Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  The driver gave the reins a quick twist as he leaped to the ground. “Doc,” he hollered again. “Injured man here.” He hurried to assist the other two.

  Dora’s heart dipped for an instant before she sprang to the door. Poor Doc would be missing his meal again.

  “Bring him in,” she instructed the trio of men as they staggered up the steps with their burden. “Doc will be here right away.” Dora half extended her hand but quickly pulled it back and stepped out of the way when she saw the extent of the injuries.

  “You’re sure he’s still alive?” At the sound of Doc’s familiar voice, her head spun toward the door leading to the living quarters. Doc wiped his mouth on his hanky as he entered the office. Had he grabbed a mouthful of food or only managed a hurried drink? But there was no time to think about Doc’s eating requirements.

  “He ain’t kicking much, but he’s still breathing,” one man grunted.

  “Right here.” Dora led the men to an examining table.

  Doc flipped aside the blanket and bent over the patient. “A bit battered up, are we?” With deft fingers he lifted the eyelids then bent closer to examine the cut on the forehead. “Dora, give me a hand.”

  Immediately, she was at the doctor’s side. Her breath caught for one fleeting second, but she had worked with Doc long enough to know how to closely observe blood, injuries, pain, and death while still maintaining her composure.

  There were a number of bruises on the injured man’s face. A head wound oozed over crackled patches of dried blood. The left side of the man’s shirt was stained dark red. He was deathly still and pasty white.

  The dark spot on his shirt grew.

  She shook her head. No telling how much damage was hidden under the torn garment, yet his chest fell and rose with assuring regularity.

  “You boys going to tell me what happened?” Doc flashed the trio a glance as Dora unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it from the man’s shoulders. Doc probed the kidney area and across the abdomen then pushed the edges of the wound together.

  “We found him,” the driver answered.

  “Thought he was dead,” mumbled the younger man as he removed his hat and shuffled his fingers along the rim.

  Doc snorted. “Where did you find him?”

  “Across the river. About ten miles away.” Again it was the driver who supplied the information.

  “He was passed out, sittin’ in his saddle.”

  “Just like he was dead.” The hat went round and round.

  “Shut up, Jack.” The third man straightened. “He gonna be okay, Doc?”

  “You boys get the sheriff and tell him everything, you hear?” Doc said, casting a glare in their direction. “Now run along so we can take care of him.”

  Dora smiled. Doc might be getting a little round in the middle and his hair might be gray and thinning, but on occasion he looked and sounded like an army major and received the same instant obedience. She didn’t wait for their noisy exit before she filled a basin with warm water. Pulling the tray of instruments close, she began dabbing at the blood.

  She worked quietly. Doc didn’t care for idle conversation. Her movements coordinated with his as he cleaned and stitched the wounds.

  Before the men returned, the patient had been washed and eased into a clean gown. Twice he had moaned and tried to say something before fading back into unconsciousness.

  At the sound of shuffling boots, Doc straightened. “They’re just in time to help get this young man into bed.” He washed and dried his hands before he opened the door to the outer office.

  “Come in, Constable.” The local Mountie entered, closing the door on the others.

  Constable Andrews yanked his hat off as he stared down at the injured man. “He say anything?”

  “No. He’s a lucky young man to even be alive.” Doc lifted the patient’s eyelids again. “Can’t tell how serious this head wound is.” Straightening, he faced the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer. “There’s not much more I can do.”

  The Mountie nodded. “They brought in his horse and tack.” He sighed. “I hoped he’d be able to tell me what happened.”

  “In good time, my man. In good time.” Doc hustled to the door. “Now if you and these gentlemen could give me a wee bit of help, we’ll see this lad settled into bed.”

  Minutes later the patient rested in the sickroom off the office and the room was cleared of nervous men. Doc and Dora stood side by side staring down at the man.

  “He’s a bonnie young man.” Doc lapsed into his Scottish brogue. “He’ll be turning heads on many a young lass.”

  Dora blinked then looked intently at the patient. Dark curls lay flattened across his head. Despite his paleness and bruises, he was handsome—in a rugged sort of way.

  But his clothing had revealed his occupation. A cowboy. Decisively, Dora shook her head. “Not this lass.”

  Doc chuckled. “No, my bonnie lassie. You’re knowing what you want and how to get it.”

  She laughed, too. “No wandering cowboy for me.”

  Office hours over, Dora shooed Doc away for a meal and some much-needed rest before dragging a chair to the bedside of her patient. She prepared to keep watch for a few hours.

  The injured man tossed and moaned.

  In response to his pain, Dora murmured soft, soothing assurances.

  His eyes flew open, and she stared into brown eyes so velvety that her breath caught in her throat. The flicker of pain and confusion in those dark orbs quickly reminded her of her duties. “You’re at Doc Mackenzie’s. You have a cut on your head and another in your side, but you’re safe now. If you lay quiet and rest, you’ll soon be right as rain.”

  He flinched.

  She offered her most encouraging smile. He could use something for pain, but she didn’t dare leave him to fetch Doc. Besides, she knew Doc would be in shortly to check on his patient.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  He groaned and his lips moved.

  She leaned closer. It sounded like he said, “Rivers.” Was he trying to tell her what had happened?

  But before she could formulate another question, his eyes closed. She leaned back in her chair, thankful that he hadn’t grown more restless. A few minutes later, Doc entered the room.

  “Any change?” He bent over the patient as he spoke.

  “He opened his eyes for a moment.”

  Doc nodded, lifting a corner of the dressing on the man’s side. “I’m not happy with the looks of this. Could you please get me a clean dressing, Dora?”

  She hurried to do as he had asked and quickly returned to his side. Handing him a basin for the soaked bandage, Dora noticed the inflamed edges of the wound.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Rivers.”

  “What does that mean?” Doc stared at her.

  She shrugged. “Suppose he was trying to tell us something about where he got hurt.”

  Dora sat with the patient until late in the evening. The uninterrupted quiet gave her plenty of time to study his features. Doc was right. Many a young woman would throw this man a second look—and a third—while hoping for more. An unsettled feeling surfaced. A familiar feeling. Although she loved her work and where she lived, every once in a while she wished she weren’t so alone.

  Doc came in. “Dora, you go get your rest now.”

  “But what about you?” she protested. Doc never got enough rest. When he wasn’t caring for patients, he was tending to Mrs. Mac, who had grown weaker with each passing winter month. When hoped-for improvement did not materialize with the arrival of spring, Dora could no longer deny the truth; Mrs. Mac was not going to get stronger. This strange ailment, which had literally eaten the flesh from her frame and left her barely able to function, was not going away.

  No wonder Doc looked tired most of the time. She wished she could do more to help this couple who had become as dear as any parents.

  But despite Dora’s objections, Doc gently pushed her from the roo
m.

  “I plan on dozing in the big chair. The laudanum will take effect in a few minutes, and our patient should sleep soundly.”

  With no other option but to follow the doctor’s orders, Dora let herself out and hurried across the street to the little house she called her own. A sense of peace and satisfaction swept over her as she lit the kerosene lamp in the room that served as parlor, kitchen, and dining room. Tacked onto the back of the house was an equally small bedroom.

  Would she ever enter this house or cross the street to the doctor’s office without experiencing a swell of gratitude for God’s wonderful provisions? Knowing she would not, her weariness lifted. A smile played on her lips as she murmured, “Thank You, God.”

  Her prayer of thanksgiving shifted to one of petition as she quietly spoke to the Lord. “…And, dear Father, please bless Doc and Mrs. Mac—and that poor injured man.” Breathing a quick “amen,” Dora began to hum while she bustled about the kitchen preparing tea and a boiled egg sandwich.

  When Dora arrived for work early the next morning, she found Doc asleep in the chair. Noiselessly, she pulled the patient’s door closed and headed for the office to prepare for the day’s work. A bit later, upon hearing the murmur of voices, she returned to the sickroom.

  Doc glanced up from his examination of the patient’s abdominal wound. “Another dressing, please.”

  As she passed a clean bandage to him, she saw how the lesion oozed.

  Doc finished and straightened. “He’s conscious now, but I’ve just given him another dosage of laudanum.” He handed the instruments to Dora and dipped his hands in the basin of water. “His name is Josh Rivers.”

  She smiled at her misunderstanding of the night before.

  “He was set upon by two men who robbed him and beat him up, leaving him to die.” Doc dried his hands on a fresh white towel. “But he refused to die.” He handed the towel to Dora and stood over the patient, his expression serious. “He’s got a fight ahead of him yet, I fear. I’ll leave him in your care for now. I have house calls to make. Do your best to keep him quiet. I’ll leave another dosage of laudanum, should he need it.”

  Before she could do more than nod her head in agreement, the doctor had gone.

  The morning passed slowly. Mr. Rivers stirred several times but settled quickly when she touched him and spoke softly.

  Doc returned prior to the afternoon office hours. “I’ll manage without you in the office this afternoon.” He touched Josh’s brow. “I want you to stay by our patient and keep a close eye on him.”

  Within an hour, Josh was burning with fever.

  Dora poured rubbing alcohol into tepid water and sponged him. His life depended on her fighting the fever and keeping him as quiet as possible. She determined to do her very best. As always, she felt a fierce defiance at the illnesses and injuries that attacked her patients.

  Doc came in later that afternoon to check the dressing. “Nasty injury,” he exclaimed as he pulled the bandage away from the wound. “Let’s apply a bread poultice and see if that draws out the infection.”

  Dora and Doc labored over Josh, his moans tearing at her as they fought the raging fever. Toward morning it abated and the patient fell into a deep sleep.

  Dora sank into the chair and let her breath out in a whoosh, tired to the marrow of her bones.

  “You run on home and catch some sleep,” Doc commanded. She started to argue, but he shooed her from the chair.

  “Sleep as long as you need; then come and take over—though I’m hoping the worst is over. If we can keep him quiet a few days, I believe he’ll mend.”

  Dora still hesitated, but Doc had already sunk into the chair, tucking a pillow under his head and stretching out his legs. He waved her away. She stole one more glance at Josh in order to assure herself that he was really and truly better. But she stilled the protective urge to feel his brow one more time before hurrying from the room.

  Three hours later she awoke refreshed and, as always, anxious to check on her patient. If she felt a bit more urgency this time, she refused to admit it.

  Doc slept in the chair, his head tilted to one side. “Doc,” she whispered, “I’ll take over.” He moaned as he jerked to his feet and wearily plodded from the room.

  Josh rested peacefully. She pressed her fingers to his brow and nodded. His fever had not returned. Dora lightly pushed at one brown curl that stubbornly hung over his forehead. The quiet of the house settled around her, and she relaxed into the cushiony softness of the big armchair.

  “So you are real.”

  The voice shocked her bolt upright. Dora gaped at her patient, his warm brown eyes on her face, a smile tipping his lips.

  “I thought I’d dreamed you.” His voice was as deep and slow as a lazy river. She found herself wondering if he always sounded like that or if it was the result of pain and drugs. Then she forced her attentions back to their proper place.

  “Welcome back. How are you feeling?” Certainly his color is improved, she thought.

  In response, he grimaced. “A little like I was run over by a stampede of longhorns.”

  She smiled. Awake and more alert, his eyes took on a life of their own, darkening with warmth then flashing with pain. She leaned over his bedside. “Can I get you something for the pain? Doc Mackenzie left a powder for you.”

  He closed his eyes. “The medicine will make me sleep, won’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t want to sleep.” Jaw tightening, eyes flashing, he shot her a determined look. “I have things to do.” Dora gasped as he tried to sit up. Instantly, he fell back against the pillow, his face chalk white.

  “You must lie still. You have a deep wound in your side that needs time to heal.”

  He grunted. “Time’s one thing I ain’t got. Where’s my horse?”

  “I heard the Mountie say he has your horse and gear.”

  “What about them rattlers that robbed me?” She shivered at the hard note in his voice.

  “They were long gone.”

  “I gotta get going.” He twisted his head from side to side.

  “First, you must get better.” Dora’s lips tightened. If he kept this up, he would start to bleed again. Maybe she should give him the laudanum. What would Doc want?

  As if in answer to her question, Doc strode in. “Well, what do we have here? Glad to see you looking alive, young man.”

  “Doc, I gotta get moving.” Again, Josh attempted to sit up.

  Doc pressed Josh’s shoulders to the bed. “Now, you look here, young fella. You’re mighty lucky to be alive. And I intend to see you well. Either you lie quiet until I say otherwise or I’ll keep you so doped up you won’t have any choice.” He glared at Josh.

  Josh met Doc’s gaze. Neither spoke. Neither flinched.

  Dora held her breath. Doc meant every word, and he would not relent. She hoped Josh would see this and save himself a pack of trouble.

  Josh suddenly relaxed and smiled. “You’re the doctor,” he announced almost cheerfully.

  Dora grinned. Not only did he have spirit, but this man had brains. He would be a good patient.

  Doc relaxed. “There’s a good man.” He patted Josh’s shoulder. “Now let’s have a wee look at that wound.”

  Dora hurried to get fresh bandages as Doc rolled back the dressing. Peering over his shoulder, she saw that the edges of the wound were inflamed but not oozing, an improvement since yesterday.

  Doc applied a new dressing. “You must keep still until this heals,” he said as he washed his hands. “Dora, get the young man something to eat. Liquids for now.” Scowling at Josh, he ordered, “You, young man, are to let Dora feed you. I want you absolutely still. Do you hear?”

  Josh grinned. “I hear ya, Doc.”

  Doc snorted.

  Josh’s quick flash of humor was a pleasant treat after the many complaining patients she’d had over the winter, and Dora smiled as she headed toward the kitchen.

  Mrs. Mac sat at the
table toying with her empty teacup.

  “How are you today, Mrs. Mac?”

  “I’m managing.” Her hand shook as she brushed a strand of white hair back. “But I worry about Ian when he works such long hours.”

  Dora nodded. Doc’s hours were long, and doing nursing duty added to them. But there was no other doctor. And Doc would not ignore someone needing medical attention. She tried to put in some time every day helping Mrs. Mac with housework and meals, but Doc had made it clear that her duties as his nurse came first, and she understood it had to be so.

  “I’ll clean the kitchen while I wait for the water to boil.” She quickly put away the food then gathered and washed the dishes. Mixing a spoonful of beef concentrate with hot water in a bowl, she wrinkled her nose at the smell. She’d make some real chicken broth later, but for now this would have to do.

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Mac said as Dora put away the last dish and prepared the tray.

  “You’re welcome. I wish I had time to do more, but Doc has ordered me to feed our patient.” She checked the tray. Tea, sugar, if he desired, and weak bouillon. Not much for a young man. Imagining how he would feel about his liquid meals, she grimaced.

  Yet her lips changed to a smile as she entered the sickroom.

  “Good, you’re back.” Doc stood, pulling his jacket straight. “Keep him on clear fluids today and keep him still. I don’t care how. Give him laudanum if necessary.”

  He made it sound near impossible, but she would not disappoint him. “I understand.”

  Doc fixed his glare on Josh. “I expect your full cooperation, young man.”

  “Doc, relax. I’ll be a good boy. I promise I won’t move a muscle until you say it’s safe.” He sighed. “I’m sure hoping you don’t mean not moving my mouth though. I’d have a hard time keeping it shut for very long.”

  Doc snorted. “Flap your jaws all you want, sonny. Won’t do you any harm.” He dipped his head toward Dora. “Might drive your nurse crazy, though.”

  Dora lifted her chin. “‘Spect he can’t be any worse than some of the people I’ve put up with.”

  Doc chortled at Josh’s groan. He was still chuckling as he left the room.