The Surgeon. Kate Bridges

something personal. The most intimate thing she could find had been his clothing; not the botany textbooks lining his desk, not the private medical journal she dared not open, not the wall clock, nor the desk lamp. Even his bed with its plain brown blanket and squared corners looked bleak and detached.

      Well, no more. They couldn’t live here in the barracks, but she was definitely here to mess up his bed.

      A shiver of anticipation coursed through her.

      When the door flew open, she bolted straighter.

      John strode through it. Again he wore only an undershirt. She gulped and glanced away. Blazes, maybe she wasn’t as ready for this as she’d thought. Lord, the man liked to undress.

      He left the door open. “Sorry it took me so long.” He grabbed another white shirt from his closet, weaving his muscled arms through it. His skin was golden, his chest lightly matted.

      His thighs flexed beneath his breeches and she abandoned herself to the dreamy thought of seduction. “You’re busy. I understand.”

      “I’ve got two hours to myself. Let’s go for a walk.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Away from this ruckus.”

      Half a dozen men walked by, talking in crude language she didn’t often hear—only sometimes when her father or brother or cousins had been too preoccupied in the shop to bother with politeness. When the policemen caught sight of her, one elbowed another and they grinned in her direction.

      John stepped into their line of vision and, although she couldn’t see his expression, it stopped the men cold.

      “We apologize, ma’am,” said one as they passed. Another man called out to John by some sort of nickname. “Sorry, Black-’n-White.”

      Black-’n-White?

      John turned back to her. For an instant his face looked racked with fury. Was he that angry about the coarse language? My, he was exceptionally decent.

      The sun’s waning rays caught the side of his short chestnut-colored hair and one plane of his handsome face, accentuating his black brows and brown eyes.

      He smiled. Just a hint of a smile from one corner of his mouth, nothing overwhelming, but her body responded with a sensual tug.

      She was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t going to introduce her to his friends, but then…it was nice of him to want to spend time alone with her first. “All right then, John, you lead the way.”

      “Where are the rest of your bags?”

      “I left them with the porter at the train depot. They were too heavy to drag along.”

      “You walked?”

      “It’s not far. Besides, I needed to stretch my legs from the train ride.” And wanted time to take it all in.

      “Then would you like to walk back again?”

      “Sure,” she said, hoping her voice sounded more credible than she felt. Her new heels were killing her feet, but she felt idiotic voicing a complaint. And they had to get back into town, as she imagined he’d be setting her up in a nice hotel room this evening. After they decided on a wedding date. As soon as possible, he’d said in his letters.

      Grabbing the satchel’s handle from her grasp, John’s knuckles grazed hers. His touch made her instantly blush. He responded with an equally embarrassed look.

      They had to get to know each other, that’s all.

      Her skirt and petticoat rustled as she walked. Her stomach growled from hunger and her tight corset didn’t help. She’d changed into the clothes at the last station before they’d pulled into Calgary. She’d saved her best suit and brand-new shoes to meet her husband. Although joy bubbled through her, she prayed the nausea would fade.

      The sun was setting on the prairies. Dusk surrounded them. Stepping out of the newly built barracks, they walked shoulder-to-shoulder, weaving through the dusty log buildings. They passed the blacksmith’s forge, the canteen, the chapel and, finally, the stables. When John stole a glance in her direction, a warm glow tingled through her. Her senses became saturated with the night scents of prairie wheat, rich loam and the hiss of insects. She felt fully alive for the first time in a long while.

      The sound of clomping hooves on trampled earth filled the air. Men on horseback galloped past them. The animals were sleek and beautiful, fifteen hands high; the men, excellent riders. Judging from their uniforms of red wool jackets and dark breeches, they were training for an official event. Winchester rifles dangled in slings attached to the pommels of their compact saddles. Repeating rifles, eight rounds.

      John’s hand brushed the small of her back as he led her out the gate through a small crowd of men and women. He took charge with quiet confidence, and she liked that. Her pulse fluttered as she dipped beyond his grasp, her long hair swaying around her. It felt good to finally meet him after four months. She wished he’d be more daring and wrap his arm around her shoulders.

      “It must have been a hard journey. How long did it take you?” he asked.

      “Eight days.”

      He exhaled. “Eight…” His brown eyes sparkled. “Straight from…the east coast…?”

      “Well, of course. Direct from Halifax.”

      “No one to talk to for eight days?”

      “I met a few nice folks.” Two very kind elderly women in particular, Sarah thought, who were staying at one of the local boardinghouses. Sarah usually kept her private matters to herself, but over the course of several days, the two women had pried it out of her—that she was a mail-order bride coming to meet her husband. Once discovered, she’d been eager to share her news, and they eager to listen. Although surprised when she’d told them it was John Calloway who’d sent for her, they congratulated her with the warmest wishes.

      Walking in anxious silence beside her tall surgeon, Sarah followed him onto the grassy path. It wound along the gently flowing Elbow River, leading to the steel bridge. The moving water whispered by. Blackbirds sang in the aspens. The fragrance of old summer leaves drifted between them.

      John dropped her satchel beneath an overgrown willow tree. He moved with a restless energy and she was struck by a strange discomfort.

      “Sarah, I don’t know how to tell you this, other than to just say it.”

      Her smile faded. “What is it?”

      “It’s not good news.”

      She peered at his face, at the firm strength she saw in his eyes. There was a deeper significance to what he said. Her hands began to tremble. “You’re not well?”

      “No, no…it’s not about my health.”

      “Then what? I surprised you. I came at a bad time.”

      “That’s not it exactly, either.”

      She tried to force her confusion into order. Her pulse hammered at her throat. Something was terribly wrong. “We’re soon to be married. Soon to be husband and wife. Please tell me what’s troubling you.”

      Her words cut deep into his composure. His expression faltered and he looked suddenly off balance. Pulling in a deep breath, he struggled with the emotion in his husky voice. “It wasn’t me who wrote to you.”

      Chapter Two

      “Then who was it?” Nausea welled up the back of her throat. Sarah gulped to stay the taste of bile. Her fingers raced nervously over the pleats of her red jacket. She yanked back her shoulders and stepped away from John Calloway.

      Struggling for words, he tilted his rough beardless face toward her.

      She stared back, desperate for a plausible explanation.

      “I’m not sure who wrote to you.”

      She staggered back in disgrace.