Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion. Cheryl St.John

Army doing in Cowboy Creek?” Marlys asked.

      “Delivering food to the Cheyenne.”

      She paused her work on her patient’s foot momentarily. “Nearby?”

      “To the south.”

      “I read General Sherman had ordered provisions until a more permanent arrangement could be made by the peace commissioner.” She continued her effort to massage blood upward. “Have you seen their camp?”

      He nodded. “Saw it last time we were through. They’re doin’ some farming.”

      That made sense, since the tribes didn’t have freedom to travel, and their hunting was limited. The settlers would claim they had rights to the land if the Indians weren’t going to farm it. “Could you give me directions to get there?”

      “Respectfully, Doctor, it’s not safe for you to ride into their camp alone.”

      “I want to help them.”

      “They don’t know that. Do you speak Cheyenne?”

      She shook her head. “I don’t, but I can speak other languages, and there might be someone to interpret until I pick it up.”

      He cast her a doubtful glance. “All the same, not a wise idea.”

      “Perhaps you could take me with you.”

      “I’m afraid not, ma’am. These distributions have to be handled delicately. Our orders are to send in as few men as possible while guarding the perimeter, deliver our parcels peaceably and leave. Taking a woman along would land us in hot water.”

      “Of course.” She didn’t want to get the soldiers in trouble. But she wasn’t going to give up on the idea, either. I’ll just have to find an escort.

      Enoch arrived with ice. The sound of additional boots on the floor in the waiting area caught her attention. “Are there patients arriving?”

      “No, ma’am,” Enoch said. “I mentioned Ben’s treatment when I was at the café, and some of the men wanted to see what was going on.”

      She blinked, gathering her thoughts. “What exactly do they want to see?”

      “This here hot and cold treatment.”

      “I carried ice!” someone called from the other room.

      “Watch Mr. Cross a moment,” she said to Jess. “I’ll be right back.” Enoch followed her out of the exam room.

      It had begun to snow, and four cowboys hung dripping dusters on hooks inside the door. “I’ll wipe that up,” one of them told her. “Wanted to see the soldier’s foot.”

      She’d never had an audience before, and she didn’t know what to make of this one. She looked from face to face, seeing only sincere curiosity. “If Ben doesn’t mind, I’ll allow you in, two at a time.”

      Enoch accompanied her back to the room, where he relieved Jess, and within minutes Jess was relaying what he’d witnessed to the group of cowboys.

      Ben shrugged his acquiescence, and she had no lack of help chipping and dumping ice into a tub. She wrapped Ben’s foot in a wet cloth and instructed him to lower it into the tub. He winced and cursed inventively. “Sorry, ma’am.”

      “Would you like another dose of the pain medicine?”

      “Yes’m, please.”

      She diluted and administered the herbal mixture, and it didn’t take long for her patient to relax.

      The observers were surprisingly quiet, occasionally whispering among themselves. Soon she asked Ben to remove his foot from the tub. “We’re going to do hot water mineral therapy again and then one more round of ice. Are you doing all right?”

      “Ben, your ankle is already half the size it was when we brought you in,” Jess told him. More men clambered to get a look as Marlys dried it off and rubbed oil into the flesh.

      “Would this treatment work if a horse stepped on ya?” one of the men asked.

      “I need more water heated, if a couple of you don’t mind,” she said. “There are kettles on the stove. I’ll answer your question when the water is ready.”

      Within minutes her helpers had emptied the deep bucket and replaced it with steaming water. Collective silence ensued as she added oils and Epsom salt. With her damp sleeves pushed up over elbows she began the massage.

      “What good does that rubbing do?” one of the men asked.

      “It works the blood back toward his heart and supplies oxygen to his injured muscles and tissues. I first made certain he had no broken bones or cuts that needed treatment,” she explained. “If he had, I’d have cared for those first and then assessed whether or not this procedure was safe. Since I believed there were no underlying problems, I felt it was harmless to treat the crushed area.”

      “And what did you add to the water?”

      “My own mixture of oils. The smell helped him be more calm, and the oils contain healing properties.”

      “Will he be able to walk on that foot?”

      “He’ll need to keep it elevated and rest until the bruising goes away, but I believe he’ll be just fine.”

      “Are ya done gawking?” Ben asked.

      “I’m going to go clean up your floor,” the man who’d promised told her. “Glad you’re going to be all right, soldier. Thank you, ma’am.”

      “I’ll let Sergeant Calhoun know about Ben,” Enoch said as he left.

      The few remaining men departed until only Jess remained.

      “Where is the rest of your regiment?” she asked.

      “Camped outside town.”

      “Mr. Cross can stay here as long as needed,” she told Jess. “I have passable quarters set up in the rear, so I can stay and check on him during the night.”

      * * *

      The next morning brought the Army sergeant, who thanked her and paid her generously for her services. He arranged to have meals for the soldier sent from the Cattleman Hotel. Several new patients ventured in with various complaints, from foot fungus to stomach aches and coughs. She suspected one or two were there merely to see the recovering soldier, but she treated them anyway.

      By the end of the day it was clear that if business continued at this pace, she was going to need help. Just running the dirty laundry out and picking it up left her waiting room unattended. She needed time to restock supplies and clean, as well. But despite the difficulties, her day had been exhilarating. Obviously this influx of patients was a result of yesterday’s news, so it could slack off at any time, but while the surge lasted, she was relieved to use her skills.

      She hadn’t had time to return to the newspaper, so at the end of the week she wrote out her advertisements, made certain Ben was settled, and trudged along the snowy street. Her research about Kansas had revealed freezing temperatures and snow any time in late October, but she hadn’t learned about the wind until she’d 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