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  When she’d settled on which miner it was likely his father had hoped he’d visit, he watched as she pushed through the crowd, returning quickly with a pencil and piece of paper from the desk by the front door. She certainly was efficient and determined, and she scribbled for a moment before handing him the paper, the miner’s name and address written neatly on it.

  “Thank you, Miss Archer. I do appreciate the information. Have you any idea what my father might wish for me to inquire about when I go see them?”

  She shook her head slowly as she frowned. “I don’t. I know that the doctor has been treating him and I’ve been out to see him a couple of times, but I don’t know what your father might be concerned about. Maybe you could ask him?”

  He rocked back on his heels and glanced down at the paper once more. “He’s not awake for long. I’m able to speak with him very briefly and then he starts snoring again, almost mid-sentence,” he said, laughing.

  He looked up as she took in a quick breath, her hand on her chest. “I don’t think that’s funny,” she said as her eyes filled with concern.

  He glanced up to the ceiling. He’d been raised by an undertaker, and it had been quite some time, but he knew that his father’s philosophy about death and dying took many people by surprise—and not always pleasantly.

  “Miss Archer, my father knows he is dying. He’s at peace with it. At this point, it’s my duty to help him be as comfortable and peaceful as possible—and if he needs to sleep, so be it.”

  Their eyes held as the young lady appeared to be taking in what he’d said. It was a rare person who even understood—let alone agreed with—his sensibilities regarding this topic, and he was fully prepared for her to argue.

  She didn’t, and he found himself grateful. Her eyes softened and she reached out for the paper she’d written the miner’s information on. She studied it for a moment, then looked up at him.

  “Since you’re new in town, would it be helpful if I escorted you to see Mr. Chapman tomorrow? If that’s what your father wishes, I would like to help if I can.”

  His gratitude deepened. “That would be most helpful. Not only am I not familiar with Tombstone, I have no transportation. From the map you drew, it would have been quite a long walk.”

  She laughed, and the sound warmed his heart. He could clearly see why his father was so fond of this young lady.

  “I’d be delighted,” she said with a small nod. She passed him the paper, and as their fingertips touched, the chill of the cold night air fell away.

  He pulled back his hand as a tall, lean man stepped behind Miss Archer. His black hair was combed straight back from his forehead and his mustache waxed to turn up at the ends. He was fairly young to be a doctor, and Clint wondered how long ago he’d graduated medical school. Couldn’t have been long.

  Their eyes met, and Clint was unable to squelch a slight shiver.

  “Sage,” he said as he placed his hand on Miss Archer’s shoulder and she turned, her eyes lighting.

  “Dr. Folsom, how good to see you,” she said as her hands twisted the fringe of her scarf.

  “And you,” he said, his eyes not leaving Clint’s. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  She looked from the doctor to Clint, smiling. “Oh, Dr. Folsom, meet Mr. Jackson, the older Mr. Jackson’s son, here from New York. Mr. Jackson, Dr. Folsom,” she said quickly, taking a step back so she was no longer between them.

  Clint held out his hand, grasping the doctor’s moist palm and giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said as the doctor gave his hand a weak squeeze. “I look forward to having the opportunity to discuss my father’s condition with you at your earliest convenience.”

  Clint had just laid eyes on the man, but thought he saw a shadow flicker in his eyes before he broke their gaze.

  “Likewise.” The doctor searched the room over the top of Miss Archer’s head. “Excuse me, I must speak to—”

  “Doctor Folsom,” Miss Archer said as she reached for his coat sleeve and tugged. The doctor turned back and looked down his nose at her, his eyebrows raised as he pulled his elbow away.

  “Yes?”

  Miss Archer cleared her throat. “The elder Mr. Jackson has asked his son to check on Mr. Chapman.”

  “He has, has he?” the doctor said, and Clint clasped his hands behind his back. If what he’d seen of Miss Archer so far was true, she was perfectly capable of handling this on her own.

  “Yes, he has. I’ve offered to accompany him tomorrow—he doesn’t have his bearings in Tombstone yet, and hasn’t met the Chapmans, and I thought—”

  “Why? Mr. Chapman is in my care, and his recuperation is going swimmingly,” the doctor cut in, turning toward Clint. “I’m certain he has no need of your services, whatever they may be, nor your father’s.”

  Miss Archer shifted from foot to foot, and Clint turned toward her as she looked up at him pleadingly. Maybe she did need some assistance after all.

  “My father insists, Dr. Folsom, and I’d be quite grateful for Miss Archer’s assistance in navigating the neighborhoods of Tombstone. Very generous of you, and I’m sure my father will be quite grateful.”

  The doctor sighed, waving his hand toward her dismissively. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to check on him, Sage, and report back as to his continued progress. I will expect you in the office by noon,” he said.

  Clint seized the opportunity even though they’d just agreed to talk later to ask about his father. “Doctor, I was hoping that you could explain to me what exactly is my father’s ailment, and what you have done to assist,” Clint asked.

  Dr. Folsom narrowed his eyes at Clint. “I’m sure you know that he has respiratory difficulties,” the doctor said finally. “They’ve finally gotten the better of him, it would appear.”

  Clint frowned as the doctor turned on his heel and strode to the opposite side of the room, striking up conversation with an older woman who walked with a cane and was dressed all in black.

  Miss Archer turned to him, seemingly unaware that he’d been abruptly dismissed.

  “Isn’t he wonderful? So kind of him to want me to check on Mr. Chapman. He cares so deeply for his patients,” she said as she glanced back at the doctor, who was in an animated discussion with an apparent widow.

  Clint looked over toward the doctor as well, seeing nothing of what Miss Archer had just described in the man. It didn’t matter, really, as Dr. Folsom had agreed to Sage escorting Clint the following day.

  He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and his eyebrows rose at the time. He stifled a yawn and wondered how all of these people were so bright and cheerful at nearly midnight.

  “Thank you for offering to escort me tomorrow. I believe I’ll take my leave soon, and I’ll confirm with my father that this is indeed the man he wanted me to see.”

  “Good. I’ll call for you at, say, nine o’clock?” she asked.

  “That would be perfect, thank you,” he said. “Now, could you direct me to whomever is accepting donations?” He patted his pocket that held the thick envelope his father had given him earlier. “I have one to make before I go.”

  Chapter 9

  “Thank you, Maria,” Sage said absently as the Archer family’s long-time housekeeper set a cup of hot chocolate—the Mexican style they’d been served since they were children—in front of her. She took the spoon Maria offered and stirred slowly, steam curling up and the scent of chocolate and cinnamon tickling her nose. “Please, go home. I don’t want to keep you away from Diego.”

  Maria stuck her fingers in her ears and laughed. “Diego snores loud enough to wake the saints. I won’t get a minute of sleep until he stops, and that’ll be some time yet,” she said as she glanced out the window toward the small bungalow she shared with her new husband. “If I’d known, I might have reconsidered his marriage proposal.”

  Sage looked quickly at the older woman who’d taken care of the Archer family since she could remember. It was comforting to see he
r so happy, but she did wonder why anyone would want to be married—especially if it meant you’d never sleep again.

  She’d lingered with Maria after her family had gone to bed, grateful for the end of the teasing.

  “Who was the handsome man you were talking to, Sage?” Pepper had asked relentlessly until she’d broken down and explained.

  “It’s Mr. Jackson’s son, recently arrived from New York.”

  “Ooh,” Tarra chimed in. “He certainly was dashing. That satin vest, piercing eyes—”

  “And tall. I heard he’s a doctor, too.” Pepper glanced at Sage from the corner of her eye.

  “Mr. Jackson’s son, you say? I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him,” her father said as he poured himself a cup of tea.

  “Not you, too,” Sage said, exasperated.

  “What? I was just going to acknowledge the very, very generous donation Mrs. Allen mentioned he made. Very kind of him.”

  “It certainly was sizable,” Tarra said. She lopped down at the kitchen table and reached for a pastry. “I didn’t get to meet him, either. Sage, you simply must invite him for supper. Right, Maria?”

  Maria had come to her rescue, setting her hands on Sage’s shoulders. “Now, girls, leave her alone. She’ll invite who she wants for supper, or no one if she’s a mind to.”

  “Well, if she invited Mr. Jackson, maybe he’d actually show up,” Pepper said over her shoulder. She scooted out the door, barely escaping Sage’s grasp on her braids.

  “Yes, I was surprised to see the doctor even made it to the fundraiser. He didn’t seem too charmed by Mr. Jackson, though, from what I could tell.”

  “Why are you all even discussing this?” Sage asked, casting a pleading glance at her father.

  He looked from Sage to Maria and must have noticed their glares. “Oh, right. Now, girls, run along to bed. It’s late, almost eleven. Busy day tomorrow,” he said, setting his empty cup on the counter.

  He crossed over to Sage and kissed her lightly on top of her head. “Don’t listen to them, my dear. I know how you feel about the doctor.”

  Sage held her breath until they’d all left the room. She reveled in the silence for a moment, and was grateful that Maria had stayed.

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” she asked finally after Maria had poured her a second cup of chocolate.

  “What?”

  “About the doctor? How I feel about the doctor?”

  Maria shifted her weight and leaned back in her chair, eyeing Sage. She crossed her arms over her bosom. “You’ve invited him to supper several times.”

  Sage looked up at Maria. “Yes, I have. He’s a bachelor, and is so busy tending to people, helping people, that I fear he doesn’t eat. Why, I frequently have to set food down in front of him or he wouldn’t.”

  “Mm-hm,” Maria said slowly. “And you spend a great deal of time in his company, helping him.”

  Sage’s spoon clattered as she dropped it on the saucer. “Yes, I do. That’s my job, and I love to help people, too. You know that. And besides, I’m learning a great deal from him. Why, just the other day he was formulating tonics, and I—”

  Maria held her palms out toward Sage and shook her head. “I understand why you are working with the doctor. But is it really surprising that people don’t see that, that they see only a lovely young lady spending time with a young man whom she clearly thinks the world of?”

  Sage frowned as she turned toward Maria. “I don’t think the world of him.”

  She paused for a moment as she glanced at Maria’s raised eyebrows. Her face flushed.

  She cleared her throat and began again. “Well, I suppose I might. He’s brilliant, and has wonderful ideas about how to help people. He’s always willing to tend to an emergency, and I do want to learn as much as I can from him.”

  “I know you do. And rightly so. You spent so much time with your mother, mixing tonics and helping her—and now that she’s gone, I’m sure it’s quite exciting to be learning again with the doctor.”

  She pushed herself up from the table and set her empty cup on the counter.

  “It’s not just that, Maria. He knows so much more than Mama and I did. He studied in Boston, you know. I’ve always dreamed of going to the East Coast. There’s just so much more to know.”

  Maria stepped up behind her and rested her hand on Sage’s shoulder. “Sage, I know you want to learn, and to help. Your sisters see it, too.”

  Sage did want to learn, to help. She’d been proud when Dr. Folsom had asked her to show him how to make the tonics she and her mother made—especially the one Sage used to ease her mother’s suffering at the end. But after that single time, he’d shown no interest in them, only disdain.

  Maria had begun to hum as she moved about the kitchen. She stopped, and said, “Maybe Doctor Folsom is someone that you could marry.”

  Sage’s eyes flew open wide and she spun toward Maria, meeting her eyes. That had been the furthest thing from her mind.

  “Not you, too! I have no interest in marriage. Not now, and after your description of Diego, likely not ever. I wish everyone would just stop.”

  “Now, now, Sage,” Maria said as she gathered Sage in her arms. “Never say never.”

  Later, as she climbed under her down comforter and blew out the lantern on the bedside table, she thought of Dr. Folsom, and how he’d kindly allowed her to escort Mr. Jackson the next day. As irritating as it was to be teased by her family, she had to admit that she did admire the doctor quite a bit—his medical skills were beyond reproach, and he did whatever he could to help people, even staying up well into the night studying medicines for specific patients and their individual illnesses. But she’d never thought of him in any romantic way—at least she hadn’t thought so. This wasn’t the first time she’d been mercilessly teased by her family. Maybe they saw something she didn’t. But married? The thought had never even crossed her mind—to Dr. Folsom or anyone else, for that matter. All she wanted to do was help people, learn as much about medicine as she could. Was marrying a doctor the next best thing?

  She’d dreamt of helping people since she was a little girl, since she’d tagged along with her mother as she met with the sick, delivering her herbal tonics, before they had a proper doctor in town. Later, her mother had taught her how to prepare different elixirs from the herbs in the garden they tended—the herbs she’d named her six girls after and more whose names were difficult to pronounce.

  Her mother had been gone for several years now, but Sage had taken great comfort and pride in preparing a tonic that eased her mother’s pain at the end, when she was no longer able to make it herself—and Mr. Jackson’s face flashed in her mind.

  Tears pricked her eyelids as she remembered the last words her mother had spoken to her. “You’re going to make a wonderful doctor one day, Sage,” she’d said. Sage could feel the warm touch of her frail fingers on her cheek as if it were yesterday.

  She’d bit her tongue to keep from saying, “Girls don’t get to be doctors, Mama, you know that. Not here, anyway.”

  If her mother wanted to believe that dream was possible for her daughter, Sage was going to let her pass over with her dream intact, even though she’d long ago steeled her own heart against the disappointment of it never coming true.

  She pushed the thoughts from her head. Tomorrow would come soon, and even though she’d never be a doctor herself, she was going to see another patient with Mr. Jackson tomorrow, and she aimed to learn everything she could from this interesting man. He was only a medical student, though, and surely couldn’t hold a candle to Dr. Folsom. But she’d help him, anyway. Maybe she could learn something from him, too.

  Chapter 10

  Clint sat by his father’s side and glanced at his watch. He’d been up for hours—he wasn’t a particularly early riser, but today he was up before the sun for some reason. He washed and dressed, hoping to speak with his father for a bit before Miss Archer arrived to take him to see the miner that his f
ather was concerned about. He’d hoped he’d have the opportunity to get a little more information from his father beforehand, but since he’d been in the room, his father hadn’t stirred.

  “He woke twice in the night and I had to give him some tonic,” Mrs. Baxter said as she entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits. “I don’t think he’ll eat, either, whenever he does wake up.”

  “He’s still not eating?”

  “No, not well. You know how he loved his Sunday roast—haven’t gotten him to eat even that with potatoes for weeks.” She set the tray on the table beside his bed and tugged the covers up under his chin, her eyes misting.

  Clint said a silent ‘thank you’ that this kind woman had taken his father and his young son under her wing after his mother’s death—they had been blessed.

  He cleared his throat and leaned forward to take the cup of tea Mrs. Baxter had poured for him, dropping in two sugars and a dollop of cream, just the way he liked it. He gave her a warm smile at the familiar gesture.

  “Has he spoken to you about his concerns regarding the miner? I honestly don’t even know what I’m going to look for.”

  She sat in the chair beside him and sipped her own tea, speaking softly. “No, he hasn’t.” She frowned at the still form in the bed. “He speaks to Mrs. Allen and Sage, mostly, about things of that nature. I have my hands full keeping him fed and warm.”

  Clint smiled, knowing she took her responsibilities very seriously and grateful that she did.

  Mrs. Baxter stood as the bell pull sounded and they both glanced down the hall toward the front door. Clint checked his watch, wondering if Miss Archer was perpetually late, or if this was an uncommon occurrence. He thought it best not to mention it as she’d been gracious enough to agree to accompany him on his father’s requested visit to the miner and his wife.