The Surgeon

How many hours had they spent working side by side in surgery, on the fields and in the hospital? Wesley, with the white-blond hair and friendly blue eyes, who was always ready for a good laugh. Such a damn good sport about everything. Even when he’d lose in cards, or when the men had secretly oiled his saddle with molasses that had later stained his breeches beyond repair, or when he’d gotten his paycheck and spent half of it on rounds of Scotch for the men.

They’d been so close that Wesley had given him the friendly nickname of Black-’n-White.

Because you never tear your hair out makin’ a decision, Wesley had said. When the cook was caught stealin’ money, you said get rid of him. When the rest of us were only suspecting old man Dubrowski was beatin’ up on his wife, you had him thrown in jail for seven days. When I crushed my baby finger last year, you said cut it off right away, but I said no, and with the infection wound up losin’ two instead.

John didn’t mind the name. Being able to see things clearly had gotten him far in the police force. But with women…cripes…with women….

Wesley had been behind it. What was John supposed to make of that?

“What’s she gonna do, Doc?”

John rubbed the kink at the back of his neck. Two hours’ sleep hadn’t been enough. “She’s going home. But before she does, I want each of you to make restitution.”

“How?”

“An apology for starters. And then you’ll take up a collection, so she won’t go home empty-handed. I don’t know what her circumstances are, but it’s the least you can do.”

“Where is she stayin’, Sir?”

John was about to tell them, then decided against it. “I’ll let you know later today. I’m headed there now.”

He’d see her as soon as he’d shaved and bathed. He should warn her to expect the men, to ask if she wanted to see them. He’d also stop by the train depot to ask for the schedule. There were two daily trains headed East, but he wasn’t sure if both of them went all the way to Halifax.

The men edged toward the door, eager to escape his glare.

“Hold on,” he demanded. “Before you go, which one of you was the letter writer?”

“Wesley wrote them, but all of us—except Logan—dictated.”

John groaned. “I want those letters returned to Miss O’Neill and I swear you all to secrecy. If one word gets out about their content, and you know what I’m referring to, I’ll come looking for you.”

The men exchanged meaningful glances, nodding yes to John with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. A sinking feeling wove through the pit of John’s stomach.

Had they already started spreading the news about her chastity?

Half asleep beneath the comfortable down tick, Sarah stirred. The sun’s morning rays slanted beneath the drawn shade, warming her face. She turned away from the sun’s heat and buried her face in the unusual scent of the feather pillow. Whose scent was that? A hint of shaving cream mingled with a laundry soap she didn’t recognize, mingled with the scent of a very faint male cologne…

Her eyes opened in wide alarm. This wasn’t her bed!

She sprang off the pillow, causing the cover to dip around her shoulders. Her jumbled mass of red hair cascaded down her back. A cool breeze wafted beneath the nest of warm covers, stirring the hairs on her bare flesh, causing her smooth, flat nipples to tighten. She was naked!

John Calloway!

Her lacy white corset was lying on the dresser beside her, propped beside the candlestick. She’d bought it specially for him, but under far different circumstances. Not these!

When she picked it up, one side of the stiff whale-boned fabric fell open, revealing frayed ends. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. He’d cut it off her! It was torn to shreds!

She shifted at the faint slam of a door in another part of the house. It echoed beneath the oak strip flooring of her bedroom. Struggling out of bed, armed with the shredded corset, she knew this room was his. They were his boots by the door, his denim pants over the upholstered wing-backed chair, and his checkered shirts folded on the dresser. This bedroom was totally different than his barracks. This one was warm and casual and reeking of masculinity.

The memory of yesterday’s events came hammering down on her. It hadn’t been a dream. It had truly happened.

How could he have stripped her of all her clothing?

Clutching the slippery cover around her, she raced down the stairs, her bare feet padding the floor.

Where was he?

She caught him in the hallway. He was bending to toss a duffle sack into the corner, dressed in off-duty clothes. Form-fitting denim pants hugged his long legs, tanned cowboy boots encased his feet and another one of those billowing white shirts he liked so much spanned the breadth of his shoulders.

She stopped at the first landing and hollered down the stairs as if she were calling in a barnyard. “Why did you strip me naked?!”

He jumped at the sound of her voice. For a police officer, the man sure had skittish nerves. The sunlight caught his face and the twinkle in his eye.

He grinned up at her. God help him, he grinned. “Good morning to you, too.”

The cover slid down her shoulders. She was too angry to care. She yanked it up, none too gracefully. The cloth was silky and she couldn’t get a good grip. What did it matter? He’d already seen everything she had!…Or had he?

“Who took off my clothes?”

His grin got wider. “You’re looking at him.”

“Ah-hh!” She threw the corset at him and it snapped him in the shoulder.

He dove and caught it. “Are you always this angry? Or is it just me you respond to?”

“How could you!”

He toyed with her corset in a manner that made her blush. “Is this mine to keep?”

“You owe me three dollars and ninety-two cents!”

“It’s new then?” He snapped the lace and a mischievous look came over him. “That means you bought it for me?”

Her mouth opened in pure shock. “I bought it for my husband!”

“That would have been me, wouldn’t it?”

“Give that back!”

“No…I think it’s mine. You just gave it to me.” He took the stairs one by one, appraising her up and down, from her squirming toes to her ruffled head.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Her heart raced. She tightened her grip on the down tick and backed away. “You didn’t answer my first question. Why did you take off my clothes?”

He held up the lace fabric as he moved closer. “Because you couldn’t breathe in this thing.”