Cowboy Creek Christmas. Cheryl St.John

climbed down from the train and chased her hat across the platform. She got a firm hold of the Herald’s doorknob and pushed, so she didn’t lose hold of it, and entered.

      The interior was warm and smelled of oil and ink. The desks and filing cabinets had been organized and arranged, and it looked like a place ready for business. Sam stood from where he’d been seated at a desk and motioned for her to come behind the divider. “Dr. Boyd.”

      “Mr. Mason.” She removed her wool mittens, unbuttoned her coat and took the papers from her skirt pocket, unfolding them and joining him to spread them flat on his desk. “How much for these two advertisements?”

      “May I take your coat and get you a cup of coffee?”

      “I won’t be staying long. I have to get right back. One of my placements is a request for an assistant.”

      “Sounds like you’ve already been busy. I heard talk about the soldier you’re treating.” His deep blue eyes still held a measure of reserve.

      “How much do I owe?”

      “I charge by the word as a rule.” He took a pencil from behind his ear and quickly calculated the words on her two notices, then gave her a price.

      She paid him. “When can I expect these to run?”

      “Tomorrow. I’ll be printing five issues a week to start. Would you like your advertisements in consecutive issues, as well? As long as I have the type set, I’m happy to do that for free for, say, another week? Or until you find your assistant, if it takes less time than that.”

      She blinked in surprise. “Yes, thank you.”

      He wrote her a receipt and handed it to her. “My pleasure.”

      “Also,” she said, “you’ve probably met more townspeople than I have since you’re gathering news. Would you know of a guide or anyone who would be willing to escort me on a short trip outside of town?”

      “Where do you want to go?”

      “There’s a Cheyenne encampment to the south. I want to visit them.”

      “Visit the Cheyenne?” Lines formed between his brows when he frowned. “Tensions are high between the Army and the Indians. There’s only a tenuous balance of peace. I don’t know that that’s wise.”

      Her determined gaze locked with his, and she hoped he could see that she would not be dissuaded. “I’m going.”

       Chapter Three

      “The soldiers are unable to accompany me,” she continued. “They said I’d need an escort.”

      “Indeed you will if you persist with this plan. If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to go there?”

      “I want to see if they need medical attention.”

      “They’re Cheyenne, Marlys. They have their own medicine.”

      His use of her given name startled her, and she looked at him more closely. His ebony hair had a disheveled look, as though he’d run a hand through it recently. His furrowed brow showed only concern. He had a half-inch-long curved scar on his cheekbone under his left eye that she hadn’t noticed before. It was still pink, as though it was fairly new.

      “That’s another of my reasons for wanting to meet them,” she admitted, tucking the receipt into her pocket.

      He nodded, but his look of censure remained. “It wouldn’t be safe. Relations between the Army, the settlers and the Indians are touchy. There are entire regiments assigned to protection when those provisions are delivered. It’s not unusual for the Sioux to try to steal goods from the Cheyenne.”

      “I don’t have anything to steal, and they have no reason to fear me.”

      “That’s naive thinking, doctor. You don’t want to land yourself right in the middle of unexpected danger.”

      She gave her head a little shake. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

      “You’re a bullheaded woman.”

      “Which is why I will ask for a guide at the hotel and the sheriff’s office if you don’t have any better suggestions.”

      “You’ve made up your mind you’re going.”

      “I have.”

      “I’ll find a scout and go with you, then.”

      “You?”

      “Is that so hard to imagine? I spent the whole of the war in the Army. How about you? Do you ride well?”

      “I do.”

      “When would you like to go?”

      “Thursday?”

      “I’ll meet you here at seven, then.”

      * * *

      Ben’s sergeant was with him when Marlys returned. “Is Private Cross able to be moved to the hotel?” he asked. “I will engage another private to stay with him.”

      “Mr. Cross should be fine as long as he keeps his weight off that foot for at least another few days. I have crutches he can borrow until then, so he can get around unassisted. I’ve learned they have two small rooms on the ground floor, so ask for one of those.”

      “I have to admit I wouldn’t have believed how good his foot looks in only a few days if I hadn’t seen the difference myself.”

      “He was fortunate,” Marlys replied. “Nothing was broken, and his friends got him here quickly.”

      “He was fortunate you were the doctor they brought him to.” He took bills from a flat purse on his belt and handed them to her.

      “You already paid me,” she said.

      “Even this amount is inadequate for your services. He will be back with the regiment soon. He may have been forced to leave the Army had you not healed his foot.”

      “God created the body to do the healing itself. I simply treat the symptoms in a manner that best advances the process.” She accepted the payment. “Thank you.” She gathered Ben’s belongings and ushered them to the door.

      A minute later, she patted the cash in her pocket. She now had the time and the funds to have some additional work done to her office. First thing she would do was find someone to install a secure lock on her medicine pantry. Many of her tinctures and oils could be harmful if used improperly. She gathered the laundry and headed out. After dropping off yet another heavy bag, she paid to have it delivered, then carried her clean clothing items to the boardinghouse. After putting them away in her temporary room, she found Aunt Mae bustling about the kitchen.

      “Hello, dear,” the short, round woman said with an easy smile. “There’s certainly a lot of talk in town today, and you’re the topic of one choice tidbit.”

      “The soldier’s injury, I presume,” she said.

      “Yes, that.” She sliced two loaves of bread in deft strokes. “How is the fellow doing?”

      “Quite well. His sergeant just took him to the hotel to finish recuperating.”

      “And have you heard all the talk about Quincy Davis’s mail-order bride?”

      Marlys puzzled over that one. “Wasn’t he the previous sheriff who was killed?”

      “Precisely. But unbeknownst to everyone, he’d sent for an Austrian bride, and she arrived ready to give birth. Leah, the midwife—do you know her?—attended to her, and the blacksmith married her on the spot so her baby would have a name and a father.”

      That seemed like a hasty decision, but she addressed the medical aspect. “Is she faring well?”