Two Brides Too Many (18 page)

“Do you think it might snow again before spring?” he asked to break the silence.

She looked at him, tears pooling her silver blue eyes, and he wondered what he’d said wrong. “Well, it’s been known to happen, and not too many years ago.” She tapped her chin, her brows raised. “Maybe ’93, can’t remember exactly, but it was early May when we had us a whiteout that lasted three days. Flattened some tents, and people had to step out their high windows.”

Footsteps on the wood staircase drew their attention to the doorway, and Morgan rose from the sofa. Nell Sinclair was the first of the three to make an entrance, holding Rosita’s hand. Kat Sinclair followed them in, her skirts swishing in a swirl of forest green.

“Ladies, you look lovely.” The compliment was true for them all, but it was Miss Kat who garnered his attention.

“Thank you, Dr. Cutshaw,” Miss Sinclair said. “You look very well turned out yourself.”

“Thank you. Shall we go, then?” Morgan wanted to get out the door before he said something characteristically rash. He set his derby on his head, hoping it would help hold in what good sense he had left.

Kat rode directly behind Dr. Morgan Cutshaw in the fancy rented carriage. Nell was at her side, and Hattie sat up front with him, Rosita, and HopHop. He guided the shiny black horse down Fourth Street to Bennett Avenue, and they rounded the corner past the depot, then climbed a steep hill. She tried to guess where he was taking them, but
as far as Kat knew, even Hattie hadn’t been able to wheedle tonight’s itinerary out of the doctor.

It didn’t really matter to her where they went. They’d all been working so hard on the cabin that it just felt good to be out for a ride that didn’t involve a mine or housework.

Late afternoon sun gave Dr. Cutshaw’s brown hair the sheen of the bark on a summer maple tree. She’d expect broad shoulders and a tanned neck on a miner or a cowboy, not a doctor, but then this city doctor had a flair for contradicting her expectations. His obvious enjoyment of the surrounding landscape also offered her occasion to view his profile. He had a strong chin, and a dimple on the right side of his face just above the shadow on his jaw.

“Did you always want to help people, Dr. Cutshaw?”

His shoulders sagged, and Kat watched him draw in a deep breath before he turned to speak.

“It was actually my father’s choice. He’s a surgeon, and on the board of Harvard Medical School. He pushed me toward medicine.” Pausing, he faced the road ahead. “But, at the time, I suppose I needed a push.”

Kat found it hard to believe that Dr. Cutshaw would need encouragement. He appeared so confident and focused.

“But you’re so good at doctoring. It’s hard to believe it wasn’t your first choice.” Nell gave Kat a raised eyebrow.

“That’s kind of you to say, but as a boy I dreamed of seeing crowds of people come to hear me play the piano.”

“I would have come.” Hattie grinned at him, her wrinkles thinning. “I love your piano playing.”

Kat smiled. She couldn’t think of anything her landlady didn’t love about the good doctor.

He looked at Hattie, his face reddening. The dimple in his cheek deepened with his boyish grin. “Sounds rather self-serving now.”

“Poppycock! Wanting to spread joy through music is not self-indulgent. Music feeds the soul, don’t you know.” Hattie waved her gloved hand at him as if he were a musician and she were his conductor. “And we all have hungry souls, Doctor.”

Kat sighed, wondering if her writing would ever be good enough to feed hungry souls. “And how do you feel about medicine now?”

“While I was in Boston, doctoring felt like an exercise that I did because it was good for me and for my patients.”

“It’s different for you here?” Even as Kat asked the question, she realized everything was different here. Terrain. Proprieties. There was more energy here than in the East. A sort of urgency to make the most of one’s life. But she hadn’t thought of the differences in terms of medicine and doctoring.

“There, I mostly treated patients with pneumonia, tuberculosis, and rheumatism.” He’d glanced at Hattie’s knotted fingers when he said it. “And I did so in my father’s shadow. Here in Cripple Creek, I’ve treated burn victims and patched two men who each lost a leg.”

“Don’t forget the baby,” Kat said. “You delivered at least one disinclined newborn without the assistance of a highly qualified midwife.”

He chuckled, and Kat enjoyed its resonance. He pulled up on the reins, slowing the horse to a lazy
clip-clop
. “Before I came here, I’d never seen such a majestic panorama.” He swept a welcoming hand toward the rolling hills and snowcapped mountains that enveloped them. “Since you two are new in town”—he gestured back at Nell and Kat—“I thought you might enjoy a little drive up to Tenderfoot Hill.”

Clapping, Hattie looked at the sisters over her shoulder. “You girls are truly in for a treat. That was my George’s favorite place.”

“With the fire and all, Doctor, how have you already had the time to orient yourself?” Kat gazed at the sweeping vistas, wishing she’d thought to bring her journal.

“I drove my buggy here from Divide through Ute Pass.” He pointed at the peak of the hill in front of them. “That, and a runaway wheel, gave me occasion to meet an old miner named Boney Hughes.”

“You know Mr. Hughes?” Nell glanced at Kat.

“You know Boney?” Dr. Cutshaw said it over his shoulder.

“I met Mr. Hughes on my walk last Friday.”

“Oh, that walk.” The doctor grinned, and Kat had to laugh.

“Boney is the one who told me where I could find Miss Sunny.” Boney was an unlikely friend at first sight, but then if her experience here was teaching her anything, it was that first sights couldn’t always be trusted.

At the top of the incline, he pulled the carriage off the road into a wide area and stopped. “This is Tenderfoot Hill. Those snowy peaks are the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.” He pointed off to the southwest.

“I thought we could step out for a better view.”

Kat scooted forward on the seat. “We’d like that.”

“You girls go ahead. Rosita’s getting a little sleepy. I’ll stay in the wagon with her.” Hattie opened her arms to the little girl, who climbed onto her lap.

“I not sleepy.” Rosita widened her eyes and bounced the bunny on her knees.

Kat nodded, and the doctor helped her out first, and then Nell. At this high elevation, a layer of snow blanketed the hilltop, and as
soon as she moved away from the carriage, a hearty breeze tipped her hat and wagged the folds of her skirt. She held them down and followed the doctor to a level lookout.

“That mountain range to the west is the Rockies. Behind us is Pikes Peak—the easternmost fourteen-thousand-foot peak in the United States.”

A display of light and shadow danced between the snowy tops and the mountains dark base. “This is so incredible—sunbeams waltzing with the snow-clad mountaintops.”

Morgan wasn’t looking at the mountains anymore, but at her.

“Kat’s a writer.” Nell, standing behind them, said it with a confidence Kat didn’t possess.

Kat liked to write. Had to, in fact, but was that enough to qualify her as a real writer?

“That explains your graceful way with words.” Dr. Cutshaw didn’t look startled by the fact, or disturbed that a woman would consider such a frivolity. “What do you write?”

“Mostly my journal, although I did write a couple of short pieces for the
Portland Press Herald
back home.”

“You could do that out here. Write for newspapers, magazines. You may even have a book or two in you.” His smile deepened the dimple.

Writing had been her dream, but could it be her livelihood? Without any possibility of marriage before her, she’d have to think on that.

He glanced back at the wagon. “Did you know Hattie before moving out here? Is that why you came to Cripple Creek?”

Kat looked toward the hills. “We didn’t know anyone in town, except through letters.”

“I came to marry Judson Archer,” Nell volunteered, her voice
dreamy. “We’ve been corresponding for several months. He’s due to arrive back in town any day now.”

“Then congratulations are in order.” Dr. Cutshaw gazed at Kat, an eyebrow raised.

“My fiancé died.”

His eyes widened in a stunned, awkward silence. “My condolences.”

“I’m quite fine, Doctor,” she said, turning away from the view of the mountains. “And thank you for the ride. It was lovely.”

Nodding, he angled toward the carriage. “Perhaps we should head back into town. I’ve ordered a supper to take back to Hattie’s.”

Once they were all seated in the carriage, the doctor guided the horse back down the hill. He wove through the crowded streets and parked in front of the Third Street Café, then stepped out. “I’ll only be a moment, ladies.” He tipped his hat.

Kat watched as he took long, easy strides to the door. When he’d extended the invitation, she’d been anything but excited about the evening, but it had indeed turned out to be more enjoyable than she had expected. Dr. Morgan Cutshaw was proving that you could turn a first impression around.

He’d just closed the door behind him when a family walked up the boardwalk toward them. Kat didn’t recognize the parents or the boy, but she remembered the young woman from Hattie’s parlor. Darla Taggart.

The well-dressed woman saw them and smiled, and veered away from her family toward the carriage. “Good evening, Miss Hattie.” She tilted her head at Nell. “Good evening. Nell, is it?”

“Yes, hello, Miss Taggart.”

“Darla. Please call me Darla.” She looked at Kat, a blank look on her face.

“It’s Kat. Good evening.” She dipped her chin. “Darla.”

She glanced at Rosita asleep on Hattie’s lap and then back at Kat. “Is this your daughter, Kat?”

“No. She lost her mother in the fire. We’re caring for her until we can find her grandmother.”

“How kind of you. Are you coming in for supper?” Darla glanced at the door where her family waited for her. When the door whooshed open, they all watched the doctor walk out carrying a shallow wooden box covered with a towel.

“Dr. Cutshaw?” Darla looked back at the sisters, her eyebrow raised and her jaw set.

Morgan greeted Darla’s family and then walked to the carriage. “Good evening, Miss Taggart.”

She stared at the box in his arms. “Seems it’s the perfect evening for dining out.”

“Yes. Our supper. I…we’re having our supper at Miss Hattie’s.”

“What wonderful luck that I should see you here.” Darla clasped her hands and stretched her arms down in front of her ruffled dress. “I wanted to thank you again for such a lovely evening last night.”

Kat’s pulse began to race. He’d been out with her last evening? Was taking women out for evening carriage rides a habit with this man?

“Uh, yes. It was.” After he set the box on the floor in the back of the carriage, he stopped beside Kat and glanced back at the short, balding man by the door. “Miss Taggart and her father, the reverend, had a clinic for the wounded after prayer meeting last night.”

“Oh, well. That explains it.” Hattie shifted Rosita in her arms and shot Kat a glance. “Darla, dear, you’ll have to excuse us, or supper will surely get cold.”

“Yes, of course. I won’t keep you. Doctor.” She curtsied, a huge smile crossing her face. “Have a nice evening.” Her enthusiasm faded as she addressed Hattie and the sisters. “And you, as well.” Her gaze lingered on Kat a little longer than necessary, and she smiled.

“Good to see you again too,” Kat said. It wasn’t a lie, because Kat was glad for this meeting. It reminded her that she was better off without a man’s attentions, especially since Miss Darla Taggart had designs on this particular man.

Morgan climbed up into the carriage and flicked the reins, driving up Bennett Avenue as the sun dipped to the west. They’d just crossed Bennett when a tall, lanky man spotted them and stepped into the road directly in their path, waving his hat.

The very sight of the familiar face caused Kat’s stomach to churn.

Dr. Cutshaw pulled back on the reins. “Evening, Sheriff.”

“Pardon me, Doctor. May I have a word with you?”

Dr. Cutshaw jumped down, and the sheriff gestured for him to step away from the carriage.

The sheriff kept his voice low, and Kat strained to hear his words. “Sister Coleman’s wantin’ you over at the hospital. A man’s been robbed and beaten.” The sheriff glanced at Nell, a shadow crossing his face, and Kat sucked in her breath.

A buggy passed by, and Kat couldn’t hear the next part of the conversation, but after it passed, she leaned forward, trying to hear. She made out the word
Judson
. Nell must have heard too, because the color drained from her face.

“It’s my Judson, isn’t it?” Nell whispered. “Something horrible has happened to Judson.”

T
WENTY
-F
IVE

A
t the hospital, Nell didn’t wait for Morgan to help her out of the carriage. She scarcely waited for the carriage to roll to a stop before she sprang from it and rushed to the door. The sisters had insisted on coming to the hospital, even though Dr. Cutshaw had tried to get them to stay home when he dropped off Hattie and Rosita. As soon as they stepped into the entry hall, she felt Kat’s hand capture hers. Nell felt a surge of strength steady her knees, but she still couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down her cheeks. They’d read stories about the robberies in the West—beatings too—and now the man she loved had been attacked.