“I am.” Nick set money on the table and stood. Whenever someone started a conversation like that, it was likely he was needed to tend to an injured party.
“Please, you have to come with me. A man’s been run down by a horse on the street. He’s . . . well, he’s awful hurt, and Dr. JT is up in Bachelor tonight, tending to some sick folks.”
“Lead the way, quickly.” Nick hurried after the man, who certainly wasn’t slow. He pulled on his coat as they pushed out the door. Barely a block away, a man lay crumpled and bleeding in the middle of the muddy, slushy street, people slowly gathering around him.
Nick knelt beside him. The man was awake, but bleeding badly from somewhere in his middle.
“Doc?” The word was barely audible under the man’s wheezing.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Gatewood.” It was bitterly cold outside, and Nick made quick work of opening the man’s shirt to determine the source of the blood. It was coming from multiple wounds on his side. A quick examination didn’t show any other obvious injuries.
“Can you move your feet?” Nick asked the man on the ground.
The man groaned and moved each foot.
“Your hands?”
Barely conscious, the man twitched his fingers. That was good, provided the injuries on his side weren’t too deep. And provided the horse hadn’t injured anything internally. Nick looked more carefully at the man’s side. The wounds appeared fairly shallow, which boded well. Someone handed him a clean, wadded-up piece of cloth. Nick pressed it against the man’s side to try to stop any additional bleeding.
“We’re going to get you inside, where it’s warmer,” Nick said as he closed the man’s coat, which was wet from the slush and snow, to try to keep him warm. “You,” he said, pointing to a burly-looking fellow behind him. “Go into the hotel and tell them we need a bed for a wounded man. If anyone makes a fuss, I’ll pay.”
The man nodded and made for the hotel.
“On three, we’ll lift him,” Nick said to the shopkeeper who had come to fetch him. “One, two, three.” And together they lifted the injured man, Nick taking his feet. By the time they reached the building, the hotel keeper had already set aside a room on the first floor.
They settled the man in bed, and Nick set about ordering a fire to be built, hot water, and spare bedsheets. He raced upstairs to his own room, where he shed his coat and hat and retrieved his medical bag.
Upon closer inspection, the wounds were indeed superficial and certainly not life-threatening. None needed stitching up. All that was left now was to hope and pray that William, as he’d learned was the man’s name, had no unseen injuries.
“You’re awfully lucky,” he said to William, who smiled at him weakly. “Most folks trampled by horses don’t make it, much less get off with only a few gashes to the side. All should be well, provided you keep that clean and you don’t have anything wrong inside.”
“Thanks for fixing me up, Doc,” William said, his words still a bit fuzzy from the loss of blood. “I’ll have to get someone to write my Amelia about this.”
Nick pulled out the chair that went with the desk in the room and sat. “Is she your wife? I’m happy to pen a letter to her if you like.”
“That’d be real nice,” William replied. “She’s in Tennessee with her folks. I figured mining wasn’t no life for a woman, though I seen plenty of wives up there in those tents. Kids, too.” He tried to sit up, pushing against the bed. Nick gave him a hand, and the man was able to maneuver into a comfortable position. “Still hurts.”
“It’s going to,” Nick said, taking his seat again. “Let me get some paper and ink for your letter.”
He left and returned a few minutes later with paper, ink, and a pen from the hotel’s desk clerk. William dictated a surprisingly tender letter to his wife, telling her what had happened and how much he missed her. William was able to sign the letter, and Nick set it to dry on the desk. His patient closed his eyes, and Nick was left alone, the sweet words the man had written to his wife still echoing in his mind.
What did it feel like to have someone you missed so terribly? Who felt like such a part of yourself that you couldn’t help but tell her all the events of your day? Nick sat back in the desk chair and sighed. Love like that didn’t come around so often, he supposed. None of the ladies he’d known in Cincinnati felt like the sort he’d write long, rambling letters to, sharing every one of his thoughts. Certainly he hadn’t thought of Miss Bell that way, particularly considering she screwed up her face in disgust when he mentioned the most minor of things related to being a doctor. William said he thought of his Amelia all the time, her face coming to mind while he worked, while he ate, and first thing in the morning when he woke. That last one sat a bit uncomfortably with Nick. The first thing that came to his mind this morning was whether he might see Miss Rousseau again. And when he ate at the hotel this evening, he wondered if she would have chosen the venison or the chicken pie.
Nick stood suddenly in an effort to get the idea that he thought of Miss Rousseau as frequently as William thought of his wife out of his head. He ought to check the man’s dressing to ensure it was holding, and then see about getting some hot tea for himself.
He made it to the hotel’s front desk when a young man barreled in through the door. He looked Nick up and down, and then asked, “Are you the new doctor?”
“Yes,” Nick answered, his mind already going from tea to fetching his coat.
“You’re needed at the livery. The medicine show wagons were attacked and someone’s hurt.”
Fear pulsed through Nick, the likes of which he’d never felt before, straightening his spine and making him want to sprint to the livery. “Who? Who’s hurt?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know, sir. A man asked me to come get you.”
Nick was up the stairs to get his coat in an instant. And all the way to the livery, he prayed his patient would not be Miss Rousseau.
