The Engagement Bargain. Sherri Shackelford
across the perspiration beading on his forehead, he sighed. Perhaps Jo was partially right, perhaps he was growing too set in his ways.
The suffragist clenched and unclenched her hands. “You’re the veterinarian, aren’t you?”
Caleb straightened his instruments and set his jaw. Anna didn’t have time for debate. “It appears I’m the best choice you’ve got right now.”
“I’m Mrs. Franklin.” The suffragist stuck out her hand and gave his a fierce shake. “I briefly served as a nurse in the war. I can assist you.”
“Excellent.” A wave of relief flooded through him. “I’ve got alcohol, bandages and tools in my bag. There’s no ether, but I have a dose of laudanum.” He met the woman’s steady gaze. “I’m Caleb McCoy. This is my sister, JoBeth Cain.”
Mrs. Franklin tilted her head. “I thought you must be related. Those green eyes and that dark hair are quite striking.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Anna is tough. She’ll do well.” She pressed both hands against her papery cheeks. “I requested her appearance. I had no idea something like this would happen.”
Jo snorted. “Of course you didn’t. Assigning blame isn’t going to stop a bullet. Caleb, tell us what to do.” She lifted a pale green corked bottle from his bag. “And why do you have laudanum, anyway?”
“Got it from the doc when John’s prize stallion kicked me last spring.” Caleb rolled his shoulder, recalling the incident with a wince. John Elder raised horses for the cavalry, and his livelihood depended upon his horses’ continued good health. Caleb’s dedication had left him with a dislocated shoulder and a nasty scar on his thigh from the horse’s sharp teeth. “I figured the laudanum might come in handy one day. I’ll need the chair. You’ll have to sit on the opposite side of the bed.”
He uncorked the still-full bottle and measured a dose into the crystal glass he’d discovered on the nightstand. Jo rested her hip on the bed and raised Miss Bishop’s shoulders. Anna moaned and pulled away.
Caleb held the glass to her lips. “This tastes foul, but you’ll appreciate the benefits.”
A fine sheen of sweat coated Miss Bishop’s forehead. Her brilliant blue eyes had glazed over, yet he caught a hint of understanding in her disoriented expression. He tipped the glass, and she took a drink, then coughed and sputtered.
“Easy there,” Caleb soothed. “Just a little more.”
Jo quirked one dark eyebrow. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to say, easy there old girl.”
Miss Bishop pushed away the glass. “This old girl has had enough.”
“Don’t go slandering my patients,” Caleb offered with a half grin. “I’ve never gotten a complaint yet.”
She flashed him a withering glance that let him know exactly what she thought of his assurances. “The next time you have a speaking patient, we’ll compare notes.”
He was heartened Miss Bishop had retained her gumption. She was going to need it.
After ensuring she’d taken the full dose, he rested the glass on the table and adjusted the pillow more comfortably behind Miss Bishop’s head. “You’ll be sound asleep in a minute. This will all be over soon.”
“I have an uneasy feeling this is only the beginning, Mr. McCoy.” She spoke hoarsely, her eyes already dulled by the laudanum.
“You’ll live to fight another day, Miss Bishop. I promise you that.”
Her head lolled to one side, and she reached for Jo. “Please, let my mother know I’m fine. I don’t want her to worry.”
While Jo offered reassurances, Caleb checked the wound once more and discovered the bleeding had slowed, granting him a much-needed reprieve. He desperately wanted to wait until the laudanum took effect before stitching her up. This situation was uncharted territory. He understood an animal’s reaction to pain. He knew how to soothe them, and he took confidence in his skills, knowing his treatments were for the ultimate benefit.
People were altogether different. He wasn’t good with people in the best of situations, let alone people he didn’t know well. He never missed the opportunity to remain silent in a group, letting others carry the conversation.
Miss Bishop fumbled for his hand and squeezed his fingers, sending his heartbeat into double time. He wasn’t certain if her touch signified fear or gratitude. Aware of the curious perusal of the other two women, Caleb kept the comforting pressure on her delicate hand and waited until he felt the tension drain from Miss Bishop’s body. Once her breathing turned shallow and even, he gently extracted his fingers from her limp hold.
Satisfied the laudanum had taken effect, he doused his hands with alcohol over a porcelain bowl, then motioned for Mrs. Franklin to do the same. Without being asked, the suffragist cleaned his tools in the same solution, her movements efficient and sure.
Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Franklin knew her way around medical instruments. He put her age at midsixties, though he was no expert on such matters. Her hair was the same stern gray as her eyes and her austere dress, the skin around her cheeks frail. She was tall for a woman, and wiry thin. Her fingers were swollen at the knuckles, yet her hands were steady.
Jo cleared her throat. “Caleb, I never thanked you for coming with me today. I’m thinking this is a good time to remedy that.”
They exchanged a look, and his throat tightened. A silent communication passed between them, a wealth of understanding born of a shared childhood that didn’t need words.
A sudden thought jolted him. “Did you find the little girl’s parents? Was anyone else injured?”
“One question at a time.” Jo admonished. “Anna’s youngest follower discovered her mother in the lobby, frantic with worry. As you’d expect, there was much scolding and a few tears of relief. I asked around, and, as far as anyone can tell, Anna was the only person hurt.”
Relieved to set one worry aside, Caleb focused on his patient. “Most likely we’d know by now if someone else was injured.”
Or shot.
The enormity of Miss Bishop’s condition weighed on him. She’d placed her trust in him, and he wouldn’t fail her. “If Anna comes around, you’ll need to keep her calm. I’ve enough laudanum for another dose, but it’s potent, and I’d like to finish before the first measure wears off.”
He’d never been a great admirer of the concoction, and the less she ingested, the better.
Jo pressed the back of her hand against Miss Bishop’s forehead. “Don’t forget, I helped Ma for years with her midwife duties. I know what to do.”
The irony hadn’t escaped him. Of the three of them, Caleb was the least experienced with human patients, yet he had the most experience with stitching up wounds. After modestly draping Miss Bishop’s upper body, he slid his scissors between the turquoise fabric and her skin and easily sliced the soaked material away from her wound.
He held out the scissors, and they were instantly replaced with a cloth.
His admiration for the suffragist grew. “How long did you serve in the war, Mrs. Franklin?”
“It was only a few months in ’65. I’d lost both of my sons and my husband by then. Our farm was burned. There really wasn’t anything left for me to do. Nothing to do but help others.”
Caleb briefly closed his eyes before carefully tucking the draping around the bullet wound. “I’m sorry for your losses.”
Mrs. Franklin lifted her chin. “It was a long time ago. I’ve been a widow longer than I was ever married. Would you like the instruments handed to you from the right or the left?”
“The right.”
Her brisk efficiency brought them all on