She shot him a cold look. “That’s the last thing I’m worried about. Get him into the back room. He can sit on the edge of the table while I check the arm.”
Kristin stepped back and held the door, allowing Logan to support Ezra as he struggled to the table. Kristin avoided Logan’s gaze, focusing her attention on her patient. If things were awkward between them, that couldn’t be allowed to matter right now.
With Ezra sitting on the edge of the exam table, and Logan steadying him on the right, Kristin untied the sling and used a pair of sharp scissors to cut away the left shirt sleeve. Ezra was biting his lip to keep from crying out. His upper arm was bruised, bent, and beginning to swell, clearly a compound fracture. At least the broken bone hadn’t pierced the skin. But the arm would need to be set, splinted until the swelling went down, then encased in a plaster cast.
Gerda, still teary-eyed, fluttered around them as Logan eased Ezra into a supine position on the table. “I know what you’re going to do,” she said. “It’ll hurt a lot, won’t it?”
“Yes. I’ll give Ezra something to lessen the pain but he’ll still feel it.”
During and after the war, Kristin had worked with advanced anesthesia machines that could deliver measured combinations of ether, nitrous oxide, chloroform, and oxygen to render patients safely unconscious. Nothing like those was available here, of course. All she had was a canister of nitrous oxide, also known as laughing gas, with a simple valve, a hose, and a face mask that she’d ordered from a dental supply house. Using it to put Ezra all the way under would be too risky. But she could give him enough gas to make him light-headed and less aware of what was happening.
“Don’t worry, Ezra.” Gerda leaned over and kissed his lips. “I’ll be right here, holding your hand. I love you.”
Ezra forced his colorless face into a ghost of a smile. “I love you, too,” he whispered.
Kirsten placed the mask over Ezra’s nose and mouth and examined the break using her fingertips to find where the bones had separated. Steeling herself, she took a firm grip on the arm. “Hold him,” she ordered Logan.
* * *
Setting the bone didn’t take long, but the process was brutal. Even with the laughing gas pleasantly clouding his mind, Ezra screamed as the two broken pieces came together. Holding him in place, Logan could sense the jolt of pain that shot through the young man. Memories flashed—the hospital tent, the broken bodies, the odors of sweat and disinfectant, and the sounds of suffering.
Then it was over. Kristin had removed the gas and was wrapping the arm in soft cotton, binding it to the wooden braces to make a splint that would be replaced with a cast in the next few days. Ezra, pale as bleach, lay with his eyes closed.
“Somebody should sit with him until he feels steady enough to get up.” Kristin glanced at Gerda, whom Logan had met when he visited the Anderson family.
“I’ll do it.” The pretty girl was more than eager.
“Fine. Don’t try to help him up yourself. Call me when it’s time,” Kristin said.
“If you’ll allow me to stay, I’ll see him home to his family,” Logan offered.
She gave him a sharp glance. “Fine. But he lives at the far end of town, and you shouldn’t take him on horseback. My Model T is in the shed behind the house. Use that and bring it back when you’ve delivered him.”
She walked into the parlor, leaving the door ajar behind her. Logan followed. He could tell that she was still upset with his decision to side with Webb and buy the ranch. But that shouldn’t give her cause to treat him like the enemy.
“We need to talk, Kristin,” he said.
“All right. Have a chair. You’ve got until my next patient shows up.” She motioned him to an armchair while she perched on the arm of the sofa. The room was plain but tasteful, with leather seating and a Persian rug on the floor. Her framed medical license hung next to the door of the surgery. A set of shelves held an assortment of classic children’s books and medical texts. On the coffee table—
Logan swallowed his surprise. On the low table, in a glass vase, were six fresh, perfect pink roses. As far as he knew, roses like that only grew in one place—the flower bed below the porch of the Calder mansion, where Webb’s mother, Lorna, had planted them.
Logan felt his heart drop—but for no reason, he reminded himself. He had no claim on Kristin Dollarhide. He was in no position to court any woman. He was still mourning his lost family and building his ranch. Webb, on the other hand, was free to wed again if he chose. And as his bride, Kristin would step into a world of luxury and power. Maybe Webb had already asked her. Maybe she’d already said yes. But that was none of his damned business.
“You never came around to get your wound checked,” she said.
“The wound had healed. My wrist was fine, too. I saw no need for it. And I wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed.”
“Being welcomed has nothing to do with it. You were my patient—for all your being ‘a Calder at heart,’ as Webb put it.”
“My decision had nothing to do with being a Calder. I bought the ranch because it fit my plans. And if you’ve talked to your brother, you know that we’ve made an arrangement for his use of the road. No matter what you think, Webb doesn’t own me.”
But does he own you?
Logan bit back the question. He’d be damned if he was going to ask her about her relationship with Webb—or about that vase of roses, which he was tempted to pick up and hurl out the front door. He needed to leave before he made a fool of himself.
He stood. “Where do I find that auto of yours? In the shed, did you say?”
“Yes. The tank’s full and it ran fine the last time I drove it. Ezra’s mother should be home. But if she isn’t, let somebody know. I don’t want him left alone.”
Her moist lips trembled slightly. Logan imagined kicking the flowers off the table, sweeping her into his arms, and devouring that soft, firm mouth with kisses.
But it was no more than a fleeting thought. She was Webb’s woman, and he didn’t need that kind of trouble. Opening his wallet, he withdrew a generous handful of bills. When she didn’t reach out to take them, he laid them on the table. “That should cover the charges for now. I’ll start the auto and bring it around,” he said. Then he turned and strode out the door.
* * *
As the door closed, Kristin exhaled the breath she’d held too long in her body. She’d noticed the way Logan’s gaze had fixed on the roses, and she’d half expected him to question her about them. To her relief, he hadn’t.
Webb’s cook had dropped off the flowers that morning on her way to do some errands in town. They were from Webb, of course, and they’d come with an attached note in a sealed envelope. At the time, she’d been busy with young Lester and his head wound, so she’d tucked the envelope in the pocket of her white lab coat. She’d hesitated to put the roses on display. But they were so pretty, she’d resolved to leave them out for the enjoyment of her patients.
Now she took the envelope out of her pocket and ran her finger beneath the flap to open it. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a brief message.
Dinner at the Roadhouse tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7:30. Wear something pretty.