Healing Hearts

by Sarah M. Eden

  “How was your day, Miriam?” Hawk asked. “I hope Doc didn’t work you so hard that you haven’t the energy for dancing.”

  “I haven’t danced in a very long time,” she warned him. “Lack of energy might not be the biggest concern this evening.”

  “I have a little bauble for you—a tradition in Savage Wells.” He held out to her a fancy bow made of yellow ribbon. “Mrs. Wilhite assured me it is a good color for your gray dress.” He seemed to suddenly realize she wasn’t wearing her usual attire; it was rather uncomfortable that he’d not even noticed until then. “That is not gray.”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “Yellow and blue are generally considered a good combination.”

  “Well, then.” He set the bow in her hand. “We’ll take that as a good sign.”

  Hawk did not seem to be one who would ever truly lose his heart to a woman. He was too casual in his regard, too disengaged from his own social endeavors. If not for Cade’s unabashed devotion to Paisley and hers to him, Miriam would have wondered if all lawmen were that way.

  Hawk motioned to Paisley and Cade. “They’re a bit too affectionate for comfort sometimes, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Happy endings are too few to not be celebrated. Perhaps you’ll have your own one day.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, Miriam.” The man was built as solid as a steam locomotive, and Miriam was certain he was every bit as unlovable when he needed to be. But the upturn of his lips and the sparkle it brought to his dark eyes softened him enough to render him entirely unthreatening in that moment.

  “Are you that set against falling in love?”

  “I was told by a saloon owner in Cheyenne that I have a heart of stone,” he said. “Seems to me someone with a stone heart would be incapable of love.”

  The restaurant had been cleared of its tables and chairs and decorated with seemingly endless streams of ribbons. A good number of people greeted Hawk, many more offered a “Good evening” to Cade and Paisley. Miriam, herself, even received a few nods of acknowledgment. Either the townsfolk were warming to her, or they had been told to be nice.

  Miriam eyed Hawk suspiciously. “You didn’t threaten them, did you?”

  His gaze traveled over the crowd. “Didn’t have to. They’re all afraid of me.”

  He was perfectly serious and, if she didn’t miss her mark, not terribly happy about the situation.

  “You don’t want them to fear you?”

  “‘Want’ has nothing to do with it. I need them to. A marshal has obligations, not friends.”

  Gideon stood across the room, dressed to stunning perfection, his lean form accentuated by his well-tailored coat. He was flanked by people with whom he smiled and laughed.

  “They all love him, don’t they?”

  Hawk didn’t need to ask or answer. “How’s everything between you and Doc? There’s been a bit of tension the last few times I’ve been by.”

  She sipped a glass of punch while formulating an answer. She’d spilled some of her worries in Paisley’s ear, but she couldn’t bring herself to confess to Hawk. “There is always a transition when learning to work with someone new. We’ll sort it out in the end.”

  Hawk rocked back onto the heels of his boots. “If you don’t want to discuss it, you need only say so. There’s no need piecing together excuses.”

  “I was that obvious?”

  “I’ve made my living and risked my life on the strength of my intuition. I’ve learned to trust it.” His gaze was understanding and not accusatory. “I know life here has been a bit topsy-turvy for you. I hope it settles down, and that you mean to stay for a while. There are a great many people in this town who need you.”

  “Just not Gideon.” As near as she could tell, he hadn’t even noticed she’d arrived.

  “You think Doc doesn’t need you?” Hawk actually laughed. “I’ve lived in Savage Wells a few months now, and these past weeks are the first time I’ve seen him not look ready to drop from exhaustion.”

  She wanted to believe that. “Then why did he say just this morning that I make him tired?”

  Hawk grabbed a cup of punch for himself. “Believe me, sweetheart, Doc wasn’t lodging a complaint.”

  “That’s all he ever does anymore, it seems.”

  Hawk hooked his arm through hers. “What do you say we not talk about Gideon MacNamara for a while, and enjoy the social instead?”

  Her mind could use the respite, almost as much as her heart. “I would like that very much.”

  Chapter 17

  Blue, Gideon decided, was definitely Miriam’s color. Her eyes turned azure under its influence and her hair a captivatingly deeper shade of red. He’d watched her from across the room ever since she’d entered on Hawk’s arm. Hawk said something to her. She smiled up at him. Cozy, weren’t they?

  He slipped his hand into the pocket of his formal jacket and wrapped his fingers around the length of ribbon there. Miriam had specifically bemoaned not having a ribbon for her hair. Something in the admission, coupled with her concern over her dress, had felt more significant than an offhand observation. Like a fool, he had rallied Paisley to the cause, hoping she had something Miriam could borrow, despite their difference in height and build. Somehow, she’d found something nearly perfect. And he had, quite by accident, picked a ribbon that almost perfectly matched the dress she was wearing.

  There’d been no opportunity to give it to her before the social, when she might have had time to put it in her hair. He couldn’t give it to her now. She’d accepted Hawk’s far finer offering with such a look of pleasure. His wad of ribbon would be pathetic by comparison.

  “Dr. MacNamara,” Miss Dunkle, the schoolteacher, pulled his attention back to his own conversation. “I believe this is the dance you promised me.”

  He offered a small dip of his head. “So it is.”

  He slipped his hand free of the ribbon and attempted to clear his head of Miriam. He’d been trying to do that for days. Hawk’s initial discoveries had planted seeds of doubt, and Gideon couldn’t entirely ignore the evidence that kept sprouting up. She was uncomfortable about more than just Nebraska. Questions about her family were quickly brushed aside. Inquiries into her previous employers were only vaguely answered.

  He danced with Miss Dunkle, then the Franklins’ oldest daughter, then Mrs. Wilhite, then Mrs. Carol. Despite himself, his attention never strayed far from Miriam.

  She danced with Hawk, and then sat out one set, speaking with Cade. Her only other partner was young Rupert Fletcher. For a town so lacking in young, unmarried women and so overrun with young, and not-so-young, unmarried men, it was hard not to notice that she spent so many tunes without a partner. Yet, she received welcomes from a few: the Fletchers, Andrew, who stayed only a moment, the Endecotts, even Mrs. Wilhite. She wasn’t being entirely shunned, but she was decidedly being left out.

  Gideon inched around the room, hoping to catch her before the next song began. There was nothing objectionable about him dancing with her. She had come with someone else, true, but that was perfectly acceptable in Savage Wells.

  “Miriam.”

  She startled at his abrupt arrival. “Gideon.” At least she didn’t look unhappy to see him. “I’d wondered if you would ever come and ‘give me your best howdy’ as you’re always telling Rupert to do.”

  “Yes, well, Rupert has offered you a howdy and danced with you.” Gideon threw caution to the wind. “I’m hoping to be granted that same privilege.”

  “You want to dance with me?”

  He couldn’t decide if she sounded more surprised or horrified. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You’ve hardly spoken to me these past few days.” She brushed her fingers over the ribbon she had pinned to her dress, the one Hawk had given her. The ribbon he had for her sat in a sad lump in his pocket. “Dancing
with me would probably be even more unappealing than having a conversation.”

  He had been avoiding talking with her. None of the doctors he had inquired of had responded yet. He was relieved and guilt-ridden and worried and . . . frustrated. He just wanted to know what she was hiding and who she really was.

  And he really, truly, wanted to dance with her.

  The fiddles and flute struck up a waltz. He held a hand out to her. “Will you dance with me, Miriam?”

  “I haven’t waltzed in years.” She spoke as if warning him, even as she set her hand in his.

  “That is the wonderful thing about the waltz.” He pulled her toward the dance floor. “You need only hold on tight and let me worry about the rest.”

  He expected her to laugh, perhaps even roll her eyes. Instead, she blushed and dropped her gaze from his. Now that was a decidedly interesting reaction. The last time she’d colored up so quickly, they’d been in his kitchen, her hand in his, his fingers brushing her cheek, his mind forbidding him to give in to the temptation to kiss her.

  The other dancers had already begun their twirling trip around the room. Gideon slipped an arm around Miriam’s waist and swung them out among the others. He knew some women insisted they lacked grace on the dance floor only to reveal their true skill, but Miriam had not been making light of her ability.

  She clearly did not remember the steps or the rhythm of the waltz and struggled to keep up. How was it that her bumbling attempt only endeared her to him further? Perhaps because it fit her so well—she tried so hard, so earnestly, even when she was overwhelmed and unsure of herself.

  She apologized each time she took a wrong step and either bumped into him or stepped on his toes. After a half-dozen missteps, Gideon decided it was time to take matters into his own hands and pulled her more firmly into his arms.

  He drew her close and leaned near enough to whisper in her ear. “Don’t fight the music, Miriam. Let it become part of you.”

  “I don’t have your musicality, Gideon.”

  “You don’t need to be a musician,” he said. “Close your eyes and feel the music.”

  It said something of her trust in him that she closed her eyes immediately. His faith in her had been shaken of late, and for what? The fact that she hadn’t eagerly admitted to being fired several times? He’d seen that she was a good nurse. That ought to have secured her a degree of his confidence. Instead, he’d condemned her before having all the answers he sought.

  He spoke low and quiet as they danced. “I am sorry, Miriam. I’ve been insufferable.” The brush of his cheek against her temple sent unexpected shivers of awareness through him. “I just want to know you better, but sometimes that feels impossible.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time his heart had raced so swiftly. She was leaning into him. She fit so naturally in his arms.

  “I don’t feel well. I—” She took a tight, worried breath. Her brow pulled as she swallowed, then winced at whatever she tasted. “I need to stop. I need—” She pulled away, and he released her immediately. “I’m not well.”

  One look at her told him she was not making an empty excuse. She was pale and swayed on her feet.

  “Mir—”

  “Pardon me.” She made a headlong dash for the door.

  If she was ill, he wanted to know. He wanted to help. He caught Hawk’s eye as he hurried along Miriam’s path.

  “What happened?” Hawk asked, joining his quick exit.

  “She said she isn’t feeling well. I’ll check on her, make certain.”

  Hawk allowed Gideon to continue his pursuit alone. He caught sight of Miriam’s blue dress as she disappeared through the back door of the hotel lobby. Why wasn’t she going up to her room if she was unwell?

  He stepped outside as well. The dimness kept her hidden. “Miriam?”

  She couldn’t have gone far. He’d left close on her heels.

  “Miriam?”

  He stepped out further. Movement to the left caught his eye.

  Miriam was on the ground. Every muscle in her body jerked and pulled, ripples of convulsions punishing her over and over. He stood paralyzed by shock for only a moment before jumping into action. He pulled off his jacket, folding it down to a pillow-sized mound of fabric, then, carefully turning her onto her side even as her convulsions continued, slipped the jacket under her head. He scanned the immediate area, making certain no rocks were near enough for her to strike an arm or leg or, heaven forbid, her head against.

  He sat by her as the seizure ran its course. There was little else he could do. He had treated a few individuals with epilepsy and some of the other conditions that could cause seizures. Miriam might awaken having chewed her tongue to bleeding shreds or be bruised from her fall. Sometimes a seizure impacted the internal organs in potentially embarrassing ways. She would awaken disoriented and confused and, more likely than not, very much afraid.

  The jerking in her limbs began to subside. He waited, watching. Once the tremors had stopped entirely, he could truly breathe again. Seeing a body turn on itself that way would strike fear into even the most stalwart of hearts.

  He carefully brushed back the strands of copper hair that had fallen over her face, then removed the bits of dust and grass that stuck to it.

  “Open your eyes, Miriam,” he said quietly. “Let me know you’re coming back to me.”

  She didn’t immediately comply; he hadn’t expected her to. These things took time. He made a quick examination of the back of her head. She didn’t appear to have hit it against anything. A weight lifted from his chest. Gideon ran his hand up and down her arms but felt no breaks, saw no blood that would indicate she’d cut herself in her fall.

  The danger past, his worry now turned to her comfort and recovery. She’d sweated during the episode, and the night air was chilly. He slipped his arms beneath her back and knees and pulled her close to him, hoping to stave off the inevitable shivering.

  He rocked her back and forth, trying to comfort her and settle his own thoughts. Thank heavens she was whole, and the episode had passed relatively quickly.

  She’d chosen a spot away from easy view, and she’d known not to try climbing the stairs, which meant this had happened before. Further, he felt certain she had recognized some kind of warning of an approaching seizure. Not every condition afforded a warning. Even those that did, didn’t always do so consistently.

  She slumped against him, exhausted. He held her more tightly.

  “Oh, Miriam. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  But he knew the answer. A nurse prone to seizures would likely be declared unreliable or a danger to patients. She believed if he knew, then she would be fired, a fear fueled, no doubt, by experience.

  This was the mystery he’d been chasing. This was the secret she was hiding.

  She grew a little less limp, a little less heavy in his embrace. Awareness was returning by degrees.

  He wrapped his arms more firmly around her. “Rest a moment,” he gently instructed.

  His thoughts wouldn’t focus. His mind was filled with the horror of seeing her convulsing, utterly unaware of her surroundings, and the helplessness he felt.

  This was not a condition he knew how to treat. What had been tried? Had anything resulted in improvement? He had so many questions and not a single answer. How much more overwhelming must this be for her?

  “Gideon?” Though her whisper was barely audible, he could hear the worry in her voice.

  “Do not overtax yourself.”

  She made no attempt to sit up or escape his embrace. “What happened?”

  He suspected she already knew the answer. “As it turned out, you were not merely overwhelmed by my breathtaking talent for waltzing. You really were unwell.”

  She took a shaky breath. “How long were you out here?”

  “Long enough.” He offered her a
sad smile, not knowing the right words to say.

  She looked up into his face. Her chin began to quiver. A hint of tears filled her eyes. “Did anyone else . . . ?”

  “No.”

  She closed her eyes; a tear trickled down her cheek. Another followed close behind.

  He brushed the moisture away. “You appear to have passed the worst of it.”

  “I—” Her voice shook. “I sometimes have more than one in close succession. There might be another.”

  “Let’s get you home.”

  She sat up a bit. “The key to my room is in the cubby at the hotel desk.”

  He supported her as they both stood. “I was not clear enough, dear. I meant my home. If there is even a chance of another of these occurring soon, I want to be near enough to help.” He fetched his jacket from the ground and set it about her shoulders. “We’ll slip around back so you needn’t speak with anyone.”

  She nodded silently.

  “Can you walk?”

  Another nod.

  He set his arm across her back, supporting her as they walked. She stiffened at the contact. Was it embarrassment? Worry? Was she in pain? She wasn’t steady enough on her feet for him to leave her to manage on her own.

  “Will you be able to rest?” he asked. “Or should I prepare a tisane?”

  “So long as I don’t have another . . . of these, I’ll be able to sleep.” She spoke low, almost mumbling. She leaned on him but kept herself as upright as one could with buckling knees and wobbly legs.

  “Is there someone I can send to your room to fetch your nightdress or hairbrush or whatever you might need?”

  She stopped short and looked up at him, at last. “I don’t want anyone to know about this. Please. I would rather—” Her breaths were coming shorter and shallower. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t say anything other than you aren’t feeling well.”

  She shook her head before he’d even finished. “What if I’m ‘ill’ while whoever you sent is nearby? Then everyone would know.”

  “What if I sent Paisley?”