The Prairie Doctor's Bride

by Kathryn Albright

  “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 constricti
ng 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?”