are you managing, son?”
“Well enough, I suppose.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be here when Sarah’s grandson took sick. I was called away to Gillette Springs for an emergency appendectomy.”
“Don’t give it a thought, Samuel. You know Sarah always brings one of her apple pies—that’s a large payment for a small favor.” He tried to accompany the statement with a smile but somehow this morning he couldn’t manage it.
The hand on his shoulder tightened. “Don’t mind my sayin’ so, Zane, but you look fatigued. And your eyes...you been drinking?”
“Some,” Zane admitted. More than “some” on the days Celeste’s death cut particularly deep. His medical partner had sharp eyes.
“Celeste’s sister is here from St. Louis.”
Doc Graham’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose. “That so? Must be why you’re frowning. Is she a trial?”
Zane sighed. “She is not.” Winifred was far from a trial, as Samuel put it. She was...he didn’t know what she was, just that he liked having her around.
“She’s older than Celeste. More...mature.”
The keen-eyed physician nodded. “I did rounds at eight this morning. Just leaving now to go back to the boardinghouse. Sarah serves lunch early on Sunday.”
Zane blinked. It was Sunday? Good God, he was losing track of the days again. “Anything new?”
“Mrs. Madsen’s leg ulcer looks better. I’d keep her in bed an extra day, give her some rest from that husband of hers. You’d think he had the only milk cows in the county the way he coddles them.”
“But not his wife,” Zane observed. “That how she fell, a cow knocked her down?”
Doc Graham nodded. “You might look in on Whitey Poletti. Keeps insisting he’s well and itching to get back to his barbershop. Testy, too, so watch yourself.”
Zane had had a bellyful of Whitey. With each haircut the man insisted Zane also needed a shave. He’d tried it once; Whitey had sent him home with some girly-smelling cologne that brought on Celeste’s asthma.
“And Zane,” the older man said. “Cut Nurse Sorensen some slack today, will you? It’s her birthday.”
Graham pivoted toward the hospital entrance and Zane watched his head disappear as he went down the front steps.
He checked on Mrs. Madsen’s leg ulcer, Whitey Poletti’s gall bladder incision and finally Sheriff Silver’s wife and the twins he’d delivered twenty-four hours ago.
“Good morning, Maddie. You ready to go home tomorrow?”
The sheriff’s wife grinned up at him from her hospital bed. “I am ready, Dr. Dougherty. I’m not sure about Jericho.”
“All new fathers feel somewhat overwhelmed. I know I did. I couldn’t quite believe such a tiny human being was my responsibility. And ever since Celeste—” He stopped short.
Maddie Silver gazed up at him with concerned eyes. “I am so sorry about your wife, Doc. I know I’ve said that before, but, well, you’ve been on my mind ever since the funeral.”
Zane took her small, capable hand in his. “And you’ve been on my mind, as well. It isn’t every day a doctor gets to deliver twins. Especially for a Pinkerton agent.”
He checked Maddie over, asked whether the twins were nursing regularly and left to seek out Elvira Sorensen. Elvira was the full-time nurse the hospital employed; Zinnia Langenfelder worked part-time as a nurse’s aide.
“Elvira, I want you to take the rest of the day and evening off.”
“What? But why? You know I always work the Sunday shift.”
“Zinnia can cover for you. You go on over to Uncle Charlie’s bakery for one of those lemon cakes you’re so fond of. Tell him to put it on my account.”
He planted a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Elvira.” Then he strode out of the hospital and down the front steps.
“Well,” Elvira huffed, patting her hot cheeks. “I never did understand that man. But he’s a good ’un, I’d say.”
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