The Prairie Doctor’s Bride. Kathryn Albright

sayin’ he...he might not walk again?”

      “That’s right.”

      She swallowed.

      “I’ve seen this type of injury before when I worked for the railroad. I know what to do. You will have to trust me.”

      The war going on inside her was evident on her face. She wanted to protect her son from further hurt—that was what her gut told her. And she didn’t know whether he was skilled or not. Her bottom lip trembled. “You’ll make it so he walks again?”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      Tears brimmed in her eyes.

      “Ma?”

      She met her son’s gaze. “We got to trust the doc, Tommy. You hold on to my hand tight. I’m right here.” She looked up at Nelson and nodded, her expression resolute.

      Nelson finished his preparations.

      “Hold him,” he said to Miss Marks.

      She set her jaw and then lay across her son, gripping his leg to hold him still.

      He made the first stitch.

      Tommy tensed and yelled out.

      Nelson had done this procedure on grown men. Never on a young boy with his mother looking on. If he messed up, there was the chance he might sentence the boy to being a cripple the rest of his life. That thought made him extremely careful.

      When he was done, he glanced up to see how Tommy had weathered the treatment and found Miss Marks watching him intently. Her face was pale, but no less determined than it had been earlier. “Get me another bandage.”

      She scrambled to her feet.

      “You did well,” he told the boy. “I’m all finished except for wrapping it up.”

      Tommy didn’t answer, but he relaxed his jaw. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

      “How are you feeling?” Nelson asked.

      Tommy let out a shaky breath but still didn’t answer.

      Of course, the boy still hurt. “You did well,” Nelson said again. “I’ve had grown men who didn’t handle stitches as bravely as you.”

      Miss Marks returned with what appeared to be clean rags and a small jar of honey.

      He took the rags and wrapped the ankle. “You can get him a blanket now. Keep him here by the fire for the next few days. He needs lots of rest. Nothing appears to be broken. It’s probably a bad sprain. I’ll know more in a few days, once the swelling has gone down and the wound has a chance to bind together.”

      “Then...he’ll be all right?”

      He nodded. “Young boys are resilient about such things.”

      A ragged breath shuddered out of her. She sank to her knees beside her son. “Ya hear that? You’re going to be all right, Tommy.” A tear trickled down her cheek.

      “What are you cryin’ for, Ma?”

      She cupped the boy’s jaw with her palm. “I’m happy. That’s all. You heard what the doctor said. You rest now.”

      Nelson squirmed. Such an outpouring of love was something he’d never experienced with his own mother. He turned away, clearing his throat.

      At the sound, Miss Marks rose to her feet. “You look piqued, Doc. I’ll get you some water.”

      He hadn’t realized he was thirsty until she said something. “Thank you.”

      She also filled a glass for her son and handed it to Tommy first. Then she set a full glass on the table for Nelson.

      “Now you know why I had to make you come.”

      “At gunpoint,” he said, glancing pointedly at the gun still lying on the table.

      “You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

      “You didn’t give me a choice.”

      “I had to know Tommy would be all right. I couldn’t get him to wake up.”

      Something stirred inside Nelson. “You should have sent someone. It was dangerous for you to leave your son alone.”

      Her expression crumpled. “Like you, I didn’t have a choice either.”

      He looked away—anywhere but at her. Female sentiment shook him up more than he cared. Female hysteria unhinged him. Give him a man to doctor any day. A man who would keep his feelings in check.

      He looked about the cabin. Two chairs, a table, a fireplace. A curtained-off doorway, likely one that led to a small bedroom for her. She had so few things. There was nothing he could see that was not essential—no pictures on the walls. How long had she lived here on her own with her son? He wanted to ask but held the question back. It was best that he not get involved with that part of her life. He should keep a professional distance, keep things objective.

      As he pondered this, Miss Marks moved back to her son. She crouched down and lovingly swept the shock of dark blond hair from his forehead. The ministration, and the look that passed from her to her son, spoke volumes. As did the calm adoration in her son’s eyes for her. This woman might not have pictures on her walls or fancy clothes, but she had what was most important in life. It was something he had never had.

      He measured the darkness visible at the edges of the oilcloth covering the window. Dawn wouldn’t arrive for several hours. The woman looked exhausted. He should offer to sit up with the boy and let her rest. He wouldn’t be fresh to call on Miss Vandersohn in the morning, but that seemed inconsequential now. That decision seemed like a year ago—the bright celebration at the town hall last evening a far cry from this dark, dank soddy.

      She placed another chip of dried dung on the small fire, then stirred the ashes with a poker. A small, steady flame sputtered up and took hold. “I’ll take you back as soon as it’s light, Doc.”

      “Then you’d better get some rest. I’ll sit up with your son.”

      Tommy was already falling asleep. She stood and, with her fist to the small of her back, arched her body in a quick stretch. The firelight flared, the light revealing dark smudges beneath her eyes. “I’ll be taking care of my own.”

      “After all this, you still don’t trust me? Not even a little?”

      She raised her chin.

      He let out a tired sigh and sat down on a chair, his back to the wall. “All right. Then we’ll both stay up with him.”

      She plopped down in the only other chair available and stared at the fire in the hearth.

      It came as a bit of a surprise that he was warm—warmer than he would be at his fancy two-story house in town, where the wind whistled and made the boards creak. Here, there were no cracks or knotholes for the breeze to pass through. Whoever had built this home had done a decent job with the materials at hand.

      Before long, her breathing became deep and even. Her eyes drifted close as she slid slowly and surely to rest her head in the crook of her arm on the table.

      He moved the gun out from under her elbow and took a moment to consider her. She must be somewhere around twenty-five by her unlined face and the lack of gray in her dark brown hair. Her skin was smooth and pale. He liked the slight upturn of her nose at the end. Considering the flash in her eyes when he mentioned the catgut, the shape of her nose went along well with her stubbornness. Unguarded like this, with her frown replaced by a peaceful expression, she was...attractive. Immediately, he looked away. She was just a young and determined mother. That was all. And, annoying as it had been to be kidnapped, he admired her spunk and her devotion to her son. To notice anything more about her was...unsettling. He pushed the thought away and settled back in his chair to keep watch the rest of the night.