by Murray, Anna
She shyly offered a peck on his forehead, but he shifted and covered her half opened lips fully in a deep kiss. Her innocence was apparent, but this second kiss lasted longer than the first. He thought it was the first kiss ever she took, and it pleased him greatly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down to the sanctuary of his chest.
When she pulled away her cheeks were red. “I shouldn’t have taken the liberty, sir. I thought I could help you move on. This can’t happen again.”
“No, it cannot,” he breathlessly agreed. “I can’t have a woman.” Sleep with a woman in his condition? Accept her love and help? Not a chance. But damnation, Hannah Sutton was making him want to try.
Chapter 12
John Hawkins prayed to his God for forgiveness every day, yet Wounded Colt’s hotelkeeper had nothing to show for his sin atonement efforts but a load of heartbreak and a head of prematurely graying hair.
Hawkins had kept gritty secrets from his wife and friends. His guilt festered, and now he was convinced: God sent Hannah Sutton to Wounded Colt to be his permanently erected gallows. As if her brother’s grave, next to his stillborn son’s plot in the cemetery, wasn’t enough of a reminder. His tithing and aid to the poor hadn’t been sufficient penance; he’d been punished through his wife’s inability to bear a live child.
No, none of it was enough, he thought. Now Doctor Hannah Sutton would preside over Nelda’s confinement and the birth! Was she just another instrument of revenge for the crimes of his youth?
John Hawkins climbed down from his wall of worry to check a miner into the hotel. He took the man’s money and glanced at Nelda, who was cleaning and refilling kerosene lamps. It was a chore he avoided, because the smell triggered powerful, unbearable memories.
His thundering trepidation grew alongside Nelda’s growing waistline, but there was no rain to quench the blistering heat of it. He felt as helpless as the biblical Job.
John reminded himself: He a kid when he’d been hired on at Jack Dullen’s ranch, a few miles outside of town. At fifteen, he was eager to please the boss, and anxious for cowboy adventures, even when Dullen turned out to be an ambitious tyrant.
Jack Dullen had a way of manipulating the squarest of men, of making them see things his way, especially when they didn’t want to follow along. Johnny Hawkins had trusted most people, especially those who held land and authority, but he thought he knew how to spot a phony schemer.
When he coveted his neighbor’s land, Dullen tried to buy him out. Sutton refused the bid, and Dullen decided to make trouble for the man. On a clear, starry night he ordered John and Garrett, another young cowpuncher, to set fire to Sutton’s barn.
It was to be kept between them, and nobody intended for anybody to get hurt, but hell’s bells, there were kids in the barn! It was late and the only sounds were the brays from animals within the structure. If he’d known the Sutton kids played and bedded down in there he wouldn’t have gone near the place!
He and Garrett splashed the kerosene and set a roaring blaze to the side facing away from the house. They fled back to the ranch, and no one was the wiser, except maybe Cal Easton. Easton was a busybody, who didn’t trust the law that Dullen had installed in the town at the time.
Dullen’s evil had been perpetrated for greed’s sake; for pete’s sake, the man was wealthy beyond most folk’s reasonable measure. John searched in desperation for something pure and redeeming to remove the black spot from his soul, but the anger never left him. He fled the ranch and wandered for a long spell. Meanwhile, the bereaved Sutton family went back east. Garrett drowned in a supposed accident, but John knew better, as he’d thought about going down that same path to avoid living with his sin.
Dullen surrounded himself with protectors while he continued his rampages, and eventually he was killed after he raided the Easton place and kidnapped Cal Easton’s wife, Sarah. In fact, Sarah Easton shot Jack Dullen, flat out killing him after she broke free of the ropes binding her. For her act in ridding the territory of the vilest rattler, she held a special place in John’s heart. She owned the courage to do what he should have done.
Now John Hawkins felt like the last buffalo standing, as he was the only man who knew the truth about the fire at the Sutton place. He’d take it to his grave, and likely sooner than later, for it was killing him from the inside out.
Months after Dullen’s death, John’s uncle Clyde passed on and left him a cash inheritance, so he came back to Wounded Colt, bought the hotel, and made a go of it.
John’s wife, Nelda Rose, was the abandoned daughter of a Swedish boy and an Irish Catholic girl. When her mother became pregnant her father forbade her marriage to her lover because he was Lutheran, and a minister and his wife adopted Nelda. By the time John met Nelda Rose he was successful in his business. He could have made a marriage with a higher class woman, but he chose Nelda, because she was, at once, his healing light and penance. Over the years he’d grown close to Nelda, who was cheerful and had low expectations for her life. Nelda worked hard to please him, was a good cook, and never refused him in the bedroom. Most days he felt he didn’t deserve her.
She’d been eager to start a family, but their efforts brought only heartache, and hope dimmed. The business thrived, and they blindly plodded along.
And now Hannah had come to town, and lately he had to force himself out of bed to go to work. His heart was breaking all over again while holding onto the slimmest thread of hope.
Chapter 13
Hannah heard Jed’s footsteps below in the early dawn, and it set her thoughts cascading like a waterfall after a snow melt.
She wasn’t going to leave. He needed her.
She’d read about, heard, and seen this horror that afflicted men engaged in war. Back in Ohio she’d met a man who’d gone deaf when the soldier next to him was killed in battle, even though he himself had not been wounded in any part of his body. Others were afflicted with paralysis, the “exhausted heart”, and the night terrors that stalked them for years after their battlefield experiences. Some killed themselves in shame, while others went to live in the soldier’s homes, after the public outcry over the number of insane soldiers wandering about the countryside.
Hannah knew many people who were put out of their wits, exhausted by extreme fear, and she understood: She’d been broken after the fire, suffering from nightmares of conflagration, and loss of appetite. Her family moved back to Ohio to put distance between her and the terrible event, and eventually she’d been able to leave most of it behind.
Yes, Jed Rutherford needed her. She could close her eyes and imagine distracting him from his fears, just as her parents and community had done for her as she recovered from her burns. Time and rest were important, but she must also change the ground beneath his feet to bring him back to humanity. Restoring roots and hope to the weary was work to consume a nation; everyone was trying to restore the normal after years of collective insanity.
She decided Jed would be her personal contribution to the cause; it would take a toll on her.
But that was why she was a doctor, wasn’t it? Yes, her mission was to restore the health of body and soul.
Hannah rose and pulled her trousers on before fussing with her shortened skirt. If she hurried, and the clinic had few patients this morning, she’d have time to finish her latest painting.
She skipped down the stairs with a tentative smile and a new purpose.
They barely had time for coffee before patients lined up at the door.
Hannah had a surprise for Jed that day, as she’d hung her first painting in the room the night before, while he was out at the weekly card game she’d convinced Roy Easton to arrange, with Watkins and Farrell, at the general store. She’d worked Roy to recruit Jed to the base ball team.
It turned out Jed had a surprise for Hannah as well. As they entered the room her eyes latched onto a curtain partition in the surgery. Jed had fashioned it so they could treat two patients at a time.
There was
little time for mutual praise as Jed entered the room with Mrs. Hudson and her colicky baby. His eyes lit briefly on Hannah’s masterpiece. The crying child eyed the pastels of wildflowers – yellows, pinks, and lavenders – and she quieted.
“It’s lovely,” Jed remarked, “and it seems to have a soothing effect on this patient.” He doled out one of his rare smiles.
Hannah was thrilled, but she pushed the feeling down. “Thank you. It covers the cracks. I like the curtain. When we treat patients they’ll have a bit more privacy.”
Mrs. Hudson moved closer to the painting and cooed, “pretty colors, Audrey, pretty, pretty.”
Little Audrey stretched out a chubby hand and touched a violet flower.
Mrs. Hudson flashed her grey eyes at Rutherford. “This place needed a woman’s touch. Doctor Hannah, where did you purchase such a lovely picture?”
Jed cleared his throat. “Doctor Sutton is the artist.” There was a prideful note in his voice.
“Oooh, you’re talented.” She winked at Doctor Rutherford. “She’s a keeper.”
He didn’t reply, but shuffled to a table and waved an arm. “Set Audrey here. Let’s have a look in her ears.”
Hannah retreated to the kitchen where the next patient was waiting. She was pleasantly surprised to see Nelda Rose Hawkins.
“Nelda! How are you?”
She laughed and her cheeks glowed with the fullness of her pregnancy. “Big.”
Hannah grinned. “A good sign.”
Nelda’s mouth turned down. “My tummy hurts. It burns from there to my throat. Is the baby all right?”
“You feel it kicking, don’t you?”
“All the time!”
Hannah’s eyes danced. “That’s good. Your stomach hurts because there’s not enough space for the growing baby and the food you eat. Try eating smaller meals, and drink more water. Stop drinking coffee. Drink warm milk with honey instead.”
“The baby isn’t harmed?”
“No. The baby’s fine. I have something else for you. Come with me.” Hannah led Nelda into the surgery, where she sat her down on an oak chair. Hannah scanned the row of crocks under the windowsill, found the one she wanted, opened it, and breathed in the odorous assault of peppermint leaves. She spooned a cup into a paper bag and added ginger from another tin. She turned and handed the mixture to Nelda. “Make a tea from these leaves to sip twice a day.”
Nelda Rose took the package, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you, Doctor Hannah.”
As they walked back to the kitchen Nelda caught sight of the new painting.
“That’s beautiful! I’d love one like that to hang in the hotel lobby.”
“You’re in luck. I have another nearly finished.”
She gasped. “You made it?”
“Yes.” Hannah pulled her work in progress from behind the door. “Would you like it?”
Nelda’s eyes rolled over the bright green rolling hills and blue sky. “Oh my, yes, but I don’t think I have enough to pay you for it and the doctoring,” Nelda ruefully replied. A thick silence permeated the space between them.
Hannah whispered. “Might I trade you for three suppers at the hotel for Doctor Rutherford and myself?”
Nelda’s face lit up. “It’s a deal! About time you two stepped out together.” She winked.
Hannah ignored Nelda’s smug matchmaking joy, and she held out a hand to shake on their business transaction. “OK, then.”
“John is going to love this,” Nelda gushed as she admired the canvas. “I recognize that old tree! I heard a story about the place -- there was a farm there, but part of it burned and the people living there left.”
Hannah wondered how she recognized the location. Except for the unusual tree, the landscape could have been any piece of prairie. “Oh, I just liked the tree and the sunset lingering over the grass there. I’ll have it finished by Saturday. How about I bring it over when we come for supper?”
“Perfect. Thank you again, Doctor Hannah.” Nelda waved as she lumbered out the door.
“You’re welcome, Nelda.”
Chapter 14
It hadn’t taken a lamb tail shake for Hannah to weave herself into the wool of Wounded Colt society. Jed realized she was kicking up a storm when Easton asked him to join a card-players group, and then the men peppered him with questions about her between hands. Did Doc Hannah like Wounded Colt? What books did she read? Watkins wanted to know if there any items she wanted, but couldn’t find, at the general store. Farrell pointedly asked him if he’d consider making Hannah his naked partner, letting lose with the fact that the whole town, especially the womenfolk, liked Hannah and expected a damned romance.
Jed couldn’t let himself think about such things even if he’d had a pleasant dream that very evening: He stroked Hannah’s shoulders, touching warm ivory flesh. Absorbing her warmth appealed to him in ways it shouldn’t. I won’t hurt you, he reassured her. I’m going to help you forget the fire.
It helps, she admitted quietly. My mother rubbed my back when I was little, but your hands are bigger, and more practiced.
His heart ached and it felt like he had fist in his gut. Offering comfort came naturally to Jed, and part of him wanted to give her something more. He’d searched his memory for an image to power his strokes, and a recollection eased into his consciousness -- a vague ghost of himself sitting on a porch swing with Mariah. He was holding her hand and entertaining the idea of marrying her. In his dream he bent forward and trailed kisses from the nape of Hannah’s neck to her cheek. It was easy to be with her, mostly because she had no demands, no expectations of a man. Her affection was pure and sweet guileless; it asked nothing in return.
Jed woke, feeling restless and rueful. He had no right to feel her skin beneath his fingers, even if only in a dream, even if it offered him great comfort.
The day dragged, and the evening brought a quiet surprise: Hannah was hauling him over to Hawkins’ hotel for a meal she’d bartered in exchange for a painting.
“Has John Hawkins seen your painting?”
“Oh no! Nelda wants to spring it on him. I hope he’ll like it.” Her arm was raised high to keep the clutched canvas above the dusty street as she darted between wagons.
“It’s one of your best.” Jed had observed as she created the piece, and he was secretly hoping to hang it in the surgery. He’d received many compliments on her first work, and the scenes were a soothing distraction for his patients.
Jed drew air into his lungs and quickened his step to arrive at the hotel door ahead of Hannah. He opened it for her, and she sashayed past him into the small lobby. Proprietor John Hawkins was peering through spectacles at a ledger on the desk, and he stiffened when he saw the doctoring duo. He peeled off the wire-framed glasses with a nervous hand and set them down with a clack on the counter.
“Well, g-good evening Docs,” he stuttered.
Rutherford instinctively rushed to ease Hawkins’ visible anxiety. The man looked like his knees were on the verge of buckling. “Oh, we’re just here for supper. Sam came over earlier, but, not to worry, it wasn’t to tell us Nelda’s labor started.”
“Oh,” Hawkins replied, but oddly, he didn’t seem relieved, and he pounded a rigid hand on the front desk. “Go on in.”
They turned toward the arch leading to the dining room, but just then Nelda caught sight of Hannah and hurried out to greet them.
“Oh, you brought it!”
“Yes,” Hannah intoned as she backed up and lifted the painting from below her waist to the desk height so the hotelkeeper could view it.
Hawkins could barely keep the look of horror from his face. His eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost.
Jed was dumb founded, and Hawkins quickly recovered from his reaction, but not before Hannah caught a piece of it and jerked back as if scalded by hot water. Nelda didn’t seem to notice the commotion, as she was so engaged by the painting and a sudden kick from the babe in her belly.
“Oh, the baby li
kes it!” She cried out.
Her husband’s face softened. “It’s fine, but I don’t think we can afford ---“
“Oh yes we can! Doctor Hannah is trading it for supper this evening.”
Hawkins was flustered. “Certainly it’s worth more than –“
“It’s my pleasure to have you display it in your establishment,” Hannah edged into the conversation.
Hawkins swallowed and nodded. “Of course. Of course. Thank you.” He managed a taut smile. Nelda hooked arms with Jed and Hannah, and guided them, waddling with one on each side of her, into the dining room.
“Oh, he was so surprised! He loves it!” Nelda bubbled with the glow of impending motherhood.
“Yes, indeed,” Hannah muttered.
After Nelda seated them in a secluded corner and lit candles, Jed scratched his head.
“What is it?” Hannah unfolded the fine linen napkin and dropped it into her lap.
“Hawkins is a puzzle. He was wary, as if he expected something bad to jump out of your painting and attack him.”
“I agree. He reacted strangely to the gift.”
“Likely he was overwhelmed by the beauty of it, and worried about the price, until his wife mentioned the easy bargain she made.”
“Yes, or perhaps he’s on edge, with the baby coming and all.”
Nelda came back with water, and announced the menu: Pork, potatoes, cornbread, baked carrots, and apple pie and coffee, and more apple pie if it pleased them. Jed laughed, as it was the first time Nelda had made such an offer.
“You sure you want to give away the house?” he joked.
Nelda giggled. “Loosen your pants, cowboy! You can have anything except my new painting,” she shot the last words over her shoulder as she shuffled to the kitchen.
Hannah beamed. The candlelight cast a warm glow on her face, and somehow Jed felt too much like he was stepping out with a woman.
“You’ve eaten here before?” Hannah tossed out the innocuous question.
