Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Back at the fort that evening, Myles couldn't sleep. His emotions were in a turmoil, the memory of that one kiss burning in him like a fever. Cursing his own weakness, he finally got up and lit a candle at his writing desk.

  He composed an urgent telegram to a medical supply house he was familiar with in Toronto, requesting that they send him as quickly as possible a fully equipped medical bag, complete with the most modern of French forceps and the newest of stethoscopes, and a generous supply of medicines as well.

  Early the next morning, he saw to it that the telegram was sent. He spent the day writing the interminable reports the NWMP demanded and dealing with the usual parade of sick policemen and ailing Battleford residents.

  One of the civilians was a newcomer from Ontario, Jimmy Gillespie, a middle aged man who'd been transferred to Battleford to work as a bookkeeper at the Hudson's Bay Company store. Jimmy came into Myles's office in the afternoon, his face white as paper, leaning heavily on a crude makeshift crutch. His right foot was swollen to twice its normal size.

  "Good day, Doc. Had a bit of an accident this noon. One of the clerks dropped a barrel of molasses on my foot. Clumsy young oaf." He grimaced as Myles removed the bloody rag tied around it.

  The foot was broken in several places, with a deep cut on the instep as well that required several stitches to close.

  When he'd done all he could to repair the damage and set the bone, Myles wrapped the foot in a plaster soaked in carbolic and said, "You'll have to stay off this for several weeks, Mr. Gillespie, if you want it to heal."

  Sweat stood out on the older man's forehead, and he nodded. "If it ain't one thing, it's another," he said with a sigh. "My wife's been sickly ever since we moved here. I've been takin' care of her, and now this."

  "What's the matter with your wife?" Myles was sure that Mrs. Gillespie hadn't consulted him. Jimmy shook his head. "Female troubles of one sort and another. Nerves, she puts it down to, but it worries me. She's not one to lay about like this, is my Helen. I've told her to come on up here and see you, but she won't hear of it. Can't talk about such things to a strange man, she says. Always been a bashful lass. Mighta gotten over it if we'd had young 'uns, but we never did."

  "There's a new female doctor in the village," Myles said slowly. "Dr. Randolph is her name. I can personally vouch for her expertise as a physician. Perhaps your wife would feel more at ease talking to a woman doctor?"

  Gillespie thought it over and his narrow face brightened. "Might be you're right, Doc. Where's she located, this lady doc?"

  "She's at Mrs. Leiberman's boardinghouse at the moment, but only for another day or two. She's looking for a place to rent, somewhere with enough room so she could set up an office. You don't know of anywhere, I suppose?"

  Gillespie thought for a moment. "Well, there's that house the factor's mother lived in, up on the hillside. During the flood in eighty-two her house got ruined, so Walker built her a place away from the flats. House ain't very big, though. And it's not right in town, neither. Old lady only lived there six months before she up and died, y'know. He hasn't rented it out yet, it's full of her things still. Walker said the missus and I could rent it if we liked. We looked at it when we came but we got all our own furniture, and Helen didn't want to be that distant from the town, so to speak. Walker's a bachelor; he don't want to live up there either. He's got the little place the company built for him, close in to the trading post, suits him fine."

  "I'm sure Dr. Randolph would be a good tenant. And she doesn't have any furniture of her own, so she'd be pleased to rent the place furnished." "I'll ask him about it, Doc, straightaway. Got to go back to the store right now anyhow and finish the day's entries. How much do I owe you?" Gillespie struggled up and balanced precariously on his crutch, reaching for his wallet. "Lucky thing my work is done sitting down. Things'd be in a fine fix if I lost my job over a keg of molasses."

  "There's no charge, Mr. Gillespie. The Mounted's purpose is to serve the community."

  "Thanks, Doc. Much obliged to you."

  And I to you, Myles thought as the man clumped away on his crutch. This would take care of the problem of where Paige would live. Maybe he could get some badly needed sleep tonight, Myles reflected, knowing he'd now done everything he could for her.

  Why in blazes did he feel responsible for the woman, anyway?

  As it had repeatedly, the vivid memory of the kiss they'd shared flashed into his mind. It had been a rash and stupid thing for him to do, allowing himself to be overcome by sexual desire for Paige Randolph. He assured himself that's all it had been—the normal sexual response of a healthy man to an attractive woman.

  There was no more to it than that. How could there be? Apart from a shared interest in medicine, they had absolutely nothing in common.

  Well, he'd done his best to atone for the kiss, and now he could get back to normal. He'd write her a note, telling her of the house, mentioning that Mrs. Gillespie might appear as a patient, and then he'd put her firmly out of his mind.

  He sat down at his desk, quill in hand, and began to write one note after the next and then tear it up.

  The envelope was actually sealed with wax, and the paper was heavy vellum. In the upper left corner was the distinctive crest of the NWMP, with Dr. Myles Baldwin's name stamped beneath.

  Classy. Formal.

  Paige studied the letter, mesmerized by the strong, dramatic strokes that slashed her name across the front in black ink that had no relationship whatsoever to ballpoint.

  "Should I wait for an answer, miss?" The young boy who'd hand delivered the envelope stood at Mrs. Leiberman's back door, shifting from one foot to the other.

  "Hold on a minute and I'll see." She ripped the envelope open.

  "Miss Randolph," the note began.

  Her temper rose. God almighty, the man was impossible. How the hell could he address her as Miss Randolph after kissing her senseless the way he had?

  She snorted and read on.

  "It has come to my attention that the factor at the Hudson's Bay Company store, Mr. Walker, has a small house which he might be pleased to rent to you. Also, the wife of his clerk, a Mrs. Gillespie, will perhaps be consulting with you about a female complaint. I trust this is acceptable to you.

  I have the honor to be, very respectfully yrs.,

  Myles Baldwin, Senior Surgeon."

  She read the stiff and formal words again, and now her face relaxed into a smile.

  He had to be the most uptight, formal man she'd ever met, in spite of his astounding proficiency at kissing, and it was obvious from this caricature of a friendly note that he was concerned about her welfare. He was trying to find her a place to live, and he'd also referred a patient.

  Warmth filled her, a mixture of gratitude and relief and tenderness for the complex man who'd written the note—and a wave of desperate longing for the passionate man who'd kissed her.

  Oh, Myles, thank you.

  "No answer just at the moment," she told the boy, and he hurried off.

  Paige flew up the stairs, tidied her hair, and grabbed her bag.

  Moments later, she was hurrying down the street in the direction of the Hudson's Bay Company store.

  Now and Then: Chapter Nine

  That afternoon Charlie Walker, factor at the store, took Paige to view what had been his mother's house.

  It was situated high on a plateau between the rivers that converged at Battleford. It was away from the town, but still close enough that Paige would have no problem walking to town for supplies.

  The house was low and rambling. There was a porch at the front, then a hall with a parlor on one side and a sitting room on the other. Further back was a large kitchen and two small bedrooms.

  Paige looked at the parlor and sitting room with an eye to a reception area and an examining room. More than three patients at a time would cause a traffic jam, but what the heck. She should be so lucky as to have three patients at a time, she pondered with wry humor.

 
"All the windows have glass. As you can see it's a well built house; I built it meself," Mr. Walker stated with pride.

  Paige had learned that glass was hard to come by in Battleford, and many houses had factory cotton nailed across openings, which allowed some light in but did nothing to stop the cold. The windows Walker was so proud of were not more than a foot square. She thought of her apartment, its one entire gigantic wall entirely window, and she could have wept.

  "You won't need a thing; it's fully furnished," Walker bragged.

  The place was claustrophobic, so stuffed with bric-a-brac and furniture and plain old junk it was difficult to move from one room to another. Every available surface had an embroidered or crocheted or knitted cover, and there were afghans in drab shades of blue and gray and brown draped across every sofa back and armchair.

  "She liked to keep busy, Mother did, always had a bit of handiwork on the go," Walker explained.

  Paige nodded. She'd have to clear a ton of junk out. She'd also have to learn to light and care for the coal oil lamps. God, for an electric switch... Why hadn't she ever thought about the miracle of electricity when it was available? And bathrooms—the "necessary," Walker mumbled, was just out the back.

  On the plus side, the house was clean, apart from a liberal coating of dust. All the interior walls were whitewashed, and wilted lace curtains covered every window.

  "Won't have no problems heating her this winter," her landlord bragged. "There's a stack of firewood in the shed out back, and you can get the McKenzie boys from down in town to bring you more when needed for a reasonable price."

  Paige looked at the stoves with trepidation. She'd need plenty of wood, all right; she'd heard how cold it could get here in the winter, and already the nights were frosty.

  There was no central heating, of course. There was a fireplace in the room Walker labeled the parlor, and a formidable gleaming cook stove in the kitchen. There was even a tiny wood heater in one of the bedrooms, for times when the thermometer dropped down to 40 below, Walker explained without batting an eye.

  Paige shivered at the thought.

  The house was well equipped. There were quilts, pillows, sheets, towels, cutlery, dishes, cooking pots, and kettles. There was a barrel for collecting rainwater outside the back door, and a contraption built into the kitchen wall called a "cold locker," a screened box open to the air which Walker insisted would keep her perishables fresh—as long as they didn't freeze first, he guffawed.

  Out back was a neglected garden that Walker assured her still had potatoes and turnips in the ground if she cared to dig them. There was a shed where the old lady had kept a goat and a larger building that had been used to house chickens and a pig.

  Paige wasn't about to start raising livestock, she told Walker when he confided he could find her a few chickens.

  "Good investment, chickens. It wasn't long ago eggs sold for twenty cents apiece, chickens were that scarce hereabouts."

  Paige considered going into the poultry business and quickly decided against it. Her previous experience with chickens was pretty much limited to neat, labeled portions in plastic wrap at the supermarket, and eggs in cartons labeled large and medium.

  "I'll take the house, Mr. Walker, if you'll be good enough to show me how all these lamps and stoves work."

  Paige shoved nostalgic thoughts of automatic thermostats out of her head and paid her new landlord a month's rent, relieved that thanks to the Fletchers, she'd have enough money left for a few supplies. She was getting used to how far a dollar stretched in these days, as well as how difficult it was to earn those precious dollars.

  Filled with excitement, she rode back into town in Walker's buggy, shopped for necessities at the store, gathered together her few belongings at Leiberman's, and said goodbye to William Sweeney, the only real friend she'd made at the boardinghouse.

  Lulu was out somewhere, so Paige wrote her a note, thanking her for her kindness and hospitality, certain that the landlady would never recognize sarcasm.

  "Come and visit me sometime, William." Paige smiled at the portly man, anticipating the crimson blush that stained his face and bald head.

  "I'll do that, Miss Paige. And best of luck to you. If I can be of assistance in any way, let me know."

  Paige would miss him. The only sign he'd ever given of recognizing his wife's clothing on Paige was a polite, "You look charming today, Miss Paige." But apart from William, leaving Lulu's boardinghouse behind was a blessed relief.

  She'd hired a trap at the livery stable to carry her things, and it didn't take long to unload.

  At last she was alone in the little house. She lit one of the coal oil lamps the way Walker had showed her and hung it on the hook over the kitchen table. She struggled to light the kitchen range as well, but she couldn't manage to make the flame burn hot enough to even boil a kettle. There was something tricky called a damper, and she couldn't remember what she was supposed to do with the stupid thing.

  She settled for bread and cheese and apples for supper, with water as a chaser.

  In the gentle glow of the lamp, she munched her simple meal and thought about this new development in her life. Inconvenient as the little house was, at least she'd have privacy; she'd have a place of her own again. She could hang her underwear on the clothesline when she chose, by God, and if someone needed her in the middle of the night, there was no one to complain.

  But Lord, it was lonely. At Leiberman's, there was always the knowledge that there were people down the hall, just as there'd been in her apartment in Vancouver. Living alone in a house was another whole new experience, as if she hadn't had enough of those lately.

  As darkness fell she wrapped one of Letitia's shawls around her shoulders and stepped out on her tiny porch, watching the lanterns from the town pierce the gloom. It wasn't exactly like seeing the lights come on in Vancouver's west end, she mused with a lump in her throat. Lately, that far off city and what she'd come to think of as her past life had begun to seem like a pleasant dream from which she'd awakened into this harsh reality.

  Her new house wasn't far from the fort, but the stockade wall blocked any lantern light she might have seen. She thought wistfully of Myles.

  Was he ever lonely? He seemed so remote, so self-assured, it was hard to imagine him aching inside the way she was for something or someone. And yet, there had been that break in his composure the day she'd asked him about his family, his home.

  There'd been that kiss, out on the prairie.

  And he'd helped her. She had him to thank for this house. She'd write him a note in the morning and tell him how grateful she was. She'd invite him up here to have coffee with her.

  Damn it all, maybe she'd even seduce the honorable Myles Baldwin. She remembered Abigail's raunchy comments about him and grinned, imagining his shock if he knew that the prim midwife thought he was sexy.

  She looked up at the sky, at the billions of stars that shone in the cool, crisp air. The nights were growing much colder, and people were remarking on the fact that there wasn't any snow yet. Autumn was almost over, and all too soon snow and icy temperatures would plummet the prairies into winter.

  She shivered, imagining long, bleak days when the wind would howl and snow pile up around her porch. She'd have to buy some warmer clothing, a heavy coat, a scarf, mittens—long underwear, for heaven's sake—for which she'd need money.

  With a sigh, she went back inside to the bed she'd made up with fresh sheets and a warm patchwork quilt. Shivering in the chilly bedroom, she put on Myles's long nightshirt, lit one of the candles she'd bought, and resolutely turned out the lantern.

  Climbing into bed, she took a deep breath and blew out the candle. Inky blackness settled over the small room. The window was open a little, and she could feel the breeze on her face.

  Outside, owls hooted and coyotes yapped in eerie chorus. Dogs howled. The house creaked, the huge clock on the dresser ticked like a time bomb.

  Paige had never felt more isolated and alon
e in her life. It was a long, tense time before she slept.

  The next afternoon, Rob Cameron arrived leading a dappled gray horse behind his own mount.

  Paige was once again out on the porch, sipping a cup of tea and taking a breather from the massive housecleaning she'd been doing since early that morning. She'd carted load after load to the cellar, and it was now possible to move easily from room to room. "Rob, you're my very first visitor," she called to him when he rode up. "Welcome to my new home."

  He dismounted, his wide, sunburned face creased in a pleased grin. "I've brought ye a wee housewarming gift from the force," he announced, gesturing to the horse. "Her name's Minnie, and she's a nice, gentle thing."

  Paige gaped at him. "Rob, I can't possibly accept a horse—"

  "Hush," he ordered, waving a dismissive hand at her. "Minnie was abandoned at the fort because she was lame, puir wee thing, and Surgeon Baldwin had a look at her and now she's fine again, but he says she'll never make a police mount, she's no hardy enough. So she needs a good home, says he, and you need a horse, if ye're dead set on livin' up here all by yerself." He gestured at the open fields around Paige's house. "There's plenty of grazing for her before the snow comes; all ye need do is tether her and she'll be fine. And if there's a wee shed or something out back…..”

  He ducked around the back of the house and reappeared in a moment, looking delighted. "Why, there's a barn back there ready-made where she'll be snug and dry come winter. I'll make her a stall, and bring over a bag of oats."

  Paige understood and appreciated that a horse was this era's equivalent of a car, and as such, represented mobility. Horses were both expensive and valued, just as automobiles were in her time. Rob's generosity brought tears to her eyes, and she thanked him.

  "Surgeon Baldwin was the one suggested it."

  Myles again. A torrent of emotions welled up inside her.

  "Ye can ride, can ye not? I'll try to find a sidesaddle—"

  "My brother taught me to ride, but forget the sidesaddle. I'll ride astride. And don't look so shocked, Robert Cameron. Did I ever tell you there are women in my time who're Mounties?" The look on his mustached face was priceless. Paige giggled. "Come and sit down and have a cup of tea before you faint. Well, maybe you'd better show me first what I'm doing wrong with that blasted cook stove, or I'll never get the water to the boiling point."