woke while it was still morning. Dr. Gabriel’s face flashed before his eyes. He rolled over. Around four o’clock in the morning, when the saloon had finally shut its doors, he’d been unable to keep himself from going out with a lantern and checking to see if the two women were still sitting under the tree. This concern for their welfare could only spring from the life-threatening circumstances under which they’d met and nothing else, he insisted silently.
When he’d found, in the early morning light, that they were no longer under the tree, he’d been able to go to his bed and sleep. He would let the God they believed in take care of them from now on.
Though it was much earlier than he ever cared to be awake, he found he could not go back to sleep. He sat up, disgusted with himself. After shaving and donning his last fresh collar, he strode out into the thin sunshine to find breakfast. The town was bustling. He stood looking up and down the street. Then drawn by the mingled fragrances of coffee, bacon and biscuits, he headed for breakfast at a café on the nearest corner.
On the way, he saw Dr. Gabriel step outside a mining office and begin sweeping the wooden platform in front of the place. Something deep inside nudged him to avoid her, but he couldn’t be that rude. Tipping his hat, he said, “Good morning, Dr. Gabriel.”
“Lon Mackey, good morning.”
“Is this where you stayed last night?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “A man, Digger Hobson, let us stay. I’m just tidying up a bit to thank him for his kindness.”
“I’m glad to hear you found a place. Yesterday, I saw you going door to door…” He caught himself before he said more.
“It is always difficult for Indigo and me in a new place.” She also paused and gazed into his eyes.
He glanced away. “You still think you can establish yourself here?”
“I do. I hope…” Her voice faded.
He denied the urge to try to talk sense into her. Still, he lingered. This woman had earned his regard. And the feeling of working together to fight the cholera had taken him back to his previous life when he’d had a future. He broke away from her effect on him. “I’ll bid you good day then.”
Mercy wanted to stop him, speak to him longer. But even as she opened her mouth, she knew she must not. Their paths should not cross again except in this casual way. Why did that trouble her? Just because she had found him so easy to work with meant nothing to her day-to-day life. She went on sweeping, quelling the sudden, surprising urge to cry. Lon had believed in her abilities and trusted her in a way that few other men ever had, and it was hard to simply let that go.
At the sound of footsteps on the office’s wooden floor, she turned to greet Indigo. “Thee slept well?”
“Yes. I feel guilty for lying in so long. You know I never sleep late.”
“I think thee needed the extra rest.” She watched as Lon Mackey walked into the café on the corner. She had no appetite, which was unusual, but the two of them must eat to keep up their strength. “Indigo, would thee go down to the café, buy us breakfast and bring it back here?”
Indigo’s stomach growled audibly in response. The girl grinned. “Why don’t we just go there and eat?”
Because he’s there. “I’m not in the mood for company this morning.” That wasn’t a lie, unfortunately. Mercy pulled her purse out of her pocket and gave it to Indigo. She gave Mercy a penetrating look, then left, singing quietly to herself.
Mercy walked inside the office and looked out the smudged front window. She thought of going around town again this afternoon, trying to get to know all the residents, trying to begin to soften their resistance, to change their minds about a woman doctor. But the thought of stepping outside again brought her near to tears.
For the first time she could recall, she had no desire to go out into the sunshine. No desire to go on doing what she must in order to change opinions about her. To carry out her mission. This sudden absence of purpose was alien to her.
The fact was she didn’t want to talk to or see anyone save Indigo. Or, truth be told, Lon Mackey. Though she’d been hurt that he hadn’t come to her aid, the fact that he’d gone looking for her in the early morning had lifted her heart some. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered in spite of the lingering warmth from the potbellied stove.
She went over in her mind the brief conversation with Lon about his concern and about his opposition to her way of life. What they had said to each other wasn’t as telling as what they hadn’t said. She couldn’t have imagined the strong connection they’d forged, and she couldn’t believe it had ended when the cholera had.
Something was shifting inside her. And she was afraid to venture toward its cause.
A week had passed. Friday was payday and the saloon was standing room only. The poker table was ringed with a few farmers, but mostly miners and lumberjacks watched the game in progress. In the back of Lon’s mind, the fact that he hadn’t seen Dr. Gabriel on the street since she’d moved into the mining office niggled at him. Had she fallen sick? Should he go check on her?
He brushed the thought away like an aggravating fly. He’d done much this week to rebuild his reserves. And tonight’s game was not for chicken stakes. Nearly a hundred dollars in gold, silver and bills had been tossed into the ante. If Lon lost this game, he’d be broke again.
His three competitors included the same small, mustached man whom Lon had gambled with every night the past week. The other two were a tall, slender young man and a dark-haired miner. The young half breed spoke with a French accent. Perhaps he was a mix of Métis, Indian and French. Either way, Lon pegged him as a young buck out to have all the fun he could, no doubt with the first good money he’d ever earned. The miner looked ill-tempered, old enough to know better than to cause trouble. But wise enough? Time would tell.
Lon stared at his cards—just a pair of red queens. That scoring combination was all he had worth anything among the five cards dealt him. He hissed inwardly in disgust. A pair was just above a random hand with nothing of scoring strength.
He gazed around at the other players, trying to gauge by their expressions and posture how good their hands were. Could they have gotten even worse hands? Was that possible?
The small man was tapping the table with his left hand and looking at Lon in an odd way. Lon decided he would lay two cards facedown and deal himself another two. He hoped they’d be better than the pitiful ones he’d dealt himself first.
The miner hit the other man’s hand, which was tapping beside him. “Stop that. You tryin’ to fiddle with my concentration?”
Lon held his breath. He’d seen fights start with less provocation than this.
The small man hit back the offending hand. “If you been drinking too much, don’t take it out on me.”
The miner lurched forward.
Fortunately, the onlookers voiced loud disapproval of the fight—it would spoil their fun. The miner scowled but sat back in his chair.
Reminding himself of the pistol in his vest pocket, Lon put two cards facedown and drew two more cards. His pair of queens became a triple, two red and one black. Better. But not much.
Then, as the dealer, he went from player to player asking if they wanted to draw again. There was another round of calling and betting. The small man was still watching Lon with an intense gaze. Was there going to be trouble?
The man asked, “You fight in the war?”
Lon shrugged. “Most of us did, didn’t we?”
This appeared to aggravate the small man even more. He looked at Lon with narrowed eyes. Lon tried to ignore him. Winning the game was what mattered. Nothing was going to distract him from that.
The final round ended and each player laid down his cards. Lon wished he could have had another