“Easy, boy,” Jackson said as the horse caught his footing. He reached for his sidearm, and his palm slapped an empty hip.
Shit. My gun. He’d been in such a rush he hadn’t grabbed it.
“Go,” he commanded, urging Scout on with a firm nudge of his heels. Their only option was to run away.
Jackson glanced over his shoulder after they’d gone a couple hundred yards. Nothing had given chase.
He sat back in the saddle and let Scout slow to a canter again.
Dawn gave way to twilight, and they made better time. Just as the sun came up, he reined Scout to a skidding stop in front of the doctor’s house.
Jackson had only encountered the town’s physician on a handful of occasions—once to patch him up when he’d sustained a wound too deep for Amanda to stitch, once when Noah developed a rash, and once when the doctor called onhimto evaluate his horse after stepping in a gopher hole. Hiram Babcock didn’t over imbibe, he kept a level head, and he seemed well trained. On that basis, Jackson trusted the sexagenarian. He just prayed the doctor hadn’t been called away to another emergency.
Jackson sprinted up the front steps of the brown brick Italianate and rapped on the door. “Dr. Babcock.” No one answered, so he rapped harder. “Dr. Babcock!”
“Coming,” a sleepy voice said from within, followed by some grumbled words Jackson couldn’t make out. The plump white-headed doctor opened the door, hair tousled and spectacles askew, still tying on his dressing gown. “What can I do for you, Mr. Maguire?”
“I’m sorry to call at such an hour, but my wife is ill. Very ill.”
“In what way?”
“She complained of a stomach ache that worsened over several days. She felt much improved yesterday, after I gave her a doseof Daffy’s Elixir, but this morning, she awoke with a fever so high she’s delirious.”
“Is she with child?”
“No. Not as far as she knows.”
Dr. Babcock’s brows drew together, and his eyes sharpened with instant alertness. “Hitch my horse to my buggy. I’ll dress and meet you in the yard.”
The doctor appeared just as Jackson was fastening the last buckle. He tossed his bag under the seat of the buggy and climbed in. “Your farm is the old Tipton place, is it not?”
“It is,” Jackson said, handing him the reins.
“You ride on ahead, then. I know the way.”
Thank Pete. A doctor’s buggy was designed to travel fast, but it couldn’t match the speed of an unencumbered horse.
Jackson swung into the saddle and took off for home.
The children were awake when he arrived, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and coming down the stairs.
“Where’s Mama?” Noah asked.
“She’s resting.”
Jackson poured two cups of milk and spread jam on two pieces of bread, then settled Noah and Jewel at the table, so he could go check on Amanda. “Dr. Babcock will be here soon,” he said to Noah. “When he arrives, let him in and send him upstairs.”
The curve of Noah’s mouth dipped into a slight frown. “Is Mama ill?”
“Her stomach is hurting again.”
“Oh,” he said, still looking troubled.
“The doctor will know what to do. But I need you to stay here and give him my message. Then you can take Jewel out back and play with the kittens.”
Noah’s eyes lit at the prospect. “All right, Papa. I will.”
Jewel gave him a jam-covered grin. “Play kittens!”
