Willa drew in a deep breath, wondering if she might need some of Papa’s Vapors of Life to correct the lightheadedness that seemed to have come from nowhere.
Papa finished with a flourish, and many in the crowd surged forward to the little table. Willa collected money from a lady in a dress so blue it reminded her of the disapproving gentleman’s eyes. She glanced up to where he’d stood—but he was nowhere to be seen.
Willa turned back to the people before her, smiling and taking money. Yet she couldn’t seem to shake the strange disappointment she felt that the curious man wasn’t among her customers.
Chapter Two
DR. NICHOLAS GATEWOODleft the Creede Hotel after a hearty breakfast. One thing was for certain—he needn’t have feared poorly cooked food on his journey west from Cincinnati. With the exception of one shadowy sort of a tavern in eastern Kansas, every stop on his journey had been met with dishes that could have rivaled those he’d been served in the restaurants and homes of the well-to-do back home.
He glanced up and down the road, breathing in the chill mountain air. He made a quick decision and walked in the opposite direction from where he’d come yesterday. It hadn’t snowed the day before after all, despite the clouds that had threatened all afternoon and evening. Yet the ground was frozen with mud and small drifts of older snow lay in the few open spaces between some of the buildings. He suspected it wouldn’t be long before snow arrived again.
Nick didn’t know what had drawn him to Creede in particular. Perhaps it was the curious name, or maybe the stories he’d heard of the silver mines, or the description a railroad clerk in Denver had given him of the town—that it was a place where burgeoning civilization warred with lawlessness. That description was accurate, Nick thought, as he strode past a tea shop on one side of the road and a saloon on the other side that only the night before had been so rowdy, he’d looked out his window to see a man being jettisoned through the open doors into the muddy street.
What no one had mentioned to him were the mountains. He supposed he ought to have known they’d be here—tall and imposing, surrounding the town with snow-covered peaks. But knowing and seeing were two different things, and Nick found his gaze drifting upwards to the mountains over and over again.
He smiled at a ballroom, and then at an outfit that sold supplies to miners. This place was a conundrum, and, Nick decided, he liked it.
Whether he liked it enough to make it his new home was another question, but he’d certainly stay for a while. On his walk out of town toward the nearby mining town of Bachelor, he’d happened across a cabin with the wordsDr. James Thomasemblazoned on a sign. The place had looked dark, and when Nick knocked, there was no answer. The doctor was likely out on calls. He’d stop by again later and introduce himself.
Nick spent most of the morning exploring the town, and just as he thought he’d make his way back up to Dr. Thomas’s office, he found himself wandering the stretch of the main street he’d walked late yesterday afternoon. Ahead, a small crowd had formed in the same place it had yesterday. Nick paused, scowling. This quack doctor and his “medicines” were nothing but a show people paid for under the guise of purchasing something they believed would help them.
He’d seen similar men roll through the small towns outside Cincinnati. They were nothing but talented con men, peddling wares that did nothing at all—if their customers were lucky. He’d seen a marshal’s office on his stroll about town. He ought to go have a talk with the man—perhaps he’d drive this small circus out of town. Or maybe he could speak to Dr. Thomas about it. Surely the man had some influence in this town. It wasn’t right that people were parting with their hard-earned money for false remedies.
And yet, instead of making his way to the marshal’s office or to Dr. Thomas, Nick found himself joining the crowd around the two wagons. They were painted with words advertising this so-called Dr. Rousseau and his Miraculous Medicines. The man had his same cast of characters—the supposedly formerly weak strongman and the sharpshooter with the musical talent. The latter was playing his accordion again, the music drawing people into the crowd. The good doctor was nowhere to be seen yet.
Nick ought to move on, to go find Dr. Thomas. But he remained planted in place, closer to the front of the growing crowd than he was yesterday. He told himself he was waiting to see this Dr. Rousseau again, but his eyes fell on the tall girl with the loops of chestnut-colored hair, vivid red skirts peeking out from beneath her coat, and sweet, pink lips that seemed unable to frown. She took up her place near the table laid out with various bottles and gave the crowd that same friendly, welcoming smile as the cold tinged her cheeks the same color as her lips.
Nick watched her, fascinated. Who was she? How did a woman who appeared to be the very model of civility and beauty find herself working for a band of men who were nothing more than liars and thieves? Her eyes landed on him at just that moment, and from his position closer to the wagons, he could see her catch her breath. Her hand went to her stomach and her smile faltered for just half a second before she resumed her usual look of placid friendliness. He nodded at her and her lips turned up even further. The fact that he had pleased her by giving her such an acknowledgment made him feel as if he’d just won some grand prize in chivalry.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The supposed doctor’s greeting to the crowd drew Nick’s attention away from the fascinating woman. “Welcome! I am Dr. George Rousseau. I hail from the great state of Missouri, and I have come here to you in Creede today to be of service to you and yours! I see a few familiar faces today.” The man smiled at those he recognized as if they had become his close, personal friends.
He continued with his spiel, introducing Amos Sterling, the strongman, again. The man lifted two horses today before picking up the rear of one of the wagons. The crowd showed their appreciation as Nick stood stoic. The lady assistant’s gaze landed on him again, and though she smiled at him, he could tell from the way she stiffened when she saw he wasn’t applauding that he confused her.
“Now, my friends, do you suppose Mr. Sterling was born with this unusual amount of inhuman strength?” Dr. Rousseau continued as he gestured at the man lifting his muscled arms. “He was not!” He went on as he did yesterday, telling the crowd of Mr. Sterling’s woes as a young man until he tried Dr. Rousseau’s Miracle Elixir.
Nick bit his tongue. He wanted so badly to tell these people that no mixture of herbs or tonics or whatever might be in that bottle could make one grow the muscle mass needed to lift a horse.
