“Hell, I’m past the point of being tired.” Simon had ceased to be awed by the Calder name. “What happened?”
“Abe Garvey was stomped pretty bad by a rank horse in his roundup string. We brought him back here and did what we could for him, then sent for you,” Webb explained as he opened the bunkhouse door. “He appears to be bleeding inside.”
“I’ll take a look at him.” He entered the bunkhouse, his mind already running through the possibilities. A tired smile broke over his weary features when he recognized the blond-haired woman by the injured man’s bunk. “Ah, my favorite nurse. How are you, Ruth?”
“Fine.” Her glance skipped past him to Webb, then fell quickly away.
“You really should give up schoolteaching and come to work for me, Ruth.” Simon began his examination of the patient immediately, talking while he did so. “Lord knows, I could use the help.” He sensed her stiffness and the high tension that hovered just below her placid surface. The cause was easy to diagnose. Webb Calder. It had been obvious to Simon when she nursed Webb after that gunshot wound that she was hopelessly in love with him. Evidently the situation hadn’t changed. One look at the injured cowboy advised him that he would require her help—and her undivided attention.
“Webb, why don’t you clear out and leave us professionals to take care of him?” Simon suggested bluntly while the other half of his mind was practicing his profession on the patient. “And make sure there’s plenty of hot coffee. I’m going to need a gallon when I’m through here.”
There was a degree of hesitation before Webb conceded his presence wasn’t necessary. “I’ll be over in the cookshack.”
It was better than two hours later when Simon Bardolph entered the cookshack. Webb poured him a cup of coffee and had it sitting on the long table when he sat down. The doctor rubbed his face, as if trying to push out the tiredness.
“I’d say he has better than a good chance of pulling through” was his verdict. “Whoever set that broken leg did a good job.”
“Slim and Nate did that before they loaded him in the chuckwagon to bring him back to the ranch,” Webb said. “Grizzly has a steak burned for you.”
There was a pause, followed by a short, tired laugh. “I can’t remember when I ate last,” Simon declared.
“That’s what I thought.” Webb motioned to the bad-tempered cook to serve up the meal. “I heard there’s been a fever hitting the drylanders.” He was fishing for information about Lilli, whether he was willing to admit it or not.
“Typhoid.” When the plate was set before him, Simon picked up his knife and fork and began cutting into the meat with little surgical precision. “It’s been keeping me running from one end of the country to the other. I’ve tried to spread the word that everyone should boil their water before drinking it, but—” He shrugged to indicate the foolish lack of cooperation and simple laziness of some. “It’s the very young and the old I’m losing.” He chewed on a bite of steak. “I’d forgotten how good food tastes,” he said thickly, not waiting until he swallowed.
“We’ve got plenty of food, so don’t be shy about asking for seconds,” Webb offered.
“Don’t have the time.” Simon talked between mouthfuls. “I’ve got a maternity case waiting.”
“Oh?” The sound was a question.
“Your neighbor Franz Kreuger’s wife. She went into labor. If this baby follows the pattern of her others, I should arrive just in time to usher it into the world.” He sliced off another chunk of the charred meat. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised Kreuger even sent for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“He thinks there was more I could have done to save his neighbor.” He shook his head. “The man
is irrational at times.”
“His neighbor. Which one was it?” Webb frowned.
“An old guy . . .” Simon wagged his fork in the air, searching for the name. “Richter . . . Richner . . . something like that.”
“Reisner. Stefan Reisner.” Webb supplied the name, surprised at how flat his voice sounded.
“That’s it.” Simon nodded and stabbed another piece of meat to pop into his mouth, eating with a haste he would have warned his patients against.
“What about his wife?” Everything inside him was still, waiting.
“What about her?” The doctor didn’t understand the question. “As far as I know, she’s fine, if that’s what you mean. But she was young and healthy, too.”
“When did this happen?” It had to have been recent, or Webb was sure he would have heard about it.
“Let’s see ... he must have died two, no—three weeks ago,” the doctor decided, then sent a curious look at Webb. “Why?”
Three weeks! Everything seemed to break loose inside him. Frustration mixed with anger that Lilli hadn’t attempted to let him know. It confused him, raked him with uncertainties. He pushed off the bench that paralleled the long table, unaware that he hadn’t answered the doctor’s question.
“Webb?” Simon sat up straighter, thoroughly confused by his behavior.