Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 2: 5 Romantic Sporting Novellas

by Cynthia Hickey

  He was forced to settle for the joy of working alongside her with their patients. And they were most definitely theirs, not his. Ruby knew them all, and had a way of soothing the ones who were distraught or stirring up the complacent ones who needed to take more interest in their own healthcare.

  She didn’t invite him to ski with her again, though he knew she skied almost every day. He went out to Howelson Hill once or twice, looking for her, but couldn’t bring himself to step into the cabin where Lars checked out skis and poles.

  To the best of his ability, he avoided the Logans, though father and daughter seemed determined to seek him out whenever he wasn’t in the office. That left him with two options: Stay in his Spartan apartment alone and read, or hang out in the store downstairs when they didn’t have patients in the office and Ruby took off on her skis. Most of the time he opted for the warmth and camaraderie he found in the store with Nona, Arthur, and Alice.

  He found, for the first time in his life, that he genuinely enjoyed going to church every week. Arthur’s father’s sermons were often wry, frequently humorous, and always meaningful. As a bonus, he—and his congregation—were open and friendly and warm-hearted. After a month, Warren hadn’t seen any evidence of the kind of manipulation or threats he’d grown up with.

  And, he got to see Ruby, usually a few rows ahead of him, singing hymns and worshipping. On Sundays he felt close to her, for they had something in common that was greater than any outward appearance, or activity, or hobby, or even vocation.

  10

  Ruby was tired of avoiding Warren. He was everywhere she went; everywhere she turned. He spent more time in the store than she did. She’d even spotted him lurking around the ski shed at Howelson, though Lars had been quick to tell her “her doctor” hadn’t come in for another rental.

  Rumors were rife in the ski club and around town that the handsome young doctor was courting Millie Logan. Millie did nothing to dissuade the tales. Privately, Ruby thought she was feeding the stories. If the rumors were true, Ruby didn’t know when Warren found time for courting. He kept regular office hours, and took time on the weekends and evenings to make house calls, though she didn’t go along with him unless he specifically requested her assistance. He took his meals in his apartment alone or downstairs with her grandmother. Whenever she turned around, it seemed he was in her shadow.

  On Sundays at church she was particularly aware of his presence. While she listened to the pastor’s sermons, she felt Warren’s warm gaze on her back. When the congregation rose to sing, she heard his deep voice more clearly than any of the others. He was like an itch she couldn’t quite reach to scratch.

  She felt vaguely guilty for slipping out the side door of the church, but Millie had made a rare appearance at church that morning, and Ruby didn’t think she could bear to see Warren and Millie together. Ruby found her skis and poles leaned up against the wall, right where she’d left them. She buckled them on, and then zipped into the trees without a backward glance.

  ~

  Warren turned to find himself face to face with Millie Logan, clad in her Sunday best. The rest of the congregation parted around them and flowed out the front door of the church.

  “Miss Logan,” he said.

  “Dr. Warren, so good to see you. I wanted to see if you were free for lunch today with my father and me. Our chef at the restaurant has created a pineapple upside-down cake today for my father’s birthday celebration.”

  “Today is your father’s birthday?”

  “Well, no. It’s Wednesday, but today seemed a better day to have a little party. Would you like to join us?”

  Warren turned away from her on the pretense of collecting his hat and bag. Was there an easy way to let her down without being rude? He turned back and gathered his courage, and his skills of diplomacy.

  “I don’t think I can make it today, Miss Logan.”

  Her pretty lips curved into an unattractive pout and her dark brows funneled together into a thick “V.” Warren steeled himself for the explosion to come.

  But it didn’t come from Millie. Outside the church a commotion erupted, the sound of thundering hooves and voices raised in concern. Warren moved to the door, Millie behind him. A horse galloped to the front steps and halted. The rider dismounted and swung wildly around.

  “Where’s the doc?”

  A dozen fingers pointed at Warren.

  “How can I help you?” Warren grasped the man’s upper arm, stilling his nervous motions.

  “My wife is having a baby. She thinks something is wrong.”

  “How long has she been in labor?”

  The young man wiped his arm over his forehead. “Almost twenty-four hours. Her water broke a few hours ago.”

  Warren frowned. Usually once the amniotic sac ruptured labor moved quickly.

  “Let me gather my gear and I’ll follow you.”

  The rider nodded. I’m going to head back up now. The St. Johns know where my cabin is.” He swung the horse around and galloped off the way he’d come.

  “We’ll drive you back to the store,” Pappy said.

  Millie tugged at his sleeve. “But what about lunch?”

  “Miss Logan, I’m needed. This is what I do.”

  She pouted again, and this time he didn’t feel any guilt for turning his back on her.

  Warren climbed into the front seat with Nona and Robbie in the back.

  “That’s going to be a treacherous ride once this storm hits,” Nona said.

  Pappy nodded. “She’s right. It’s a good three miles straight up the mountain.”

  “Where can I rent or borrow a horse?”

  “You can take Trudy. She’s as sure-footed as any mountain goat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll give you directions,” Nona said from the back seat. “You’ll have plenty of light. You should be there before nightfall.”

  At the store, Warren ran upstairs and packed a bag with everything he could think of to assist with a birth, then went to his apartment and redressed himself in every layer of clothing he owned. Two pairs of wool socks, long johns and flannel-lined dungarees, courtesy of Nona. Two flannel shirts, a scarf, gloves, hat, and heavy wool coat. And boots. He was as prepared as he could be.

  “Lord, help me.” He whispered, as much plea as prayer.

  Birth. His heart pounded. He’d been present for half a dozen deliveries, but every birth was different. Nothing could be anticipated. Especially a potentially complicated delivery in the middle of the wilderness.

  When he tromped downstairs, he found Nona adding food, a lantern, and a small hatchet to his saddlebags. “Just in case,” she said.

  She’d written the directions to the miner’s cabin on a piece of paper, but she read them out loud to him, adding details he might or might not remember. Outside, Pappy had already saddled Trudy.

  “She’s fed and watered. I put some grain in her saddlebag.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate your prayers.”

  “You have them, Doc.”

  Warren swung into the saddle just as the first flakes of snow began to fall.

  “This could be a bad one.” Pappy squinted into the sky. “Hopefully the brunt of it will hold off for a couple hours. Be careful out there. If you get separated from Trudy for any reason, you crawl under the branches of an evergreen and make yourself a temporary shelter. Stay out of the wind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll be praying for you, and the baby and its momma.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled his hat down low over his brow and urged Trudy forward.

  11

  There was a crowd gathered outside the store when Ruby skied up the street. She spotted her grandmother and skied up to her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Frank Beasley came down from his cabin, said Amy is in labor and having a hard time.” Nona dabbed at her eyes and Ruby’s pulse rate picked up.

  “And?”

  “And Doc War
ren took off for the cabin on Trudy.”

  Ruby saw Trudy, their mare, placidly munching hay in the lean-to while snow swirled around her. It was the snow that had driven Ruby from the hill. It was coming down in big, solid flakes now, thick and heavy and piling up fast.

  “If you sent him out on Trudy, where’s Warren?”

  Nona shook her head. “Trudy showed up a half hour ago without him.”

  Ruby closed her eyes. “Oh Lord, protect him,” she prayed silently, then said aloud, “Someone has to go after him. And on to the Beasley place to help Amy.”

  Nona took Ruby’s shoulders in her hands. “You. You have to go. You know the way and you’ll be able to help Amy.”

  Ruby nodded. She saw the fear in her grandmother’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. Let me get packed.”

  “Already done. Your knapsack is by the door.”

  Ruby hugged her grandmother. “Thank you for thinking ahead.”

  Five minutes later Ruby tightened the bindings on her skis one more time, then picked up her canvas knapsack and shoved her arms through the leather straps. Pappy helped her adjust the belt that attached to the travois, so she could haul the doctor home if he was incapacitated.

  “Ruby, honey, are you sure?” Pappy rested his gnarled fingers on Ruby’s shoulder.

  “I know that path as well, or better than, anyone else in town.” She glanced at the darkening sky overhead. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Nona leaned in and kissed Ruby’s cheek. “Be safe, child. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Nona, and I promise to be safe. I’ll find the doc and bring him home.” Ruby grimaced. “While poor Amy fends for herself and her baby. If you’re saying your prayers, Nona, pray for them first.”

  Nona used the lacy edge of her sleeve to dab at her eyes. “I’m praying for all of you. Amy, the baby, the doc, and you. Especially you.”

  Ruby squeezed her grandmother’s arm. “Then we have to trust that God is paying attention.”

  Ruby swished her cap from her pocket and tugged it over her head. Then, planting her poles in the snow, she plunged through the gauntlet of well-wishers, worried citizens, and gawkers who had collected at the base of the road—if you could call it that—that led to the Beasley cabin.

  “Lord, let me reach them in time,” she murmured, conscious of the weight of the travois, balanced on its own skis behind her, as she set off.

  As the town’s lights faded behind her, Ruby’s vision adjusted to the diffuse glow of moonlight through snow illuminating the wagon track and the dense forest to either side. A ripple of fear coursed up her spine. She rolled her shoulders and flipped on the light on her cap. She’d find Warren, get him situated for the night, and head on to the Beasley’s cabin to do whatever she could for Alice and her baby. She refused to consider the idea that Warren was seriously injured, or that Alice and her baby were beyond saving. Until she knew different, hope would be her shield and her sword.

  To her surprise, scriptures flooded her mind. Verses she’d known since childhood, but had recently ignored, came to life in new ways.

  She followed Trudy’s forward-facing hoof prints for close to a mile. And then the tracks vanished. She slid to a stop, shoving her poles into the snow in front of her, and looked around. This must be where Trudy, for whatever reason, had divested herself of her rider and headed for home.

  She cupped her mittened hands around her mouth and called, “Dr. Kelly? Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  She slid forward a few more feet, peering into the darkness of the aspen groves on either side of the trail. “Warren?”

  A faint tapping sound filtered through the wintry air and Ruby turned toward the source of the noise, straining to hear.

  “Warren? Is that you?” She stamped her skis around in a semi-circle. “By heaven, if that’s not you and I run into a bear or a mountain lion out here…” The sound came again, louder this time, and she shot forward into the gloom without a second thought, dragging the travois behind her.

  She almost skied right over him, or over his legs, anyway. He was less than ten yards from the wagon track, his upper body snugged up around the base of a sturdy evergreen. Ruby dropped to her knees in the snow, reaching for him. He was shivering. That was good, she thought. It was when one stopped shivering, stopped feeling the cold, that hypothermia was imminent.

  She tugged off her woolen mittens and pressed her fingers to his throat to check his pulse. He lurched at her touch.

  “Shh. It’s me, Warren. It’s Ruby. I’ve found you.”

  He released the tree he’d been clutching and pushed himself upright. In one hand he clutched a sturdy length of pine branch. That was what he’d been using to create the tapping noise she’d heard.

  “T-T-T-T-Trudy s-s-s-sp-spooked. Something in the w-w-w-w-w-oods.” His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out.

  Ruby reached around him and pulled him against her body. “Mountain lion, most like. Trudy’s not usually the spooky sort.” She pressed one hand against his limbs in methodical order: right leg, left leg, right arm…

  “D-d-d-on’t touch that a-a-arm.” He growled when her fingers moved toward his left shin.

  Ruby ignored him, fingers gingerly feeling their way up his left arm, which he held pressed tight to his body. “What is it? Arm or shoulder?”

  “S-sh-shoulder, I think. Could be humerus f-f-fracture. It hurts t-t-too much to tell.”

  “How did you get up here?”

  “Crawled. Sh-sh-elter, under a pine. Snow cave. That’s what your Pappy said.” He slumped against her shoulder and she shifted her weight to hold him upright. The tree he’d chosen was more than suitable for a snow cave. If a person had all his limbs available to construct one.

  She patted his back, conscious of the silky feel of his hair against her neck. Where was his cap? He’d been wearing one when he rode out.

  “Where’s your hat? You need to keep a hat on to help you stay warm.”

  He didn’t respond and her heart lurched.

  “You’re going to have to wake up, Dr. Kelly.” Her patting changed to prodding, then poking. He stirred. Wind whipped through the trees, stirring up loose powder. Ruby glanced at the sky. The moon was still visible, but clouds were rolling in fast.

  “There’s an abandoned hunting cabin just up the road. It will make a much better shelter than this. If you can get on the travois, I can pull you.”

  His response was a kind of chattering groan.

  “And find your hat.” She rose to swivel her skis and turn the travois, bringing it right up next to him.

  “M-m-must have dr-dr-opped it. But I have my bag.” He patted his leather doctor’s bag, clutched tight to his abdomen.

  Ruby said something very unladylike about hats and bags and bad choices under her breath, but Warren heard her anyway. To her surprise, he chuckled instead of rebuking her, and that increased her concern for his well-being. She watched him crawl through the snow on three limbs until he was situated on the travois. The light from her lantern revealed his blended expression of defeat and relief. She swung her knapsack around to the front and rummaged through it. Finding a spare knit cap, she pulled it out and handed it to him.

  “Put this on and keep it on.”

  “Y-y-y-es ma’am.” His arm shook as he tugged the hat onto his head, one-handed. She had to get him somewhere warm, and soon.

  “It’s going to be a bumpy ride, I’m afraid.”

  He flapped a hand toward her, his head falling back onto the travois. “Mmm-kay.”

  “You have to stay awake, Dr. Warren!” Ruby shouted, though the wind stole much of her volume. “Do you hear me? You have to stay awake.”

  If he fell asleep before they got to the shack she doubted she’d be able to revive him. How to keep him awake, alert? Pain would help. She shot forward with a jolt, the travois bumping along behind her. He groaned as the travois bounced onto the road. Ruby took advantage of the momentum she’d gained
to set a pace she could maintain, in spite of the extra 200-or-so pounds behind her.

  Push-glide-push-glide. Breathe. Keep breathing. Keep Warren awake.

  “Let’s sing. What would you like to sing?”

  He grumbled something uncomplimentary.

  “Singing will scare off the cougars,” she replied. It wasn’t exactly true, but she hoped it would encourage him. “You like hymns, right? Let’s sing a hymn.”

  No response. Fine.

  She began to whistle a particularly bawdy song she’d heard on the ski slopes. Just thinking of the lyrics made her blush.

  Dr. Warren recognized the tune, apparently. He coughed and sputtered a strangled, “S-s-s-stop!”

  Ruby suppressed a laugh. “If that doesn’t work for you, you sing something. Loud enough I can hear you, because whatever you pick, I probably won’t know the words.” Her breath was coming fast now, legs burning.

  Push-glide. Push-glide. Almost to the top of the next hill. Then a flat run before the next incline.

  “Either you sing, or I will, Dr. Kelly!” She threatened, between breaths.

  Silence reigned for a moment, then he began to sing, hesitant and chattering at first, then stronger, his deep tenor ringing through the forest and sending a shiver down Ruby’s sweating back.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”

  She wanted to tell him to stop. It was her favorite hymn, though the words brought the hot sting of tears to her eyes. When his voice faltered she opened her mouth and let her voice blend with his, her contralto echoing through the trees. Somehow the words gave her strength, made her burden lighter, so that she found herself picking up speed as they plunged through the forest. And then, as they rounded the next corner, she caught sight of the shack, silhouetted against the moon’s glow.

  “We’re almost there,” she whispered. “Keep singing, Warren, keep singing.”

  He complied, though she could hear his voice cracking in the cold, and she pushed forward through the snow, for both of them.