The Surgeon. Kate Bridges

high in the air. “I didn’t propose to you.”

      Now that he’d met her, he no longer wanted her. Deep humiliation stung her cheeks. With a sharp click of her tongue, she hoisted her satchel to her hip and marched toward the steel-and-iron bridge, heading for the center of town. Lights twinkled in that town’s direction. He didn’t want her. Her eyesight blurred with the sting of tears. What would be so terribly wrong to have her as a wife?

      Even with his long stride, John had a hard time keeping up to her. “Sarah, it wasn’t my doing. I only found out about you the instant you arrived. It seems my men…the officers…got together. As a prank, they wrote to you—”

      “A prank?” She took a moment to digest it. “A prank?”

      He looked at her with such pity in his eyes that before she realized what she was doing, her hand came up to slap him. He ducked and she cuffed his nose with a loud thwump.

      “Ow-ww…” He cupped his nose. “What’d you do that for? I didn’t orchestrate this, my men did.”

      “Well, pass it along!”

      Spinning back to the path, she cursed under her breath in the same coarse language his men had used earlier. As her father would say, she felt like a whistlin’ jackass. Not a penny to her whistlin’ name.

      Where to now?

      Through watery eyes, she looked up past the bridge toward the plank buildings. Lamplights lined the dirt street, illuminating the crowd and the horses and buggies. The clatter of hooves and saloon music competed with the thudding of her heart. Her stomach fluttered with turmoil. Where to?

      “Sarah, please, can we talk about this?” John dabbed at his nose. He swore when he saw blood. Served him right. Fixing a bloody nose was easy. Traveling eight days across the country for nothing wasn’t!

      Well…She’d return to the railway station to collect her luggage and make plans. That’s what she’d do. Maybe at the boardinghouse, she’d locate the two women she’d met on the train. They might help her. Through a haze of distress, she realized she’d then have to explain that her marriage to the dashing John Calloway was a joke. Oh, and could they please pass the marmalade?

      And how long could she get by, with only five dollars in her pocket? She’d done everything she could to speed her journey here, to pay the back rent she owed, to pay the creditors for her mother’s funeral.

      Much to her irate displeasure, John Calloway wouldn’t let her escape. His long, limber body swung into step with hers. Blocking her path, he propped his hands on his lean hips. “Are you planning to ignore me?”

      “Darn right! Maybe you’re not used to being ignored at the fort, but I’m not one of your subordinates!”

      She clamped her lips and stalked by him. In the adjacent pasture, plump brown-and-white cows peered at them over a dilapidated cedar fence, munching loudly, gazing as if they could understand the argument.

      John raced along, stepping into her blasted path again. His massive shoulders blocked out the sun’s dying rays, so she couldn’t see his face. It was an etched block of darkness. “Let’s talk about this, about what you’re going to do.”

      She shifted her heavy bag from hand to hand and hip to hip. The future tumbled around her. Nowhere to go. Her dreams dashed. The utter shame of being fool enough to fall for this prank. Thank God her folks weren’t alive to witness this. “Leave me alone.”

      She kept walking, her high-heeled boots echoing off the creosote railway ties of the bridge, but he shouted after her.

      “I can’t!”

      She pivoted around to glare at the stubborn man at the other end of the bridge. “Why not?”

      “Because…goddammit! I feel responsible!”

      Her nausea took over. If she didn’t get something into her stomach soon, she’d collapse. Slumping to the cement wall of the bridge to steady herself, she lost the satchel. It slipped out of her grasp, thudding onto the boards. She cradled her temples in the palms of her hands. When she opened her eyes again, John’s boots were standing on the ground before her.

      “Go away,” she commanded the boots.

      “I’m sorry. It’s awful what the men did. There’ll be hell to pay when I get my hands on them.”

      “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

      “But I’m still sorry.”

      She didn’t move. Two strangers walked by, an older man and woman headed toward the fort. John nodded hello, squeezing his bloody nose. He had no handkerchief so the blood dripped on his boot. Sinking down beside her, he stretched his legs out in front of him. His white sleeve brushed hers.

      Since it seemed she couldn’t escape him, she opened her satchel, removed her lace handkerchief, then threw it at him. “Here!”

      “Thanks.”

      She squinted up at him to assess the damage she’d done. There was no swelling, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

      “Don’t worry,” he said, with those glistening brown eyes that had almost been hers. “Luckily, I know what to do.” He leaned forward, pinching his nostrils with her hanky, resting his elbows on his thighs.

      “You’re not supposed to lean forward and pinch your nose, you’re supposed to lean back.”

      “I think I know what I’m doing.”

      She snorted in anger.

      They sat like that for minutes, absorbing the awful reality of her situation.

      “You honestly didn’t write the letters?”

      He shook his head. “Honestly.”

      She sagged back. In her gut she knew he was telling the truth. He’d been tricked, too, and his indignation was palpable. But his stakes were nowhere near hers.

      “How many did I write?” he asked.

      “Four. Oh, my God,” she said, thinking of her letters.

      “What is it?”

      “Oh, my God.” She clamped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

      “What?” John’s broad shoulders twisted to her direction.

      A long groan escaped her. “When I wrote to you in my last letter, I disclosed something quite private.”

      “What?”

      “Something I wrote in a hasty moment of honesty. I thought…you’d discover it on your own soon enough and thought I might as well confess.” In truth, she’d thought if he discovered it on his own when she arrived, he might send her packing. There was no way she’d be able to hide it on her wedding night. It had been much easier to disclose at a distance, when she had so little to lose. What a practical woman, she chastised herself. “You’ll no doubt hear it from your men….” She lowered her head and toyed with her hands. “I told you that I wasn’t—” she lowered her voice to a whisper, reminding herself that he was a surgeon comfortable dealing with all sorts of subjects “—a virgin.”

      “You aren’t?”

      “You wrote back that you didn’t mind.”

      “I didn’t?” He paused with sudden comprehension. “Oh, my God.”

      She shook her head weakly. Thank God, she hadn’t gone the full distance to disclose the how and why, or she wouldn’t be able to look at him.

      “Maybe it won’t get out,” he said. “Maybe you can trust them—”

      “Who? Your band of merry men?”

      When John rose slowly, he rubbed the growth of dark stubble along his firm jaw, and she knew he was affected. This was more devastating than any prank the Mounties could have