Jake's Angel. Nicole Foster

That damned potion she’d given him left him feeling worse than a week’s worth of hard drinking.

      He reached halfheartedly under the covers to see if he had any clothes on and found he hadn’t. Vaguely, he remembered tossing them off.

      “I’m going to need a change of clothes.”

      Nate pointed across the room. “They’re still in your saddle bags. As soon as we fix the dresser drawer you can unload them in there.”

      “I brought the nails. See?” Matt thrust a palmful of what looked more like tacks into Jake’s face.

      Despite the fact he’d awakened to the boys studying him like an exhibit at a traveling sideshow, they seemed harmless enough.

      Jake hauled himself to a sitting position against the pillows, regretting it as pain stabbed his temples. “Tell you what,” he said, rubbing at his jaw. “If one of you would bring me a pitcher of water and a towel, I might be able to shake off your Mama’s evil brew enough to give you a hand.”

      “Matt’ll do it.”

      “What? Will not. You go. I want to talk to Mr. Coulter.”

      “I’m the oldest and I say you go.”

      Jake’s head began to pound. “Whoa there, this isn’t gonna help get me on my feet. Now one of you—you, Nate, is it? Go on over to my pants hanging on that chair over there and pull out a penny from that front pocket.”

      “Are you going to flip a coin?” Matt sounded hopeful. At least he’d have a fair chance of winning instead of having to automatically obey his brother. “I call heads.”

      “Okay, fair and square and no more squabbling.”

      Nate brought the coin over and Jake shifted enough to shake the coin in one hand and flop it atop the back of the other. “Tails all right with you, Nate?”

      Nate shrugged. “I guess.”

      Jake lifted his hand. “Tails it is. Sorry, Matt, better luck next time.”

      Matt scuffed his toe against the hardwood floor, frowning.

      “I’ll tell you what though, you can keep the penny for your trouble.”

      “I can?” He beamed up at Nate. “I’ll be right back with soap, water and a towel, then.”

      Jake rubbed his beard. “And a razor, if you can round one up.”

      Nate shook his head as his brother scampered out of the room and down the back stairs to the pump outside. “You didn’t have to do that.”

      “Your Mama didn’t have to cut that bullet out of my leg, either.”

      “Oh, she likes doing that.”

      Jake smiled a little, though he was certain Nate had no idea the humor he found had nothing to do with Isabel’s charity. He was wondering if it was taking a knife to a man she liked, or if she liked the danger, the risk.

      The fog from his drugged sleep began to fade a little, and he looked around the room. Despite the touches of Isabel’s warmth he’d noticed yesterday, it was sparse to be sure. But it was clean and had all he needed for the time being: a bed, a lamp, a table and a dresser. A dresser with the front of the bottom drawer lying on the floor beside it.

      Nate followed Jake’s eyes. “That’s what we came to fix.”

      “Well, I appreciate the gesture, but if you think those scrawny little nails your brother had are going to hold that together, you’re mistaken. Don’t you have anything bigger?”