They had been careful to teach her the intricacies of poker—five-card stud, high-low Jacks, lowball, and other versions of the game. And then they proceeded to lose all their money to her, a fact that alternately aggravated and delighted them all. Bryn tried to ignore the choking cigarette smoke that filled the room and tried not to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the foul language tossed about. This, after all, was where Jesus would be if he were walking on earth today. Among his people who were desperate for the Word, a knowledge of their Creator, and their place in his world.
She sighed after raking in the last round, her wager unsurpassed by any around the table, and her pitiful hand—a pair of sevens—unchecked. “It’s late, boys,” she called, like a jovial bartender to brothers and dear friends. “I’ve taken your money and your gold nuggets. I think I had better call it a night. Are there any free bunks?”
“C’mon, Doc!” cried one across the table from her. “You can’t quit now. Double or nothing. Give us a chance to win it back.”
“That or go to strip poker,” another said, leering at Bryn.
“That I will not do,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. She stretched, as much to feel for the Colt in her waistband as to relieve tension, and mulled over their call for another hand. “Here’s my bet,” she said. “I’m wagering all this cash, other than my twenty that will go back to my shoe”—several men chuckled at that—“and these gold nuggets, that will go to Housecalls as a donation from a grateful group of miners for saving their comrades in arms. That leaves, let’s see, six, seven hundred dollars that you can win back.”
She studied the remaining men around the table, bent to unzip her bag, and pulled out her Bible, purchased the fall she left Alaska last. “If one of you wins, you take the money and run. If I win,” she said, staring around the loop again, “you each read the book of Romans from beginning to end.”
“Hey, now, you a doc or a preacher?” one complained at the end of the table. He had the rounded features of an Eskimo, like several others in the crowd.
“A doc,” she said with her most winning smile. “A doc on a mission.”
The table erupted in laughter. “The way I figure it,” said a slim man of perhaps forty years across from her, “it’s a pretty safe bet. Any one of us wins, we get all our cash back. The nuggets we can donate,” he enunciated slowly, lowering his gaze to make sure she knew she was forcing that decision. “Chances are six-to-one that we won’t even have to read that book of Romans.”
“So you would think,” Bryn said with another teasing smile. She reached for the deck and shuffled quickly. “But you’re about to see, boys,” she said cockily, “that the Lord’s on my side, and he’s not very fond of drinking too much or losing your hard-won money in a hand of poker.”
“Most effective missionary I’ve encountered,” said another. “What happens to the cash if you win?”
“Yeah. Didn’t tell us what would happen to the cash,” said the leering man down the way.
“I’ll give your share back to each of you. Just as soon as you can answer three key questions from the book of Romans.” She picked up her cards and fanned them out, delighted with the royalty in her hand and the King of kings who could make such things happen. Who would have thought? Who would have ever guessed that Bryn Bailey would be witnessing to a house full of miners in the middle of nowhere by playing a night’s worth of poker?
“Okay, out with it,” Sara said, reaching across the table to take Eli’s hand. Rain pounded on the roof of Alice’s restaurant and bar, where they had dined on fresh salmon. “You’re scaring me, Eli.”
“Scaring you?” Eli asked, puzzlement knitting his brow.
“It’s not like you, not talking, not telling me about your day.”
Eli took a sip of water, spent undue time staring at the rivulets of sweat running down the glass’s beaded sides. His grandmother had had a beaded lampshade like this glass once. How old were these glasses anyway?
“Eli.”
He forced his attention back to Sara, his mind not on the blonde across from him but on a beautiful brunette stuck in a mining camp, armed or not …
“Eli …”
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head as if water had dripped on him. A chill ran down his neck.
“You’re thinking of her.”
“Her? Who?”
“Bryn Bailey. You’re thinking of her. Did you see her today?”
“No. No!” He threw up his hands. “Look, I’m making an effort to not see her at all.”
“Then why are you thinking about her?”
How had Sara known? How did women know such things? He dared to look her in the eye, then looked down to the stack of fish bones on his plate before he spoke. “She’s stuck,” he admitted. “It’s bugging me. Leon flew her in,” he rushed on. “I didn’t even see her, but somehow I feel responsible.”
“Where? Where is she stuck?”
“Up at the old Lone Gulch mine. They had a cave-in today. Three men injured. Housecalls was on the scene, and Leon took her there. Ended up having to fly them all out, with no room for Bryn.”
Sara’s eyes widened, looking concerned for the first time. “So she’s stuck in a mining camp? Alone?”
“Yeah,” he said, warming to her empathetic tone. “Would’ve gone back for her myself but for the weather.”
Sara was up and walking out of the restaurant before he knew that he had said something wrong.
The rain was still pounding on the metal roof, and Eli looked at the swinging door, then at Alice behind the bar.
“Better go after her,” she said with a nod. “Pretty girl, ugly night.”
“Make that two pretty girls,” he muttered to himself. He threw down some cash and hurried after Sara. “Suddenly the night is even uglier.”
The rain was a torrent, and Sara was standing at the corner in the dim light, looking up as the skies opened upon her.
“We just got back together, Eli,” she said mournfully. “Why do you need to be the one to rescue her?”
“I don’t. I mean … I don’t know what I mean. Can we go in? Out from—”
“I don’t want to give you up! I thought this was it.”
“It still can be, Sara. I’m just confused. I don’t know—”
“Don’t know!” She waited until he looked her in the eye, struggling to see her through the drenching rain. “How can you say that? And confused, Eli? About us? I love you! Don’t you—” She stopped, her question unspoken.
He was in agony. Did he love her? Why couldn’t he say it? Right here, right now?
She moved into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder for a brief moment before wordlessly turning away and disappearing into the dark, wet night.
CHAPTER NINE
The one miner who had spooked her had been firmly escorted out at the end of the night by George, the crew boss. She was grateful for the interception. Still she had slept on the lower bunk, closest to the fire, with only five men in the bunkhouse, the others relegated to double up in the two remaining outbuildings. And Leon’s Colt, tucked under her pillow, was within easy reach in case anyone else thought of making improper advances.
She had watched the hypnotic flames of the dying fire until midnight, listening to the rain pound outside and waiting until she knew her comrades were asleep, snoring like a quintet of old sea lions. Finally she succumbed to sleep herself. When she awakened she felt surprisingly refreshed.
She was first up and was trying to find the coffee in the mess hall to get a pot brewing when George ambled up beside her, yawning and stretching.
“You sleep last night, Doc?”
“Oh yes.” She watched as he moved several cases of beans aside and pulled out a huge can of ground Folgers.
“That’s good. Sometimes winning big will keep a body up.” He turned to give her a wink that reminded her of Sam Elliott, and then he went back to his work of filling a large pot with water to heat on the stove.
&n
bsp; “I really will give the nuggets to Housecalls.”
“I believe you, Doc,” he said.
She tucked her hands into her jean pockets. “Do you think it was too much? I mean, the Bible reading and all?”
He gave her a wry look. “You kiddin’? These boys died and went to heaven. You gave them something to talk about for years to come. We don’t come across a doctor-missionary-gambler too often.”
“I know I displaced some of them from their bunks last night.”
“No worries,” George said with another wink. “Pretty doc like you is always welcome to come and preach at my boys, regardless of what you’re peddlin’ or how much cash you win. You’re like a USO girl in a camp of soldiers, I tell ya.”
“Thanks. I think. Say, George, are there any other men in need of a doctor, you know, minor things that I could help with before a problem gets worse? I should’ve thought of it last night after Leon left, but—”
“Let’s see now.” George went to the propane-generated refrigerator and pulled out a large package of caribou sausages. “Keith had a run-in with a porcupine a few days ago. You might check on his hand. And Webby burned his arm on a lamp night before last. We usually tend to our own wounds around here—isn’t often a doctor rambles through.”
“I’d be happy to look at them. Will you speak to them, make sure it’s all right?”
George gave her another whimsical grin. “Lady, these boys would go get themselves injured to get closer to you. You’ll have no problem, I guarantee it.”
The storm lifted by the time the blueberry hotcakes were bubbling on the griddle and the caribou sausages were sizzling in two wide cast-iron pans. Later, as the satiated group sat back from plates licked clean of the last stripes of real maple syrup, a plane roared overhead.
“There’s your Cessna, Doc,” George said.
A Cessna. Not a Beaver. She nodded, a bit disappointed.
Bryn rose to see to Webby and Keith, who obediently went to the bunkhouse as the others went out to meet Leon and hear the report on their comrades. She attended to Webby first, checking the second-degree burns that were easily diagnosed by their blisters. “Know those hurt. We’ll leave them though. The blister acts as a natural bandage.” She rubbed some Silvadene cream on the burn and wrapped it in sterile gauze.
Keith’s left hand still had several porcupine quills in it. Bryn carefully cleaned the skin, numbed the area with lidocaine, and then, using a number-eleven blade with a fine, triangular tip, made tiny incisions next to the quills and pulled the fishhooklike ends out. The incisions were so small there was no need for stitches. She covered the area with Bacitracin ointment and grinned up at Keith. “All done.”
“Thanks, Doc. That’s terrific. Thought I’d have to live with them until they came out on their own.”
“No problem. You should’ve said something last night. If you see any sign of infection, use more of that ointment.”
“Ready to go, Doc?” Leon said as he walked up to them. He looked Bryn over from head to toe as if to make sure she had not sustained any bodily injury.
“Ready,” she said, zipping her bag. She slid her hand over the rough cotton sheet and under the pillow, grabbing the Colt and then turning to hand it to Leon.
George watched the whole thing, chuckled, and shook his head. “Nope, not many gun-totin’, pretty girls who are doctors in the bush, as well as preachers.”
“Preachers?” Leon asked.
“Never mind,” Bryn said with a smile cast toward George and a nod at the group of men behind him. “Tell me about those patients I sent out with you yesterday.”
“All of them are on the mend, Doc. That one with the spinal injury is the one they’re concerned about most, ’course, but even he is supposed to be okay.”
“No long-term paralysis?” They walked out to the swampy river bend, tentatively picking their way through mud that was worse than the day before.
“Didn’t sound like it. Didn’t check on him this morning though.”
“Fine. Just curious. Thanks for getting them out, Leon. And for coming back for me.”
The slim, older man turned and grinned. “You kidding? Eli was up at five, calling me on the phone, yammering about how I ought to already be up in the air comin’ after ya. I hardly had a choice.”
Bryn laughed, stowed her bags, then turned to wave at her new friends. They were a ragtag bunch. She still couldn’t believe she’d spent the night with them all and survived. She smiled. It felt good, taking on challenges like this, exploring just what she was made of and finding out that she liked what she found.
Bryn entered the plane. “We goin’ to Summit now?”
“Sorry, Doc,” Leon said. “Housecalls has a whole lineup of visits for you to make. Looked to me to be at least a week’s worth. The word is out on you, I guess. We’ll start at Twin Lakes. There’s a boy who’s been running a high fever for five days.”
George stepped out onto the pontoon and, before shutting the door, said, “Radio us and give us a report on the guys every day, would ya?”
“Happy to do it,” Bryn promised.
Leon climbed in beside her and went through his checklist for takeoff. “More mud today,” he mumbled.
“Is it safe? To go? Should we wait?”
“Nah. We’re fine. Fine.”
“Mind if I shut my eyes?”
“Not at all, Doc. You do what you need to, and I’ll do my thing. Yep. Lotta years in this bird. Did I tell you about the time I lost a ski with a bunch of sightseers up on a glacier?”
“No. And Leon? Maybe you shouldn’t tell me right now.”
“Oh. Okay, Doc. Saddle up. We’re on the move!”
Eli was working on the engine of the Beaver, replacing a Magnito, having lost his third client of the day because of his downed plane and Leon’s Housecalls trip, when an attachment bolt broke loose. He grimaced and let out a cry of unbridled fury. He rammed his hand against the fuselage, wincing at the pain as flesh met metal. It would take the rest of the day to drive to Anchorage and pick up another. A whole day! Gone!
Could nothing go right in his life?
To make matters worse, when he looked up the grassy knoll past the office, he saw Sara’s car pull off the highway and park in his lot. He didn’t know what to say to her. He had already said everything he could think of! He needed some time to sort things out.
She walked down the hillside, her blond hair flying about like straw in the wind. Sara was beautiful, inside and out. What are you doing, Pierce? What are you risking here? As she drew closer, he could see the dark circles ringing her eyes, testimony to a sleepless night. “Tried to call,” she said, with a sweet tuck of her head toward the office.
“Yeah,” he said, wiping his hands on an already grimy cloth. “Been a little busy out here with the plane. Sorry. Didn’t check for messages.”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“Broken Magnito. Then I busted an attachment bolt. Have to head to Anchorage now to pick up replacements, or I’ll miss tomorrow’s clients too.”
Sara’s eyes went to the side of the dock where Leon’s Cessna was conspicuously absent. “He went after her then?”
“Yeah.” Eli turned back toward the engine, not wanting her in his line of vision any longer. It was heartbreaking, this crevasse that was widening between them. But he felt powerless to stop it. “I told you I wouldn’t go.”
“She didn’t ask for you?”
“No.” He turned a screw that needed no tightening and looked for something else to busy himself with. It was stupid. Cowardly of him to avoid her look. He was more than this, more of a man than this. He sighed and stood to his full height, turned to look at her.
She studied him, and those clear baby blues seemed to see right through him. “But you wanted to go,” she whispered. He couldn’t deny it. Tears bulged at her lower lids, and Eli resisted the desire to wipe them away, to try to comfort her. He had no right to touch her.
He swa
llowed hard. “I’m an idiot,” he said. “Nothing has happened between Bryn and me this summer,” he said, repeating the words of last night. But he had to tell Sara the truth. “She’s steered clear of me. She knew you and I were … She was trying … Sara, I’m sorry. You’re nothing but perfect. But this thing, this thing inside of me …” He stopped, helpless. Where were the words, the words to describe what started when he was sixteen, the dream that had been resurrected when he was twenty-one and twenty-six, the hope that arose again as soon as Bryn showed up with her Housecalls badge and a yearning to see Summit? Like catnip to a tomcat, his father had once said.
Sara tried to smile as she stood up straighter, wiped her tears, clamped her lips shut for a moment, composing what she wanted to say. “You always were in love with Bryn Bailey, Eli. I hope she’s worth it. Because I never want to see you again. I can’t.” She reached up, as if wanting to touch his face, then let her hand drop to her side. “I can’t. I won’t.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry. Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry.”
She looked at him for another slow breath of time. And then she turned away and walked up the bank again, not looking back.
Eli glanced up at the fast-moving, charcoal-colored clouds. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Lord God, what am I doing?” He rested his forehead against the cold metal of the Beaver, feeling feverish with fear and anxiety. “What have I done?” he muttered, the tears rolling now.
He had just let the surest thing in his life—other than his God—walk away up that bank and out of it forever. And for what? A chance at something he wasn’t even sure could ever be?
It had been two weeks since her departure from the Lone Gulch mine. One Housecalls assignment seemed to lead to another, but she had finally made it to Summit for a night or two. Bryn felt mixed up inside. She knew it was best to avoid Eli, but she still missed him—particularly here, at the lake.
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