The Surgeon

He grabbed a clean shirt from his closet and tugged it up his arms. “I’ve got to go,” he yelled to Miss O’Neill, leaving her standing in his turbulence. “Wait right here till I get back! Don’t go anywhere!”

What did he mean, I’m not who you think I am?

He was John Calloway. He’d sent for her! She had his four letters in her satchel to prove it. But an hour had passed and Sarah was getting the eerie impression something wasn’t right.

Feeling ill again, she pressed a hand to her corseted stomach and tried to ease her nervousness. It was the same way she’d felt the whole eight days on the train. Motion sickness, the conductor had told her. There hadn’t been much she could do except lay her head between her knees whenever she’d felt the urge to vomit. She did so now until the feeling passed. If she were already married, she might have confused her symptoms for those of childbearing, but she knew that was impossible.

Hopefully it would happen soon. A husband and children, a family of her own.

Maybe John was trying to tell her something minor. Maybe he wanted to clarify something he’d written in one of his letters. Looking at him in his undershirt had had her imagining what it’d be like to be his wife in the ultimate sense of the word. Oh, my. Sarah fanned her hot face. Rising from the chair, she walked to the window. As she leaned forward, it blessed her with a cool gust of air.

Why would a man like that need to find a woman by mail? She’d asked the troublesome question in one of her letters. He’d responded that he was looking for someone Irish, like himself, and there were no suitable choices in Calgary. When she’d read that, she’d felt as if her dearly departed father himself was guiding her.

The fact that John lived in Calgary was why she was initially attracted to his advertisement. It was rumored that her brother Keenan had moved West. Calgary, one of his friends had finally admitted to her. If she couldn’t locate Keenan here, then she’d find a way to search other prairie towns.

The ache to find her missing brother wove around her heart. At first she’d search discreetly because she wasn’t sure if Keenan was still in trouble with the law. She knew marrying a Mountie might help her search, since they kept records of settlers in the area, but she wasn’t using John Calloway to find her brother. She wanted this marriage. John seemed like a kind man, writing about the busy frontier town and how much he appreciated finding a woman like her. After dealing with her father’s sudden passing, then her mother’s brutal decline, Sarah was ready for a new start. She ached to see the wide-open prairies for herself, to smell the flowers of the Rocky Mountains, to see an eagle or a wolf, to live in a place she’d only daydreamed of, in a house that didn’t smell of sickness.

She had value and emotions and skills to offer the world.

Please let there be more to my life than what’s been already.

In the West, she’d heard women had more freedom. When John had written that many women couldn’t handle the danger and isolation of being a policeman’s wife, she’d written back that she’d marry him on the condition he’d let her work. It would keep her busy when he traveled, and more independent.

She’d do everything in her power to be a good partner to John. She envisioned the intimacy of a lasting, bonding friendship that might someday grow into love. A love that had sadly escaped her parents.

Glancing around the room, she tried not to be intimidated. From her training, she always noticed two things when she entered a room, besides the people in it.

The guns and the clocks.

John had a pretty good gun. A great gun. The Enfield six-shot revolver sat in full view, slung in its holster over the dresser mirror. The beautiful contour of the mahogany stock glistened like new, but the tiny medallion screw needed tightening, and the holster hadn’t been oiled in weeks.

Didn’t they have a gunsmith who made regular checks?

Then again, what doctor would make his guns a priority?

Compared to his gun, his wall clock was in precise order. It was Austrian with a gold-leaf frame, likely thread suspension with four quarter striking on coiled gongs.

Glancing at the time made her nervous again.

She’d been caught going through his closet, but only because she’d wanted to touch 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.”