by Alison Kent
He stroked the denim over his cock, willing the powerful need to go away. He’d been itching to bury himself in her softness all afternoon. If she kept up with her taunting, he couldn’t guarantee he’d stay a gentleman. He ought to just tell her how he was feeling toward her. Be real plain about it so she’d understand what she was asking for when she let him see her bosom, and said those things.
“Sam? You burnin’ something?”
At the sound of Doc’s voice, Sam abruptly moved his hand away from his fly and stood to face his friend. Doc had shaved since this morning and wore fresh black trousers, and his coat looked as if it had been cleaned. He walked straight, as if he’d been off the whiskey for the better part of the day.
As he got closer, Doc sniffed the air. “Smells like burnt bacon.”
“Yep.”
“I reckon I’ll be eating supper at the hotel,” Doc said, grinning.
Sam snorted with false irritation. Truth be told, it did his heart good to see his old friend looking sober.
“Where’s the woman?”
Sam gestured with a nod to the back, fighting the sudden image of round bare breasts with pink nipples. “Finishing her bath, I reckon.”
Doc frowned at the pan of over-brown biscuits and then at the skillet. “You’re not gonna feed her that swill.”
“Yep. Being as it’s her fault.” He set his jaw, and then turned to stoke the fire when his friend’s eyes got too curious.
“She ought to eat a proper meal,” Doc said after a long stretch of silence.
Tempted as he was to remind Doc that he usually drank his supper, Sam kept his mouth shut. He glanced ruefully at the food. Wouldn’t surprise him none if she wouldn’t eat, and Doc was right. She’d worked hard last night, and no telling how much sleep she’d gotten. He finally shrugged. “I reckon I could go buy a chicken dinner at the hotel and bring it back.”
“Hello, Doc.”
Both men turned, and at the sight of her, Sam’s heart skittered. She wasn’t wearing a bonnet and her hair was damp, and her face pink from scrubbing. So was the skin at her throat, where she’d left the top two buttons of the brown blouse unfastened.
“Afternoon.” Doc tipped his hat.
Sam took off his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh. “I’ve had mules less stubborn than you.”
Her steps slowed and she frowned, her lips pursed in a pout. Just like she was fixing to kiss somebody. That didn’t help his irritable disposition.
“Sam.” Doc’s disapproving tone wasn’t welcome, either.
“You just come sauntering out here, without your bonnet, not knowing who I’m talking to. Seems to me you wanna get thrown in Sheriff Ames’s jail.”
She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I recognized Doc’s voice.”
Sam grunted.
Doc stared at him with a look of complete shock. Then his mouth curved in a slow smile, as if he knew something Sam didn’t.
“Come on, Sam.” Reese walked toward him, a sway in her hips he didn’t trust, and then she slipped an arm through his, real familiar like.
Well, he had seen her breasts. His insides tightened at the memory.
She smiled up at him. “What smells so good?”
Her.
He stiffened as he inhaled the clean, warm scent of her body. Staying close to this woman was dangerous. As politely as he could, he shied away from her and went to crouch down over the cooling skillet, poking at the black edges of the bacon. “I reckon we’ll be eating a restaurant meal.”
The fool followed him, bringing temptation with her. She peered into the pan, standing so close that her skirt brushed his arm. Even down here he could smell her pleasing scent.
“Actually, I love burned bacon. I don’t eat it much, but when I do that’s about the only way I have it. The fat gets cooked out so it’s much healthier. But I have to admit, that bacon looks different than the kind I’m used to,” she said thoughtfully.
Frowning, Sam glanced over at Doc, who seemed more interested in him than Reese’s peculiarity.
Doc grinned suddenly. “No sense in you going to the hotel, Sam. I mean to go over there anyway.” He backed toward the street, tipping his hat at Reese. “I’ll see what Floyd and Daisy cooked up this afternoon, and bring something back.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Sam said meaningfully while rising from his crouched position. “I’m headed that way.”
“No trouble at all.”
Sam clenched his jaw. He suspected he knew the reason for Doc’s contrariness. But the matter was quickly settled with the loud bang of a gunshot. They all exchanged weary glances. The violence had begun early today.
SOMETIME AFTER NINE Reese finally was able to choke down one of the hard dry biscuits. The roll wasn’t so bad dipped in coffee. Or maybe it was because she was so weak and famished she didn’t care what anything tasted like. At first, Sam had told her to stay in the livery, since Doc was sober enough to take care of the wounded men who’d started parading into his office before the sun set. But as the casualty rate grew, Sam had reluctantly asked her to help.
She hadn’t minded, except for the obvious risk factor. Fortunately, the men who came through Doc’s doors weren’t the law-abiding type who socialized with the sheriff. Observing how early medicine had evolved fascinated her. Some of it was hard to watch, though, because of the lack of sterilization, and Doc’s limited resources to fight infections. Sadly, she guessed that one out of three men ultimately wouldn’t survive.
Something else had happened during the course of the night that she hadn’t yet had time to explore…a growing excitement simmering deep in her belly. Not over Sam, although her mind wandered to him far too much. Instead, she felt a renewed surge of wonder at the power of medicine, a feeling that she hadn’t experienced since her second year of medical school.
“Things seem to have quieted down.” Doc stood at the window, peering out between the parted curtains. Then he darted Reese a thoughtful look. “I have some beans in the back, and some dried beef.”
Her stomach rumbled loudly, not that either offer sounded appetizing. She pressed a hand against her middle and murmured an apology. Without a word, Sam left the room.
Doc reached under the cot and pulled out a different bottle of whiskey than what he’d used for patients. He set two glasses on the small table where he kept instruments at hand, and glanced questioningly at her. She shook her head, disappointed in him.
He smiled knowingly, then poured himself half a glass. “You have a fine touch,” he said, setting the bottle aside. He picked up the glass and cradled it in his trembling hands without taking a sip. “Sam doesn’t understand, but I do need this to steady my nerves.”
She smiled sadly but said nothing. The problem was, he wouldn’t quit after the few sips it would take to stop the tremors. He knew that, judging by the way he quickly averted his gaze and downed a big gulp.
“Tell me what you did to the boy yesterday.” He set the glass down, leaned against the wall and folded his hands together.
Yesterday? Had it only been yesterday that she and Ellie had been rummaging through Grandma Lily’s attic? The idea was enough to make Reese dizzy, and she claimed the only stool. “It’s called CPR.”
Doc frowned, as she knew he would.
Feeling punchy, she couldn’t help herself. “Or are you referring to when I performed the Heimlich maneuver?”
Looking baffled, Doc grabbed his glass again, and she instantly regretted baiting him.
Sam reentered the room carrying two cans, scowling when he saw the whiskey. His discouraged gaze moved to Reese. “The beans are cold,” he said with a hint of apology.
“I don’t care.” At this point, she’d take protein any way she could get it. She watched him stick a spoon into the can, and when it looked as if he was going to pass the beans to her that way, she said, “But I’d like a plate if you have one.”
Annoyance crossed Sam’s face as he turned and left, bu
t she guessed it wasn’t directed at her.
Doc’s chuckle confirmed her suspicion. “Sam’s never been married. He forgets it’s not a woman’s habit to eat out of a can.”
“I was wondering about that.” She figured a man his age during this time period would have settled down and had a family by now. “Why hasn’t he married?”
The good humor left the doctor’s face, replaced by the haunted expression she’d seen there too many times in their short acquaintance. “You’ll have to ask him. But I wouldn’t be expecting an answer if I were you.”
She smiled. “By the way, thanks for the clothes.”
The abject bleakness that entered the man’s eyes gripped her heart. God, how could she have been so thoughtless as to remind him of his wife’s death? Reese knew from her experience during residency that it was best to acknowledge the loved one’s passing rather than ignore the blunder.
She hesitated until she remembered his wife’s name. “When did Martha pass away?” she asked softly.
He drained the whiskey from his glass. “Two years now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, sighing heavily, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of his loss was heavier than he could bear.
“How did it happen?” she asked, testing the waters, seeing if he wanted to talk or would rather end the conversation.
During a brief but awkward lapse into silence, Sam returned. The tension was thick enough that he clearly picked up on it, somberly handing Reese the plate, his concerned gaze darting between her and his friend.
Finally Doc said, “Consumption took her. My Martha fought real hard.” His voice cracked. “But in the end, I couldn’t save her.”
Reese scrambled mentally for the modern equivalent. Tuberculosis. How horrible that people died of something so easily curable. “It wasn’t your fault, Doc,” she said, fiercely shaking her head. “Even in my time, with all our modern knowledge, we have trouble saving people from consumption.”
He stopped briefly, then reached for the whiskey bottle. He didn’t appear surprised about her reference to being from the future, and Reese figured Sam had told him about her loony ranting. No, it was cautious hope that shadowed his eyes.
“I tried,” he said despairingly. “I swear I wasn’t drunk. I tried to save her.”
She nodded sympathetically. “I’ve lost many patients to consumption myself, even after trying everything I knew.”
A measure of relief eased the pain from his face. The tightness around his eyes and mouth relaxed, making him look considerably younger. However, her declaration didn’t stop him from gripping the whiskey bottle and refilling his glass.
Disappointed again, Reese looked at Sam.
His eyes met hers and his mouth curved in the faintest of smiles as he handed her the can of beans. She spooned some onto her plate, wishing with all her heart she could do more for Doc. How sad that he wasted his life by crawling into a bottle. The town needed him, and she had a feeling that, despite how it appeared at first glance, Sam did, too.
Doc ate a piece of dried beef—basically jerky, Reese decided—and then contented himself with his whiskey, while she and Sam ate the rest of the beef, beans and biscuits in melancholy silence. No gunshots disturbed them, and after a half hour, when Doc started nodding off, Sam suggested they return to the livery for the night. They both knew their sleep might be interrupted if more violence took place, but for now, they could close their eyes and forget for a while.
They said good-night to Doc, and then Sam checked to make sure no one was on the street before they stepped outside. Reese breathed in the crisp, clean air and gazed up at the clear sky. More stars than she’d ever seen at one time sparkled like pricey diamonds against the inky blackness.
Sam moved close and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
He touched her cheek. “For lying to Doc.”
9
IT TOOK JUST ABOUT everything Sam had in him to watch Reese disappear behind the door, and not follow her into the room. Touching her cheek had been a powerful mistake. Her skin was so damn soft it made a man want to break down and cry. He couldn’t recall ever doing that. Not even when he was a tot. Had he shown that kind of weakness, he wouldn’t be standing here now. But then, that might not be such a bad thing.
He threw another log on the fire and then got his bedroll out from where he’d tucked it behind the hay. No empty stalls were left after boarding Goliath, so he unrolled the bedding near the stove. He thought about forking some loose hay down from the loft for a cushion, but he was so tired even his teeth ached. Like last night, the hard ground wouldn’t bother him.
Thinking about Reese was another matter. That could keep him tossing and turning. He wanted her. Against all good sense, he wanted her with a deep burning ache that had grown worse as the afternoon passed into night. He liked everything about her, including the way the devilment sparkled in her sassy green eyes. Mostly, he liked how kind and patient she was with Doc.
Sam suspected a lot of women wouldn’t take kindly to a man who let spirits get the better of him. They didn’t understand the demons some men faced. Him and Doc, they had more than their share breathing down the back of their necks. They’d seen too much senseless death, been responsible for some. That kind of guilt and shame stayed with a man no matter how much he drank or gambled or whored.
Some nights Sam got lucky. Like tonight, when his mind was too tired to fight sleep. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, but the peace wouldn’t come. A vision of a green-eyed female stood in his way. What haunted him worse was the persistent feeling that he somehow knew her. Though he couldn’t have met her before yesterday.
Before settling in Deadwood he’d drifted, living mostly on the trail, staying only a day or two when he passed through a town. On those rare occasions, Reese wasn’t the type of woman he socialized with. She was too refined, cultured, a real lady.
Muttering a curse, he rolled over and tried to get comfortable, but even surrounded by straw, he could still smell her sweet tempting scent. No, he couldn’t know her. He’d remember someone like Reese. For a lifetime…
He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he heard the thundering of hooves. Sam quickly sat up as the horse galloped closer. It sounded as if the rider was headed to Doc’s.
Sam scrambled to his feet and ran out of the livery just as young Pete Smith slid off his horse, his boot catching on the stirrup in his haste. Grounding out a string of oaths, he hopped on one foot before breaking free.
“Doc!” he hollered. “I need Doc.”
Sam beat him to Doc’s door, hoping like hell that his friend was still in good enough condition to handle this emergency.
“What’s wrong, Pete?” Sam asked, using his shoulder when the door stuck.
“It’s Sara. The baby ain’t coming easy.”
Sam finally pushed the door open and let Pete in. He was a young father, barely twenty, who’d already sired a son last year, and again his wife was with child. Sam hadn’t known her name till now.
“Doc!” Both men called out at the same time. Except Sam didn’t hold much hope that he would be answering.
They headed for the back room where he slept. His cot was empty. Sam led the way to his office. Just as he suspected, Doc sat on the stool, slumped against the wall, eyes closed, his glass lying on the floor. He’d passed out before he made it to his room.
“Goddamn it.” Pete let out an anguished cry. “Sara’s gonna die.”
Sam pushed a hand through his hair. What could he do? It was one thing for Reese to hide out in Doc’s office and help the drunks who would barely remember her the next day. But if she went to the Smith place and word got out…
Hell, he couldn’t let the woman die. Fisting the front of Pete’s shirt, he jerked him hard till the wildness in his dark eyes cleared. “I have someone who can help your wife.”
Fear changed to hope in Pete’s face. “Who? Let’s get him.”
“First, you have to give me your word that you will never speak of this night again. To anyone.”
Pete nodded solemnly. “You have it. We gotta hurry.”
Sam released him, told him to wait with his horse, and then headed for the livery. Pete’s word would have to be good enough. Sam loosened his collar. It felt too much like a rope tightening around his neck.
AT THE SOUND OF the healthy baby’s cry, Reese smiled through the exhaustion that minutes ago threatened to drown her. Tears wet her cheeks. Mainly from earlier frustration and fear that she wouldn’t be able to help the young mother. But against all odds, mother and child were both doing fine.
Blond, freckled Sara, her hair and nightgown drenched with sweat, laughed through happy tears and cradled her son to her breasts. Reese kept her eye on Pete, who hovered unsteadily at his wife’s side, one hand clutching the unfinished log bedpost, still looking as if he might faint. At the door, a toddler not much more than a year old stared absently into the small room. He hadn’t once interfered, hadn’t uttered a sound during his brother’s long and difficult birth.
Sighing, Reese leaned against the wall and watched Sam quietly gather the soiled rags and bowls of bloody water. He’d barely left her side for the past four hours except to fetch and heat water, occasionally turning away to preserve Sara’s modesty. Never once did he complain or balk when Reese barked an order at him. He stayed calm and purposeful.
“We have to leave,” he said as he walked past her with the pile of rags. “Say your goodbyes.”
“In a minute. I want to help sponge Sara down.”
“No time.” His gaze went to the threadbare curtains that covered the tiny window as he continued out the door.
She understood that he wanted to return to town while it was still dark, and she pushed herself away from the wall, amazed that her legs still worked. Reese was sure she’d been this tired before, during residency certainly, but couldn’t remember it. The front of her blouse and skirt were totally ruined. She hadn’t thought to bring an apron, only Doc’s black leather bag, which he kept supplied for house calls. Pitiful, really, because most of the contents were ineffective.