by Deeanne Gist
Matthew 6:21
He grinned. Not very subtle, the little minx.
He looked at the fire. Tomorrow was Saturday. If he worked the whole day, then headed out, he wouldn’t arrive in Seattle until the wee hours of the morning.
That might suit the boys, since the places they frequented stayed busy the whole night. But he wanted to see Anna. Talk to Anna. Court Anna.
She’d be long asleep by the time he reached town. Then Sunday morning would be taken up with church, and that gave them precious few hours before he’d have to return home.
That was no way to conduct a proper courtship. He needed to be in town early enough on Saturdays to escort her to dinner or go for a ride. To do that, though, he’d have to leave after breakfast.
The men were thrilled the land and their jobs were secure, but every single one of them missed Anna. They wouldn’t begrudge him the time it would take to woo her back. Even if it meant they stayed to work while he went on ahead to town.
He set the frame back down. No, they wouldn’t mind—especially if it meant she might whip up a batch of doughnuts now and then.
For the first time since leaving her behind, Joe felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He wondered what her reaction to the cloth and notions had been. And the twinflowers. And the packing of her new trunk.
He’d have his answer soon enough. If a petticoat belled her dress out when he saw her next, then he’d know his feelings were reciprocated.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and proceeded to imagine just what that petticoat—among other things—would look like.
Anna had never in her life been inside a saloon. But when a young man tottering from drink intercepted them, jabbering about a stabbing at McDonald’s Saloon, the doc immediately followed, never indicating she should return to his office.
As they drew closer, a breeze brought with it the excited voices of McDonald’s patrons. Doc and Anna picked up their pace, then hurried through the swinging doors. The oppressive smell of whiskey and cigar smoke assailed her. Before she could look around, a man with a stained apron banding his large girth shouted out to them.
“Over here, Doc!”
As Anna’s eyes adjusted to the smoke, she saw a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache lying on two tables shoved together, blood seeping from his neck.
Shooing the owner back, Maynard yanked open his bag and handed Anna a cloth. “Apply pressure to the wound. Quickly.”
The acrid smell of blood made her stomach churn. She didn’t ask why they weren’t going to wash their hands. She already knew. There wasn’t time.
Blood immediately saturated the cloth, seeping through her fingers and onto the table’s scarred surface. The man’s dark eyes were wide and frightened. She swallowed, then offered him an encouraging smile.
The doc threaded a needle. “Keep the pressure steady.”
“Should I get the chloroform?” she asked.
“He probably has enough whiskey in him to do the trick, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Tying a knot at the end of the thread, he took her place and peeked beneath the cloth. His shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not as deep as I first thought, Rufus. You’re going to be all right.”
Anna found the chloroform cloth and poured more anesthetic onto it. Her stomach jerked. The etherlike odor reminded her of men in the War Hospital she’d volunteered at back home. Though she’d never tended to actual patients, she’d seen them. Heard them. Felt for them.
Lately, the constant smell began to trigger a bit of nausea—particularly when mingled with the odor of blood. The whiskey and cigar smoke infiltrating her every breath intensified her dilemma. To compensate, she breathed through her mouth.
The man cried out when Doc poked the needle through his skin. Anna cringed. Two men grabbed the patient’s arms and legs, holding him down—one still had a cigar clamped between his teeth with ashes threatening to fall at the slightest provocation. She placed the cloth beneath the man’s nose, wondering if the fumes would make it past his overgrown mustache.
She couldn’t take his pulse with the other patrons restraining him, nor could she bear to watch the procedure. So she took in her surroundings. Rickety tables, spindly chairs, a billiard table, and walls papered with years of smoke and residue. The bar behind her was out of her range of vision.
After several long, excruciating minutes, Doc tied off his stitching.
Anna removed the chloroform and retrieved a bandage from the medical bag. She supported the man’s head as Maynard dressed the wound. The man’s hair was greasy and clumped together with blood.
Please don’t let him have lice, Lord.
“Find a table or some planks to carry him home on,” Doc said to the men who’d been holding the patient down. “And be gentle about it. I’ll check on him in the morning.”
Anna wiped the dregs of filth from her hands, but blood had seeped into her cuticles, staining them. Her nausea increased.
Maynard grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a nearby table. “Hold out your hands.”
She hesitated, then did as she was told. He poured the foul liquid all over them. The fumes burned her eyes, but it served its purpose. The dirt and bloodstains disappeared.
She followed the doc out, surprised to see darkness had descended while they were operating. An occasional street lantern threw small pools of light onto the muddy avenue, making a trail up the hill like oversized breadcrumbs.
“Shouldn’t we alert the law about the stabbing?” she asked, gulping in fresh air.
Maynard shook his head. “The men will do that if Tillney survives, which I’m sure he will. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Would you like to come to the house for supper?”
She pulled up short. “Tillney? That was Mr. Tillney? The Mr. Tillney who sued Joe?”
Doc stopped. “It was.”
She looked back toward the saloon. “What happened? How did he come to be in such dire circumstances?”
“I don’t know. Not my business to know. I simply do the doctoring.”
Good heavens.
“Do you regret ministering to him?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “Of course not.”
“Good.”
They started back along on the boardwalk. At the intersection of Washington and First, Doc hesitated. “Would you mind if I stopped by Kellogg’s Drug Store?”
“Not at all. I think I’m going to continue on to the Occidental, though.”
He glanced up the street, clearly torn about leaving her to walk the last block alone.
“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, what about supper?”
“Not tonight, Doc. I’m going to retire early, if it’s all right.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“What about tomorrow, then?” he asked. “Have you found a church?”
“I visited the Brown Church last week.”
“Would you like to join Catherine and me this week? We attend the White Church.”
She’d purposely avoided that one last Sunday. The only other time she’d been in it was when Joe had been expecting to marry her.
Still, she’d liked the preacher and she adored the Maynards. “I’d love to. I’ll meet you there.”
“Excellent. We’ll see you then. And thank you for all your help.”
“Anytime. Good night, Doc.”
The walk up the steep hill required all her effort. In the last week she’d helped deliver a baby, extract a tooth, lance an infection, set a bone, soothe a colicky baby, treat a burn, and stitch up more cuts and abrasions than she’d seen in a lifetime.
Placing one foot in front of the other, Anna gauged the distance to the Occidental. The last several yards were always the most daunting. Her legs ached at the exertion it took to traverse them.
Horses lined the hitching posts surrounding the hotel, and gas sconces on the front porch silhouetted a bevy of men. She
groaned. The men had made a habit of lingering until she returned at night, all jumping to attendance when she arrived. She’d done everything she could to discourage them, but to no avail.
Just seeing them drained the last of her energy and patience. One by one, they straightened, like dogs with ears perked at their master’s return. Before she even made it across the street, several rushed out to escort her to the door.
“Let me assist you, Miss Ivey.”
“How was your day, miss?”
“May I treat you to supper?”
Politely refusing, she kept her eyes downcast, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to protest when they took her elbows. She’d almost made it through the gauntlet and to the door when a voice stopped her.
“Anna?”
She ground to a halt, jerking her head up. “Joe? Joe! What are you doing here?”
She drank in the sight of him. He stood a head above the rest, his hair curling up tight in the evening air. The top two buttons of his plaid shirt had slipped open as if they couldn’t quite contain the width of his neck. His denim trousers outlined those muscular hips and thighs.
He gave the men on her arms a penetrating look, but they didn’t relinquish their hold. If anything, their grips tightened. He took a step forward, his chest expanding. They straightened, holding their ground.
Good heavens. Gently disengaging herself from the men, she took a step toward Joe. He reached for her hand, touching it to his lips, then frowned.
The sweetness of his kiss turned to horror when she realized he smelled whiskey. He didn’t say anything, of course. Not in front of the men. Nor could she explain without sounding ridiculous.
“You look terrible,” he said.
She choked. The man on her left growled.
“I’m tired,” she replied.
“Where have you been?”
“With the doc.”
He tightened his lips. “He has no business keeping you out this late. Have you had your supper?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, go clean yourself up and I’ll have Nausley stoke the stove.”
She arched a brow. Every man on this porch had been pestering her to share supper with them and that was the best Joe could do? You look terrible and go clean yourself up?
He must have had an inkling of her thoughts, for his cheeks filled with color. But he didn’t rephrase his invitation nor relax his stance.
“I’m tired, Joe,” she sighed.
He narrowed his eyes. “I left the house directly after breakfast, missed an entire day of work, and have been cooling my heels on this porch for hours. If you’re too tired to freshen up before the meal, then you can go as you are.”
He couldn’t have established his territory more clearly had he crowed like a rooster. Before she took exception, though, his words began to sink in. He skipped work? And had been waiting on her? For hours?
“Now see here, Denton,” the man on her right said, “if the lady doesn’t—”
“Just give me a few minutes, Joe,” she interjected, hoping to keep the men from coming to blows.
Lumberjacks loved nothing so much as a scuffle. It wouldn’t matter to Joe that the other men weren’t jacks. He was clearly itching for a fight, and she wasn’t about to do any more doctoring today.
“You don’t have to let him bully you, Miss Ivey,” the man on her right said.
She smiled at him. “Thank you, sir. I don’t mind having supper with him.”
“Don’t mind?” Joe said, the bite in his voice unmistakable.
Suppressing a smile, she gave him a deep curtsey. “I’d love to share my evening meal with you, Mr. Denton. If you would excuse me, though, I’d like to clean up first.”
Relaxing, he gave her a nod. With as much dignity as she could muster, she went inside. It wasn’t until she was safely tucked into her room that she allowed her smile to bloom.
Joe was here. And he’d been waiting for her. And if she wasn’t mistaken, it had nothing to do with his land and everything to do with her. Racing to the washbasin, she poured water into it, stripped off her dress, and began to scrub the day’s smells from her person.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Joe had always known that maidens were an anomaly to the boys in town, but he’d never paid much attention to it before. Probably because there usually weren’t any unmarried women around to bring out this particular phenomenon.
He was paying attention to it now, though. The men had simply moved from the porch to the dining room to do their gawking, making private conversation impossible.
Anna had changed into her maroon dress and straightened up her hair. She no longer smelled like whiskey, but she still looked terrible. Circles under her eyes. An unhealthy pallor to her skin. No appetite.
It was all he could do to keep from gawking himself—but for entirely different reasons. He took a breath, planning to question her about her health, and about why she reeked of alcohol when she’d first arrived, then stopped himself. Every ear in the place was attuned to the exchanges they made. So he took a bite of food instead, not even tasting it.
She pushed hers around on her plate.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Is something wrong?” he asked quietly.
“No, no. I’m just . . .” She put down her fork. “My head hurts, actually.”
Joe tugged his napkin from his neck and tossed it on the table. “Come on. Let’s go get some fresh air.”
She laid her hand on his arm, stalling him. “I think what I really need is to get some sleep.”
He swallowed his disappointment. He knew she was right, but they’d barely said three sentences to each other.
Standing, he helped her to her feet. The men around them rose. He gave them a look that promised retribution if they so much as thought about following.
He wove Anna through the tapestry of men, the faintest hint of twinflower touching his nose. He smiled. She still packed her things in the blooms he’d placed in her trunk.
He looked at her dress more closely. It didn’t appear as if she’d made herself a petticoat. But had she made herself anything else?
As soon as they cleared the door, the men reluctantly settled back into their seats.
“I’m sorry, Joe,” she whispered.
“It’s all right.”
At the stairs leading up to the rooms, Joe still couldn’t say what he wanted to. Not with Collins behind the counter watching and listening with rapt attention.
“Congratulations on your land,” she said. “I’m so, so glad you didn’t lose it.”
“Thank you. Me too.”
She made to leave, but he snagged her elbow. “Do you think you’ll be well enough to go to church tomorrow?”
“I’m not sick, Joe. Just tired. And yes. I of course plan to attend church.”
“Will you let me escort you?”
Struggling to keep her eyes open, she stifled a yawn. “Yes.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Sleep tight.”
“I will. You too.”
She trudged up the stairs. Just watching her made him angry. He couldn’t wait to get ahold of Maynard. The man must have dragged her all over the Territory and back again. Well, Joe would put a stop to that. And he’d do it before church tomorrow.
“She’s dead on her feet, I’m telling you.” Joe stood in Doc’s surgery room watching him pack his medical bag for the day.
“She was fine when I left her last night,” Maynard said. “Did she complain of anything?”
“She didn’t have to complain. Anybody with eyes could see she wasn’t well.”
“Then why did you drag her to supper instead of letting her go to bed and rest?”
“She needed to eat.”
The doc moved to a pot of hot water his wife had brought in earlier. “What are you doing here, Joe?”
Sighing, he moderated his tone. “I’m worried you’re over
working her. It was well after dark when she returned to the hotel and on a Saturday, no less.”
“I see. She didn’t cook for your crew on Saturdays?”
“That was different.”
“Oh. At your place she finished serving, cleaning, and preparing for the next day all before dark?”
Joe hesitated. “It’s not the same. I know you. You go from one patient to the next without ever taking a break.”
“Really?” Maynard swished an instrument in the water, then scrubbed it with a soapy rag. “Interesting.”
“Don’t patronize me, Doc. Anna isn’t well. You need to remember she’s female and must make concessions because of it.”
Maynard laughed. “Anna is no fragile flower, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Joe stiffened. “Neither is she a work horse with an unending source of strength.”
The humor slowly fell from Maynard as he studied Joe. “You in love with her?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you married her?”
“I’m working on it.”
He lifted his brows. “And what would she think about your coming here on her behalf?”
“She’d be furious. I trust you can keep it to yourself.”
Maynard smiled and turned back to his washing. “I can keep it to myself. And I’ll watch her, Joe. You needn’t worry about that.”
Anna made it halfway down the steps when she caught sight of Joe, then came to a complete halt. He was wearing a suit. She’d never seen him in anything other than his lumberjack garb. Not even on their wedding day. Or what he’d thought was their wedding day.
He looked up, his eyes zeroing in on her, and walked to the bottom of the stairs. She continued her descent, taking in the thin black tie knotted around a crisp white collar, the swirling pattern of his green, single-breasted waistcoat, the lines of his dark jacket framing massive shoulders, then tapering down to a trim waist. His trousers held a newly pressed crease.
Tucking his derby beneath his arm, he held out a hand and assisted her with the last two steps. “Good morning.”
“You look beautiful.” It was out before she had a chance to recall it.
