by Donna Dalton
Laughter danced in dark eyes. “A hospital? My, my. Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?”
He shoveled food onto his plate. His appetite had returned. For many things. “Not at all. You’ve seen how rapidly the town is growing. New buildings are going up every day. There’s talk of a railroad spur coming in from the south. That will draw more people into the community. A hospital will become a necessity.”
“I suppose you are right. Mineral is expanding. It won’t be long before they start building settlements further along the creek.”
“There you go. A hospital it is then.”
He sunk his teeth into a chicken leg and groaned. Savory juices poured through the crispy outer crust. Excellent fare. And excellent company. He couldn’t ask for a more perfect outing.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. He could easily see them years from now, enjoying each other’s company without the need for conversation. The perfect partnership. Fortunately, she did not bear him any ill will for the way he had treated her at the start. For that, she deserved to be rewarded.
He set down his empty plate and rose. He crossed to the buggy and extracted a ribbon-wrapped box from the boot. This ought to put a smile on her face. His heart was already grinning.
He returned to the blanket and set the box in front of her.
She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “What’s this?”
“It’s a gift. A token of my appreciation for your unflagging patience with me and my foul disposition.”
“You don’t have to give me anything.”
“I know I don’t. I want to. Please, open it.”
She undid the ribbon and slid off the lid. Eyes widened to the size of saucers. “It’s the hat I admired at Mrs. Stone’s shop. I thought it had been sold.”
“It had. But I cajoled Mrs. Stone into making another.” At quite an extravagant cost. But the look on Moira’s face was worth every penny.
She lifted the hat from the box and held it out in front of her. Frown lines creased her brow as she fingered the gold broach pinned to a lace bow. “What’s this? I don’t recall seeing a broach on the original version.”
“No, it wasn’t. I had Mrs. Stone add it.”
“It’s such a lovely piece. I’ve never seen such a brilliant gemstone before. It’s almost…magical.”
She twisted the hat to and fro, her face beaming like a child on Christmas morning. Sunlight caught on the amethyst gem and shot lilac rays across her creamy skin. Magical, indeed.
“It was my mother’s,” he said. “And my grandmother’s before that.”
Clouds darkened her sunshine. She guided the hat back into the box. “I can’t accept this, Anson. The hat, and especially not the broach. It’s a family heirloom. You should be giving it to your…”
She broke off, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. He wanted to kiss away her unease.
“You deserve it, Moira. Consider the hat and broach my way of apologizing and welcoming you into my family so to speak. A symbol of our newfound friendship.”
He could offer more than friendship. His body was ready. His head was ready. But his cracked heart balked.
“It’s too much. I couldn’t possibly accept your gift, no matter what the reason.”
“You deserve this, and much more for putting up with me. As your employer, I order you to accept my gift.” He lightened his tone. “Please don’t make me take the hat back to Mrs. Stone. It wasn’t easy convincing her to make a replica of the original one. She said her creations were one of a kind. Works of art.”
Moira’s chuckle washed over him. “She can be a bit over-dramatic.”
“A bit?”
“Very well, I accept your gift. Thank you, Anson. I shall think of you every time I wear it.”
And he would think of how happy she made him every time he saw it adorning her lovely head.
Laughter spilled up the hillock, drawing their attention. Two bare-footed boys waded in the creek below. They splashed in the water, kicking at currents, and tossed rocks across the surface.
He pointed at the acrobats. “It appears our peaceful interlude has been invaded.”
She smiled. “I quite like the sound of children playing. So innocent and pure. It’s music to my ears.”
He let his gaze slide over her. She would make a wonderful mother. She was kind and protective and gave her entire heart to those she loved. He envied the man who took her to wife.
Sadly, it wouldn’t be him.
****
Moira skimmed a finger over the broach pinned to her new hat. Such a lovely gem. Such a lovely gesture. She’d never received such an extravagant gift before. Yet, Anson wanted her to have it. To be part of his family. A symbol of their friendship. She wanted more than just friendship. But was he capable of giving more? Was she capable of accepting it?
He kneeled on the blanket, packing the picnic items into the basket while whistling a cheery tune. He seemed more relaxed…as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A smile tugged at his lips. One foot waggled in time to the whistling. She smiled. They should have more outings like this if it made him so happy.
A scream pierced the air, making the hairs on her arm stand on end. She yanked her head around and followed the sound to the creek below where Charlie Gunderson and Patrick Cavendish had been playing in the water. Little Charlie sat on the creek bank, crying and holding onto his ankle.
Anson leapt to his feet and rushed down the hill. Heart pounding, she unfurled her legs and bolted off the blanket, racing after him. He reached the creek first and squatted beside the wailing child. She pulled up behind him.
“Hush now,” Anson urged. “Tell me what happened.”
Pain and fear streaked the boy’s face. Charlie sucked down a sob and swiped at his tears. “R-R…” was all he managed to get out.
Patrick edged closer. “It was a rattlesnake. We didn’t see it until it was too late. The dang bugger bit Charlie on the leg.”
Ice filled her veins. Rattlesnake venom was quite deadly, even for adults. A six-year-old didn’t stand a chance against the toxin.
She glanced around but didn’t see any coiled serpents or tell-tale slither marks. “Where did the snake go?”
Patrick pointed to a cottonwood standing sentinel over the creek about twenty feet away. “The bugger slunk over there. Probably hiding under that snarl of roots.”
Good. They didn’t need any more snake-bit patients. One was enough. She pointed to the hillock. “Patrick, I want you to run back to town. Tell Charlie’s parents what happened, and that Dr. Locke and I are looking after him. Have them go to the doctor’s office and wait for us. We’ll bring him there once we’ve seen to his bite.”
Patrick nodded and charged up the hill. The Gunderson’s would be beside themselves with worry. Hopefully, she and Anson could get the boy back to them alive and kicking.
Anson scooped Charlie into his arms and toted him up the hill. She joined him as he placed the boy on the blanket. Charlie reclined back, writhing and moaning. The youngster had saddled Dolly for her on many an occasion. He was a jolly little fellow who always had a smile on his face. Except for now. His pain gouged into her. Treating injured children was always the hardest. All she wanted to do was take away their suffering.
“We have remove as much venom from the bite as quickly as we can,” Anson said. “Try to calm him while I get my medical bag. Agitation will only make the toxin spread faster through his body.”
As Anson rushed to the buggy, Moira knelt on the blanket and rested a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. His muscles quivered beneath her fingertips. He was pale as his white cotton shirt, and sweat coated his forehead. She ached to send healing power into him, but Anson was much too close for that. She would just have to help him in the normal fashion.
“Lie still, Charlie. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
The writhing slowed. A watery gaze latched onto her. “A-Am I going to…d-die, Miss Devlin?”
“I ’member S-Sally Younger,” he said through hiccupping sobs. “She was six. She got bit l-last year. Sh-she died.”
“You’re a strong young man, Charlie Gunderson. I’ve seen how you handle your father’s livestock. No rattlesnake is going to get the best of you.”
The boy hauled in a deep breath, seeming to take strength in her words. Good. He would need to be courageous for what was to come.
Anson returned and dropped to his knees at the boy’s feet. He fished inside his medical bag and extracted a knife and a vial of clear liquid.
Charlie’s eyes grew round as wagon wheels. “Wh-what’re you gonna do with that knife, Doc?”
Anson uncorked the vial and poured liquid over the tip. “I’m going to save your life, young man. This may hurt a bit, but it will give me access to those bite punctures. Lie still as you can now. Hold onto Miss Devlin’s hand if you need to.”
He set the vial down and glanced at her, eyebrows arched in question. She nodded and gathered the boy’s hand in hers. Clammy fingers shackled hers. She ignored the pinch. If Charlie needed a lifeline, she was there to provide it, no matter how painful.
“Charlie is ready. Go on, Doctor.”
Anson grasped the boy’s ankle and dipped the knife tip into a fang mark, making a slight incision. Charlie gasped and went rigid as a board. But he didn’t thrash or wail. Such a brave boy.
Moira squeezed harder. “You’re doing great, Charlie. Hold tight.”
Anson set the knife aside and leaned over, pressing his mouth to the bite mark. His cheeks puckered as he drew blood from the wound. After a few seconds of sucking, he turned his head and spat out a red stream. He did this three times and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
The boy’s grip on her fingers slackened. “A-Are you done, Doc? D-Did you get all the venom out?”
“Most of it.” Anson picked up the vial. “I’m going to apply a little ammonia to the wound. It will sting, but only for a few seconds. Hold still a while longer, and then we will be all done.”
The boy eyed the vial. “Ammonia. My pa puts that on his animals when they get cut.”
Anson nodded. “That’s right. It’s an antiseptic. It kills germs. Ready now?” At Charlie’s nod, he poured a good dose of ammonia over the incision mark.
Charlie didn’t move. Didn’t even bat an eyelash.
“That’s it, Charlie,” she crooned. “All done. My, you are such a brave young man. Your father would be so proud of you.”
Charlie merely gave her a wan smile. His coloring had turned pale as the wispy clouds racing overhead. His eyelids drooped. He was fading…fast.
Anson shoved the knife and ammonia back into his bag. “We’ve done as much as we can here. Let’s get him to the office where we can watch over him.”
Charlie wasn’t out of the woods yet. The boy had a long battle ahead of him. Hopefully one he would win.
Anson gathered Charlie in his arms and stood. “Go and get into the buggy, Moira. The boy’s too weak to sit on his own. You’ll have to hold him on your lap. He’s small enough you should be able to manage for the short ride to town.”
She would do whatever was needed to keep the boy safe. She hurried to the buggy and climbed in. Once she settled on the seat, Anson handed up the boy. Charlie sagged against her, his arms limp and lifeless.
Anson stowed the picnic basket and her hat box in the boot and then joined her on the seat. He draped the blanket over the boy. His concerned gaze met hers. He knew Charlie was in dire straits.
He gathered the reins and urged the horse into a fast clip. As the buggy bolted forward, Charlie’s head thumped against her chest. His eyes were closed; his breaths were coming in shallow draws. The life was going out of him. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. She had to help him…risk of discovery be damned. Perhaps the blanket would hide most of her efforts. She shifted for a better position on the buggy seat.
Anson tossed her a worried look. “Are all right, Moira? Is he too heavy?”
She wagged her head. “I’m fine. The boy fainted, and I needed to get a better grip. I’m good now.”
He frowned and scoured Charlie’s face. “I hope we don’t lose him.”
She would do her best to see that they didn’t. As Anson returned his focus to handling the galloping horse, she hunched over and rubbed her hands together under the blanket. Energy gathered in her core, spinning and churning. Pulsing heat coursed down her arms and pooled in her palms. She slid her hands under Charlie’s shirt. His skin was cold and clammy. She closed her eyes and concentrated on probing. His blood was black and icy. Anson hadn’t extracted all the venom.
She sent healing waves into the blackness. The ice thawed. The blackness lightened.
Charlie moaned and lifted his head. “W-Where am I? W-what happened?”
“Shh,” she whispered. “Everything’s all right. You were bitten by a rattlesnake while playing at the creek. We’re taking you to the doctor’s office where your parents are going to meet us.”
“Your hands…so warm. Tingly. Made me… better.”
Anson’s puzzled gaze moved from her to the boy and back. Her heart thudded against her ribs. There were going to be questions for which she couldn’t give any answers.
Chapter Fifteen
Moira tossed her apron onto the bureau. Worrisome thoughts and the need for sleep had her head spinning. She and Anson had taken turns watching over Charlie during the night. To her delight, the boy greeted the sunrise with a weak smile. While she cheered his recovery, the repercussions of using her gift nagged like a festering hangnail. Not because of Charlie. She would do it all over again if the situation arose. It was a man with the eyesight of an eagle and the wit of a fox who had her on edge.
During Charlie’s final examination before leaving with his parents, Anson had tossed numerous puzzled looks in her direction. He’d opened his mouth twice but held his tongue. Probably out of consideration for Charlie and his parents. It was a reprieve. Slight, but she would take it. Her head was already buzzing. The longer she staved off a confrontation, the better.
As the door closed behind the Gunderson’s, she’d made a beeline to her bedroom with the excuse of requiring a nap. Which she did need. But she also needed time alone to think.
Anson would give her a few hours to rest. He was that considerate. But after that, he would demand answers. Answers she couldn’t give. He liked her, might even care for her. But he wasn’t ready to hear about her gift. He barely accepted her potion-making ability. How could he accept her magical talent? He would toss her and her potions out into the street.
As bad as that would be for her, she knew deep down he would be more tormented. He’d come to trust her, had allowed her into his life, into his beloved medical practice. He would be devastated by her betrayal. Leaving would be the best course of action. Now. Before either of them fell any deeper into the morass.
With a heavy heart, she tugged her trunk from under the bed. She didn’t want to leave. She’d come to adore Mineral and all the people who lived in the mining town. Claude Gunderson who always had a humorous anecdote on hand. Generous Ben Cavendish. The ever-optimistic and caring Mary Lidle. Most of all she would miss Anson. She’d fallen in love with him. Didn’t know when or where it had happened, but it had.
She yanked open a bureau drawer. There was nothing for it. She had to leave. There could be no future for her and Anson. He was better off without her. If she loved him, she had to let him go.
She scooped up a handful of clothes and dropped them in the trunk. Like a puppet marching on strings, she went back and forth from the bureau to the bed, gathering and packing her things. Each step was a dagger to her heart. But she had to do it.
Her hands paused over the green felt hat nestled in its box. A soft ache filled her. It was the most wonderful present she had ever received. A gift from the heart. But she c
ouldn’t keep it. It was far too personal and far too painful to hold onto. It would be a constant reminder of what she couldn’t have.
He wanted her to be part of his family. To work by his side. She traced a finger over the broach pinned to the hat. Sunlight sparkled on the multi-faceted gem resting in a gold filigree setting. A stone of many colors. Like him. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of dulling that luster.
Footfalls shuffled in the hallway outside the door. He was here. Her reprieve was over.
An insistent rapping tapped into the room. “Moira, I know you’re awake. I heard you moving about. We need to talk.”
His deep voice rumbled through her just as it had from the day they met. She briefly closed her eyes and gathered her courage. She needed to be strong. Anson wouldn’t let her go without a fight. He was a very determined man. It was what she loved most about him. Nothing swayed his convictions.
“Moira, open the door. Please.”
She heaved a sigh and crossed to the door. Her hand hovered over the knob. She didn’t want to hurt him, but remaining at the practice was not an option. He would only suffer more if she stayed.
She grasped the knob and tugged open the door. He filled the doorway, an impressive mountain of tweed and bay rum cologne. She would treasure that sight and smell during the long, empty days ahead.
“Yes, Dr. Locke?” She couldn’t call him Anson. It would imply intimacy. An intimacy they couldn’t share.
Blue eyes pried into her. “I would like to discuss what happened with Charlie Gunderson.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Your heroic efforts saved the boy.”
“That’s poppycock, and we both know it. Children that young rarely survive a rattlesnake bite, no matter what heroic efforts are performed.”
“Then we’ll just say his recovery was a miracle from God and leave it at that.” She pushed on the door, but his foot stopped its progress.
“This discussion is far from over.” He leaned in, his face smudged with determination. “I’ve seen my fair share of miracles, but Charlie’s rapid recovery goes well beyond that. He began improving before we even reached the office. What did you do to that boy?”