Midnight Marriage Read online

  I’m sorry, Dr. Leaf, but what’s to stop you from changing your mind about this fancy building? You might decide to get married and have babies, and then where would the bank be?

  She had politely negotiated with the banker, but it hadn’t done any good. In the end, she’d been choking on her frustration. She was twice as educated as he was and ten times more committed to making Midas a good place to live. Her heart ached with compassion for people in need—especially orphans, because she had once felt like one. Married or not, that would never change.

  Shivering against the chilly night, Susanna thought about the moth-eaten cloak hanging in her wardrobe and the need she’d have for it when winter arrived. As much as she wanted the navy-blue coat on display at the Midas Emporium—a full-length garment with brass buttons and a hood—it seemed like an indulgence compared to buying new obstetrical instruments, the latest medicines and a binaural stethoscope with rubber tubes. She had to keep the surrey. She would have begged for it, but she knew the outlaw wouldn’t be impressed by weakness.

  Instead she arched an eyebrow at him. “When do you plan to return it?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “Then you’re stealing it.”

  “Call it whatever you want,” he replied in a drawl. “I’m taking it for Nick.”

  No matter how much his friend needed the surrey, Susanna needed it more. Or more precisely, she needed to be able to replace it. “I’ll make you an offer,” she said. “If you steal it, I’ll have to notify the sheriff. But if you buy it from me, we’ll simply be transacting business.”

  His lips tightened into a half smile. “How much do you want?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  “For this piece of junk?”

  “It’s not junk,” she answered calmly. “The rigging is almost new.”

  After giving her a sly glance, the outlaw stretched his arm across the back of the seat so that his fingers dangled an inch from her shoulder. “Your rig’s not worth anything close to a hundred dollars…but I can think of something that is.”

  As one of four women in a class of a hundred at Johns Hopkins, Susanna had heard enough rude remarks to last a lifetime. She’d been teased, groped and harassed until she’d learned to hold her own. Ignoring the innuendo, she kept her voice level. “You can have the surrey for fifty dollars.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, brushing her coat with his fingertips. “I’ll give you two-hundred dollars for your surrey and a roll in the hay.”

  Susanna shoved his wrist away from her shoulder. “Forty dollars, and you keep your hands to yourself.”

  The outlaw clicked his tongue. “You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Nightingale. I’ll go up to three-hundred dollars, but only because you’re nice looking—and probably a virgin.”

  Heat raced to her cheeks—not because he’d called her a virgin, but because he made her feel like one. He was right. She was innocent when it came to the intimacies of marriage. But she wasn’t the least bit naive when it came to men. At Johns Hopkins, she’d eventually become one of the boys. After the barkeep had gotten over his surprise, she’d swigged beer in a pub, listened to lewd jokes and learned that men wanted sex while women yearned for love. To her way of thinking, women were the brighter of the two genders.

  Arching her eyebrows, she gave Jesse James an appraising look. “Speaking clinically, there’s a cure for what ails you.”

  The fool seemed pleased with the game. “Are you offering?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied. “But you should know I’ve only done it once—on a cadaver.” Her anatomy professor had meant to humiliate her in front of the entire class, but the men had become remarkably quiet when she’d cut off the cadaver’s testicles and proceeded to dissect them. She’d hated every minute of it, but the teasing had stopped for a month.

  She had hoped her story would have the same effect on the outlaw, but his eyes were twinkling. “Something tells me we’re talking apples and oranges here.”

  “I’m talking about castration,” she replied. “That’s the surgical removal of—”

  Jesse James burst out laughing. “No thanks, Florence. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll up my offer to five-hundred dollars, but that’s only because I need a bath and shave.”

  “You need more than that,” she said evenly. “You need to learn a little respect.”

  “Every woman has her price.” He tipped his chin sideways and peered into her eyes. “What’s yours?”

  Romance…love…shared dreams…

  She wanted the kind of love her parents had—a marriage full of surprises, tender touches and words that didn’t have to be spoken to be heard. But she also wanted respect for her profession and her opinions, a husband who’d be proud of her accomplishments. In college, she had wondered if such a man existed. After graduating and returning to Midas, she had decided that her dreams were unrealistic and had shortened the list of qualities she wanted in a husband. She’d set her cap for Timothy Duke, a widower with three adorable daughters. In spite of his feelings about her career, he was hardworking and honorable.

  Yes, Susanna had her price…but it had nothing to do with money. “That may be true,” she replied. “But mine isn’t what you think.”

  The outlaw looked at her from the corner of his eye. “So what is it?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Staring straight ahead, she unwillingly flashed on the dream she’d been having when the outlaw woke her up. It was always the same—she was alone in a lush valley, gathering a bouquet and feeling sad because no man had ever given her flowers. She would hold the bouquet to her nose, breathe in the scent and thank God for the gifts he’d given her—the ability to heal, a wonderful family and a heart full of love. But then she’d wake up alone in the dark and wonder why God had also given her bodily yearnings that never went away.

  As the outlaw steered the carriage to the edge of the forest, Susanna felt that ache now, low in her belly and high in her chest. The first rays of sun were falling through the trees like shafts of gold. She heard the ripple of a stream running along the trail, the twitter of chipmunks and the distant squawk of a scrub jay. The music of the day gave her peace and made her lonely at the same time—just like her dream. She wanted so much…to laugh until her sides hurt and be held when she cried…to love a good man and give birth to babies of her own.

  The beauty of the morning made her throat swell. She wanted to share it, but not with the outlaw at her side. She’d rather be the lone visitor in God’s art gallery than have the moment spoiled by his disrespect.

  She was relishing the sun on her cheeks when the outlaw took a deep breath, held it and exhaled with a rush. “We might get a touch of rain,” he said. “I like the way it smells.”

  He had sounded wistful. “Me, too,” she replied, eyes straight ahead.

  As the trail left the shade of the forest, the outlaw steered the carriage into a valley Susanna recognized. The north side of the canyon was known for its caves and rocky peaks, and a narrow passage connected it to a trail that led to Cimarron. It had come to be known as Outlaw Alley, a fact that reminded her to fish for information.

  “Tell me about your partner,” she asked. “How did he get hurt?”

  Jesse James shook his head. “I’d rather talk about you. What made you want to be a doctor?”

  “I grew up in the District of Columbia,” Susanna replied. “It’s a beautiful city, but parts of it are so poor it’s shameful. Before my mother came to Midas, she was married to a terrible man. After he died, she opened her house to women who needed help. I saw what a little kindness could do.”

  A smile curled the outlaw’s lips. “I admire your ideals, Dr. Nightingale, but a pint of whiskey does the same thing you do. It takes away the pain. In fact, it does it better, at least for a grown man.”

  “There’s a place for whiskey,” she said softly. “It dulls the mind and cleans wounds. But it also causes nausea and headaches.”

/>   The outlaw chuckled softly. “You just proved my point. Thanks to that kick you gave me, my head’s pounding and my guts are in a twist.”

  “You had it coming,” she said. “I won’t apologize.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  He clicked his tongue at Lightning who picked up his pace as the trail disappeared in a sea of grass. Still tied to the surrey, Rafe’s horse clopped behind them. As they made their way to an apron of rock below the canyon wall, the wheel-high blades dipped and swayed back into place. A third horse whinnied a warning, reminding Susanna of the gunshot man in the cave. As soon as the outlaw reined in Lightning, he hopped down from the surrey, lifted her bag off the floorboard and stuffed her shoes inside his coat pocket.

  “I need my boots,” she said.

  “Not a chance. The cave’s not more than thirty yards from here.”

  Susanna looked down at her toes, said goodbye to her stockings and climbed from the seat. The cotton offered some protection to the soles of her feet, but she felt every twig and pebble as she climbed around man-size boulders and bushes stunted by a lack of water and too much wind. Judging by the stairlike steps that had formed between the rocks, countless men—and maybe a few women—had hidden from the law in the cave she spotted at the base of the wall.

  “Rafe? Is that you?”

  Susanna froze in midstep. The voice coming from the opening was high-pitched and thin with pain as she expected, but it couldn’t possibly belong to a grown man. It lacked the depth and the timbre, and most telling of all, the tiny cry had been full of tears.

  A child…her patient was a child…a gunshot boy who was about to lose his leg.

  Chapter Three

  Susanna hoisted her skirts and sprinted up the trail as the outlaw called to the boy. “Yeah, it’s me, kid. I brought a doctor. She’ll fix you right up.”

  “My leg’s a lot worse,” said the tiny voice.

  Susanna’s heart pounded with dread. She heard the emotions she sensed in all her patients—exhaustion from the pain, relief that help had arrived and a shuddering fear of what would happen next. Judging by the boy’s voice, she estimated his age as ten or twelve, shy of puberty but old enough to understand the facts.

  A child…someone had shot a child….

  It was an abomination against the human heart. She wanted to hang the person who was responsible—and the outlaw following her up the hill because he’d waited so long to get help. Terrified of what she’d see, Susanna stepped into a tomblike room made of granite and peered into the shadows.

  Her gaze landed first on a fire that had died hours ago, leaving nothing but ash and charred wood in a circle of rocks. Next she spotted a saddlebag. The buckle had been left undone, revealing a wad of crumpled greenbacks. She also saw a Sharps carbine propped against the wall, angled so that the light from the mouth of the cave showed a swirl of roses engraved on the gun’s receiver.

  As she stepped deeper into the interior, she spotted a pallet of blankets against the back wall. Someone had folded them into a bed of sorts, leaving one loose for warmth against the cold night. Beneath the wool she saw bare toes, a thin leg in a blood-soaked bandage and finally the terrified eyes of a boy with red hair and freckles.

  He pulled himself to a sitting position, leaned back on his elbows and looked at her with awe. “Are you really a doctor?”

  Susanna knelt at his side. “Not only am I a doctor, I’m also a very good one. I went to a fancy school back East.”

  “So you can fix my leg?”

  The hope in his voice broke her heart. She never lied to her patients, but she was sorely tempted to start now. Instead she said, “I’m going to try my best.”

  After giving her a solemn nod, the boy settled back against the pallet. Susanna laid her palm against his forehead to gauge his fever, though she knew from his glassy eyes that he was burning up.

  “Your hand’s cold,” he said. “It feels nice.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “It’s Nicholas. Or Nick,” he said, trying to sound grown-up.

  “Hello, Nick. My patients call me Dr. Sue. How old are you?”

  “I’m almost eleven.”

  “Then you’re old enough to understand things. Can you tell me what happened?”

  When the boy craned his neck toward the mouth of the cave, Susanna turned and saw the man standing in silhouette, gripping her medical bag and looking haunted. She understood that Nick was asking permission to reveal a secret. She also saw that he cared for the man. They didn’t look at all alike, but it was possible they were related—cousins perhaps.

  The outlaw stepped next to her and set the bag at her feet. “I cleaned the wound as best as I could, but the bullet broke into pieces. I don’t know if I got it all.”

  While working in poor sections of Baltimore, Susanna had learned to keep her judgments to herself. Ignorant or not, people did the best they could with what they knew. The outlaw might not understand the need to wash his hands and use carbolic, but she could see no excuse whatsoever for waiting so long to get this boy to a doctor. Later she’d speak her mind, but right now she had to examine the leg.

  Turning back to Nicholas, she said, “I have to take off the bandage. It’ll probably hurt. Would you like a peppermint to suck on?”

  “Sure.” He looked almost pleased.

  Susanna lifted two peppermints from her pocket, unwrapped the first one for Nick, opened the second for herself and popped it into her mouth. She was about to open her bag when she saw the boy waiting for her to offer a piece of candy to his friend. For Nick’s sake, she took another peppermint out of her pocket and held it up to the outlaw. “Here you go,” she said, looking over her shoulder.

  His eyes met hers in understanding. The candy wasn’t a peace offering. She intended to take him to task for Nick’s condition, but she didn’t want to upset the boy. He took the candy, thanked her with a grunt and unwrapped it.

  Susanna turned back to Nick. “Now let’s see your leg.”

  “It hurts all over,” said the boy. “I feel sick, too. Like I’m going to puke.”

  “I’m hoping the peppermint will help, but it’s all right if you get sick. It’s just your body trying to fix your leg instead of digesting what’s in your stomach.”

  Susanna opened her bag and took out a pair of scissors. As gently as she could, she cut the length of cotton from the boy’s leg. A row of buttonholes told her the bloody bandage had once been a shirt. Judging by the size, it had belonged to the man. It was also a fine linen with embroidered cuffs, the kind of Fancy Dan shirt that cost more money than she saw in a month.

  Susanna peeled back the bandage and studied the wound. The bullet had struck the boy below the knee. If it had shattered like the outlaw said, it had hit bone and probably caused a fracture. Nick was young and the bone would mend. Six weeks on crutches and he’d be playing tag, but the bone was the least of his problems. The entry wound was ringed by hard tissue and full of pus, but what sickened her were the veiny streaks of red. He had signs of blood poisoning.

  If Nicholas had been fifty years old, she would have told him that amputation was the surest way to save his life. Then she would have dosed him with chloroform and done her job. She’d been trained to do what science required, but taking a child’s leg would be the most awful thing she’d ever had to do.

  Rage burned in her empty stomach. Five days ago she could have removed the bullet with sterile instruments and treated the wound with antiseptic. She could have dosed the boy with echinacea tea and made poultices to draw out the infection. She could have given him laudanum for the pain. The final outcome was in God’s hands—not hers—but she would have gone to war with the devil himself to spare the boy the misery she saw in his future.

  Was it too late to wage that battle? Waiting to take off the leg was risky. If gangrene set in, he’d be in grave danger. But the solution was permanent and crippling. Glancing at Nick, she wondered about his parents and his tie to
the man standing behind her. In the end, the decision to amputate the leg would be theirs, but she’d have a better chance of winning this war if she took him back to Midas.

  The boy looked at her with wide eyes. “You won’t cut off my leg, will you?”

  Susanna refused to lie. “I’m going to try very hard to save it, but your life’s more important.”

  “No!”

  She touched his forehead. “Listen to me, Nick. I have some medicine in my bag and even more back in my clinic. I want to take you to Midas.”

  The boy looked at the outlaw. “Rafe?”

  “The doctor’s right, kid.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  When the man didn’t answer, Nick pushed up on his elbow. “You promised—”

  “I know what I said, but that was before you got hurt.” The outlaw dropped to a crouch and brushed back the boy’s sweaty hair. “I’m worried about you.”

  Susanna didn’t know which jarred her more—the tenderness in the man’s touch or the knowledge in his eyes that an even harder decision might have to be made. Even more telling, she saw a guilt so strong that he couldn’t blink it away.

  Nicholas frowned. “I’m slowing you down, ain’t I?”

  “Aren’t I. And no, you’re not holding me up.” The man pushed to his feet. “Partners don’t walk out on each other. I say we let the doctor look at your leg and then decide what’s best.”

  “But the Bentons—”

  “Can go to hell in a handbasket.” The outlaw dipped his chin and lowered his voice. “This isn’t the time to talk about them.”

  As Nicholas sealed his lips, Susanna sifted through the information she’d gleaned. If the man and boy had been riding with the Bentons, why were they hiding now? She had assumed her captor was an outlaw, but she’d never heard of a hardened killer traveling with a child. She also realized he’d taken a chance by coming to Midas, and he’d done it because he cared about the boy.

  Perhaps he had once run with the gang but had had a falling-out with them. He couldn’t possibly be on the right side of the law. He had to be hiding something; otherwise he would have brought Nicholas to her days ago. Nor would he have kidnapped her in the middle of the night. Susanna wanted answers, but first she needed to drain the pus around the entry wound to make him more comfortable.