Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

D
r. Samuel Graham met Zane in the hospital entryway, his face haggard. “Thank God you're here. We've got one helluva problem.”

Zane dropped his black leather bag on the floor and ran one hand through his unruly still-damp hair. “What's happened?”

“Cholera.”

His heart sank. He could still taste Winifred's lips, her skin; the last place he wanted to spend the night was at the hospital.

“You've set up an isolation ward?”

“Yes. Ten beds and it's almost full.”

“Identify the source?”

“Contaminated stream serving eight families between here and Gillette Springs.”

“Okay. Let's go to work.”

They labored through the night and well into the morning forcing saline solutions down throats and wrapping shuddering bodies in warm blankets. At four in the morning Zane insisted Samuel go home to rest. By noon, his nurse, Elvira Sorensen, pushed him out of the ward and pressed his medical bag into his hand.

“Go home, Zane. We can manage until Dr. Sam gets back.”

He nodded. He was out on his feet, but he hated leaving when patients were so ill. At least they hadn't lost any.

“I'll be back at midnight. Send a note if you need me before then.”

The house was quiet when Zane quietly entered the front door. But before he could drop his bag on his desk, the doorbell jangled.

“Sam,” he called. “Send whoever it is down to the hospital. I've got to get some sleep.”

His houseboy nodded, but before Zane reached the staircase he heard a shrill female voice. “I know he's here. I just saw him walk up the hill from the hospital.”

“Doctor very tired, missy. Need sleep.”

“I'll just be a minute, so don't try to stop me.”

“But missy—”

Zane turned his weary body back toward his office and watched Darla Bledsoe push her pink muslin-clad frame past Sam.

“Zane! You're just the man I need to—”

“Good morning, Darla. Or is it afternoon? I've just spent all night at the hospital and I'm a bit fuzzy.”

“It's lunchtime. I thought we might—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I'm not interested.”

“Well, supper, maybe? After you—”

“Not interested,” he repeated.

“Zane,” she wheedled. “Please. Don't you—?”

Purposefully he took her elbow and steered her toward the front door. “Darla, this house is not only my medical office, it is my private residence as well. I would appreciate your not coming here unless you need medical help.”

When the door closed, Zane expelled an angry breath and turned to find Sam watching him, his arms folded over his midriff. “Good ridding,” he said with a sniff.

“Riddance, you mean. Yes. In future, you have my permission to shut the door in Mrs. Bledsoe's face.”

Sam grinned. “Happy to do, Boss.”

“Now, where is Winifred?”

“With baby Rose in bedroom. Both take nap after lunch.”

Zane nodded and started again for the stairs. “Wake me for supper, Sam.”

“Will do, boss. Missy, too. Make special.”

Zane sighed wearily. Special, huh? It would be special to sit at the table across from Winifred and just look at her.

* * *

Zane slept until Sam tapped on his bedroom door to announce supper, and then he sat at the dining table bouncing a spoon impatiently against the tablecloth until Winifred appeared with Rosemarie in her arms.

He took the baby from her and while Sam and Yan Li set out the supper plates and a platter of cold meat and cheese, he cuddled his daughter, letting her pat her small hands over his neck and chin and play with his unbuttoned shirt collar. She smelled faintly of Winifred's spicy lavender soap.

“You gave her a bath?”

“We took a bath together.”

He wished he hadn't asked. The vision of Winifred naked in the bathtub set his senses humming.

Yan Li brought two salad plates loaded with sliced cucumbers and tomatoes and lifted Rosemarie out of his arms. “I feed baby now. You eat.” The slim, dark-haired girl disappeared into the kitchen with Rosemarie balanced on her hip.

Winifred shook out her napkin and lifted her salad fork. “Did I hear Darla Bledsoe's voice this afternoon when you came back from the hospital?”

“You did. Where were you?”

“Sitting on the top step of the stairs.” She dropped her gaze. “Eavesdropping,” she added.

“Then you already know what she wanted.”

“Yes, I do. She wants you, Zane.”

“I—Yes, she does.”

Winifred looked straight into his eyes. “She's all wrong for you.”

“I know. She's too self-centered to be a doctor's wife.”

She glanced up, her face oddly strained. “At least she is not career-centered,” she murmured.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. He crunched up a crisp slice of cucumber. “Maybe not.”

“Zane?”

“I heard you,” he said. “It changes nothing.”

Winifred continued to fork bites of tomato into her mouth. The silence stretched until he could hear Rosemarie's happy chatter and Yan Li's soft voice from the kitchen. He was truly blessed with his beautiful baby daughter and two loyal servants. Friends, really. And a growing medical practice. He had a good life in a town he loved.

But he wanted more. He wanted Winifred.

“Sam said something about an epidemic. Is it very bad?”

“Cholera. And yes, it's bad.”

Sam stepped in to retrieve the salad plates. “Okay I go play fan-tan with Ming Cha tonight?”

“I'd rather you didn't, Sam. I'm sorry, but cholera is highly contagious.”

Sam sent him a frightened look. “You mean, Yan Li can catch?”

“Yan Li can catch it if she drinks contaminated water or touches anything that is contaminated. Keep her inside and scrub any vegetables you buy at the market. And boil all the water you drink.”

“All from own garden,” Sam said happily. “Yan Li grow.”

“Eggs?”

“We have many chickens, Boss. And even milk cow.”

Zane relaxed somewhat. Those he cared about were safe for the moment. Sheriff Jericho Silver had ridden from ranch to ranch along the polluted stream, warning everyone of the danger. Another thirty-six hours and they'd have the outbreak under control.

“Don't go out, Winifred. Even down to the hotel restaurant. Don't drink any water that Sam hasn't boiled first. Even Rosemarie's bathwater should be boiled.”

“Strawberries for dessert,” Sam announced from the doorway.

Zane laid his fork aside and pushed back his dining chair. “Save mine, Sam. I have to go down to the hospital after supper.”

“Will put in cooler with roast chicken chests.”

Winifred stifled a burst of laughter.

“Good man,” Zane said under his breath. He stood and moved to the front hall. Winifred met him at the door and handed over his leather medical bag. Then she touched his arm.

“I know it's not necessary to warn a physician to be careful, but you will be, won't you?”

He smoothed his free hand over her cheek. “I will be. There are things I want to do before I die.”

She shivered. “Don't say that. It's bad luck.”

“Ah. How about this, then. There's something I want to do before another day goes by.”

“Intriguing,” she allowed.

He gave her a long look. “It will be.”

She closed the door after him, then carefully opened it again and stood watching his tall, well-knit form stride down the hill to the hospital.
Oh, dear Lord, please keep this man safe.

“Missy?”

“Yes, Sam, what is it?”

“Yan Li put baby Rose in crib. Which bedroom?”

Winifred shut the door a second time. “Put her in my room, please. When the doctor comes home, he will be very tired and won't want to be disturbed.”

* * *

At half past two in the morning, Zane stumbled into the house, dropped his bag in the hallway and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. Then he dragged his aching body up the stairs. A lamp stood on the hall table, turned down low. With a tired sigh, he blew it out and headed into his bedroom. He felt so heartsick he wanted to grind his teeth and weep.

The moon had risen and pale silvery light flooded the room. He kicked off his shoes, but just as he was about to shed the rest of his clothes, a glint of something caught his eye. A china bowl heaped with strawberries sat on his pillow.

Winifred. He'd never been able to resist strawberries. He knew she had brought them up and left them for him. Oh, God. Suddenly he wasn't hungry for strawberries; he was hungry for her.

He padded down to her room, tapped softly on the door and walked in. “Winifred?”

“I am awake, Zane. I couldn't sleep.”

He tiptoed past the baby's crib to her bed and bent to touch her cheek.

“Something has happened,” he said.

She sat upright, peering into his face. “Your voice sounds so odd. What is it?”

“I lost a patient tonight,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “The Madsen boy. He was only three years old.”

“Oh, Zane. I am so very sorry.”

“There's more,” he said. “I—I need to be with you.”

She made no answer, just looked up at him. Then she spoke a single word. “Yes.”

He drew back the sheet covering her and bent to slip one hand around her shoulders and the other under her knees, then lifted her into his arms. He stepped quietly around the crib where Rosemarie slept, propping the door ajar so he could hear her if she cried, and made his way down the hall to his own room. He moved to the bed and gently lowered Winifred on top of the quilt.

She wore some kind of soft, almost sheer gown. His fingers hesitated at the top button, then moved instead to his own garments, shucking off everything, his shirt, trousers, drawers. When he was naked, he moved to his bedroom door, cracked it slightly, then lay full length beside her and gathered her close.

“I'm too tired tonight to do what I've been thinking about for months, but I want you to know it's still on my mind.” He leaned away from her, retrieved the bowl of strawberries from the floor beside the bed and poked one into his mouth. The sweetness brought tears to his eyes.

“Thank you for these.” He offered her a berry. “This means a great deal to me. More than you know. And I'm not talking about these strawberries.”

They ate them all, without talking, and when the bowl was empty Zane once more set it on the floor and without a word unbuttoned her nightgown, drew it over her head and tossed it away. Then he pulled her into his arms and tangled his fingers in her hair.

Winifred listened to the night sounds around her, the crickets in the garden below, a frog croaking somewhere, Zane's slow breathing. Her heart swelled into rhythm with his.

His hand on her back fell away and when his breathing slowed, then deepened, she realized he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. It didn't matter. She would still be here when he woke up.

* * *

She opened her eyes when the sky was just turning pink. Zane was already awake, propped up on one elbow, looking down at her.

“I regret that I was too worn out to do last night justice,” he said, his voice quiet.

“I was relieved, to be honest. I—”

He stopped her words with his mouth. “Don't talk, Winifred.” He pushed the sheet covering her down to her waist.

“My God, you are beautiful.”

“R-really? I always felt plain next to Cissy.”

“You are anything but plain. Winifred, I—”

“Don't you talk, either,” she said quickly. “Don't say anything except that you are pleased.”

“Pleased! ‘Pleased' is eating strawberries in bed. What I am at this moment is overwhelmed.”

“Good.” She sighed the word. “I want you to be overwhelmed.”

“Not yet. There is something I want you to know.” He tipped her chin up so their eyes met. “Winifred, I am in love with you. Surely you have guessed this?”

“No. And yes. I did not guess until two days ago when we went swimming. And then what I guessed was that...” She blushed and bit her lower lip. “...That I wanted you to touch me, to kiss me all over. And I could not but think it was because I have come to...” Her voice trailed away.

“To?” he prompted.

“To love you. Oh, Zane, that day I felt something I'd never felt before. It was heavenly.”

“Good. I want to be the first. You will never know how much I want it.”

He drew her close and began to circle his hand on her bare back.

“Where did you get this scar?”

“Cissy,” she whispered. “She hit me with an ice skate.”

“Why?” He continued to move his fingers on her skin.

“She wanted to go skating. I wanted to practice the piano. She was impulsive that way.”

His hand stopped. “I always suspected in some way that Celeste ran away with me as an act of rebellion.”

“Oh, no, Zane. She was wildly in love with you.”

He resumed making lazy circles on her skin. “She thought she was in love with me. Later, I realized I'd simply turned her head.”

“But you loved her.”

“I did. Very much. She gave me the greatest gift a woman can give a man.”

“I would never have come to Smoke River if it had not been for Cissy's child,” Winifred said quietly. “We would never have met.”

“Are you glad we did?”

“Yes.”

“When a Klamath or Nez Perce Indian loses a wife, he takes the sister. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not know.”

“That, however, is not why you are here with me now.” He bent to kiss her and she turned into his embrace.

“I want to be with you,” she murmured.

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure.”