Kate Bridges - The Surgeon

She threw her bags onto the Windsor chair by the door, then shoved past him to look into his armoire. To him, her nose seemed to get straighter the higher up in the air she held it. “You came home this morning fully intending to get rid of me as quickly as possible.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stammering for an explanation, getting lost in the creamy skin of her cheeks and the finely arched brows. “I was…I was going to the bakery to get us cinnamon buns.”

“And then after you fed me your hot-cross buns, you were going to get rid of me.” She rummaged through his coats, his duster, one gentleman’s overcoat and an oilskin slicker.

He reached past her to show her that none of her clothes were left inside the armoire. As his tight shoulder brushed against her soft one, she reeled back as if he’d bitten her.

Hmm…He watched the tide of crimson flood her cheeks. There could be worse things than biting Sarah O’Neill.

“It’s not like I’m conspiring against you,” he continued. “I had nothing to do with your arrival, remember? I’m doing everything I can to get you back home and to fully rectify the situation.”

“Is that what I am now? ‘A situation’?”

He moaned. “You’re exhausting.” He’d never met a more argumentative woman. And he’d never been at more of a loss about how to remedy a difficult situation. Black-’n-White they called him? Well, things couldn’t be grayer to him when it came to dealing with Sarah O’Neill.

“I’m staying here,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m staying put. This is my home now.”

“Sarah, maybe you’re still not feeling well from yesterday.” His hands waved the air. “There’s no reason…there’s no person…this wasn’t my idea…you can’t stay here.”

She jammed her wide bonnet onto her head, then picked up her bags. As she stormed out the front door, she blasted him. “Don’t worry. I mean, Calgary is my home now, not your house!”

Grabbing his Stetson, he dashed behind her as she strode down the sunlit front porch. “Let’s both calm down. We’re adult enough to speak frankly about this.”

“Stop treating me like the doctor knows best.”

Hell. John’s temper rose another three notches. It’d been a long time since someone had argued with him like this, not since he’d been with his brothers and sisters back home, and they’d been gone for close to thirty years. John stumbled for a moment, hit by a pang of sorrow. He hadn’t thought about them in that light for a long while, but the memories were nice. The last time they were together at the Toronto fairgrounds, the four of them had argued about whose turn it was on the carousel and whose turn to sit out. That was the last day he’d seen them conscious.

He heard Sarah huffing beneath the weight of her luggage as she reached the bottom step.

Racing to catch up, he tore the bags out of her hands. “Let me help you with those.”

She yanked them back, nearly toppling over. “I’m afraid to let you help me. Every time you do, things get worse.”

“Why do your words always manage to knock the stuffing out of me?”

A dog barked in the Fitzgibbon yard. Sarah and John turned to look and saw Polly drawing the shades.

John shrank in his boots. He felt awful about what Polly had witnessed on the stair landing. As a single woman alone in Calgary, Sarah’s reputation was nothing to laugh about.

When he looked up the path two of his men, dressed in civilian clothes, were walking toward them. A wagonload of hay, pulled by oxen, creaked down the rutted street behind them. The cattle calls of the stockyards ten miles away echoed in the early morning mist.

Corporal Reid removed his broad brown felt hat and shifted his weight from one dirty black boot to the other. “Nice to see you again, ma’am.”

Sergeant O’Malley dipped his hand into the inside breast pocket of his wool jacket. When he removed a thick envelope, he passed it to Sarah.

“What’s this?” She squeezed the envelope between her fingers. The lace trim at her wrist bounced.

“We were comin’ to see the doc here, to have him pass this on to you. We had no idea that in our good fortune, we’d catch you here ourselves.”

“Yes, it is a very fortunate morning, isn’t it?” Her voice lacked the humor of her words. “It appears to be an envelope of money.” She frowned.

Mrs. Fitzgibbon, who’d managed to sneak outside without being heard, peered cautiously over the fence. John refused to be intimidated by her scowls.

“It’s the least we can do for you,” said the corporal. “It was Dr. Calloway’s idea. He thought the men should take up a collection, considering what we did to you.”

Mrs. Fitzgibbon sniffed, then went back into her house.

What must the old lady think now? Sarah clicked her tongue at Mrs. Fitzgibbon, then at him. “I don’t want your money.”

“Please take it, ma’am. And our apologies for treatin’ you…like you were a heifer for sale.”

Sarah shook her head. “I wish I could say thank-you for the apology and all’s well that ends well, but it isn’t, is it?”

The two men lowered their heads. “No, ma’am.”

Sarah colored beneath her bonnet. “I’d be most obliged if you’d return the letters I wrote.”

“Oh!” The sergeant dug into his pocket again and handed her several envelopes.

She counted them. “One, two, three, four.” She glanced at the sergeant.

He dug in and handed her one more.

“Five. Thank you.”

“Please take the money, ma’am. It’ll help you buy your return ticket, maybe a night or two in a fancy hotel, and it would sure make us feel better.”

“Well, if it’s to make you feel better—” She glared at the men with disapproval and it was the first time John had seen either of them blush with shame.

She tossed the envelopes into her satchel. “Thank you all for the most enjoyable eight days of nauseating travel. Good day.”

While she stalked away, deserting them in the street, the three men gaped after her. Recovering quickly, John shooed away the other two while he ran to catch up. How on earth could she manage alone in town, knowing no one?

“Sarah, will you please allow me to help you?”

She fumbled with her bags, half dragging one of them on the back of her leg, balancing her satchel beneath her elbow and yanking on her bonnet to keep it straight in the gentle blowing wind. Silently they marched down the block to Macleod Trail and its wide boardwalk. Passersby nodded hello to him, gazing quizzically at the odd combination of the woman carrying everything while the man accompanying her strode empty-handed.

“Sarah.”

“Ah, here’s one.”

She glanced up at the wood-burnished sign. Alice’s Boardinghouse. John knew the woman inside to be older than the hills, but there was no telling what the two of them together might accomplish.

Much to Sarah’s annoyance, he insisted on staying at the front desk while she registered for a room. The room wouldn’t be available for two hours, though, so Sarah agreed to leave her baggage while she went outdoors again to run an errand.

Until Sarah was settled and he knew she’d calmed down enough so that she wouldn’t do anything drastic, he couldn’t leave her. It was getting awfully close to his two hours being up. He figured he had another half hour before returning to the hospital ward.

“You know, David told me he’s a novelty writer.” John tried to break through the danged wall of silence she’d erected.

“What’s that?”

“He takes photos for postcards and novelty buttons, then writes captions beneath the photo, for amusement. That’s how he earns his living.”

“You mean, at this morning’s photo, he might have written something like, ‘Sarah gets her mounted man’?”