along now. Shoo!”
The horse, the same one that had eyed her outside the hotel, lifted its head, whickered and went back to the pale pink blooms. Sage stepped up and slapped her reticule against its rump. “Shoo!”
“No use, ma’am,” a voice called. “Sugar never moves once I drop the reins.”
Sage looked up to see a pair of dusty black leather boots propped on her front porch railing. From behind the boots the voice came again. “Been waiting for you.”
“Oh? Do we know each other, Mr.—?”
“We don’t.”
She leaned to one side, trying to see past the boots. All she could make out was a tanned, angular face and longish dark hair. “Who are you?”
“Name’s not going to mean anything to you, ma’am.”
“It might. My uncle’s the marshal. I read all the Wanted posters.”
Sage caught a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.
“Name’s Lawson.”
She inclined her head. “Mr. Lawson.” She pushed the gate open and stepped inside. “What do you want? Besides my roses, that is.” She gestured toward the mare.
“Sign on the fence says Dr. West lives here. That your father?”
“No. My father is the mayor. He lives three miles outside of town. I am Dr. West.”
Her announcement was met with silence.
The man stood up and descended the four steps to her level. He was tall, a good head taller than she was. Lean and oddly graceful. He moved with a disconcerting sureness, and his boots made absolutely no sound. A prickle went up her backbone.
“Dr. West?” His voice had a determined edge to it. He extended his hand.
“Y-yes,” she acknowledged. She waited for more, but he said nothing, just gripped her fingers and held them, waiting. A flame licked where his skin touched hers.
“Mr. Lawson, was there something you wanted?”
He released her hand. “There is, yes. I rode three days to get here.”
“Well, you are here now. What is it that you came for?”
“You.”
Sage stared at the man, noting the hip-hugging faded blue jeans, the travel-stained tan shirt, the red bandanna looped inside the open neck.
“Me?” She tried to keep the alarm from her voice. “Why?”
“You’re the doctor. Leastways, you said you were.”
“Asamatteroffact, Iam the only doctor in town.”
“Only one in the county, it would appear.”
“Oh, no. Dr. McGlothlin has a practice over in Dixon Creek.”
“That’s sixty miles from here. Besides, he’s not available. Gone to visit his sister in Missouri for the month. That leaves you.”
She swallowed in annoyance. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Lawson?”
“Not my problem, someone else’s. Been shot.” He moved through the gate and gathered up the horse’s reins. “Come on.”
Good Lord, her very first case and it had to be a gunshot wound. Such injuries were often fatal because of sepsis.
“Just where is the patient?” she inquired.
“Three days ride north. You got a saddle horse?”
Three days! “I—no, I don’t have a horse. I’ve only just arrived from the East. I planned to rent a buggy from the livery to make my calls.”
“You’ll need a horse, not a buggy. Mount behind me and we’ll go get you one.”
“I will do no such thing! Just who do you think you are, ordering me about?”
He leveled a look at her that made her cold all over. His eyes were an odd gray-green, and hard, like jade. “I’m a man who needs a doctor.”
“Well, I cannot just traipse off with you. To begin with, it would cause a scandal, and besides, I have duties to attend to, patients….”
He swung into the saddle and gazed down on her without smiling. “I’ll bet you haven’t had a single patient since you hung that brand-new shingle on your fence.”
Speechless, she gaped at him. She would never, never admit that he was correct. In the fourteen days since she had moved into her new house and opened her medical practice, not one person had sought out her services. Not even Ruth Ollesen, who just three nights ago had delivered her third baby with the help of only her mother, Clara Ramsey, and her sister Essie.
“Get your medical bag,” he ordered.
“Now?”
“Now. You can ride double with me, or you can arrange for a horse at the livery. Either way, it’s now.”
“But—are we going… I mean, alone? Just the two of us?”
“Miss West, I suggest that unless you want to lose your first patient, you get moving.”
Sage drew in a breath to the count of five. She couldn’t refuse. She had taken an oath to serve when called upon. It would be far worse to let someone die than risk being the butt of Mrs. Benbow’s busy tongue or Friedrich Stryker’s newspaper editorials.
“What about—?”
“Whatever is on your mind, we’ll talk about it on the trail.”
Chapter Two
Cord stared at the young woman when she marched back out of the house. She could scramble when she wanted to. One minute she was swishing through her front gate looking custard-soft in a ruffled pastel dress, the next she was striding down her porch steps in a newfangled skirt split up the middle, a red-plaid flannel shirt two sizes too big for her, and what looked like brand-new shiny boots. Her hair was hidden under a battered gray Stetson with a godawful purple feather stuck in the band, and she lugged a bulky black leather bag in one hand. Under one arm she’d squashed a thick-looking bedroll and a black rain poncho.
“That all you’re taking?”
“You said five minutes, Mr. Lawson. This is the best I could do in the allotted time. I trust you are taking care of the meals.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it.
She shoved the black bag and the bedroll into his lap, stuck her foot on top of his and swung up behind him. “The livery’s at the other end of town. I’ll want my own mount.”
“That figures,”
