He soaked a cloth and pressed it to her forehead again. Her skin still burned. The heat was the kind that made you feel helpless, like you were trying to put out a fire with a teaspoon.
Her eyes fluttered open just enough for her to take in the room.
Then her face softened.
Relief.
Not sudden, not dramatic—slow relief, like a door finally closing after years of being left open.
Jake offered her water. He held the cup steady, not forcing it.
She took a small sip.
Then another.
Her throat moved like swallowing hurt.
After a long moment, her voice came out soft and scratchy.
“Where am I?”
Jake pulled up a chair beside the bed. He didn’t loom over her. He didn’t stand like an authority. He sat like a man who understood fear needed space.
“Hollister Ranch,” he said. “Couple miles west of Dodge City. You passed out cold in the grass.”
She nodded slowly, like she expected that answer. Like she knew she’d pushed herself past her limits and paid for it.
“My name is Jake,” he added. “What’s yours?”
The question hung there.
For a heartbeat, Jake thought she wouldn’t answer.
It was like even her own name was something she had to guard.
Then she whispered, “Sister Elise.”
Jake nodded once. “Elise.”
He watched her hands curl into the blanket, fingers tense.
Running hands.
Hands that didn’t know how to rest.
She tried to sit up, but her body protested. Jake reached out and gently held her shoulder.
“Take it easy,” he said. “No one’s coming for you here.”
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