"Okay," he said to Felicity. "I'm ready."
The surgery lasted only a few minutes. Holt's fingers flew from instrument to instrument: clamps, suture, gauze, more suture. Once the femoral vein was repaired, Holt placed a few strategic sutures to hold the deeper flesh together and began giving instructions in how to bandage the still grisly wound. It would have to heal by growing in from the edges.
* * *
Felicity watched as Holt stepped back and slumped against the wall.
"That's the best I can do," he said. "From now on it's up to him."
She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She'd never seen anyone operate like that. It must take unbelievable courage to rip into a man's leg like one was cutting into the carcass of a steer. She knew her father could never have done it. She didn't know many doctors who could, and none could have done it with the confidence, the sureness, that Holt Price had just demonstrated.
"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.
"On the battlefield."
"You didn't hesitate. You acted like you knew exactly what you were doing."
"I didn't in the beginning. None of us did, but we couldn't hesitate with the poor devils they brought to us. And they brought us so many. Sometimes the sheer numbers were frightening. No matter how little we knew, how poorly we could operate, we were their only chance, and everybody knew it."
He didn't appear to take pride in his skill. Rather, he seemed weary of it, or of the circumstances by which he'd acquired it. Or maybe it was the necessity to use it. She knew doctors of less than half his skill who were too full of pride to admit they had any limitations. For herself, she'd always thought the ability to save people's lives, to make them well again, was the most wonderful gift anyone could have.
"Where did you study?" she asked.
"The University of Virginia. Why do you ask?"
"Your accent. I don't know many Virginians, but you don't sound like they do."
"That's because I come from Vermont. I'm a Yankee."
She practically recoiled. He smiled when he saw her reaction.
"My friends told me I'd better learn to talk like a Southerner if I wanted to keep my head."
"What are you doing here?" Felicity asked. "The only Yankees in Texas are soldiers come to trample in the dust what little pride we have left, or carpetbaggers come to steal our money."
"I'm neither," Holt said. "One of the men I served with during the war invited me to Texas to help him round up his cattle and put his ranch back into working order. I might still be there, except I'm not cut out to be a cowboy."
"So you've come to Galveston to set up a medical practice." As the biggest and most important city in Texas, Galveston was the logical destination for a talented surgeon.
"No. I came to Galveston to search for the woman I love."
Felicity didn't like it when she had reactions she didn't understand. She had too many uncertainties in her life to be undecided in her own mind, but her reaction to Holt Price confused her. At first she'd been afraid of him. She didn't know if he was a good doctor, but even a bad one would know her father had drunk too much to be treating patients. She wanted Dr. Price out of the house and out of her life before he could do anything to endanger her father.
At the same time, she'd been hopeful he could save Durwin. Everybody knew Durwin had no sense, but he was such a sweet man, everybody liked him. Holt's skill had impressed her. She had to admire anyone who could do what he'd just done. But that made him even more dangerous to her father. Sending Holt off to look for his long-lost sweetheart seemed the perfect way to get him out of her life.
So why didn't she want him to leave?
Felicity had no business letting herself think about him, but she couldn't stop. She had a perfectly stupid feeling that she wanted to keep him near, to protect him. That upset her. There was no rational reason for her to feel as she did.
Except that he looked like the man of her dreams.
Holt didn't look like a cowhand. Undeniably handsome, he dressed like a Southern planter--black frock coat, blue embroidered silk vest, a white linen shirt and cravat, gray pants that clung to muscled thighs, and black shoes. He was tall, more than six feet. His body was lean, but the muscles in his chest, shoulders, and forearms indicated considerable physical power. The fact that she found that exciting worried her. Her mother had said she was born to love. This man could be the man of her dreams.
Yet he was the man of her nightmares. He was the one man who could ruin her father's life.
"What's the name of the woman you're looking for?" Felicity asked. "Galveston is a large town, and lots of new people have moved here in the last few years, but I might know her."
"I doubt it. Her family is part of society."
His response annoyed her. She wasn't part of society anymore, but Holt made it sound as if she wasn't good enough to belong.
"You might find it difficult to meet society people," she said, determined to be helpful. "They don't like Yankees unless they can find a way to make money from them."
"Her name is Vivian Stone. She married Abe Calvert and moved to Texas, but he was killed in the war."
"I don't know any Calverts, but that doesn't mean there couldn't be plenty of them around. There are more than ten thousand people in Galveston." The city had recently passed San Antonio in size, with newcomers arriving every day. But she knew little of these new arrivals. Ever since her father lost his money, society had turned its back on him. "How do you plan to go about finding her?" Felicity asked. "Put an ad in the paper?"
"I haven't decided, but I won't place an ad. Vivian wouldn't like that."
"But it would be the quickest way to locate her."
"I've waited two years. A few extra months won't matter."
He didn't sound like an impatient Yankee. Being willing to wait was a characteristic that made him almost Southern.
"I'd better see how your father is getting along with Mr. Black and his son," Holt said.
"I'm sure he's taken care of them already. Father deals with cuts and broken bones all the time."
"He was drunk."
She knew her father drank too much, but his drinking was not a problem as long as she was there to watch out for him. "He had something to drink--everyone does--but that doesn't mean he was drunk."
"He was confused, unable to make up his mind what to do."
"The accident was unexpected."
"All accidents are. That's why they're called accidents."
"There's no need to be rude. I'm not stupid."
"No, and because you aren't, I expect you to recognize drunkenness when you see it."
"He hasn't been well recently. The war--"
"You can't use the war to excuse drinking."
"Why not? Everybody else uses it as a reason to lie, cheat, and steal."
"That doesn't make it right."
"Nor does it give you the right to come in here and make judgments concerning something you know nothing about."
"I know when I see a medical emergency. Durwin was in need of immediate help, and he wasn't getting it."
Holt Price might be low-keyed in his efforts to find this long-lost sweetheart, but he gave Felicity the impression he would insist that every doctor hold to his own high standards. That made him even more dangerous to her father. The sooner he started looking for Vivian, the better.
"My father is not a surgeon. He can take out tonsils and gallbladders, but he was glad to have you operate on Durwin."
"There must be other doctors in Galveston who could have done it."
"As you pointed out, we had to operate immediately."
"So he would have tried to operate himself and bungled it."
"He wouldn't have tried to operate," Felicity said, putting her hands on her hips.
"How do you know?"
"Because if he had wanted to, I would have stopped him." She hadn't planned to admit that, but telling the truth was better than letting him believe
her father would have been reckless.
"Why should he listen to you?"
What could she say that wouldn't sound like she was making medical judgments? "My father takes his work seriously. As a consequence, he sometimes becomes too emotionally involved. He depends on me to tell him when that's happening."
She couldn't tell if he believed her. His expression made it abundantly clear he didn't like the situation, but just then her father entered the room.
"Is Durwin still alive?" he asked.
"For now," Felicity answered. "If he survives, he'll owe it entirely to Dr. Price. I was just telling him there isn't anyone in Galveston who could have performed that operation as well as he did."
Her father walked over to where Durwin still lay on the buggy seat. Much to Felicity's relief, he seemed much steadier. Maybe he hadn't drunk very much. "Anything broken besides his arm?" he asked Holt.
"No. Considering the state of his buggy, it was a miracle he didn't break both legs and arms."
"Durwin's like rubber," Dr. Moore said. "You wouldn't believe the accidents he's survived with barely a scratch."
"Well, the law of averages caught up with him today."
The doctor finished his inspection of Durwin and turned to Holt. "Do you think he'll live?"
"I don't know. The next couple of days will tell. He's in as much danger from infection as anything else."
"Was there much internal damage?"
"No, so I guess Durwin's luck is holding. The spoke nicked the femoral vein but missed the artery and nerve."
"You had no trouble closing him up?" Bandages covered Durwin's leg.
"I closed up hundreds of soldiers during the war."
Felicity wished Holt hadn't mentioned the war. The effect on her father was immediate. The energy and confidence he'd displayed when he entered the room began to fade. "Dr. Price wanted to know how Henry and his son are getting along," she said, hoping to distract his thoughts.
"Fine," her father said, momentarily sidetracked. "Henry's got nothing more than cuts and scratches. I set Evan's collarbone and sent them home." He turned back to Durwin. "It was a good thing you turned up," he said to Holt. "I couldn't have done anything like that."
"I'm glad I was able to help."
Felicity could tell that Holt was studying her father closely. She was relieved that he looked almost sober.
"What do we do now?" her father asked Holt.
"We wait. The next few hours will be critical. I'm hopeful he'll be okay."
"What brings you to Galveston?" her father asked.
"I'm trying to find someone I knew before the war."
"Got any place to stay?"
"Not yet. I just rode in today."
"Good. You can stay with us."
Chapter Two
Felicity barely stopped herself from rescinding her father's offer. She couldn't believe he would do such a thing. He knew better.
"I'd feel a whole lot better if you were here until Durwin recovers," her father said. "After all, it was your operation. I don't know what you did."
She couldn't prevent herself from looking at Holt to see how he'd taken the offer. Westerners were very hospitable--inviting strangers to stay wasn't unusual--but it didn't happen so often in cities. It wasn't as if there were no hotels available.
"I couldn't impose," Holt said.
"You won't be imposing," her father said. "There's just Felicity and me in the house. There's plenty of room. You could bed down in the room next to Durwin. He's not going home just yet."
"We shouldn't impose on Dr. Price," Felicity said. "I'm sure he would prefer to get on with his business."
"I'm just offering him a place to sleep for a couple of days," her father said. "There's nothing in that to keep him from getting along with his business."
He looked at Durwin's still form, and Felicity saw fear in her father's eyes. He didn't feel capable of handling this situation. She also saw the look that meant he was seeing the past--seeing sights only whiskey could drive out of his mind.
Felicity felt caught. She had to protect her father. He hadn't been badly drunk in more than a month, but having to deal with a situation he couldn't handle might drive him over the edge. Having Dr. Price here would take the responsibility off his shoulders.
Yet she was afraid of Dr. Price. How could she expect him to understand why her father drank?
"Are you sure it won't be a bother?" Holt asked Felicity.
"If you'll take care of Durwin, you'll actually be a help," she said. "That way Papa can focus all his attention on his regular patients."
Holt didn't look convinced. For a few moments she was sure he was going to refuse. Much to her dismay, she found herself growing tense waiting for his response, hoping he would stay when she ought to be wanting him gone.
"If you're sure I won't be a bother." He didn't look happy.
"Hell, no," her father said, breaking into a big grin. "I haven't had anybody worth talking shop with for a long time."
"You're sure?" Holt asked Felicity.
"If my father wants you to stay, it's okay with me."
She didn't want him to think she wanted him to stay. Even though Holt had shown no signs of being susceptible to her charms, she was used to men being attracted to her. However, their interest seldom developed into anything stronger. For Felicity, love was the goal, the only kind of relationship worth striving for.
"Nothing ever bothers Felicity," her father said. "And you won't have to pay anything. We should be paying you for taking care of Durwin. Are you planning to stay long in Galveston?"
"I don't know," Holt replied. "I'm looking for someone I knew before the war. She may have come here. If not, I'll have to continue my search."
"Ask Felicity. She knows everybody in Galveston."
"I don't know the woman he's looking for."
"Then she's not in Galveston," her father declared.
"I wouldn't give up yet," Felicity said.
"I tell her she stays cooped up in this house too much," her father said. "She takes good care of me, but she ought to get out more, meet some young men. She'll never get married hiding in the house."
Felicity hoped she wasn't blushing, but she always did when her father acted as if being twenty-six meant she'd never find a husband. He was convinced she would die an old maid. Her mother had married at sixteen.
"I'm not hiding," Felicity said. "I'm just not willing to marry the first man who walks through the door."
"First man!" her father snorted. "You don't let them hang around long enough to know if you like them or not."
"I'm sure Dr. Price doesn't want to hear about every man who's ever crossed our threshold."
"Wouldn't take long. Danged few get that far."
There were times when Felicity wanted to shout at her father that he was the major reason she wasn't married, with a husband and family of her own to love. Neither did he seem to realize that true love was worth waiting for. Maybe it had come too easily to him.
"Have you had breakfast?" her father asked Holt.
"No. I didn't like the looks of the food where I stayed last night."
"Felicity, take him into the kitchen and give him something to eat."
"You don't have to do that," Holt said. "I'm sure there are plenty of places I can buy a meal."
"Plenty that will take your money and not feed you half as well as Felicity. If you're going to stay and help me, you'll eat with us, too."
"It's too late for breakfast," Felicity said, "but you can join us for lunch."
They were interrupted by a banging at the front door. Durwin's brother practically hurtled into the room.
"Where's Durwin?" he demanded. "They told me he finally killed himself."
"He's right over there," her father said, "but he's not dead."
Darcy Sealy crossed straight to his brother. "He looks dead."
"He probably would be if Dr. Price hadn't happened by," her father said, crossing to join Darcy, who put
his ear to his brother's nose. Apparently, he could feel enough breath to reassure himself.
"What's he doing bandaged like a mummy?"
"He had a carriage spoke in his leg," her father explained. "Dr. Price took it out."
Darcy looked up, turned around, and stared at Holt. "You the doc he's talking about?"
"Yes," Holt answered.
"Why didn't you do it?" Darcy asked her father.
"I had to take care of Henry and Evan."
"They weren't hurt bad. You should have taken care of Durwin."
"Dr. Price has a lot more experience doing this kind of operation than I have," her father explained. "He--"
"Durwin wouldn't want no stranger cutting on him," Darcy said.
"I helped Dr. Price with the operation," Felicity said. "I can promise you no one could have done a better job."
Darcy still looked unhappy, but apparently as long as somebody he knew had been in the operating room, it was all right. "He'd better not die."
"I can't make any promises," Holt said. "Nine times out of ten an injury like that would have killed him instantly."
"Why didn't it kill Durwin?"
"He managed to escape any major internal injury," Holt said. "As long as infection doesn't set in, he's got a chance to recover."
Everyone knew the danger of infection and what it meant.
"What are you doing to keep out the infection?" Darcy asked.
"Watching the wound and keeping it clean," Holt said.
"I'm asking the doc," Darcy said to her father.
"Exactly what Dr. Price said," her father replied. "That's all we can do now."
"Who's watching him?" Darcy asked.
"I am," Holt replied. "Dr. Moore has offered to put me up for a couple of days."
"I want the doc watching him," Darcy said. "You talk funny. I can tell you're not from Texas."
"I've got other patients to take care of," her father said.
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