"Well, I hope there's more to see, or I might just swim back, Doc. This place looks like hell must on a cloudy day and smells worse than New Orleans, and I thought that would be impossible.” Bonnie batted at flies with her long, thin hand as she leaned sideways to compensate for the two bags she carried, one for her personal things and one with her black cat inside.
Sage lifted her own worn carpetbag and maneuvered along the dock. Horses were corralled a hundred yards inland. Pigs and chickens were boxed in wooden crates probably being readied to load on the ship for the return trip. A dozen odors, all bad, floated on the gray, stagnant air like invisible smoke trails.
"Some say Galveston has half a million people.” Sage tried to paint a positive picture. "They've even got a store that sells nothing but jewelry.”
"That Some who counted must have included pigs and chickens."
A drunk, half a head shorter than Bonnie, bumped into her, almost knocking her bag from her fist.
The nurse awkwardly danced around him and widened her stance. "And a few in Some's count could be considered half-pig.” She frowned at the man trying to stumble down the narrow walk and wrinkled her nose. "And half-horse, from the smell of him.” Bonnie stared up at the brooding sky. "Lord, make it rain before that man can find shelter.”
Sage grinned. She'd made the right decision to talk Bonnie into coming along. The woman was stronger than most men and as fine a nurse as any Boston hospital ever produced. And, best of all, she tolerated no dirt. A patient, bleeding and near death would be lovingly cared for until he was out of danger; then he'd be scrubbed clean.
They reached the sandy boardwalk and dodged traffic as they worked their way toward town and the hotel. She could have hired a cart, but a walk after being trapped on a boat sounded good.
Sage promised herself as soon as she had a bath, she'd put away her widow's black and slip into the same riding clothes she'd worn when she left Texas. Only four months had passed since Barret had died, but four months seemed long enough to mourn a man she'd been married to for only four weeks, a man who'd never once said he loved her, not even on their wedding day. In the months she'd worn black for him, Sage realized she'd admired Barret Lander but never loved him.
At the market, they moved beyond the stores and offices packed together in long rows of storefronts. While Sage searched for the name of the hotel her brother wrote he'd booked for them, Bonnie set her bundle down and watched the street. Galveston spread like a tapestry of cultures and colors before her, a place where civilization and the frontier met. There were men in fine suits and uniforms, traders in fur, and cowboys with wide hats and guns strapped across their chests.
Bonnie smiled. "I can't tell if there is a sample of every kind of man about or if this is just where the scraps got left off”
"A little of both.” Sage laughed.
Carts, wagons, coaches, and half-broken horses maneuvered down the road, and every single one seemed to be trying to get around the others.
"This is true chaos” Bonnie set her cat down to push her tiny round glasses farther up her Roman nose. "Half these people need to go home and come back tomorrow."
When she put her fist on her hip, a broad-shouldered cowhand, carrying a fifty-pound bag of grain on his shoulder, bumped into her. He swung around, knocking a burly man into the street as he tried to apologize to Bonnie.
She stood, like a turnstile, in everyone's way, as she stared at the fellow in chaps and boots who towered almost a head taller than her.
"Pardon me, miss." The cowhand smiled down at her as if a six-foot woman were nothing unusual.
Bonnie remained speechless. This sudden contact with the locals seemed too much for her ordered world.
Laughing, Sage realized Bonnie would never speak to the man, no matter how long he stood in the middle of the street apologizing. Between shyness and being raised by overbearing parents, the old maid was destined never to talk, much less flirt, with any male.
Sage looked past Bonnie and the cowboy and spotted the hotel directly across the street. It was so new, the whitewash didn't look dry. Her protective older brothers would, of course, have found the best place they could to welcome her home. It wouldn't matter to them that she was a doctor or a widow; to them all she'd ever be was their kid sister.
A dog's yelp drew her attention to the husky man who'd landed in the muddy street. Anger wrinkled his reddened face, and he kicked again at a stray mutt beside him. He marched back toward the spot where Bonnie now stood. He took one look at the cowboy with the huge bag on his shoulder still trying to apologize and decided to kick the dog running in the street instead of picking a fight he couldn't win.
The animal took the second blow and limped a foot away, whimpering.
The man wasn't finished. He swung back his leg to plant another blow.
Sage reacted before she thought. Her bag slammed into the stout troublemaker at the same moment his foot reached the wounded dog. The man fell backward against the boardwalk, and the dog rolled farther into the street.
She jumped to snatch the animal back and too late realized she'd stepped directly into the path of a team of galloping horses.
Sage scooped up the pup and closed her eyes, bracing for the blow to come.
Bonnie's and her screams blended, but neither had time to move.
Like a swift wind, something or someone brushed against Sage and lifted her off the ground a second before impact.
Feeling suspended between life and death, Sage didn't dare breathe. Maybe that's how it is when you die, she thought. Maybe the angel of death grabs you a split second before you feel the pain.
But she could feel the dog in her arms. She could feel something strong and warm locked around her waist. A second later, she was plopped down on the walk out of harm's way.
"Damn it, Sage!" a furious voice thundered. "You about killed yourself over a stray dog."
Sage cringed. Recognizing the voice, she opened one eye. "Roak?"
The man before her was filthy from his dusty hat to his mud-covered boots. If Satan hired wranglers, this trail duster would get the job. He was tall, dark, and the kind of lean that's molded from solid muscle.
"Roak?" she whispered again. After almost four years there was no mistaking the wildness of Drummond Roak. His stormy gray eyes glared at her as if he was considering murdering her for almost getting herself killed. The lean boy's face she remembered seemed chiseled in strong, hard lines now. Just as she'd suspected, he'd grown up mean and heartless, probably tossing women aside in every settlement from here to the Oklahoma Territory
She opened her other eye. "It is you, isn't it?" None of the boy she'd known remained. This man before her almost frightened her.
He pulled off his hat and shoved midnight hair out of his eyes. "Of course it's me, damn it. Teagen told me you'd be in this week. I had to ride like hell to get here, and what do I see…" He swallowed hard as if choking down curses by the dozen. "I have half a mind to turn you over my knee and whip some sense into you. You must have left your brain back at that college you went to”
"Stop swearing at me!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
From behind him, Bonnie pushed her way through the gathering crowd. She stood almost eye-to-eye with Drummond Roak. "Who is this man, Dr. Lander? He can't talk to you like this. I won't stand for it." There was no doubt Bonnie thought she could straighten him out with a few words.
Sage almost laughed. Bonnie saw herself as not only nurse but bodyguard. As far as Sage knew, the nurse had never met anyone who didn't bend to what the hospital called her "sergeant tone” Sage had seen entire waiting rooms grow silent at her order, but Nurse Bonnie Faye had never encountered Drummond Roak.
He turned toward the nurse before spitting his words out. "Who am I? Who in the hell are you?"