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Authors: Mona Hodgson
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run a respectable hospital.” At least he hoped they did. How would he know? He’d tended to burns and delivered a baby, but he still hadn’t met anyone in charge.
She flipped the thin sheet over her leg.
“Thank you.” This culture of familiarity and impropriety would take some getting used to.
“You’ll get used to things around here soon,” Iris said, adjusting her son in her arms. “Even learn to like it.”
He wasn’t sure he possessed enough imagination to believe that.
“I need to check on my patients in the burn ward.” He laid the towel over the back of a chair and headed for the door. “I’ll send someone in to help you clean up.”
As soon as Morgan stepped into the hallway, a beak-nosed man planted himself in front of him. “Well, aren’t you something?” The man’s imperious look told Morgan that being something in his eyes was more reprimand than praise.
“Sir?” Morgan unrolled his shirt sleeves. He wished he had the suit coat he’d left in the burn ward.
“Sir?” The deep grooves above the bridge of the man’s nose formed a permanent scowl. “Folks around here call me Doc Hanson.”
“Morgan Cutshaw.” Morgan stretched out his arm for a handshake, but when his new boss didn’t reciprocate, he withdrew it and stuffed it into his pocket.
“I presume you met Miss Sinclair.”
“I only got her given name, but she and her son seem well.”
Hanson chuckled. “That was Iris, one of Blanche Barton’s girls. Miss Sinclair is the young woman who nearly knocked me down in her rush to get away from you.”
“The midwife. I wanted to talk to you about her.”
“Save your rant.” Hanson raised a gnarled hand. “Miss Sinclair isn’t a midwife.”
“But she was—”
“Here as a patient.”
Morgan flinched. A patient? Why didn’t she say something? Not that he’d given her much of a chance.
“She saved a little Mexican girl from a spray of glass, and a piece dug into her shoulder. She was here recovering.”
No wonder she’d looked so shocked at his reprimand. He’d barked at a good Samaritan. Remorse knotted Morgan’s stomach.
“I didn’t know—”
Dr. Hanson interrupted him. “You a gambler, Dr. Morgan Cutshaw?”
Morgan watched Dr. Hanson for a moment, trying to read his new boss.
“Apparently so.” He’d gone all in, leaving everything and everyone he knew to pursue the unknown. An act of faith or a gamble? Hecouldn’t say for sure. He’d already played his cards wrong. He had meant to avoid entanglements with women, but thus far he’d hit a swarm of them. The fair Miss Taggart. Miss Iris, who was most comfortable without a stitch of clothing on, no matter the company. And Miss Sinclair—to whom he owed an apology. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause I’m betting you had no idea what you were in for when you decided to move out here to the wild and woolly West.”
No idea at all .
T EN
N ell lifted Rosita off the bed she and Kat shared, and carried her across the small room. Kat looked up from the dressing table, but Nell shook her head to let her sister know she had it under control. After the child’s belly was full and Hattie had given her a bath, Rosita had climbed under the quilt and fallen fast asleep. Now the little one’s breath warmed Nell’s face, stirring her deep longing to mother children. That’s all she’d ever wanted—to have a family of her own.
Until she began receiving Judson Archer’s letters nearly four months ago, Nell didn’t have a name or a face to attach to the prince of her dreams…her one true love. But now that she did, her heart ached for him all the more.
Judson, where are you?
She’d studied every man’s face in town this morning, and while she was helping during the fire. According to the man at the telegraph office, Judson had received her telegram. Why hadn’t he come looking for her?
Had she been a fool to fall for Judson Archer?
Shaking her head, Nell bent over to lay the little girl on
She flipped the thin sheet over her leg.
“Thank you.” This culture of familiarity and impropriety would take some getting used to.
“You’ll get used to things around here soon,” Iris said, adjusting her son in her arms. “Even learn to like it.”
He wasn’t sure he possessed enough imagination to believe that.
“I need to check on my patients in the burn ward.” He laid the towel over the back of a chair and headed for the door. “I’ll send someone in to help you clean up.”
As soon as Morgan stepped into the hallway, a beak-nosed man planted himself in front of him. “Well, aren’t you something?” The man’s imperious look told Morgan that being something in his eyes was more reprimand than praise.
“Sir?” Morgan unrolled his shirt sleeves. He wished he had the suit coat he’d left in the burn ward.
“Sir?” The deep grooves above the bridge of the man’s nose formed a permanent scowl. “Folks around here call me Doc Hanson.”
“Morgan Cutshaw.” Morgan stretched out his arm for a handshake, but when his new boss didn’t reciprocate, he withdrew it and stuffed it into his pocket.
“I presume you met Miss Sinclair.”
“I only got her given name, but she and her son seem well.”
Hanson chuckled. “That was Iris, one of Blanche Barton’s girls. Miss Sinclair is the young woman who nearly knocked me down in her rush to get away from you.”
“The midwife. I wanted to talk to you about her.”
“Save your rant.” Hanson raised a gnarled hand. “Miss Sinclair isn’t a midwife.”
“But she was—”
“Here as a patient.”
Morgan flinched. A patient? Why didn’t she say something? Not that he’d given her much of a chance.
“She saved a little Mexican girl from a spray of glass, and a piece dug into her shoulder. She was here recovering.”
No wonder she’d looked so shocked at his reprimand. He’d barked at a good Samaritan. Remorse knotted Morgan’s stomach.
“I didn’t know—”
Dr. Hanson interrupted him. “You a gambler, Dr. Morgan Cutshaw?”
Morgan watched Dr. Hanson for a moment, trying to read his new boss.
“Apparently so.” He’d gone all in, leaving everything and everyone he knew to pursue the unknown. An act of faith or a gamble? Hecouldn’t say for sure. He’d already played his cards wrong. He had meant to avoid entanglements with women, but thus far he’d hit a swarm of them. The fair Miss Taggart. Miss Iris, who was most comfortable without a stitch of clothing on, no matter the company. And Miss Sinclair—to whom he owed an apology. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause I’m betting you had no idea what you were in for when you decided to move out here to the wild and woolly West.”
No idea at all .
T EN
N ell lifted Rosita off the bed she and Kat shared, and carried her across the small room. Kat looked up from the dressing table, but Nell shook her head to let her sister know she had it under control. After the child’s belly was full and Hattie had given her a bath, Rosita had climbed under the quilt and fallen fast asleep. Now the little one’s breath warmed Nell’s face, stirring her deep longing to mother children. That’s all she’d ever wanted—to have a family of her own.
Until she began receiving Judson Archer’s letters nearly four months ago, Nell didn’t have a name or a face to attach to the prince of her dreams…her one true love. But now that she did, her heart ached for him all the more.
Judson, where are you?
She’d studied every man’s face in town this morning, and while she was helping during the fire. According to the man at the telegraph office, Judson had received her telegram. Why hadn’t he come looking for her?
Had she been a fool to fall for Judson Archer?
Shaking her head, Nell bent over to lay the little girl on
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