Shane heard the words from far off. They lodged in his mind and kept tumbling like dry brush balls on the open prairie: not dyin’ on me … not dying … He’d said them. He remembered saying them to someone he loved. His head ached, and he had to fight to hold his breakfast down, but he knew he wasn’t going to die from a glancing blow to the head. He’d had worse done to him and survived … far worse. Shane knew where he was. He knew his own name and what day it was. He even knew who was in the room with him. He could feel the mattress under him and hear what Caity and Justice were saying to each other. He was certain he could get up off the bed if he really wanted to. He could … It was just simpler to lie there in the warm blackness until this spell of weariness passed. Caity’s hand felt good on his skin. It had been a long time since anyone had fussed over him. He didn’t want to worry her, but opening his eyes would take more effort than he wanted to give. Just a little longer, he told himself.
