Her Healing Ways (12 page)

And why was it that the only person he wanted to talk to about it was Mercy? But after his kissing her like that, how could he just go and talk to her?
Maybe the kiss had set up a barrier between them. That would be for the best. Dr. Mercy Gabriel had proven to be dangerous to his peace of mind.

 

In the evening of the tenth day after the avalanche, Mercy watched the pastor and another man carry Digger Hobson to the wagon. Pierre walked beside them, and they helped him to sit beside Digger. She and Ellen had agreed that Digger and Pierre would be moved to the Dunfield house where Jim had already returned for care. Mercy still visited the other recovering patients daily and would until they were well enough to care for themselves. She tried to keep her mind on the present, but she could not stop thinking of how Lon Mackey had once again vanished from her life. Could it be because of the astoundingly perplexing kiss? Was he full of regret? Or was it something about her?

Mercy and Indigo walked beside the wagon as it bumped its way toward the far end of town.

“You're sure that Pierre will get his memory back?” Indigo asked, looking down.

Mercy sighed, trying to hide her own worries about this. If Pierre didn't, how would this affect her dear daughter? “I've seen other cases and those men did regain their memories. And if he fell in love with thee once, can't he do so a second time?”

“It's hard to look into his eyes and know he doesn't remember what he said to me,” Indigo confessed, her voice faltering.

Mercy took her daughter's arm and pulled her closer. As they walked, Mercy put herself in Indigo's place. Or tried to. Her unruly mind insisted on bringing up Lon's kiss. She fought to keep her fingers from tracing the path of his lips on hers. Did she want her fingertips to feel the kiss again or erase it?

She sighed, feeling lonely even here with friends and her daughter. How could the absence of one person make a sunny day chilly and dismal?
I do know how you feel, Indigo. Lon Mackey appears not to want to remember me. And I miss him so. I've never missed anyone as much. I know I shouldn't, but I do.

The wagon pulled up in front of the cabin. The men helped Pierre down from the wagon and Indigo walked with him into the house. The men followed, carrying Digger on a stretcher. Mercy entered and took off her bonnet.

Ellen turned a worried face toward her. “I didn't want that other doctor to treat my Jim,” Ellen said, wringing her hands. “I don't think he'd be doing so poorly if you'd doctored him.”

Mercy went to Ellen and put an arm around her. She heartily agreed with every word, but it wouldn't help Ellen's state of mind for her to say so. “Dr. Drinkwater is definitely not a…conciliatory man, but he is a qualified doctor.”

“But he didn't wash his hands or instruments when he treated Jim. And it was plain to everyone that the men you treated got better faster. A few of the other
wives noticed that after that quack left, you knew what to do to help their men get better faster.”

Mercy nearly smiled at the way her brief, simple teachings on sanitary methods had begun to sink in and take hold. She pulled Ellen into a one-armed hug. “I couldn't have treated all the patients. There were too many.”

Ellen chuckled ruefully. “Yes, and you're not the kind to speak against anyone. But I saw you kick that man in the shins and knock him off his feet.”

Flushing warm around her collar, Mercy shook her head. “I—”

“You don't need to explain that to me. I felt like kicking him myself.”

Mercy couldn't stop herself from laughing. Dr. Drinkwater didn't know how lucky he'd been, evidently. “I'm going to examine your husband's wound and see if it needs another fomenting.”

Ellen stopped her with a touch on her sleeve. “I've heard talk about you and the gambler.”

Mercy gasped.

“People always have to have something to gab about. I just…forewarned is forearmed, my mom used to say.”

Mercy managed to nod.
I must put everything but my patients out of my mind. And gossip never lasts.
But Lon Mackey persistently refused to budge from her thoughts.

 

In the saloon, Lon sat in his accustomed chair, shuffling the cards, listening to the chatter and
hubbub. He used to enjoy all the voices and laughter and bright lights. Now it just irritated him.

“I'll take another card,” one of the players said.

As Lon dealt to him, a sudden hush fell over the saloon. Lon looked up to see the pastor again. Lon felt like growling. He reined in his instant antagonism and looked at the man coolly. “I don't have a place for you in this game, preacher. You'll have to wait.”

The man laughed. “I came this time not only to invite you to the thanksgiving service and potluck but to remind everyone who worked in the rescue that you're welcome. We just want to make sure that those who helped are given recognition.”

I don't want any recognition. I want to be left alone.
Lon held tight to his flaring temper. “I'll keep that in mind. Now if you don't mind, I need to win this hand.”

“I'll bid you good evening, then.” With a wave, the pastor strolled out the swinging doors.

“That preacher's got guts,” Slattery said. “I wonder what his church board will say about him walking into a saloon.”

“If we're lucky, they'll fire him,” Lon snapped. “Ante up.”

The other three players stared at him, looking shocked.

Lon ignored this and went on dealing. He lost this game and the next. As he dealt the third hand, another hush came over the saloon. Lon recognized the sound of Mercy Gabriel's purposeful footsteps.

“Lon Mackey,” Mercy said, “may I speak with thee? I have a message.”

He wanted to slam his fist straight through the tabletop. He even felt the blow as if he'd actually done it. Yet he rose politely. “Dr. Gabriel, at the present I'm working—”

The other three players all rose and tipped their hats at Mercy. “That's all right, Mackey,” one said.

“We'll just lay our hands facedown, and when you've finished talking to the lady doctor, we can continue the game.”

Mercy smiled.

And Lon was left with no recourse but to speak to her. “Dr. Gabriel, let's go outside.” He motioned toward the door. She preceded him, nodding and greeting men who rose to say hello.

Outside in the chilly autumn night, he faced her.

“I'm sorry to bother thee when thee is working, but Digger Hobson is fretful with fever and he has sent me to bring thee to him. I don't think he will be able to rest till he has spoken with thee tonight. And he needs his sleep.” She gazed up at him.

The light from the saloon glistened in her blue eyes. His gaze drifted down to her pale pink lips and he couldn't help but think of how they'd felt when he'd kissed her.
Stop.
He inhaled. “Let's go.”

She turned and he walked beside her. Neither spoke until the Dunfields' house was in sight. “Digger is making the best of the situation. And I think with
careful nursing he will recover his health. Please try to speak to him as thee would—”

“I know. I'll speak to him as if you hadn't cut off his leg,” Lon interrupted. No sooner had the words escaped him than shame consumed him.

Mercy said nothing further, but led him into the Dunfields' house.

He trailed in behind her. In the small parlor, Digger, Dunfield and the miner Indigo fancied lay on rope beds side by side, all flushed with fever and looking weak and miserable, much worse than the last time he'd seen them. He wanted to turn and high-tail it back to the saloon. But he forced himself to see
them,
not flashes of past scenes from army hospital tents in battle after battle.

He cleared his throat. “Digger, you wanted to see me.”

The redhead grinned feebly. “Come here.”

Lon shot a nasty glance at Mercy. Had she brought him here to sit beside the man and watch him die?

“I'll get you a chair,” Ellen Dunfield offered.

“Digger is doing well,” Mercy said, as if she'd noticed Lon's reaction. “I think his fever will break in the next few days. I must thank Ellen for helping me nurse him, along with her husband.”

So Mercy thought Digger was going to be all right. Lon felt the tightness in his gut loosen. He sank into the chair. The three women drifted away, giving the men some privacy.

“Gambler, I need you to take over for me at the mine,” Digger said, his voice reed-thin.

“What do you need me for?” Lon asked, feeling resentful at being brought here to be asked to do something he couldn't do. “I'm not a miner.”

“You're a man who can get things done. I'm getting better, so I'm able to think what should be done at the mine. But I'm not able to do it and see that it's done right.”

Lon geared up for a good argument. “I might be able to tell your crew what you want done, but I wouldn't know if it was done right.”

“Not a problem. I got a guy working for me who's about a hundred years old.” Digger chuckled, sounding like a creaky gate. “He can tell you if they've done it right, but he hasn't got the energy to give orders. You met him when you were running the rescue brigade.”

Lon wanted to continue arguing, but didn't want to upset Digger. Keeping calm was important for someone who was running a fever—even he knew that. “I still don't know why you want
me
to run the mine while you're laid low. There must be someone else—”

“The miners will do their best for you because they know you care about them,” Digger interrupted. “They won't talk back to you or try to get away with anything. You've already won their respect.”

“That's right,” Jim Dunfield spoke up. “We all
know that more of us—if not all of us—would have died without you moving things along like you did.”

Lon pressed his lips together to hold back an angry response. Why did everyone act as if he'd done something great? “I just did what anybody would have done.”

“There were a lot of people in this town who ducked out when the going got tough,” Digger said. “You stayed and did what had to be done. So no more arguing. I need to know in the morning.”

Digger's final sentence ended the conversation. Lon rose and shook the three men's hands, then turned toward the door. Now if only Mercy would let him leave without having to add her bit.

He nodded at the women who had gathered around the table pushed against the wall. They waved at him and wished him goodnight. He walked out the door into the faint moonlight and found he was not looking forward to going back to the gaming table.

He also found he was more than a little disappointed that Mercy hadn't followed him out as he'd expected her to.

 

“Hey,” someone with a rough voice said. Lon felt a nudge in his ribs. “Hey, gambler.”

Lon opened one eye, ready to commit murder. “What?” he snapped.

“I'm Athol Dyson. I come to take you to breakfast so I can explain what's got to be done at the mine today.”

Still with only one eye open, Lon stared at the gray-whiskered old-timer who was bending over him. He recognized him as one of the older men who'd worked at the mine cave-in and who'd tried to buy him a drink not long ago.

“Come on,” Athol chided, the wrinkles on his face moving with each word. “Digger told me to come and fetch you. We got to get to the mine before the miners arrive.”

Waves of disbelief rippled through Lon. “I told Digger I'd think about it and get back to him.”

“Well, to me and Digger that's a yes. If you didn't want to do it, you'd have just come out and said so. Wouldn't you?”

Lon asked himself, was this true? Then a thought occurred to him. If he went to breakfast and to the mine, Mercy would be relieved. He'd seen her concern for Digger, her patient, last night. And Digger deserved any help Lon could give him. Another advantage—he wouldn't have to spend tonight trying to act the charming gambler. He sat up. “Give me a minute to shave and comb my hair.”

“You young fellers—” Athol shook his head, his long beard waving back and forth “—always got to look good for the ladies.”

Lon rose, shaved, dressed and rejoined the old-timer at the back door. “Did you mention breakfast?”

Athol chuckled. “That's a good sign. I like a man with an appetite.”

The two of them ambled down the alley and onto
Main Street to the café. When Athol entered, he was greeted warmly. Indigo was waiting tables this morning. Athol and Lon sat at a small table and accepted mugs of steaming coffee from her.

Lon tried to ignore the fact that news of his capitulation in this matter would soon be known to Mercy. Why did that bother him? He was glad to do something to help Digger. It bothered him because Mercy was clearly trying to get him away from the saloon, and because the lady doctor was way too knowing. He was a pane of glass to her and he didn't like it. He didn't want her to think he'd changed his mind.

Lon forced himself to listen to what Athol was telling him about the day's mining agenda.
This is just temporary. I'll do this for Digger and after this break, I'll be more than ready to go back to the gambling table.

 

On Sunday morning, Lon found himself standing at the back door of the church, idly listening to the large group service. The two pastors in town had combined their congregations and invited the whole town. The pews were filled with women and children, and men leaned against the walls and spilled out onto the steps.

People were subdued and that hit Lon as the right spirit. Lon had planned not to attend, but in the end, so many miners had urged him to come that he'd given in. He'd just stand at the back and slip out before the service was over.

In spite of his best intentions, he found himself looking around for Mercy, but he didn't see her anywhere. Maybe someone had needed her doctoring. Then he heard rustling behind him and quiet murmuring. He turned and blinked, not trusting his eyes. Didn't the woman ever know when to quit?