While she delivered the plates of savory stew, Claire smiled and joked with the patrons. As much as she enjoyed spending time with Gram, meeting all these people and filling an obvious need for Aunt Pearl flooded Claire's veins with a rich satisfaction. These folks needed her and appreciated her help. What better feeling than that?
A man standing by the door caught her eye. He had to be a miner, considering that layer of black dust covering his rolled sleeves and suspenders, not to mention his face and arms. He had what Papa would have called an honest face.
"If you'd like to take a seat, sir, I'll pour your coffee and bring a plate. Special's goulash and corn bread, with cherry tarts for a sweet."
He twisted the cap in his hand, shuffling from one foot to the other and gnawing his lip. Poor man.
"Is there something I can help you with, sir?" Claire lowered the empty tray so it dangled from her right hand. The left arm ached from bearing the brunt of the load all evening.
"I, um… I need some food, four plates full. It's, um… My missus' birthday. It's hard on her now, so thought this'd be nice." His face flamed underneath the black dust, almost as bright as his chestnut hair.
A smile pulled at Claire's cheeks. "So you'd like us to package it? No problem. Have a seat, and I'll pour a mug of coffee while you wait."
He glanced around, ducking his head like a giant in a room too small. He must not make it out to eat very often. The man eased stiffly into the chair closest to the door.
Claire flipped the empty mug over and filled it from a coffee pot on a nearby table. "I'll be back in a few short minutes."
Back in the kitchen, Claire filled four jars with the goulash as Aunt Pearl bustled in.
"What's O'Leary doin' at the front table? Can't say as I've ever seen him in here, what with that brood he has to feed off'n only a miner's wage."
Claire spared a glance at the woman while her hands kept working. "Is he the man sitting by the door with the red hair? He's picking up food so his wife doesn't have to cook on her birthday. Isn't that sweet?"
A hazy look filtered over Aunt Pearl's gaze as she spooned stew onto plates. It could have been from the heat of the stove, but the catch in her voice raised a question. "It's sweet, all right. What with her expectin' and four kids pullin' her every direction."
Four kids and one more on the way? She did deserve a night off. Claire's mind played back to the little family she'd seen out Gram's window her first night in town. That mother had been within a month or two away from full-term. How many more women and children were scattered through this town full of rough men?
Which reminded her… Claire glanced at Aunt Pearl’s back where she’d sunk her hands into wash water. “Aunt Pearl, is there another place in town where I could buy supplies for Gram? It seems what Mr. Lanyard’s charging is a half-pence shy of thievery.”
A chuckle drifted from the older woman. “I reckon’ he does seem ‘spensive compared to pricin’ back East. And Bill Lanyard’s personality’s about as charmin’ as a hungry bull.” She turned from the bucket and dried her hands on a cloth. “He’s got decent prices, though. And quality stuff. You could try the mercantile for some things, but they’re more likely to be higher. For milk an’ eggs an’ meat, you could try to find a farmer outta town that’ll sell to ya direct. That’s not easy, though. And ‘twouldn’t be much cheaper than Lanyard. Believe me, I checked.” Aunt Pearl’s brows drew down in a rueful grimace. “If ye can get past his temperament, he’s got the best place to shop.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Claire pinched her lips as she ducked her head and wrapped a half dozen cherry tarts in a cloth. It was hard to believe the prices she’d been quoted were the best in town, but Aunt Pearl would know.
So she might have to keep dealing with Mr. Lanyard, but as soon as she could pay off Gram’s debt, she’d deal with the man on her terms.
Chapter Five
"Whoa, boy." Bryan eased back in the saddle and reined his gelding to a stop in front of the livery door. It'd been a long two days making rounds through the mountains. Some of the people needed a doctor but were too stubborn to come into town for it. Or maybe too short-handed to leave their ranches.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, then slid from Cloud's back. It'd been nice to stay the night with Gideon and Leah Bryant, though. That new baby girl of theirs was a cutie. Just a month old and happy as a kangaroo in a pouch.
Bryan slipped the reins over the gelding's head and strolled inside the livery. "Jackson?"
A nicker sounded from deeper in the barn. Bryan slowed so his eyes could adjust to the dimness. "Anyone here?"
A ragged groan emanated from the recesses of the building. Bryan's senses came alive, nerves tingling down his spine. "Jackson, where are you?" He tossed the reins over a rail, then jogged down the long aisle. "Jackson?"
Another groan. Closer. Bryan slowed, the darkness thick in the stalls on either side. He veered to the left into the last doorway. It sounded like the moans had come from here.
The crumpled body of a man lay in the corner, surrounded by long splintery pieces. Bryan eased to his knees in front of the man. Was it a heart condition? "Where does it hurt?"
"Shoulder." Jackson said the word with a groan as he clutched his left arm.
Bryan reached out and touched the man's left elbow, then slowly ran his cupped hand up the arm. "Is it numb?"
"Nah." Jackson sucked a breath. "Burns like a knife in me."
When he touched the shoulder area, Jackson cried out. But Bryan kept his hand in place long enough to feel the soft spot where the humerus bone should have been, under the layer of shirt and skin. Definitely dislocated, but that was easier to heal than a heart condition.
Crouching back on his heels, Bryan inspected the man. "I need better light. Think you can walk to the front of the barn?"
Jackson grunted and held out his good hand. As Bryan pulled him to his feet, he peered at the chunks of wood scattered around him. His gaze traveled upward. Several more wooden pieces dangled from a jagged hole in the ceiling. Had he fallen through the loft?
Once on his feet, Jackson moved with stiff deliberation down the barn aisle toward the shining light filtering through the barn doors. Cloud nudged Bryan when they passed. "Wait a minute, boy." The horse heaved a sigh, then stood quietly.
Just inside the open front doors, Jackson turned to face Bryan, as if squaring off. "Fix me, Doc." His voice was hoarse. The pain must be eating him inside.
"Okay, let's lay you on the floor here." Bryan motioned toward some loose hay to the side where he'd have room to work.
With his jaw clenched and clutching his arm, Jackson dropped to his knees and allowed Bryan to help him ease back to the ground.
Bryan glanced around for something the man could hang onto. A rope on a hook was the only thing handy. Grabbing it, he pried Jackson's good hand from its strangle-hold on the wrist of the injured arm and slipped the braided leather into the man's grip. "Hold onto this."
Positioning himself on one knee, Bryan braced a foot against Jackson's left side. "I'm going to ease your arm toward me." He kept his voice low and strong as he slowly followed his own direction.
Jackson moaned through gritted teeth as Bryan steadily pulled the arm down and out.
"Oh." The man's grunt was followed by a sigh of relief, and his muscles relaxed in Bryan's grip. That must have done it.
"Feel better?" Bryan leaned forward to watch Jackson's face.
Jackson turned to him with exhausted gratitude shining in his eyes. "Much. Haven't hurt that bad since I broke my wrist. Maybe not even then."
The man struggled to sit up, and Bryan leaned forward to help. "Sit here for a minute and let me get something to wrap your arm."
A shuffling noise sounded from behind, and Bryan glanced back. Had Cloud left his ground-tied position?
Claire Sullivan stood in the doorway, sending his pulse into a leap stronger than the surprise warranted.
Bryan rose and faced her. "Miss Sulliva
n." What was she doing here? Surely she didn't need to rent a horse.
With the sun at her back, he couldn't see her expression. But her features tipped toward Jackson, and she took a tentative step in that direction. "I… I heard a moan. Is he hurt?"
"I took care of it." Did that harsh bark come from him? The way she shrank back made him want to lunge forward and take away the words. Why did he always lose his manners in front of this woman?
Then her shoulders squared, her china-doll chin rose, and she swept around him to kneel beside Jackson. The scent of honey wafted in her wake. "Where does it hurt, sir? Your wrist?"
Jackson's dirt-smeared face lit like Christmas morning. "My shoulder, ma'am. Doc put it in place, but I think it might help to wrap it up."
Bryan rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, but no one was looking at him to see it. After all he'd done, this woman had only to waltz into the livery for Jackson to go silly. Just like when he was with Alex, Bryan had no choice but to fade into the shadows. But he couldn't force himself to turn away from the sight.
"I believe you're right." Claire reached up to stroke the man's shoulder.
Jackson's face turned red as chili peppers, and he glanced down at his fingers scrunching the hem of his shirt. "Aw, I'll be all right."
"I'm sure you will, Mr…. What's your name, sir?"
"Jackson. Abraham Jackson, ma'am." His attention jerked to her face, then skittered away. Her beauty could have that effect. It was almost too much to take in without staring.
"Well, Mr. Jackson, I'm glad you're feeling better, but it would help your arm if we supported it for a few days." She spun to face Bryan. "Do you have a bandage in your pack we could use to make a sling?"
Now she needed him. "I do." But without uncrossing his arms or making any move toward his horse, he stood patiently in the barn aisle.
Her perfectly shaped brows gathered. "Where is it?"
Chagrin tugged at Bryan's chest. He shouldn't let this woman get in the way of his care for those who needed him. With a sigh loud enough to let her know she was imposing, he turned toward Cloud.
Once he had the bandage and sling in hand, he made his way back to where Miss Sullivan kneeled beside Jackson, fussing over him. Bryan dropped to his knees behind the man. "We'll wrap your arm close to your body first, then support it with a sling. Keep this on two or three days, at least. All right?" He leaned around to glimpse the look on the livery owner's face.
A scowl, of course. "I guess, if it'll keep it from poppin' outta place again." The agreement probably wouldn't have been so reluctant if Miss Sullivan had done the asking.
While Bryan wrapped the arm and strapped it up, Jackson ate up every bit of Miss Sullivan's purring and coddling. She did have a kindness about her, and she'd obviously raised the man's spirits. But why couldn't she back off and let Bryan attend to business. His business. The work he'd been trained for at one of the most respected medical schools in the Northeast.
"There, Mr. Jackson. You keep this wrap on like the doctor said, and I bet it won't hurt again."
Jackson just grinned a goofy, bug-eyed smile.
Miss Sullivan leaned back and started to rise, and Bryan reached to assist. He may not like the woman, but it was time to dust off his manners.
"What's this?" She reached past his proffered hand and touched his shirtsleeve above the elbow. "You're hurt?"
When her fingers made contact with his skin without the fabric dividing them, a quiver ran through his arm. Pain mixed with…anticipation? Get control of yourself, man.
Bryan twisted to see the back of his triceps muscle. A bright circle of blood stained his shirt, outlining a tear about the size of his littlest finger.
Miss Sullivan stretched the ragged edges of the fabric apart. Her little intake of breath drew his eyes to her lips.
"It's deep. Looks like maybe from a nail or something rusty."
He jerked his attention away from her face and twisted his arm again to examine it. The gash was an inch long. No wonder it smarted. It looked deeper than a surface cut, but not enough to need a stitch. The brownish flecks around the edge of the wound did, indeed, look like remnants from something rusty.
"I just need to douse it with carbolic acid." He pulled away and strode toward Cloud and his saddle pack. His supply was low, but there should be enough for this little cut.
After pulling out a clean rag and the glass bottle, he turned and almost slammed into Miss Sullivan. "Pardon—"
"Oh—"
He gripped her arm with his free hand to keep her upright. That sweet honey scent tickled his senses again. "Sorry about that." His gaze wandered down to her face, and his hold on her arm tensed, drawing her closer.
For a split second she held his gaze, her mouth tipping as her teeth found her lower lip. Those lips.
His mouth went dry.
But he couldn't focus on them, because she turned away, pulling back from his hold. "Let me see your arm."
Bryan extended it, although why he obeyed he couldn't have said. But she didn't reach for the wounded area, instead touched the cuff at his wrist, her nimble fingers slipping the button loose. His breath came harder as she folded the fabric back, again and again. Working her way up to his elbow. Every time her fingers brushed his skin, goose bumps crawled up his arm. Over and over. No matter how he tried to look away, he couldn't break his stare. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.
She stopped one fold past his elbow, her gaze flicking to his before she bent over and peered at the injury. If only she'd look at his face with as much interest as she eyed the bloody cut on his arm.
"May I have the acid?"
He stared at her extended hand before his brain kicked in. "Oh, yeah." After he placed the bottle and cloth in her hand, his eyes tracked her every movement. Why was he so mesmerized?
She held up the vial and poured a tiny amount into his cut, bracing the cloth underneath to catch the liquid.
Sweet flapjacks and syrup. A sharp sting lit up his arm, jolting all his senses to vivid life, tearing him from any lingering remnants of his trance. Bryan sucked in a breath to keep from jerking his arm away or saying something he'd regret.
Chapter Six
Claire's hands still shook as she scurried down an alley toward Ottawa Street and Gram's house. What was it about that doctor that unnerved her so?
The heat of his gaze had burned up her neck as he’d watched her roll up his sleeve. It had made sense for her to do it, since she had two good hands to ease the fabric over his cut. She'd done it with other patients when she’d helped Papa. But with this man, the action had seemed so…intimate. Claire allowed a long breath to leak out. Lord, help me keep my distance from him.
As she approached the intersection, Claire's spirit weighed heavy. That wasn’t the kind of request she should pray. He was one of God's creations, loved and formed in God's image. Pressing her eyes shut, Claire wrapped her arms across her chest and focused on that quiet place in her soul. I'm sorry, Lord. Show me if there's something You want me to help him with.
She paused, and moments later, the peace she'd been looking for crept into her soul. A calm pleasure sweeping over her. A rightness. Thank you, Father.
Opening her eyes, Claire resumed her journey back to Gram's house, just three doors down now. Maybe she'd have time to write a letter to Mama and Papa before heading back to the café to serve dinner.
A wagon stood on the edge of the street near Gram's house, its two mules dozing in the sunshine. Curious that the owner hadn't parked in front of the home or business they were visiting. Unless…
Claire gripped her skirts and strode faster to Gram's front door. As she paused for a second on the porch to compose herself, the sound of a man's laugh drifted through the wooden door. Not a deep baritone like Doc Bryan's. But definitely male.
She grabbed the handle and pushed it open. Sitting in the two upholstered chairs by the dormant fireplace were Gram and an older man Claire had never seen before. Hi
s gray hair formed an indentation of a hat brim, and his face wore the color and lines of many years under the sun.
"Clara Lee?"
"Hi, Gram." Claire strode to her grandmother's side and took up the outstretched hand in both her own. She eyed the stranger. "Hello."
The man rose. With the way his shoulders stooped, he stood at Claire's eye-level. "Howdy, Miz Sullivan. Yer Gram was jest tellin' me how tickled she is yer here." He stepped forward and gripped Claire's hand with a strong clasp.
"Hello." She'd already said that, but her mind struggled to muddle through all her questions. Who was this man? How did he know Gram so well? How much had they talked about Claire, that he knew not only her last name, but also the pet name she called her grandmother?
"Clara Lee, I'd like you to meet my dear friend Moses Calhoun." Gram waved her good hand in an elegant sweep toward the man. "He's just returned to town and stopped by to catch up."
"And how is it you know my grandmother, Mr. Calhoun?"
The man chuckled. Almost a cackle really. But the way his face folded into a toothy grin was contagious. It was hard not to smile, no matter how much she wanted to distrust the presence of a strange man in Gram's home.
"Well now. The doc's wife introduced us. Awful glad she did, too. Can't say I've ever met a gal quite as special as yer Gram."
The…doc's…wife. The words resounded in her mind, ricocheting there so the rest of the man's speech couldn't infiltrate her thoughts. The doctor was married? But of course he was. Why should it surprise her? The man was handsome—gorgeous really—with that auburn hair and a roguish hint to his expression that both challenged and drew everyone around him.
What was his wife like? A blonde beauty? Maybe a feisty red-haired Irish lass with vibrant blue eyes. Someone who could put up with his stubbornness, and maybe even give it back to him. Why did the thought of Bryan with a wife leave a sinking feeling in her chest?
Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1 Page 48