Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1

by Misty M. Beller

  After checking several other operations of the patient's lungs, as well as other body functions, concern weighed Alex's own chest. The man could scarcely breathe. But Alex needed a better understanding of his lifestyle before he could properly diagnose the cause.

  He turned away from the patient to pour a dose of elecampane. "Tell me, Mr. Langley, which mine do you work in?"

  "The Parrott." The younger brother barked the words.

  Alex favored the burly man with only a glance, then focused again on the dosing cup in his hand. He carried it to the older brother, who'd given his name as Mick Langley, and helped the frail man raise it to his mouth. "This should help your breathing right away."

  After swallowing the dose, Langley slumped over his knees. As if the simple act of drinking had worn him out. How did he work fourteen hour days digging through rock in a mine shaft?

  Alex pulled a chair to face the bed and settled into it, his hands on his legs. He needed some answers, but the man had to be put at ease first. Good time to bring out the ol' Irish accent. "Sorry you're not feelin' well, lad. Can you tell me when it first came on?"

  Langley raised filmy eyes to stare at him. "Been years."

  Alex's brows rose before he could stop them, but he tried to keep his tone gentle. "An' you're just now comin' to see me?"

  The younger man, Tad, stepped forward, as if protecting his brother from the censure in Alex's words. "Doc Bryan give 'im a treatment at the mine a few times. The coughin' didn't get bad 'til last week. You got more o' that stuff the other doc give 'im?"

  Alex turned his focus to Tad. The man obviously wanted to feel like he was doing something for his big brother. "It was most likely the elecampane I just administered. I need a little more information so I can prescribe a treatment plan."

  He looked back at Mick, and fought the desire to hold the man upright, lest he collapse onto the floor. "Would you like to lay down, Mick?"

  His bleary eyes turned to blink at the pillow beside him. "Naw. Harder to breathe when I'm lay—" Another thick, chesty cough broke off his words.

  That old, helpless feeling settled over Alex as he watched his patient struggle. Was there something else he should be doing? He would prescribe a steam bath and licorice chews. And the man needed to get away from the mines, with their stifling heat and lack of quality air to breathe. Rest would likely do more for him than most medicines.

  When the coughing fit subsided, Alex leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving Mick his most earnest and caring expression. "I need to understand what a normal day is like for you, Mick, so I can find what's making you sick. Can you start by telling me where you live?"

  "A shanty outside of town. Near the mines." Tad spoke for his brother again.

  Alex glanced up at him. "Do the two of you live together?"

  "With a couple other blokes."

  Four men living in a shack. He'd seen some of those structures, usually a single room, with a stove in the corner and bedrolls on the floor. The boards spanning the walls often left cracks wide enough for ice pellets to blow in during a hailstorm. Not the kind of place for a patient with sick lungs to heal in the middle of winter.

  Another coughing fit seized Mick, adding an additional layer of helplessness on Alex's shoulders. But he shook it off. He'd help this man if it took every breath in his body.

  Turning to the younger brother, Alex leveled his voice. "I'd like him to stay here in the clinic for a few days. He needs rest and regular care."

  "No." Mick grabbed Alex's arm, even as he fought off another cough. "Haf…ta…work."

  "You'll die in that mine if you don't take a break." Alex fought the anger rising in his chest. "You have to rest, Mick. And give your body a chance to heal. I can work with you here and try different remedies. We'll find what works for you, then you can keep doing it at home. You'll not get better, though, if you run yourself into the ground."

  Mick raised his head in a long, painful movement, and met Alex's gaze with his milky stare. "If I don't work, I'll lose my job. Then I'll just be a burden. Gonna go some time or other. Might as well earn my keep 'til then."

  Alex's heart plummeted to his toes. Was that truly his outlook? Gonna die anyway? What could he say to make this man accept help?

  Tad stepped closer. "Just give us the medicine, doc. I'll be takin' care of my brother. You tell me what he needs, an' I'll see to it."

  Mick was already struggling to stand, and Tad reached to help him.

  Alex released a sigh. "All right. I'll give you instructions and herbs to take with you. Come back tomorrow and we'll see how you're progressing."

  Minutes later, Alex watched the men trudge down the hall toward the front door. Mick leaned heavily on his brother. There was no way the man could work at the mine in his condition. Hopefully, one of the treatments he'd prescribed would help.

  And what was causing the fluid and weakness in his lungs? Tuberculosis? Pneumonia? Either one could kill the man if left untended. He may be too far gone, even now, for anything to be successful. But what if there was something Alex missed?

  Releasing a long breath, he turned toward the room where Miss Bryant slept. He cracked the door quietly, but she turned to face the movement. Forcing a cheery smile, he stepped inside. "You slept through lunch, but you're in luck."

  "Luck?" Her voice was thick with sleep, and the spray of honey-blonde curls that spread across her pillow made his fingers itch to touch them. Not a good response.

  He strode to the pot-bellied stove in the corner. "Yes. I saved you a dish of Irish stew. And you've not lived until you've tasted an Irishman's stew." He stepped backward so she could see his face, and sent her a cock-eyed grin. "Unfortunately, Mum only taught Bryan the proper technique, so mine's not half as good."

  The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips, spreading warmth through his chest. That smile was worth working for. He ladled the soup into a cup, scrunching his nose at the thick, stickiness of the mixture. Must've sat on the stove too long.

  He placed the mug in Miss Bryant's hands. "It's not the best I've ever served."

  She examined the brew, raising her spoon and watching the viscous liquid slowly drip from the utensil. Heat crept up his neck.

  "I'm sure it's tasty." Her mouth curved, but no sparkle lit her eyes. Lines at the corners spoke of the pain she must still feel.

  A bit of willow tea might help. He marched back to the stove and pulled the jar of willow bark from the shelf. "How's your injury feeling?"

  There was a pause before she spoke. "Better."

  That was a falsehood if he'd ever heard one. He filled a mug with steaming water from the kettle on the stove, then stirred leaves into it. "Better than a needle prick when you're sewing? Or better than if your knee were still torn open?"

  "The latter, I guess."

  He traded Miss Bryant the steaming cup of tea for the mug of overcooked soup, and her eyes wandered up to meet his. They were the prettiest shade of clear green, nicely accented by the pink now tinging her cheeks. Her gaze dropped to the liquid swirling in the cup.

  He should step back, give her room. Not make her uncomfortable. But something kept him rooted, right there in front of her. After setting the stew on the side table, his hands found the pockets of his gray wool pants. What should he say? The silence lingered thick between them.

  "When Bryan comes back tonight, we'll move you to the softer bed in the other room. We need to change your bandages, too."

  She nodded, her gaze not meeting his. "All right."

  "You might be able to rest better there, too. It's part of the old structure, so sound doesn't carry as easy through those walls."

  No answer, but she'd just about finished off the tea. He should get back to work, and let her rest in peace. A pile of correspondence awaited him. He also needed to make case notes on the last several patients and update their inventory. So why didn't he turn and walk away?

  At last, she raised those green eyes to him. "Thank you."

 
; This was why he couldn't bring himself to leave the room. Her look was magical. Drawing him in.

  A smile pushed onto his face, as he took the empty cup from her. "You're welcome. Anything else you need?"

  She hesitated, nibbled her lip, and glanced at her knee.

  He wavered. Should he give her another dose of laudanum? She was obviously in pain, but the last thing she needed was to become dependent on the medicine. The least he could do was share his concerns. "It's time you can have another dose of medicine, but only if you need it. The laudanum has addictive qualities, so we should be careful with it."

  Her eyes grew wide. "I'll just sleep then." She was so strong and brave. Not once had she complained, even though the pain must be terrible.

  "Okay, but I'll be in the other room. If you change your mind or need anything, call." He brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder. It was an automatic gesture, and he didn't realize what he was doing until his skin registered the softness of the curl. He fought the urge to sink his fingers into the rest of it.

  He spun away from her and strode toward the door. What was he doing? He'd better get a handle on himself quick. And not come back into this room until he did.

  It was over an hour later before he trusted himself to check on Miriam again. When he eased the door open, her eyes were closed, and the blanket rose and fell in a steady movement. The pain lines around her eyes were still there, but a little softer in sleep.

  His gaze wandered down to where the wool fabric covered her knee. Did he do everything he could during the surgery? Had he done it right? What if the leg became infected? He'd find out tonight when they changed the bandage. But even if the incision healed cleanly, what if she never regained the motion in her knee? What if he'd ruined her chances of a normal life?

  Alex pulled the door closed, but couldn't shut out the questions. Could he live with himself if he destroyed this beautiful woman?

  Chapter Five

  "You worked late tonight." Alex handed his brother a mug of coffee. They stood in the main room of their living quarters, just off the clinic.

  Bryan sighed, closing his eyes as he sipped the brew. "Stopped at Wallace's to see if we had any shipments."

  "Did we?"

  "Nothing." Bryan released another long breath. "We're running short on several tonics and herbs. Especially elecampane."

  Alex's forehead tightened. "I had a couple miners in here today. Mick and Tad Langley. Mick's lungs are pretty bad off. Said he's seen you a couple times at the Parrott."

  Bryan's brows pinched. "Yeah. Sounded like he had fluid in his lungs, or pneumonia maybe. Told him to come in here if it didn't get better."

  Alex sank into the ladder-back chair by the door to the clinic. "I tried to get him to board at the clinic a few days. He lives in one of the hovels near the mines, and I know that's only making it worse. He wouldn't stay, though. Said he'd rather die working, than take a break and be a burden to his brother." Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Alex looked up at his big brother. "I don't know if what I prescribed will be enough to save him."

  Bryan pulled off his thick wool coat. "What did you give him?"

  As Alex relayed the medicines and directions he'd recommended, Bryan nodded at each one. "There's not anything else I can think of. Sounds like you covered every angle."

  Despite the reassurance, a weight still pressed on Alex's shoulders. "Do you think there's something we're missing here? Is it conditions at the mines causing all the breathing complaints? Or do you think it's the primitive living quarters? It's barely November and already as cold as it ever got in Montreal. Some of these cabins are sparse enough to let the wind blow through them. How could the men not take sick?"

  Bryan took up his coffee cup from the table and clapped Alex on the shoulder. "We'll work on it, but we're not gonna fix the whole thing tonight. Is there dinner on the stove?"

  Alex slowly rose to his feet and followed his brother down the clinic hall to the main exam room. The room held the cook stove, so that's where most of the food preparation and eating was done. He lowered his voice as they drew near the closed door. "I told Miss Bryant we'd move her to the other chamber this evening so she's not disturbed as much. We'll need to check her incision, too."

  "All right."

  Bryan was the first through the doorway, and Miss Bryant's voice was stronger than earlier as she greeted him. "Doc Bryan."

  Her smile was genuine, and even reached her eyes. Alex's stomach clenched. What he wouldn't give for that smile to be turned on him.

  "I hear you're ready to move to better quarters, Miss Miriam. Mind if we take a look at the bandages first?"

  She shifted the blankets around her leg to reveal the leather splint they'd put over the cotton strips. "Of course."

  Bryan took the lead in the examination, much to Alex's relief. Could he have completely separated his personal feelings from his medical role? He'd always thought he could. That had never been an issue for the four years at medical school and during his internship. But there was something bewitching about this woman.

  Bryan seemed pleased with the progress. He asked Miss Bryant several questions about her level of pain, and if she'd had any trouble with the minimal activity required to use the chamber pot. Of course, her cheeks turned that pretty pink when she answered that she was managing. Alex forced himself not to stare.

  "Well, then. Looks like we're ready to move you." Bryan turned to Alex. "Is the other room ready?"

  "Clean and fresh blankets on the bed."

  "Good. I think the best way is for one of us to carry her, and the other support the injured leg."

  Somehow, Alex ended up with one arm under Miss Bryant's shoulders, and the other supporting her legs. Her hands clasped his neck, holding her close. The warmth of her breath fanned his neck. Even through layers of clothes, every place she touched began to tingle. She was light as he cradled her. So vulnerable, the desire to protect her welled up in his chest. He would do everything in his power to care for this woman, and restore her to complete health.

  ~~~

  Miriam forced her eyes open, fighting against the pounding in her head. She blinked, pushing sleep aside, but the banging didn't stop. It wasn't in her head. Well, not completely. Aside from the pain that still pulsed through her, someone was beating on a door down the hall. What was happening?

  She glanced first to the window, where faint daylight filtered over the street outside, then to the open door to the hall. Steps sounded in the hallway, with a strange rhythm. Clump, thud, clump, thud. The reason became obvious when Doc Bryan hobbled by. One boot on and the other clutched in his hand. During the quick glimpse as he rushed by, she captured an image of his auburn hair wet and curling across his forehead. Suspenders hooked over his bare shoulders. Someone must have a terrible need for the doctor.

  "I'm coming. Don't knock the wall down." His words didn't seem to make an impact, because the pounding kept on.

  A man's voice yelled from outside. The sound of wood scraping drifted down the hall, then the door opening.

  "Donaghue!" The male voice blasted from the front room. It was followed by the murmur of Doc Bryan's voice, although she couldn't make out his words.

  "Where's that lousy, slow-witted brother of your'n?" The voice rose even louder, ignoring Doc Bryan's muffled attempts to calm him. "Let me at him!"

  Miriam pushed herself to a sitting position. What had the man so riled? And why in England would he have something against Alex?

  More footsteps sounded, but not as loud as Bryan's. Alex strode past her doorway, his face a stoic mask.

  "Alex," she whispered. But he didn't hear.

  The commotion in the front room was growing, and even Bryan's voice was now loud enough to be perfectly understood. "Your brother was sick, Tad. Doc Alex did everything possible."

  "He poisoned him. That potion he gave put Mick over the edge. My brother would still be alive if it weren't for that sorry son-of-a—."

  "Langley!" Bryan's v
oice bit the air so sharply, the whole clinic came to a hush.

  Then another noise came. The sound of…crying? Yes, sobs. Manly weeping.

  Miriam's heart squeezed. She knew what it was like to lose a brother. When Abel, her middle brother, was mauled by the bear, she thought her chest would split open inside. She cried for months, any time the memories struck. It was only Leah's coming that really pulled her out of the pit of grief.

  A need sprung up inside her. She had to go to the men. There may not be much she could do, but maybe she'd find something. Pushing the blanket aside, she placed her good right leg on the floor. Then with her hands, she lowered her left leg, biting her lip against the pain stabbing her knee. Bracing both hands on the work table by the wall, she scooted sideways on her right leg, dragging her bad leg behind her. It took forever, but she finally made it around the edge of the room to the doorway. Her breath came heavy. Who would have thought it was so much work to hobble such a short distance?

  Clutching the door frame for support, she looked down the long hallway to the front room. Alex stood motionless at the end of the corridor, feet braced, and hands clenched at his sides. The light was in front of him, so she couldn't make out his face until he turned to the side.

  The stricken look there took her breath away.

  ~~~

  Alex's muscles wouldn't move.

  Mick Langley died? The patient he'd treated not two days ago. Was Tad right? Had the medicine Alex prescribed killed him? Oh, God. No!

  He wanted to sink to his knees there on the wood floor. But his legs were frozen stiff. Had he killed another patient? From his ineptitude? His fists clenched tighter.

  "Mick was a sick man, Tad. I pray he's in a better place now." Bryan held the grieving brother at arm's length, while the man wiped his eyes on a grimy sleeve.

  "Mama always prayed her boys'd go to heaven." Tad's voice cracked.