do something?”

“Maybe you'd better sit down.” When she did, he took her hand in his. He needed the contact every bit as much as she did. “You've been crying.”