Kate Bridges - The Surgeon

John didn’t mind the name. Being able to see things clearly had gotten him far in the police force. But with women…cripes…with women….

Wesley had been behind it. What was John supposed to make of that?

“What’s she gonna do, Doc?”

John rubbed the kink at the back of his neck. Two hours’ sleep hadn’t been enough. “She’s going home. But before she does, I want each of you to make restitution.”

“How?”

“An apology for starters. And then you’ll take up a collection, so she won’t go home empty-handed. I don’t know what her circumstances are, but it’s the least you can do.”

“Where is she stayin’, Sir?”

John was about to tell them, then decided against it. “I’ll let you know later today. I’m headed there now.”

He’d see her as soon as he’d shaved and bathed. He should warn her to expect the men, to ask if she wanted to see them. He’d also stop by the train depot to ask for the schedule. There were two daily trains headed East, but he wasn’t sure if both of them went all the way to Halifax.

The men edged toward the door, eager to escape his glare.

“Hold on,” he demanded. “Before you go, which one of you was the letter writer?”

“Wesley wrote them, but all of us—except Logan—dictated.”

John groaned. “I want those letters returned to Miss O’Neill and I swear you all to secrecy. If one word gets out about their content, and you know what I’m referring to, I’ll come looking for you.”

The men exchanged meaningful glances, nodding yes to John with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. A sinking feeling wove through the pit of John’s stomach.

Had they already started spreading the news about her chastity?

Half asleep beneath the comfortable down tick, Sarah stirred. The sun’s morning rays slanted beneath the drawn shade, warming her face. She turned away from the sun’s heat and buried her face in the unusual scent of the feather pillow. Whose scent was that? A hint of shaving cream mingled with a laundry soap she didn’t recognize, mingled with the scent of a very faint male cologne…

Her eyes opened in wide alarm. This wasn’t her bed!

She sprang off the pillow, causing the cover to dip around her shoulders. Her jumbled mass of red hair cascaded down her back. A cool breeze wafted beneath the nest of warm covers, stirring the hairs on her bare flesh, causing her smooth, flat nipples to tighten. She was naked!

John Calloway!

Her lacy white corset was lying on the dresser beside her, propped beside the candlestick. She’d bought it specially for him, but under far different circumstances. Not these!

When she picked it up, one side of the stiff whale-boned fabric fell open, revealing frayed ends. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. He’d cut it off her! It was torn to shreds!

She shifted at the faint slam of a door in another part of the house. It echoed beneath the oak strip flooring of her bedroom. Struggling out of bed, armed with the shredded corset, she knew this room was his. They were his boots by the door, his denim pants over the upholstered wing-backed chair, and his checkered shirts folded on the dresser. This bedroom was totally different than his barracks. This one was warm and casual and reeking of masculinity.

The memory of yesterday’s events came hammering down on her. It hadn’t been a dream. It had truly happened.

How could he have stripped her of all her clothing?

Clutching the slippery cover around her, she raced down the stairs, her bare feet padding the floor.

Where was he?

She caught him in the hallway. He was bending to toss a duffle sack into the corner, dressed in off-duty clothes. Form-fitting denim pants hugged his long legs, tanned cowboy boots encased his feet and another one of those billowing white shirts he liked so much spanned the breadth of his shoulders.

She stopped at the first landing and hollered down the stairs as if she were calling in a barnyard. “Why did you strip me naked?!”

He jumped at the sound of her voice. For a police officer, the man sure had skittish nerves. The sunlight caught his face and the twinkle in his eye.

He grinned up at her. God help him, he grinned. “Good morning to you, too.”

The cover slid down her shoulders. She was too angry to care. She yanked it up, none too gracefully. The cloth was silky and she couldn’t get a good grip. What did it matter? He’d already seen everything she had!…Or had he?

“Who took off my clothes?”

His grin got wider. “You’re looking at him.”

“Ah-hh!” She threw the corset at him and it snapped him in the shoulder.

He dove and caught it. “Are you always this angry? Or is it just me you respond to?”

“How could you!”

He toyed with her corset in a manner that made her blush. “Is this mine to keep?”

“You owe me three dollars and ninety-two cents!”

“It’s new then?” He snapped the lace and a mischievous look came over him. “That means you bought it for me?”

Her mouth opened in pure shock. “I bought it for my husband!”

“That would have been me, wouldn’t it?”

“Give that back!”

“No…I think it’s mine. You just gave it to me.” He took the stairs one by one, appraising her up and down, from her squirming toes to her ruffled head.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Her heart raced. She tightened her grip on the down tick and backed away. “You didn’t answer my first question. Why did you take off my clothes?”

He held up the lace fabric as he moved closer. “Because you couldn’t breathe in this thing.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

His eyes roved her body. Good Lord, what was she doing standing in front of a man, in front of him, naked beneath this cover?

“Is it so ridiculous?” he asked. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but when I removed your corset, your waist grew by a full three inches.”

She gaped at him. Her face burned with heat. Why did she constantly feel like an idiot around this man?

“You know, most men would agree with me. These contraptions you women get into are highly unnecessary. Personally, I’d much rather see natural skin bouncing beneath a woman’s clothing than this piece of armor.”

He’d finally reached her and held up the corset, a foot away from her.

Gulping, she decided she’d better simmer her temper. He was getting far too close for comfort. “You tore my clothes to shreds. Why?”

“I didn’t shred them all.”

“Where are the rest?”

“Your satchel’s in your room, on the right side of the bed. Didn’t you see it?”

She shook her head a little too vigorously.

He nodded toward the front hall. “I had Polly wash and press your red suit. It’s hanging in the front armoire in case you’d like to check. After an eight-day journey, I figured you’d appreciate laundered clothes.”

“For heaven’s sake, I didn’t wear the suit for the whole eight days. I changed into it two hours before we pulled into the station. I’d prefer if you didn’t touch my things, thank you very much!”

“I guess that explains why Polly said they weren’t soiled.” He grew bolder and stepped closer. Much too close for her comfort. “You changed into your lovely suit before the train rolled into the Calgary station? For me again?”

“No! For the man I thought I’d be marrying.”

“You’re a very accommodating woman.”

It sounded like a compliment, but she caught the sarcasm.

The black flecks in his brown eyes sparkled. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Very well,” she squeaked. She pulled in a nervous breath at the steamy way he was studying her, at the thought that she’d spent the entire night in this surgeon’s bed. She cleared her throat. He must have gotten some rest, too. Even though there were a few sleepy wrinkles around his eyes, he looked fresher. “How did you sleep?”