Eli shut off the engine and let his Honda Shadow 750 coast beneath the crooked barn door. His haven.

Setting the kickstand, he tried to dismount, but a sharp pain shot across his lower back and down his leg, buckling his knee. He crashed to the hard-packed dirt floor. His breath whooshed out and didn’t return for a good minute.

When he finally caught his breath and the pain subsided, he attempted to get to his feet, but his legs couldn’t hold his weight. Keeping his eye on the horse stall, he used his forearm to pull-crawl himself into the familiar shelter. He collapsed onto a mound of rotting straw.

Closing his eyes, his mind wandered back to the hellcat that did this to him. Rage choked him. How could a girl have bested him? One by one, he began devising plans to make her pay for his humiliation. His breathing slowed and his body released its tension.

“Eli, wake up. Are you drunk, boy?”

Through a fevered fog, his bleary eyes focused on his mother, Greta Harwood. A solid, square-faced woman who ruled their home with the same authoritarianism as her husband ruled his business.

“No, Mama.”

“Get out of there, then. It’ll take me an hour to get the shit out of your clothes, as it is.”

Knowing his mother wouldn’t leave until he did as she demanded, he forced himself into a sitting position. But he could go no further.

“What’d you do to yourself now?”

“It’s nothing. Go home. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do, young man.” She pointed to his shirt. “Take it off. Let me have a look.”

“Mama, there’s no need to fuss—”

“Elijah Ezekiel Harwood, don’t you dare back talk me. Take your damn shirt off, or I’ll do it myself.” She waved an arm toward the barn door. “Now, wouldn’t that be a fine sight for our neighbors.”

“We don’t have any neighbors.”

She stepped forward, and he held up his hand. “Okay, okay.”

When he attempted to pull his T-shirt over his head, the material caught on something and a scream wrenched from his throat.

His mother turned him onto his stomach. “Lord have mercy. Why do you have a piece of glass sticking out of your back?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to puke. He considered lying to his mother, but none of his attempts to evade her questions in the past had ever worked. “I fell through a window.”

“Don’t have to be a damn scientist to figure that much out. What happened?”

“Daddy had me run an errand, and I got into an altercation.”

“Must have been some altercation.” She prodded at the area. “Hope you showed the other guy what happens when he screws with a Harwood.”

Swallowing back the bile searing his throat, he said nothing.

“Don’t tell me you tucked tail.”

“Hell, no.”

“Language, boy.” She yanked on his T-shirt. “Take that off now.”

He carefully drew the piece of clothing over his head and handed it to her.

“Who did this to you?”

“You wouldn’t know her.”

“Her? A girl got the best of you?”

“She was a woman and a hellcat. Sprayed me in the face and body slammed me.”

“God, forgive me. I’ve raised a pussy.”

Fury flared in his chest. His mother had never been maternal and had always spoken her mind to the point of meanness. To him. She never served up her vitriol to Caleb.

His fingers curled into fists.

“Well, you can’t go to a hospital. They’ll be keeping an eye on those.”

“What about Cousin Benjamin?”

“What could a damn animal doctor do for you?”

“He could stitch me up.”

“How would you explain your injury to that goody two-shoes?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“We can’t take the chance, and I’m not paying your cousin to do something I can manage.” She eyed his lower back. “Let’s hope none of your organs have been punctured.”

“Mama—”

“Hold still,” she demanded. “I suspect this is going to hurt.”

That was all the warning he got before she ripped the glass shard out of his back. He bit back another scream, not wanting to give his mother any more reason to insult his masculinity.

Wadding his T-shirt, she pressed it against his wound, putting her sturdy weight into the task. He couldn’t breathe. Black spots formed before his eyes. He buried his face into the crook of his arm, hiding the gathering tears. Heaven help him if she saw such weakness.

She grasped his wrist and dragged his hand to his wound. “Push hard.”

The position was so awkward that he had a hard time putting good pressure on the injury.

A shuffling noise caught his attention, and he angled around to find her at the stall’s entrance.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a needle and thread.”

“What if my kidney’s been punctured?”

“Well, since kidneys contain a lot of blood, I suspect you’ll be dead before I return.”

His heart sank as he watched her walk away. Warm liquid trickled down his side. He scrambled to put more pressure on the hole in his back. Did it matter? Could he be bleeding out internally, even now?

His gaze fell on the bloody shard of glass before shifting to the stall opening. A muscle below his eye twitched. His trembling fingers walked across the dirt floor and enclosed the shard in his palm.

He waited for his mother’s return.