Wedding bells in Oak Grove...

Raising her son alone, penniless Sylvia Marks has had enough of being the subject of town gossip. But when her son is seriously injured she’ll do anything to save him...even kidnap handsome Dr. Nelson Graham!

Nelson knows what he wants in a wife; she’s to be amiable, biddable and skilled in domestic chores. Gun-toting Sylvia Marks isn’t what he had in mind, but as the two are forced together he realizes she’s exactly what he needs!

“Climb in the back.”

Nelson took hold of the edge of the wagon and then paused. “You do realize that this is kidnapping?”

Sylvia shut out the twinge of guilt she felt. Tommy was all that mattered. “Can’t be helped.”

“I could shout. Call out for help.”

“Everyone is at the town hall. There’s no one around to hear you.”

“You’ve planned this well.” He swung himself into the wagon bed. “If I forced your hand they would hear a gunshot—”

“I don’t think you want to take that chance, now, do you, Doc? I been living off the land most my life. I don’t miss what I aim for.”

“I see your point.”

“Now, lay down on your back.”

“I hardly think that is neces—”

She threw a tarp over him. “I’m in charge here, in case you ain’t noticed. Now, no more shenanigans. I never heard someone talk so much during a kidnapping.”

“So this is a common occurrence?”

“Ya gotta come with me, Doc,” she said softly, mostly to herself. “I can’t give you no choice in the matter.”

Her heart hurt, tight with remorse. It wasn’t right, her using him this way—especially after he’d done her a good turn a few days back at the mercantile—but it couldn’t be helped. Tommy came first, despite how guilty she felt about forcing the doc.

She snapped the reins. “Get up, Berta!”

Author Note

My life before writing full-time entailed years as a professional nurse. I drew on that background in writing about Dr Graham and his medical practice in 1880. Medicine in the United States at that time was in its infancy. In Boston, where Dr Graham attended school, medical education consisted of going to lectures by part-time instructors and taking an exam at the end. All that was required to start that school was payment for the individual lectures and a high school diploma. Things have certainly changed!

I was fortunate to have in my life a ‘city’ grandmother and a ‘country’ grandmother. Sylvia Marks is the embodiment of my country grandmother in her can-do attitude, her generosity, love of family and common sense. I remember going with my grandmother as she delivered fresh eggs from her chickens to all her neighbours along the long country road where she lived, visiting with each for a moment to catch up on their lives and their families—no phones! She truly cared about and enjoyed people.

Sylvia Marks has had to work hard, homesteading a patch of Kansas dirt with her son, using nothing but common sense and optimism. When she encounters Dr Graham sparks fly. I hope you enjoy this story, in which opposites attract.

The Prairie Doctor’s Bride

Kathryn Albright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of stories to write novels of inspiration, endurance and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com and on Facebook.

Books by Kathryn Albright

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Rebel and the Lady

Wild West Christmas

‘Dance with a Cowboy’

Western Spring Weddings

‘His Springtime Bride’

Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove

‘Taming the Runaway Bride’

The Prairie Doctor’s Bride

Heroes of San Diego

The Angel and the Outlaw

The Gunslinger and the Heiress

Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs

Christmas Kiss from the Sheriff

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

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Dedicated to my Grandma Gladys,

a heroine herself in all her optimism,

common sense, generosity and love of family.

And to my father, a man who inherited

the best of her traits.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Western Kansas 1879

Sylvia Marks stared at the gold-and-green sign swinging over the Oak Grove mercantile, then dropped her gaze to the corner of the large display window. The crack was still there—a casualty from her last visit before Christmas. Mr. or Mrs. Gallagher, the owners of the store, had stuffed old copies of the Oak Grove Gazette into the opening to keep out the cold. They wouldn’t be excited to see her back again—or Tommy.

The main street of town was deserted this early, even the livery stable doors were shut tight. She hoped the store would be empty of customers. It was why she had come as soon as the sun rose enough for her to see her way across the river. Most folks were still in bed—at least she hoped they were. It wasn’t herself she worried about. She had long ago grown tough enough to endure their stares and whispers. It was Tommy she worried for.

She glanced down at her son. She’d wrapped him up as best she could, but at seven years old, he was growing out of near everything he owned. Spring had better hustle along a little faster so that she could see to shearing Jeremy and Petunia. Besides selling the sheep’s wool, she would be able to knit Tommy a larger sweater and make them both new socks and stockings. As it was, snow melted from her worn boots and the wet seeped inside, working its way down through the frayed wool strands and settling against her skin. Guess it was one more thing to make her tough.

She took a deep breath—best to get this done. She took hold of her son’s hand and strode through the doors of the Oak Grove mercantile. She knew exactly what she had to get: two yards of cheesecloth for rendering her cheese, along with two cases of jars with lids so that she could bottle her honey come late spring. That, and some flour and oats.

“Be right with you!” a man called out from the back room.

Her gaze caught on a bowl filled with silk ribbons of every color at the close end of the counter. It looked like the storekeeper had been cutting them into lengths. Large scissors lay beside the bowl. She couldn’t keep herself from touching the length of dark blue silk that shimmered pretty as the night sky. Wouldn’t that feel nice in her hair? She’d always been a fool for pretty things, but in her life pretty always had to walk a step behind practical. A bit of twine worked just as well or better for tying back her hair.

Mable Gallagher stepped through the curtained doorway.

Sylvia grabbed her hand back from the ribbons immediately, feeling guilty even though she’d done nothing wrong.

Mrs. Gallagher’s brows drew together in a frown. “What do you want, Miss Marks?”

She didn’t sound happy about being pulled from whatever she was doing in the back, or perhaps it was more a matter of Sylvia’s way of doing business that the woman didn’t care for. Out of necessity, Sylvia bartered more than she bought outright. She had precious little coin for any extras...like the ribbon.

“Just got a few necessities I’m aimin’ to buy. Won’t take but a minute.”

“See that you hang on to that youngster of yours. I won’t have a repeat of last time.”

Sylvia tightened her grip on her son’s hand. What had happened was an accident. Tommy had not meant to knock over the tower of canned goods. Mrs. Gallagher should have known better than to stack them so close to the window. Any fool could figure the outcome of that. Children liked to climb things, and Tommy more than most. She leaned down. “Don’t you pay her no mind,” she said softly in her son’s ear. “What’s done is done and a lesson learned. Just stay close.”

She straightened. “I got my wagon out front. I need a sack of flour and another of oats.”

“That all?”

“No. I need two yards of cheesecloth and two cases of canning jars and lids. I got three crocks of sorghum molasses and a dozen eggs to barter.” She set her basket of eggs on the counter.

“Are these fresh?”

“Wouldn’t bring them if they weren’t fresh.”

Mable Gallagher picked the stub of a pencil from over her ear and started tallying up in her ledger.

Sylvia was halfway through haggling out a satisfactory exchange rate when Mrs. Gallagher stiffened.

The pungent smell of the stockyards snuck into the room. The hair on the back of Sylvia’s neck stood on end. Only one person could make both Mrs. Gallagher and herself uncomfortable—Tommy’s uncle. She tightened her grip on her son’s hand and turned to face him.

Carl wore the same brown britches and coarse cotton shirt that he always wore and each time she saw him they were dirtier and smellier than the time before. Looked like his long hair was getting streaks of gray in it. He was young for that to happen and she wondered if Thomas, had he lived, would have grayed early too.

“Well, well. Who we got here?” He swaggered up to her and stopped too close for comfort, staring down his long nose at her. By the way he acted, she could tell that he’d been into a bottle of spirits already. Being that it was so early could only mean he’d been up half the night drinking.

She stood as tall and stiff as she could, and still only came up to his chin. “Morning, Carl.”

“Ain’t you a purty sight this early come to town.”

His gaze roamed over her, making her queasy in her gut. He must have seen her wagon out on the street. Of all the people in town, he was the last one she wanted to see.

“Who you got hiding there in your skirts? That my kin? Well, step out here, boy, and let me have a look at you.”

“We don’t want trouble, Carl,” she said, moving to shield Tommy with her body.

“Why, I don’t never cause trouble.” The insolent sneer on his face deepened. “Come out here so you can say a proper hello to your uncle.” Moving faster than she’d thought possible, he snaked his hand around her and grabbed her son by the arm.

A cry of pain erupted from Tommy as fear leaped into his brown eyes.

Carl stuck his hands under each of Tommy’s armpits and whisked him up into the air, letting his legs dangle. Then he shook him. “You sure he’s a Caulder? He don’t hardly weigh three stone.”

“He weighs just what he should. Now, put him down. You had your fun.”

“He needs to grow a little backbone. Gotta be tough in this world. Ain’t that right, boy? Your ma had to learn that.” Carl shook him again. Harder this time.

Mable Gallagher pushed aside the curtained doorway to the back storage area and called out. “Henry! Get out here!”

Sylvia trembled with anger. “Put him down!” She inched closer to the large scissors lying at the end of the counter. She had never hurt Carl before, but she would to protect her son.

Carl tossed Tommy aside as if he was no more than a sack of potatoes and slammed his hand down on top of hers, pinning her fingers to the wood. “Now, what are you doing, woman? That ain’t very hospitable of you.”

Henry Gallagher strode into the room. He wasn’t as tall as Carl, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. He was a stocky bull of a man.

Carl relaxed the pressure on her hand, giving it a last squeeze before pulling completely away from her.

Immediately, she crouched before her son. “Are you all right?”

Tears brimmed in his big chocolate-brown eyes. He nodded—the motion barely detectable.

“You gotta quit mollycoddling the boy,” Carl said. “He’s a Caulder. Should act like one. Not some namby-pamby.”

She stood up, her gaze colliding with Henry Gallagher’s. His wife was no longer in the room. He looked from her to Carl and pressed his lips together. His censure was no help. It wasn’t her fault that Carl had shown up and was the one causing the fuss. Yet it seemed her link to that name made everyone judge her accordingly.

She stiffened her spine. The sooner she and Tommy could leave, the better. “I need two yards of cheesecloth and two cases of canning jars. I already negotiated for them with your wife.”

With a glance at Carl, Henry walked over to the corner stock of canning and pickling supplies. “These will have to do. It’s the only size I have left over from last summer. There’ll be a new shipment in June.”

“They’ll do fine,” she said crisply. She just wanted to get out of town as quickly as possible, before Carl got any more mean ideas.

Mr. Gallagher got the cheesecloth and picked up a case of the jars and carried them out to her wagon.

As soon as the man disappeared through the doorway, Carl sauntered over to the counter. “These yours?” He held up her basket of eggs, the handle balanced on one stubby finger as he swung the basket to and fro.

Her chest tightened. “Carl, why are you being like this? You’d best put that down.”

Carl shrugged. “You ain’t been by to see me in a long time. I near forgot how you looked. Just catchin’ up is all.”

The arc of the basket’s swing got wider and wilder. One egg flew out and splattered on the floor.

Anger exploded inside. Her chest tightened. Such waste! “What do you think you are doing?” She rushed forward, reaching to steady the basket.

He held it just beyond her reach. His mouth curved into a taunting jeer. Another egg flew out and met the same end on the mercantile’s plank floor. “What’ll ya give to get them back?”

Her heart pounded. “Now, you listen here. Those eggs belong to the Gallaghers now. There’s no sense in what you are doing.”

He grabbed her wrist, his fingernails digging into her skin, as he held up her arm just high enough to put her off balance. “Don’t you point your finger at me, missy. You always did think you were better than me and we both know it ain’t so.”

His words hurt—cut—as much as those grimy nails of his. She hadn’t made the best choices in life, but she couldn’t think about that now. Not with Tommy looking on. It was better to let the anger take over than to let what he said get to her inside.

Heat built up and rolled through her. Her jaw tightened. “You let me go.”

He huffed out a breath. “Or what? What you gonna do? You ain’t no bigger than a mite.”

“Mama?” Worry filled Tommy’s high-pitched voice.

She hated that he was a witness to Carl’s bullying, but there was nothing she could do about it. She twisted her arm, glaring back up at Carl. “Let go of me.”

“I’m just having a little fun. You know what that is? Fun?”

“This ain’t it. Not by a long shot.” She stomped down with the heel of her old boot on his foot. Hard.

Surprised, he loosened his grip for a moment, only to grab hold again. His jaw tightened. “Why, you little—”

“What’s going on here?”

A man stood in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the early-morning sunlight on his back. He was tall as an oak tree with a deep voice to match. Sylvia couldn’t recall ever seeing him in town before.

Carl’s grip loosened. She wrenched from his grasp.

Carl sneered and let go of the basket.

Before she could think to react, the tall man scooped it up, saving the eggs just inches from the hard floor. His actions were so quick and precise that Sylvia stood there in shocked silence, her mouth gaping open, as he handed the basket back to her.

“It appears none are injured,” he said in that deep voice.

She closed her mouth.

His gaze, green as the pines in the Shenandoah, skimmed over her, before he turned back to Carl. “How’s that rope burn?”

Carl scowled. “Healed up.”

“Glad to hear it.” The man didn’t budge. He seemed to be just fine with waiting for Carl to make the next move.

Carl scowled again. He tugged his wide-brimmed hat down over his ears. “Guess the fun’s over. Gotta get back to the stockyards anyways.”

It was all Sylvia could do to hold in her relief as he stomped away. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and in the case of the Caulders, she’d learned it was half-rotten before it hit the ground. Only Thomas had been different, taking after his ma’s side of the family instead of his pa’s. She’d been wary of Carl for some time, but when he didn’t come around for a while, she thought things were better. For years, he’d had a woman friend over near Fort Wallace who kept him busy. If that wasn’t the case anymore, guess she would have to watch out for him from now on whenever she and Tommy came to town.

“What can I do for you, Doc?” Henry asked from behind the counter.

Doc? Sylvia turned back and stared as the tall man walked over to the counter. So, this was the doctor that Mayor Melbourne had talked into staying in Oak Grove. She’d heard tell of him a year or so ago but never had a reason to meet the man face-to-face.

She took in the way he was dressed—his white shirt was a bit rumpled, but clean. He wore one of those shoestring neckties she’d heard tell of and it wasn’t even Sunday! His dark burgundy vest had fancy stitching along the edges, like something she’d seen when she lived back East. He had dark brown scruff along his jaw and chin and upper lip. Seemed he wasn’t sure whether he was growing a beard and a mustache or not. His wavy hair was so thick it sprung like a soft cushion from his head. That, she could tell because he didn’t wear a hat or overcoat.

Didn’t he have the sense to know he’d catch his death of a cold in this wayward weather? Spring in Kansas was nothing to sneeze at, half the time cold, wet and windy and the other time sunny, hot and still windy. But today was a sunny one, so guess he had a right to enjoy the feel of it on his head after the fright of a winter they’d had.

“I passed the supply wagon late yesterday on my way back from Putnam’s ranch. Thought I’d check to see if my order of medicine and books came in.”

“I haven’t had a chance to look through the packages,” Henry said. “If you’ll wait, I’ll open them up.”

Funny how accommodating Mr. Gallagher was with other people. Guess some folks just counted more than others. Tommy inched up beside her and slipped his hand into hers. A peace stole over her as she felt the warmth of his skin against hers. Maybe she didn’t count to these townsfolk, but she sure as shootin’ counted to Tommy. And for her, that meant everything.

She walked up to the counter and set her basket down. “I have your eggs here. Let’s settle up. I gotta start back.” She caught a whiff of some fancy lotion or soap the doc had used on himself. Mmm, but he smelled good.

“Soon as I take care of the doctor,” Mr. Gallagher said.

She frowned. She’d been in town long enough and would have been long gone by now had it not been for Carl. “I got me a young ’un to watch out for. ’Sides that, Miss Petunia is in a family way and shouldn’t be left on her own too long.”

The doctor cocked his head. “Miss Petunia? I haven’t come across her in my outlying visits.”

He’d mistaken the name of her sheep for a woman! A chuckle nearly escaped before she clamped her lips tightly shut. She didn’t intend to correct him, seeing as how she probably wouldn’t run into him again.

Slowly, he took in the length of her down to her worn boots, before coming back to her face. With his chin, he pointed at her wrist—the one that Carl had gripped so hard. Only now that Carl was gone did she feel the sting. She hunched her shoulders to coax the end of her sleeve down over the reddened and scratched skin.

“Might want to put salve on that. I’ve got some back at my office.”

She moved away from him, covering her wrist with her other hand. Whether he did or not, she wasn’t going anywhere with him—no matter that he’d saved her basket of eggs. “I can take care of it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, Mrs....?” He let the word hang there. When she didn’t supply a name, he continued. “I’m Nelson Graham, the doctor here in town. The salve I have is made in Kansas City by a reputable apothecary.”

Maybe he was only trying to be helpful. Carl had put her on edge—made her realize all over again how foolish she’d been in her youth to get involved with the Caulder family. She’d learned her lesson, but there was no turning back, no undoing what had come about. She’d keep to herself and take care of herself and that was the end of it. “I thank you for catchin’ these eggs before that scallywag dropped them all on the floor. I needed them to finish this here piece.”

His brow furrowed. “Transaction?”

She frowned right back. Didn’t he know English? “That’s what I said.”

She waited while Mr. Gallagher transferred the eggs into a pail, all the while knowing the doctor watched her. It made her uncomfortable...more than it would had he been someone else from town. She knew where she stood with them. This Doc Graham looked down at her like she was a puzzle and he wanted to figure her out. Well, she liked her privacy and he’d just have to be satisfied with some disappointment.

“I find it odd that I’ve been in town for some time and never knew there was a midwife nearby.”

She stiffened. He just couldn’t keep his nose out of her business! “If you call helping my sheep in her time of confinement midwifing, then I guess that’s what I am.” She didn’t wait to see what his reaction would be but pointed out a twenty-five-pound sack of flour and another of oats that she needed. “That too, Mr. Gallagher.”

Henry hoisted a sack under each arm and carried them out to the wagon, and she followed with the second case of jars.

Her conscience pricked her. Maybe she had been a bit testy with the doc. After all, he had been a big help with Carl.

“Go on and get in the wagon,” she told Tommy. She waited while Tommy clambered up onto the wagon seat. She always had the impulse to help him, after all, he was only seven years old, but she resisted the urge. Her son liked to climb. Seeing that he was settled, she turned back toward the doctor.

He stood in the doorway, looking comfortable and relaxed and infuriatingly confident, with a half smile on his face. She’d like to ask him what was so amusing but didn’t figure she’d care for his answer. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Doc Graham.”

“Same here. Except I still don’t know your name.”

She had plumb forgot about that. Still, she hesitated, hating to reveal yet again to another person her marital state. He’d learn of it eventually. Carl had made sure of that years ago and the Gallaghers liked to gossip—at least Mable did. “It’s Marks. Miss Sylvia Marks.”

She hurried outside, deposited the box she held in the back of the wagon and climbed up next to her son. She didn’t care to gauge the doc’s reaction on learning who she was. She unwrapped the reins from the brake lever and called out softly to her mule. “Giddup.”

She couldn’t leave town fast enough. Nothin’ but trouble in town. Nothin’ but trouble.

* * *

After watching the wagon pull away, Nelson Graham turned back to the counter. He considered it his duty as the town doctor to know who lived in the area. Miss Marks was as backwoods as he’d ever seen and an interesting mix of spunk and pride. Not bad-looking either, and despite her small frame, not easily overlooked. He would have remembered her, had he met her before.

“Interesting woman,” he said when Henry returned from the storage room. He carried the two heavy medical books that Nelson had ordered a month ago.

Henry snorted. “Always seems to bring trouble with her when she comes into town.”

“As I saw it, she didn’t have much choice.”

“I don’t involve myself in the squabbles between folks. If I take sides, my sales go down.”

Nelson had been told nearly the same thing in medical school. “Don’t involve yourself in the politics or prejudices of your patients. Your job is to heal. You won’t always agree with your patient, but you’ve given an oath as a doctor to care for everyone.” Trouble with that was, in Nelson’s mind, he was a man first before he was a doctor.

The fact remained that Carl Caulder was twice as big as Miss Marks and a bully. Nelson couldn’t abide bullies. “I thought I met everyone in these parts when I first arrived.”

“Miss Marks stays to herself. And if you happen by and surprise her, you might get a load of buckshot in you.”

Nelson stifled a smile at the image of the small-framed woman with a big rifle in her hands. “Doesn’t encourage me to visit her anytime soon. Where’s the boy’s father?”

“I heard he took off a few months before the boy was born and never came back. Carl says he died, but knowing Carl, that’s not necessarily true.”

Nelson absorbed that bit of information, feeling more and more like he was prying instead of gathering facts that might help him provide better medical care for the pair. He withdrew a few bills from his inside vest pocket. “Well, what do I owe you here?” Once he’d paid, he picked up his books and headed for the door.

Henry followed him outside to the boardwalk. “This came for you too.” He handed him a letter.

Nelson glanced at the return address. Boston. His parents. A weight dropped in his stomach. What could they possibly want?

He tucked the letter inside his vest pocket. “Thanks, Henry.”

“The train is due in tomorrow from Bridgeport. More women wanting to marry are arriving. Are you going to the station to look them over?”

“I didn’t fare so well the first time.” By the time he’d made up his mind which bride he wanted from the first train, he was too late. Mary McCary would have been a suitable fit. She knew how to cook and she had displayed a caring attitude toward the injured cook out at Putnam’s ranch. It was too bad that spending all that time with Steve Putnam had turned her head toward the rancher. They seemed satisfied with each other. More than satisfied. He was happy for them. It was just that he was left high and dry.

He nodded a goodbye to Henry and started for his house.

Although he had sworn off matrimony after his short-lived engagement, he figured in a small town it was the only course to take. People here tended to trust a married family man more than they would a bachelor and he also needed the help in his medical practice.

What he really wanted was a nurse—not necessarily a wife. Yet he couldn’t very well advertise for one. Any woman would cringe at the thought of traveling so far from her home for a mere nursing position. And no marriageable woman of good character would agree to spend constant time at his side without a ring on her finger. Tongues would wag in this little town where there were so few women. Even if he did find one to employ as his nurse without making her a missus, it wouldn’t be two months before another man would woo, marry and whisk her away.

His only other option was to hire a widow twice his age. He’d been on the lookout for just such a woman. Unfortunately, in the two years he’d lived here, even the older women quickly became brides again or left Oak Grove.

No. His only choice was marriage—preferably to a woman who could look after herself and not throw a fit if he missed supper now and then. Doctoring was more than a job to him, more than a profession. It had become his passion, a calling as much as any parson’s call to the cloth was a calling, and it took as many or more hours in a day. He needed a wife who would understand and be of help to him. Someone practical.

He stepped up on the porch and entered his office. Passing through the front room that served as his parlor and waiting room, he strode back to his office and set the journals and the letter on his desk. He wanted to delve right into the journals, but the letter was another matter. Word from home was seldom happy. He wished he could leave it for another day.

The address was written in his mother’s script. Nothing unusual about that. His father had never written to him. He heard from his mother only when there was something important to pass on—once a year at the most. He broke the fancy seal and unfolded the letter, then paced the length of the small room while he read.

And came to a standstill.

His parents were coming to visit.

Stunned, he reread the letter. Not once before had they visited him. Once they had stuck him in boarding school, it was he who did the traveling to see them, not the other way around. Not even when he graduated from medical school did they make the effort. This was unprecedented. They would arrive in two weeks. He turned the letter over once more, inanely hoping he’d find more written somewhere else on the page. He wished he could read between the lines.

What was really going on?

Chapter Two

“But it hurts!” Wiley Austin mumbled to his older brother, Kade. His eyes started to tear again as Nelson probed the boy’s thumb with the end of a needle. The large splinter had embedded itself under several layers of skin.

“Toughen up,” Kade said as he looked on. “Quit your slobberin’.”

“I ain’t slobberin’.”

“Are too.”

“Ain’t neither!” Wiley wiped the snot from his nose with the back of his hand.

“You’re doing fine,” Nelson murmured, concentrating on the splinter.

“Ouch!” Wiley jerked away.

Nelson straightened and stretched his back. “Shake it out and we’ll try again in a minute.” The grandfather clock in the hotel lobby chimed three times, reminding him that the train carrying the brides would be arriving at any moment. After a busy morning in the office, he’d finally made up his mind to be there...until Wiley’s splinter happened. “Ready to tackle this again?”

The boy wiped his nose again and stepped closer, holding out his hand. It shook slightly.

“I’m almost there.” Nelson pressed against the far edge of the splinter with his thumb, picked up his tweezers and eased the splinter out. He held it up. “That’s a big one. You were brave. Not every six-year-old could handle such a big operation.”

Wiley let out a huge sigh of relief.

Nelson dabbed at the drop of blood with his handkerchief and then slathered a small bit of unguent on the nearly invisible exit hole.

The train whistle blew once more and with it came the last chug and wheeze as the wheels slowed to a stop. Shouts sounded from the street as men headed toward the station.

“Thank you, Dr. Graham,” Sadie Austin said as she descended the steps from the second floor. “I just had to get the last of the rooms ready for the women and Wiley wouldn’t stand still for me to help him.”

“Not a problem, Mrs. Austin. Glad to help out.”

“Ma! Can me and Wiley go meet the train?”

Mrs. Austin hesitated a moment and then nodded. “We’ll go together. I can’t have you two anywhere near the tracks or the train’s wheels. Your father would have a fit. Now, you take hold of your brother’s hand, Kade.”

“Aw!” Wiley whined.

“I mean it!” she said.

Nelson settled his Stetson on his head. For a woman who had never had children of her own, Mrs. Austin was doing a fine job of mothering the two boys. “Going there myself, ma’am. I’ll walk with you.”

She grabbed her shawl from the table in the entryway as they headed out the front door of the hotel. “I’m glad to see you still here in Oak Grove.”

“Still here,” he said. People here had worried he would pull stakes and head back East when things didn’t work out with the first set of brides that rolled into town nearly a year ago. What they didn’t know was that the words he’d had with his father before leaving home for good had left a gaping chasm in their relationship—one not easily bridged. The only way he would consider going back to Boston would be if he received a heartfelt “I’m sorry” from his father. Unless their visit had something to do with that argument, he didn’t expect an apology to happen anytime soon.

“I like the town and the people. And with the new brides there will be more people to doctor in a few years.”

With Kade and Wiley jumping and yelling between him and Mrs. Austin, Nelson strode down the main street of town to the train station. A number of cowboys had come from outlying ranches for the excitement and they spilled out of the Whistle Stop Saloon ahead of him, lining up, shoulder to shoulder and bowleg to bowleg. As the women descended from the train, their long dresses pressed against their legs from the strong wind. Nelson tugged his hat farther down on his head, so as not to lose it to the blustery spring day.

“Gentlemen! Back up! Give the women some breathing room,” the mayor said in his booming voice from where he stood on the train steps. He had already been inside the train to welcome them in his official capacity. “The train must keep to its schedule, so you men help unload the trunks and get their belongings up to the hotel. The ladies will appreciate that more than having you jabber at them as their things ride on to Denver. We’ll have a welcome party tomorrow, once they’ve had a chance to rest and freshen up.”

Nelson pulled Kade and Wiley back to keep them out from underfoot as a few men surged forward and responded to the mayor’s instructions. Then the line of remaining cowboys parted and the mayor strode through the opening with the women—five of them—following.

Nelson quickly removed his hat, as did every other man there at the station, and watched the parade of women walk past, their long dresses swishing in time with the twitch of their bustles and the bob of their heads. It was quite a sight for Oak Grove.

Leading the group was a dark-haired, rather stern-faced woman in a black skirt with thin white stripes and a black shirtwaist. She took long, no-nonsense strides that could match any man’s. When she came near, he realized with something of shock that she was as tall as he was, which meant she had to be nearly six feet without the heels on those shoes of hers.

The next two women walked arm in arm and were close enough in appearance that he wondered if they were sisters with their nondescript brown hair confined in buns, brown felt hats with flowers and dark brown wool coats that covered them from head to toe. One looked about the town and men with open curiosity in her intelligent expression as she walked, while the other had a severe case of nerves and kept covering her lower face and giggling into her gloved hands.

The next two women walked single file, surrounded by the last of the cowboys from the saloon, who hid them so much that he couldn’t get much of a look at them. One looked to be quite attractive with pretty chestnut-colored hair, dark eyes and a wine-red hat that matched her cloak. The other appeared to be a blonde with wide cornflower blue eyes. She was a bit older by the small lines near her eyes. She might do—someone with experience in life could be an asset.

Mrs. Austin, with her young charges in hand, took off with the entourage toward the hotel. It would fall to her to help the young ladies get settled into their rooms. Left to himself, Nelson considered the notes he’d made earlier that day and withdrew the paper from his vest pocket. It was a “wish list” of sorts. Likely, no woman would meet all his expectations, but perhaps it would help him stay on course as he considered each of them.

Amiable.

Biddable.

Able to take constructive criticism.

Skilled in domestic chores: cooking, laundry, cleaning, sewing and gardening.

Willing to work by his side as his nurse.

Quiet. He didn’t want a woman who disrupted his research or his daily habits.

Willing to put another’s needs ahead of her own.

He’d added the last as a cautionary point, remembering his fiancée. He’d thought they were compatible in all things, but then suddenly she had broken off the engagement, unable to accept the numerous times he’d been called away to help someone who was ailing.

He wouldn’t let that happen again. What he needed was a practical woman as his wife. She didn’t need to be a raging beauty, but like any man, he wouldn’t mind if she was pleasant to look upon.

He tucked the paper back into his pocket and headed to his office. Now all he had to do was interview the ladies, one at a time, and see which one came closest to fulfilling his wish list.

Who knew? With his parents arriving in two weeks, perhaps they would find themselves attending his wedding.

He stopped before his two-story home that doubled as his office and surveyed it critically. Prior to residing in Oak Grove, he’d worked as the physician for the railroad company. The job entailed constant travel—something he’d had enough of after two years. This was his first office, the first place he’d ever been able to “hang his own shingle” and be in business for himself. He hoped his parents would be impressed with it when they arrived. It wasn’t up to Boston standards, but it was a start for him.

A wedding might be just what was needed to bring them all closer together. A wedding, after all, meant children would come next. The idea fascinated him. He was an only child, and a large family would be wonderful. But would his parents welcome grandchildren when they hadn’t ever made him feel welcomed? Likely, all his dreams were just that—dreams and nothing more.

Chapter Three

Sylvia threw the last of the wet clothes into her basket and traipsed back to the house from the creek. The day was uncommonly warm this early in spring, and she figured she’d better not misuse it. With her washing done, and soon to be spread on the line, she and Tommy might have time to hunt for mushrooms. Her mouth watered at the thought of them fried up in butter and piled high on a chunk of hearty bread.

“Tommy! Fetch a pail from the lean-to and let’s take a walk down the road,” she called out.

“Not till you find me!”

That boy! He was full of vinegar! She couldn’t blame him, not one bit. The warm sun shining down beckoned her to put work aside and have a day of fun. “Can you give me a hint?”

“Nope!”

He must be behind the shed. She set her basket down and ducked under the clothesline. She couldn’t believe the shed still stood after the winter they’d had, but Thomas had been good with his hands and smart when it came to making things.

“I’m coming!”

“Won’t get me!” her son cried out.

The happy sound filled her heart with gladness. She peeked behind the shed, ready to catch him if he raced by.

“You ain’t even warm yet!”

“Then where are you?” She tiptoed over to the stand of brush that edged the expanse of prairie and buffalo wallows beyond. The line of brush hid their place from prying eyes and made their small cabin feel cozy and protected. “I give up.”

A giggle escaped Tommy. “Right here!”

She spun around. Her son’s voice had come from above her. A flash of blue caught her eyes and she finally spied him. He’d managed to climb atop the shed and now lay sprawled across the slanted roof on his belly.

“How’d you climb way up there? Come on down now.”

He grinned. “All right, Ma.”

He stood and took a step, the old wood and tarp cracking and then giving beneath his foot. He flailed his arms out and his eyes widened.

“Tommy!” She moved closer. “Careful!”

But the fear in his big brown eyes clutched at her heart. “Ma... Ma!” Suddenly, he pitched forward, scraping against the edge of the roof and crying out in pain as he fell.

“No! Tommy!” she screamed and scrambled toward him.

He landed hard on a patch of weeds and lay still.

She knelt at his side, afraid at first to touch him. Hoping...hoping...that he would open his eyes or squirm or even jump up and laugh at her for being worried.

He didn’t.

“You all right?” she asked gently, her chest tight with worry. Of course, he wasn’t all right. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even hearing her. “Tommy! Wake up! I’m here! I’m here...” She barely got the words out before her sobs choked them off. Her gut coiled into a hard lump. She reached for him. He was her baby—the only thing she cared for in this life. Oh, why...why...had he been born with the overpowering urge to climb things?

Maybe he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. Maybe she just needed to give him a moment.

Trembling, she took hold of his small hand. His face was deathly pale.

“Tommy, please wake up...”

His chest moved and then he gasped, pulling in air in a short burst, and then in a longer, slower drag as his lungs started working again.

“Oh, my stars! Tommy, are you all right?”

He rolled farther onto his back and took another breath. A deep one this time. “I don’t feel right.”

“You fell from the shed, baby. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywheres.”

“I don’t doubt that. Can you move?”

At that, he clenched his hands into fists, then tried to use his arms to sit up. Immediately, he fell back to the ground, breathing hard. “My head. My leg.”

“Let me look at you.” Gently, she turned his head to the side and smoothed her fingers through his hair. She felt something sticky and wet. There—a lump the size of a black walnut swelled up. He winced.

She turned to his legs. The one closest to her moved just fine. When she tested his far leg—his left leg—Tommy yelled.

“All right, all right...” she said. She had barely moved the leg and he’d had pain. What was she to do?

“Ma...I hurt all over.”

She swallowed. She couldn’t leave him out in the weather like this. The ground hadn’t given up the cold of winter yet.

“I gotta git you warm, son. I’m gonna get the quilt from the house to cover you. Then I’ll figure this out. You just rest. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed his hand firmly and then scrambled to her feet.

She raced to the house. Yanking the quilt from her son’s straw pallet, she rushed back out to him. He was deathly pale. His eyes were half-closed.

“This ain’t going to feel good, son,” she said as she snugged the quilt over him and tucked it around his little body, especially tight around his legs. “But you be brave. I’ll get you fixed up.”

Sneaking her arm under his knees and her other behind his back, she lifted him up and carried him to the house. If it was possible, his face paled even more when she laid him on his pallet by the hearth. Beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip and forehead.

“All done moving.” She used her apron to wipe his forehead, then raked his long shock of dark blond hair away from his face. “You were as brave as brave could be.”

“I don’t feel so good.” His usually boisterous voice was thin and weak.

She took his hand. It was cold and moist. Fear as she’d never known it before gripped her. “You hang on. I’ll get you—” His brown eyes drifted closed and his hand fell limply from hers. “Tommy!”

His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

Grabbing the fire iron, she stirred up the ashes in the hearth and then tossed on a cow chip.

She had best look at that leg. Carefully, she unwrapped the quilt from Tommy, then took a knife from the cupboard drawer and cut away his trousers.

And sat back, staring at the ugly wound on his leg. Her gut tightened. It looked bad. Real bad. A flap of skin had been scraped back in a wide swath along the side near the ankle. The skin was swollen and purple. Could she fix it?

Then another thought took hold. Had he broken his ankle too? It had all happened so fast. Maybe she couldn’t fix either of his ailments.

She took a closer look at his head, wincing at the size of the lump that had formed. He’d bled through the coarse cotton covering of the pallet, but she’d heard that head wounds always bled a lot. The flow of blood seemed to be slowing, congealing now. She couldn’t do anything for a head injury. It would have to heal itself. She felt so helpless.

She got to her feet, grabbed the soap and the bowl and the pitcher from the table, and came back to him. “I sure hope you don’t wake up and feel this, son, ’cause it will break my heart if I’m a-hurtin’ you.”

With that, she set to work rinsing out the dirt and splinters of the old roof and cleaning out the wound. Then she slathered a layer of honey over it and wrapped it in a clean cloth.

She wished that someone at the DuBois farm was home. Adele would know what to do, but just yesterday the family had stopped by to tell her they were on their way to Salina to purchase a new ox.

Sylvia pulled Tommy’s pallet closer to the fire. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down in her rocking chair and watched him for signs of rousing.

She took comfort in the fact that he was breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest was sweeter to her than a meadowlark’s song. Surely he’d wake up soon. Surely the Lord wouldn’t take Tommy from her too.

But the next hour brought no change. Her confidence in Tommy’s recovery slowly eroded. It seemed that a child should bounce back quick and this wasn’t quick. She gave him a little jiggle, pushing on his shoulder. Then put a cold cloth to his face. He didn’t stir.

Pale sunlight streamed through a small window and slanted across the dirt floor. It would be dark in another hour.

She wasn’t used to sitting. Wasn’t used to letting life happen to her. She preferred to go out and meet it. For seven years, she’d worked hard to make a life for the two of them. She wasn’t about to see that stop, not if there was an ounce of strength left in her body.

Chapter Four

The sun cast a pink glow over the entire town when Nelson left his office and walked toward the Oak Grove Town Hall. Since the evenings still carried the chill of winter, the shindig was taking place inside the building that Jackson Miller had just completed. From the street, he could hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter through the tall windows.

He stepped up onto the boardwalk and through the front doors. The new construction held the strong scent of fresh-cut lumber and varnish. He scanned the packed room, grateful to be a head taller than most of the people inside. The bachelors that had donated to the bride fund through the Betterment Committee milled about along with several other families from outside town. Guess they were anxious to gather and socialize. Another few weeks and they would be up to their necks in planting their fields or caring for the newly born calves. Getting away from their farms and ranches to have a moment of fun would not be possible until summer arrived.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder. “I wondered if you would throw in with the rest of us, Doc.”

Graham turned. “Hello, Jess. Giving it another try?”

A wide grin covered the younger man’s face as he grasped Nelson’s hand in a strong shake. “Practice makes perfect, right, Doc? May the best man win.” Jess moved closer to the front of the room.

As he looked over the brides, Nelson reminded himself that he really needed a nurse. That was primary. Of course, he couldn’t very well blurt out his intentions here. The men of Oak Grove would likely show him the door. They wanted wives, helpmeets in life, and they wouldn’t take kindly to his motives.

His own parents’ marriage wasn’t the best standard to judge what a good marriage looked like, but it was all he had to go by. And what with his failed courtship, it seemed to him that sticking to a nonemotional, practical union made the most sense. It was safer.

Mayor Melbourne climbed the two steps to the small stage and stood there, gripping the lapels of his silk vest and surveying the group. He waved his hands for everyone to quiet down. Then he motioned to the new brides to come to the front of the room. He introduced each of the five and said a small bit about them.

The two older women stood next to each other, looking poised and lovely, while the three younger ones clustered together in a clutch like barnyard chickens. He grimaced. Perhaps that was a bit critical. Being observant was a good attribute to have in medicine, but not in social gatherings. It reminded him of something his father would say.

The mayor cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’ll have the bachelors that donated to the Betterment Committee, and only those, line up now and introduce yourselves briefly to the ladies,” he announced.

Nelson counted twenty men who lined up. He stepped toward the back. As the men made their way across the stage, some were quiet and sincere, some cracked a joke to cover up their nervousness and some were eager to the point of embarrassing. It came to him that he was none of these. He simply wanted to assess each woman as unemotionally as possible. That way he could be sure his decision would be based on facts and not feelings.

His turn finally arrived, and he made his way down the row of five women, making mental notes as he went from one to the next.

Miss Vandersohn: Chestnut hair, dark green eyes. Petite like a china doll and well dressed. Beautiful.

Miss Pratt: The tallest. Older, black-haired and stern of face. Instead of curtsying as did the others, she gave a sharp nod of her head.

Miss O’Rourke: Older, blonde with cornflower blue eyes, with lines at the corner of her eyes. Pleasant-looking. He wondered what had happened that some young man hadn’t already snatched her up.

Miss Simcock: Youngest in appearance and a dishwater blonde. She blushed to the roots of her hair when he asked her a simple question and then barely got an answer out due to giggling nervously.

Miss Weber: Younger, chestnut hair, gray eyes, wine-red hat and cloak. Shy. By the shiny indentation on each side of her nose, she appeared to wear glasses, although she wasn’t wearing them now.

The moment the introductions were complete, the mayor motioned for the music to start. The bachelors surged back toward the five brides, in their excitement trying to muscle him to the side of the room. He didn’t budge.

He stood there a few minutes more, observing the hoopla. None of the women would be able to focus on him with all the other men in the room. He would rather visit them at another time when he wouldn’t be interrupted.

“That exam table working out for you, Doc?” Jackson Miller said as he approached.

Nelson shook his hand. “Fine. Not a splinter gained among any of my patients so far. Fine work.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They stood there a moment, arms crossed over their chests, watching the melee in communal silence.

“I wonder what surprises will appear among these women,” Miller mused out loud. “I don’t think any will match the amount that my Maggie made.”

Nelson chuckled. “Probably not. I can’t see any of these landing in jail.”

Miller’s wife had arrived on the first bride train, along with her sister, Mary. At the time, Nelson had had issues with the tonic Maggie tried to pass off as a remedy for just about every conceivable ailment. A family recipe, she’d said. Since then, the reticence she once carried toward him had begun to ease. A good thing because Miller’s Cabinetry Shop stood near his office and they crossed paths often.

“I don’t see you rushing in with the rest,” Miller said. “No one strikes your fancy?”

Nelson surveyed the women once more. “Five does.”

Miller’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Five? As in number five? Better not let the lady hear you call her that.”

“Miss Weber. I think she’ll do just fine.”

“Do?”

Nelson nodded but didn’t elaborate on his thoughts. She was young and strong. She was also quiet. He liked that. If she took instruction well, he could train her precisely how he wanted things done.

The clear bell tones of a woman laughing sounded. Number One drew his gaze. She was a stunning woman. There was a reason he didn’t want a beautiful woman, but at that moment it escaped him.

Beside him, Jackson took a long swallow of beer.

“On second thought,” Nelson said, “I think I’ll start with Miss Vandersohn and go through them one at a time.”

Jackson spit out his mouthful of brew. “You’re serious!”

“Yep. That’s how I’ll do it. Steady and methodical.”

A slow grin grew on Jackson’s face. “I’d try to warn you off such a crazy plan where women are concerned, but I don’t think it would do any good. Take it from me. You don’t stand a chance if the right one comes along.”

“We’ll see who is right when the time comes.”

“Sure, Doc,” Jackson said, shaking his head as he walked away.

A sense of purpose filled Nelson. By the end of the month, per their contract, the women would have to marry. He had four weeks to get this part of his life in order. He would call on Miss Vandersohn first thing in the morning and start things moving forward. A stroll perhaps to show her the sights of the town.

His decision made, he spun on his heels and headed out the door, leaving the gaiety and the noise behind him.

Chapter Five

Sylvia was no good at waiting. When she drove her wagon into town just after dusk, she had expected Doc Graham to be home. She hadn’t a clue how she was going to convince him to travel all the way to her place. She had nothing to pay him with for his services. All she knew was that she was scared for Tommy and with each minute her desperation was growing bigger and bigger. It might end up choking her if the doc didn’t show up soon.

She paced the length of his walkway a few times, her arms crossed over her chest. Then she sat down on his steps. For all of one minute. Then she was up pacing again.

On her way to town, she’d come face-to-face with the fact that a man who wore a silk vest, a man who had an office, was not likely to come over to her side of the river to see her son. He’d expect payment, which she didn’t have. He’d probably expect her to bring her boy to him—and she wasn’t going to move Tommy. She might hurt him worse.

At least she was sure this was the doc’s house. A brass sign on the porch said Doctor’s Office plain as could be. She’d checked three other houses, peeking in the darkened windows, before she was sure she had the right house. There was some big hullabaloo happening down in the new building next to the bank. Maybe that was where everyone was. Maybe she should check down there.

She hated to walk right in on the entire town. Her whole life she’d made it a point to avoid as much of the people here as she could.

But what if he never came back tonight? What if he was out on a call? Maybe somebody was having a baby. Or somebody was sick. The thoughts plagued her.

Maybe she should have asked Carl for help... She recoiled at that when she remembered how he had treated Tommy at the mercantile. No... Carl would have made things worse. She’d done the only thing she could and that was to leave Tommy by himself. Doing that weighed on her something fierce. He was too hurt to wander off. The way he had whimpered once, like a kicked puppy, just crumpled her insides. He needed the doc. She couldn’t go back without him.

A shout came from somewhere on the main street. Then a door squeaked open and shut on one of the buildings—maybe the hotel. A dog barked.

Someone was coming.

She tiptoed up the porch steps and pulled into the shadows.

It was a man. His long strides gave that away. The silver clasp at his neck gleamed in the small amount of light left. The doc had worn the same tie in the mercantile.

Her heart pounded. She swallowed, nervous. What could she possibly offer him by way of bartering? What would he accept?

Now he was on the steps. He stood taller than she remembered. She hesitated. Maybe this was a fool idea. There was no way she could force him to go with her if he had a mind not to.

As he crossed in front of her, she caught a whiff of that fancy-smelling lotion he used. He reached for the door handle...

She gathered her courage. Tommy was worth it. Tommy was worth everything. “How much do you charge for a doctor visit?”

He froze at the sound of her voice.

“Would you take a chicken in payment?”

“I hate chicken,” he said evenly in his deep voice.

Her gut tightened. What to do? What to do?

Then he started to twist around.

“Stay as you are!” She panicked, fumbled with her satchel and withdrew her pistol. She shoved it against his lower back. “I got me a gun here, don’t you know.”

It was her nerves talking. She was making a muddle of everything.

“I dislike being accosted at gunpoint.”

She would have laughed at the absurd statement had her skin not been crawling in her nervousness. Instead, she scowled. “Most people do, but you’re mighty calm for bein’ in such a condition.”

“Believe me. I am not calm at all. I simply can’t see any value in making the situation worse.”

“Well...that’s a good thing. Now. Enough talk. You got to come with me.”

“What is this about? I assume someone is hurt or sick.”

How much could she tell him without him saying no to crossing the river? If he wouldn’t take a chicken, she had nothing to give him. She had nothing to spare.

“Are you alone?”

He was asking too many questions and this was taking too long.

“I said quiet! Just move on down to the wagon there.”

He started to turn.

She didn’t want him facing her! She stepped farther into the shadows.

“If you need my medical skills, then I must insist that either you or I bring my medical bag.”

She scowled again. “Fine. Get it. But don’t try anything.”

She followed him to a room in the back of the house, where he picked up a brown leather bag the size of a bread box from his desk.

“I’ll need my—” He reached for a drawer.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” She cocked her gun. He could store anything in there—a gun or a knife. “You git a move on.”

The rustle of heavy material sounded as he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and shrugged into it, then picked up his bag again. She stepped aside to let him pass and followed him outside.

Light from the moon cast the town in shadows of gray and black and blue as he strode to her wagon. She didn’t want him sitting next to her. He might get the upper hand and wrestle her gun away from her. Then where would she be? Where would Tommy be?

“Climb in the back.”

He took hold of the edge of the wagon and then paused. “You do realize that this is kidnapping?”

She shut out the twinge of guilt she felt. Tommy was all that mattered. “Can’t be helped.”

“I could shout. Call out for help.”

“Everyone is at the town hall. There’s no one around to hear you.”

“You’ve planned this well.” He swung into the wagon bed. “If I forced your hand, they would hear a gunshot...”

“I don’t think you want to take that chance, now do you, Doc? I been living off the land most my life. I don’t miss what I aim for.”

“I see your point.”

“Now, lay down on your back.”

“I hardly think that is necess—”

She threw a tarp over him. “I’m in charge here, in case you ain’t noticed. Now, no more shenanigans. I never heard someone talk so much during a kidnapping.”

“So, this is a common occurrence?”

“Ya gotta come with me, Doc,” she said softly, mostly to herself. “I can’t give you no choice in the matter.” Her heart hurt, tight with remorse. It wasn’t right—her using him this way especially after he’d done her a good turn a few days back at the mercantile, but it couldn’t be helped. Tommy came first, despite how guilty she felt about forcing the doc. She snapped the reins. “Get up! Berta!”

Chapter Six

This was a first for Nelson. Kidnapped by a bit of a woman no bigger than a broomstick. At first, he’d thought to wrestle the gun away from her, but then realizing the depth of her desperation, he’d decided, for the time being, to let her have her way and let things play out. If she kept waving that gun around, someone—likely he—was bound to get hurt. Besides, she hadn’t demanded money, so this wasn’t a robbery. The only thing she seemed to want was him. The idea of it tickled him a small degree. Kidnapped! He’d never been wanted so badly in his life. He only hoped he wasn’t going from a bad situation to worse. One tiny woman wouldn’t be a problem, but if she transported him to a den of outlaws, that would be another thing entirely.

In the dark, he hadn’t gotten a good look at her, but something about her was familiar—her voice, the way she pronounced certain words. He couldn’t place it, but he’d heard her speak somewhere before.

The wagon rumbled along and he felt every small rut and bump on his backside. He shivered against the chill in the air, smelling snow. Suddenly, his weight shifted as blood rushed to his head. The wagon traveled down a steep slope, then hooves clopped on wooden boards. The wagon leveled out and stopped.

There was the rustle of cloth and a few feminine grunts, then he felt a strange rocking sensation. At first, he was confused, but then the sound of water trickling over rocks came to him and he realized the wagon was floating. The only river nearby was south of town—the Smoky Hill River. And the only ferry crossing was southeast, about a mile from the train tracks. At least he had his bearings now.

When the wagon started moving over solid ground again, he knew they had reached the opposite bank. He popped his head out from under the tarp. Clouds obscured the moon. With so little light, how could the woman see the trail? All he could make out was the manly shape of her hat against the darkness. A snowflake landed on his eyelash. He swiped it away, feeling more confident that he could find his way back to town if need be. A light layer of spring snow would make it easy for him to follow tracks.

“Ma’am?”

“No talking,” she said curtly.

“But don’t you think this has gone far enough? Why do you feel the need to drag me out—”

“Shut your mouth, Doc.”

“If I can be of service, I am certainly willing.”

“I got no call to believe a word out of your mouth or any man’s. You’d only force me to turn around and take you back and I can’t do that. There’s only one thing I want from you and you ain’t leavin’ until it gets done.”

“Then you intend to release me after I do whatever it is you want?”

“Figure I’ve said enough. So have you,” she said stubbornly.

Another snowflake landed and then melted on his lip. He’d offered to help, but it seemed she wanted nothing of it. Fine by him. Let her handle things on her own. She was obviously strong. She’d managed to maneuver the pull-line across the river. He hunkered back down under the tarp. Cantankerous, stubborn woman!

After what seemed hours but was more likely fifteen or twenty minutes, the wagon stopped. He heard the squeak and jostle as his captor jumped from the small, rickety wagon.

“Doc? You awake?” She flung the tarp off, shaking out the light layer of snow on top, which ended up flying into his face.

If he had slept—which he hadn’t—he’d be awake now. He sat up.

The dark blanketed the woman’s face as surely as the tarp had blanketed him. “You can get out.”

For a moment, he thought about the gun in his medical bag. He’d thought about the derringer several times on the ride and whether to grab it or not. He kept the gun as protection against snakes and to warn off cougars. He’d never pointed it at a man, much less a woman. He knew instinctively that this entire affair was not about anyone getting hurt. The woman was desperate. That thought stayed his hand and kept the derringer stored away. He needed to find out what was going on.

“I said, get out,” she repeated.

Nelson climbed from the wagon, medical bag in hand. The snowfall was heavier. He doubted that it would stick—just a fitful spring snow destined to melt away once the sun came up. He hoped it stayed just long enough for him to find his way back to town.

“In the house. Be quick about it.”

He could barely make out the silhouette of a low-slung building a short distance away. Candlelight flickered in the window. He made his way there over lumpy ground, found the door and stepped inside.

A banked fire in the hearth emitted enough of a glow to cast the one room in a low reddish-gold light. A table stood in the center of the room. A tall cupboard stood against the far wall that was made of stacked bricks of sod. “Why did you—”

Then he heard a moan. The sound came from the floor. He walked around the table. A small boy lay on a straw pallet, his eyes open and feverish. Immediately, Nelson strode over to him.

He set aside his medical bag and dropped to his knees. “What happened?” Dried blood congealed on the boy’s matted hair and smeared the thin muslin cover behind his head.

“He’s awake! Oh, Lord be praised! Tommy! I’m here, son. Mama’s here. You just lie still now. I fetched the doctor.”

Nelson glanced up and for the first time recognized the woman he’d met in the mercantile two days earlier. She wore the same hat she’d worn then, a man’s old felt cowboy hat that had lost its shape from years of use. It had fallen back between her shoulder blades, held there by its chin ties. Her brown hair, loosely braided, fell over her shoulder to her belt buckle. She had tears in her large brown eyes.

“So...it’s you.”

She met his gaze with a stubborn one of her own. Then she swallowed before resolutely lifting her chin. “You’ll fix him.”

Nelson raised his brow. He wasn’t used to being ordered about. He was the one who usually did the ordering. “What happened?”

“He fell from the shed this afternoon. Hit his head good and hard. He wouldn’t wake up.”

“It’s a good thing he’s awake now.” Nelson took a moment to look down the boy’s body. The left leg had been tended to. It was now wrapped in a thick piece of wool material. “Looks like he did more than hit his head.”

She hovered over him, unmindful of the fact she still had that pistol in her hand. She waved it about. “Hurt his leg too. Happened when he went through the old roof. Foot got caught up and he lost his balance. Might be broken.” She pointed with the gun to his left foot.

“Put that gun down before you shoot somebody, woman! As upset as you are, that thing will go off before you know it.”

She pulled back.

“I don’t do well at gunpoint.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

She frowned at him. “How do I know you won’t shoot me once I let go?”

He huffed. “Because if I wanted to shoot you, I would have done so already with the pistol in my medical bag.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Slowly, she put the gun down on the table.

He turned back to the boy and crouched down again. He directed his words to her. “It sounds like a nasty fall. Where were you when this happened?”

She stiffened. “I was tending to chores.” Then her face crumpled. “You’ll fix him, won’t you?”

She truly was beside herself and not thinking straight. He guessed a lecture on keeping an eye on her son was unnecessary at this point, although he’d surely like to give her one. What kind of mother consented to letting her youngster climb something so high? “What were you doing up on top of the lean-to, young man?”

“He’s always climbing something, Doc,” Miss Marks answered for her son. “Never had a fear of heights like most people. It ain’t natural, but there you have it.”

He stared her down. “Does he know how to speak?”

She looked confused. “Why, yes.”

“Good. Then he can answer for himself.”

She clamped her mouth shut and glared at him.

“Bring that candle over,” he ordered. “Or, better yet, if you have a lamp...”

He continued examining the boy while the woman bustled about the room. He was barely aware that she’d lit a lamp and carried it close, holding it steadily to help him see her son better. Tommy followed his instructions—holding his head still and following the lamp with his eyes, his pupils constricting and then opening again with the distance of the light. That was a good sign.

“How old are you?”

The boy stared silently at him with a wary expression.

“He’s seven.”

He set his jaw. The woman was impossible to work with. “Then he’s old enough to answer my questions. I will have you step away, ma’am, if you don’t hold your tongue. I need to hear him talk, to make sure he is not slurring his words. It helps to determine the extent of his injury.”

He turned back to Tommy. “Now, young man, how old are you?”

The boy looked from him to his mother.

“Answer me.”

Tommy swallowed. His lips parted. “Seven.” The word was barely a whisper, croaked out between dry lips.

“Tell me where you hurt.”

Systematically, he examined the boy, questioning, peering and probing until he was satisfied that he understood the boy’s injuries. When he unwrapped the makeshift dressing from the injured leg, Tommy gave a swift gasp.

He’d been so quiet, and now to hear him, Nelson realized the boy had been hiding much of his pain. Nelson gentled his touch. “It is the air hitting the wound that hurts.” He leaned closer, surprised at the cleanliness he encountered. The raw wound had been scrubbed. “Did you clean this up?”

“Are you asking me? Or Tommy?” the woman asked.

He gritted his teeth. “You, of course.”

“I did the best I could. There was lots of dirt from the shed’s roof.”

He grunted. Surprised she’d done such a thorough job of taking care of the wound. As much as she was worried about her son being in pain, she hadn’t skimped on scrubbing it. He peeled back a small section of the skin flap. The wound was nearly to the bone.

Tommy cried out. Large tears filled his eyes. His breathing grew erratic.

The lamplight wavered. His mother, still holding the lamp close, knelt beside him. Tears filled her eyes too as she grasped her son’s hand with her free one.

Nelson replaced the flap of skin, approximating the edges as best he could. It would need stitching, but there was one more thing he had to do before he was completely satisfied with his exam. “I’m sorry to have to hurt you. I’ll go as quick as I can to lessen the pain. Ready?”

The boy set his jaw once more and then nodded bravely.

Nelson ran his fingers down the two long bones from the shin to the wound. Then, grasping above the wound with one hand, he took hold of Tommy’s foot with the other and moved it through all the proper positions.

“Very good.” He pulled his medical bag closer and rummaged through it for his needle and supply of catgut. “It needs to be stitched. Brace yourself, Tommy.”

“No.”

He let out another sigh. “Miss Marks.”

“So you do remember my name. Don’t matter. You’re not poking holes in my son.”

“It’s the only way to keep the skin together so that it will heal.”

She shook her head. “He’s hurting enough. Wrap it back up and let it heal on its own.”

He wasn’t used to having his directions contradicted. “I don’t think you understand how deep his wound is. If the tissue doesn’t bind correctly, your son could lose much of his ability to walk.”

She’d been so set to argue that it took a minute for his words to sink in. Then her shoulder slumped and her brown eyes clouded. “You’re sayin’ he...he might not walk again?”

“That’s right.”

She swallowed.

“I’ve seen this type of injury before when I worked for the railroad. I know what to do. You will have to trust me.”

The war going on inside her was evident on her face. She wanted to protect her son from further hurt—that was what her gut told her. And she didn’t know whether he was skilled or not. Her bottom lip trembled. “You’ll make it so he walks again?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Ma?”

She met her son’s gaze. “We got to trust the doc, Tommy. You hold on to my hand tight. I’m right here.” She looked up at Nelson and nodded, her expression resolute.

Nelson finished his preparations.

“Hold him,” he said to Miss Marks.

She set her jaw and then lay across her son, gripping his leg to hold him still.

He made the first stitch.

Tommy tensed and yelled out.

Nelson had done this procedure on grown men. Never on a young boy with his mother looking on. If he messed up, there was the chance he might sentence the boy to being a cripple the rest of his life. That thought made him extremely careful.

When he was done, he glanced up to see how Tommy had weathered the treatment and found Miss Marks watching him intently. Her face was pale, but no less determined than it had been earlier. “Get me another bandage.”

She scrambled to her feet.

“You did well,” he told the boy. “I’m all finished except for wrapping it up.”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he relaxed his jaw. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

“How are you feeling?” Nelson asked.

Tommy let out a shaky breath but still didn’t answer.

Of course, the boy still hurt. “You did well,” Nelson said again. “I’ve had grown men who didn’t handle stitches as bravely as you.”

Miss Marks returned with what appeared to be clean rags and a small jar of honey.

He took the rags and wrapped the ankle. “You can get him a blanket now. Keep him here by the fire for the next few days. He needs lots of rest. Nothing appears to be broken. It’s probably a bad sprain. I’ll know more in a few days, once the swelling has gone down and the wound has a chance to bind together.”

“Then...he’ll be all right?”

He nodded. “Young boys are resilient about such things.”

A ragged breath shuddered out of her. She sank to her knees beside her son. “Ya hear that? You’re going to be all right, Tommy.” A tear trickled down her cheek.

“What are you cryin’ for, Ma?”

She cupped the boy’s jaw with her palm. “I’m happy. That’s all. You heard what the doctor said. You rest now.”

Nelson squirmed. Such an outpouring of love was something he’d never experienced with his own mother. He turned away, clearing his throat.

At the sound, Miss Marks rose to her feet. “You look piqued, Doc. I’ll get you some water.”

He hadn’t realized he was thirsty until she said something. “Thank you.”

She also filled a glass for her son and handed it to Tommy first. Then she set a full glass on the table for Nelson.

“Now you know why I had to make you come.”

“At gunpoint,” he said, glancing pointedly at the gun still lying on the table.

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

“I had to know Tommy would be all right. I couldn’t get him to wake up.”

Something stirred inside Nelson. “You should have sent someone. It was dangerous for you to leave your son alone.”

Her expression crumpled. “Like you, I didn’t have a choice either.”

He looked away—anywhere but at her. Female sentiment shook him up more than he cared. Female hysteria unhinged him. Give him a man to doctor any day. A man who would keep his feelings in check.

He looked about the cabin. Two chairs, a table, a fireplace. A curtained-off doorway, likely one that led to a small bedroom for her. She had so few things. There was nothing he could see that was not essential—no pictures on the walls. How long had she lived here on her own with her son? He wanted to ask but held the question back. It was best that he not get involved with that part of her life. He should keep a professional distance, keep things objective.

As he pondered this, Miss Marks moved back to her son. She crouched down and lovingly swept the shock of dark blond hair from his forehead. The ministration, and the look that passed from her to her son, spoke volumes. As did the calm adoration in her son’s eyes for her. This woman might not have pictures on her walls or fancy clothes, but she had what was most important in life. It was something he had never had.

He measured the darkness visible at the edges of the oilcloth covering the window. Dawn wouldn’t arrive for several hours. The woman looked exhausted. He should offer to sit up with the boy and let her rest. He wouldn’t be fresh to call on Miss Vandersohn in the morning, but that seemed inconsequential now. That decision seemed like a year ago—the bright celebration at the town hall last evening a far cry from this dark, dank soddy.

She placed another chip of dried dung on the small fire, then stirred the ashes with a poker. A small, steady flame sputtered up and took hold. “I’ll take you back as soon as it’s light, Doc.”

“Then you’d better get some rest. I’ll sit up with your son.”

Tommy was already falling asleep. She stood and, with her fist to the small of her back, arched her body in a quick stretch. The firelight flared, the light revealing dark smudges beneath her eyes. “I’ll be taking care of my own.”

“After all this, you still don’t trust me? Not even a little?”

She raised her chin.

He let out a tired sigh and sat down on a chair, his back to the wall. “All right. Then we’ll both stay up with him.”

She plopped down in the only other chair available and stared at the fire in the hearth.

It came as a bit of a surprise that he was warm—warmer than he would be at his fancy two-story house in town, where the wind whistled and made the boards creak. Here, there were no cracks or knotholes for the breeze to pass through. Whoever had built this home had done a decent job with the materials at hand.

Before long, her breathing became deep and even. Her eyes drifted close as she slid slowly and surely to rest her head in the crook of her arm on the table.

He moved the gun out from under her elbow and took a moment to consider her. She must be somewhere around twenty-five by her unlined face and the lack of gray in her dark brown hair. Her skin was smooth and pale. He liked the slight upturn of her nose at the end. Considering the flash in her eyes when he mentioned the catgut, the shape of her nose went along well with her stubbornness. Unguarded like this, with her frown replaced by a peaceful expression, she was...attractive. Immediately, he looked away. She was just a young and determined mother. That was all. And, annoying as it had been to be kidnapped, he admired her spunk and her devotion to her son. To notice anything more about her was...unsettling. He pushed the thought away and settled back in his chair to keep watch the rest of the night.

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