place over the next several minutes: Seth's large hands, strong and sure, yet gentle. An economy of movement and efficiency of action. The sickly sweet smell of blood. An urgency that hovered in the air around them as the country doctor fought death. And lost.
Molly knew it was over when she saw. the slump of Seth's shoulders. He seemed to curl in around himself. His hands stopped their deft movements. And she heard the soughing death rattle as the man gave up breath and life.
“Shouldn't have wasted my time,” Seth said in disgust. “Must have nicked the lung. Thought so when I first saw him, but I hoped …”
“You did the best you could,” Molly offered.
“What I did wasn't worth spit.”
Molly recoiled at the anger in his voice, the rigid tension in his body. “Was it something I did—or didn't do?”
Seth shook his head abruptly. “No. You did fine. A doctor couldn't ask for a more competent nurse.”
Molly breathed an inward sigh of relief. Her deception had done nothing to contributeto a man's death. But she couldn't take the chance that next time she wouldn't be so lucky. She took a deep breath and confessed, “Doctor Kendrick, I haven't ever assisted in an operation before.”
“I know.”
“You do? What made you suspect—”
“You didn't stop shaking the whole time,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. He took her hand and held it up between them. It was still shaking. “But you did everything I asked, when I asked. If you can follow instructions that well from now on, you'll do just fine.”
Molly pulled her hand from his and clasped it with the other in an attempt to still the tremors. She was appalled and amazed when she realized everything she had just done. Now she stood beside a dead body. She had been exposed to nothing so grim in New Bedford; it was going to be a very different life in Montana.
Seth turned to the men who had already resumed their various occupations in the saloon and asked, “Anybody see what happened here?” There was a restless shifting, but no one spoke. “Red?”
Red shrugged. “Didn't see a thing.”
Seth's eyes found Pike Hardesty, who hadnever left his seat at the poker table in the corner. He sat with his back to the wall, his thumbs tapping a rhythmic tattoo on the table. The hand of cards the dead man had played still lay scattered on the green felt. A chair stood awry some distance from the table as though it had been shoved there. A trail of blood led from the chair to the spot where the unarmed man had fallen in the sawdust.
Molly read the truth of the matter, just as she was sure Seth had. For a terrified moment she thought Seth might say something to provoke the man at the table, whose left cheek was sunken and scarred as though skin and bone had once been crushed. He had a thick moustache that flowed beyond the edges of a narrow mouth. His shaggy brown hair hung over his brows, half-masking snakelike eyes that were simply black, with no distinction of pupil or iris.
Abruptly, the scarred man stood. Molly saw he was both taller and heavier than Seth and wore a gun tied down low on his right hip. His fringed buckskin shirt and leggings were stained and slick from wear.
Casually, as though he hadn't noticed the scarred man's actions, Seth turned his backand began wiping his medical instruments clean and repacking them in his bag.
Molly stared at Seth, a frown growing between her brows. What sort of man was this? James would have stood toe to toe with the scarred man and welcomed the fight. Many was the time she had nursed James's bruised and swollen face and bathed his bleeding knuckles after a barroom brawl. She wasn't averse to Seth not fighting, just surprised by it.
However, in the west it seemed a man didn't have to go looking for trouble. It found him wherever he was.
To Molly's horror, the scarred man sauntered over, leaned back against the bar, and hooked his bootheel on the footrail. “You got something you want to say to me,
Molly knew it was over when she saw. the slump of Seth's shoulders. He seemed to curl in around himself. His hands stopped their deft movements. And she heard the soughing death rattle as the man gave up breath and life.
“Shouldn't have wasted my time,” Seth said in disgust. “Must have nicked the lung. Thought so when I first saw him, but I hoped …”
“You did the best you could,” Molly offered.
“What I did wasn't worth spit.”
Molly recoiled at the anger in his voice, the rigid tension in his body. “Was it something I did—or didn't do?”
Seth shook his head abruptly. “No. You did fine. A doctor couldn't ask for a more competent nurse.”
Molly breathed an inward sigh of relief. Her deception had done nothing to contributeto a man's death. But she couldn't take the chance that next time she wouldn't be so lucky. She took a deep breath and confessed, “Doctor Kendrick, I haven't ever assisted in an operation before.”
“I know.”
“You do? What made you suspect—”
“You didn't stop shaking the whole time,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. He took her hand and held it up between them. It was still shaking. “But you did everything I asked, when I asked. If you can follow instructions that well from now on, you'll do just fine.”
Molly pulled her hand from his and clasped it with the other in an attempt to still the tremors. She was appalled and amazed when she realized everything she had just done. Now she stood beside a dead body. She had been exposed to nothing so grim in New Bedford; it was going to be a very different life in Montana.
Seth turned to the men who had already resumed their various occupations in the saloon and asked, “Anybody see what happened here?” There was a restless shifting, but no one spoke. “Red?”
Red shrugged. “Didn't see a thing.”
Seth's eyes found Pike Hardesty, who hadnever left his seat at the poker table in the corner. He sat with his back to the wall, his thumbs tapping a rhythmic tattoo on the table. The hand of cards the dead man had played still lay scattered on the green felt. A chair stood awry some distance from the table as though it had been shoved there. A trail of blood led from the chair to the spot where the unarmed man had fallen in the sawdust.
Molly read the truth of the matter, just as she was sure Seth had. For a terrified moment she thought Seth might say something to provoke the man at the table, whose left cheek was sunken and scarred as though skin and bone had once been crushed. He had a thick moustache that flowed beyond the edges of a narrow mouth. His shaggy brown hair hung over his brows, half-masking snakelike eyes that were simply black, with no distinction of pupil or iris.
Abruptly, the scarred man stood. Molly saw he was both taller and heavier than Seth and wore a gun tied down low on his right hip. His fringed buckskin shirt and leggings were stained and slick from wear.
Casually, as though he hadn't noticed the scarred man's actions, Seth turned his backand began wiping his medical instruments clean and repacking them in his bag.
Molly stared at Seth, a frown growing between her brows. What sort of man was this? James would have stood toe to toe with the scarred man and welcomed the fight. Many was the time she had nursed James's bruised and swollen face and bathed his bleeding knuckles after a barroom brawl. She wasn't averse to Seth not fighting, just surprised by it.
However, in the west it seemed a man didn't have to go looking for trouble. It found him wherever he was.
To Molly's horror, the scarred man sauntered over, leaned back against the bar, and hooked his bootheel on the footrail. “You got something you want to say to me,
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