With that, he walked out the door, leaving Sarah in a state of bewildered shock.
She forced herself to clean up the mess in the kitchen before going back to look at her patient again. The soiled sheet and discarded bandages were bundled up and put out the back door to be burned the next day, along with the blood-soaked blanket he’d lain on in the chuckwagon. The kitchen table was wiped down, the surgical instruments washed and put away, and the apron put in a pan of cold water to soak out the stains.
As she worked, her thoughts spun, clashed, and tumbled. That summer day, two years ago, when Lorna Calder had come to tell her about Joe’s death was etched like a scar in her memory.
Lorna had said that his body was never found. If the man in the other room was really Joe, he must’ve turned up alive later on. But if that was true, why hadn’t he let her know? Why hadn’t he come by, or at least written her a letter? If nothing else, Lorna, who knew how she’d felt about Joe, could have let her know he was all right.
The only explanation that made sense was that he hadn’t cared enough to tell her.
She remembered all the times when she’d imagined the stampeding cattle trampling his body into dust, the nightmares, the tears. So much horror. So much sadness for the loss of his young life and the friendship that could never be.
And all this time Joe Dollarhide had been alive.
The hurt that welled in her was mixed with cold anger. If that was really Joe in her bed, he’d be waking up to some serious questions. No one, let alone a scruffy young cowboy, had the right to treat her so callously.
With the cleanup finished, she climbed onto the chair, lifted the glowing lantern off its hook above the table, and carried it into the bedroom.
Holding it above the bed, she gazed down at the man who lay there with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. Time and maturity had changed him. He was taller, his features more balanced than she remembered. The bulky bandage around his head, which she’d decided to leave for now, was still in place, covering his forehead from hairline to eyebrows. That, and the scruffy beard he wore, had kept her from recognizing him at first. But seeing him clearly now, she could tell, beyond any doubt, that this was Joe. His mouth was just as she remembered. And half hidden by his beard, she could see the scar on his chin, where he’d taken that punch for her back in Dodge City.
She felt something soften inside her, the way a bud swells and loosens before bursting into bloom. But her resolve remained firm. This young cowboy had broken her heart. The least he owed her was an explanation. She would see that he lived to give her one.
The wall clock in the sitting room struck three—too early to start the day, and she was exhausted. But the house only had one bedroom, and hers was the only bed. Most of her patients were treated in their own homes. She’d made no provisions for keeping anyone overnight, and Joe was likely to be here for much longer than that.
Tomorrow she would fashion a bedroll to lay out on the floor. But tonight, she was exhausted, and she knew she’d get no rest sitting up in the rocker.
The rented house had come with some furniture, which included the sagging double bed, made for a married couple. Joe lay in the middle, taking up most of the space. But she could wrap herself in a spare quilt and lie along the edge, on top of the covers. Surely, with Joe injured and mostly unaware, there could be no impropriety in that. Besides, it would be a good idea to stay close by, in case he woke, confused and in pain.
The fire in the stove had burned down to coals, leaving a chill in the house. After taking the lantern back to the kitchen, Sarah put on the plaid robe and picked up the spare quilt she’d hung over the back of the rocker. After leaving her shoes next to the front door and extinguishing the lantern, she made her way back to the bedroom.
In the moonlight that shone faintly through the curtains, she could see Joe’s body stretched out in the bed with