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Zane swung the picnic basket into Sam’s arms and headed to his office for his medical bag. On his way back to the front door, he stopped Winifred in the hallway.
“Wait for me.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Dr. Samuel Graham met Zane in the hospital entryway, his face haggard. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve got one helluva problem.”
Zane dropped his black leather bag on the floor and ran one hand through his unruly still-damp hair. “What’s happened?”
“Cholera.”
His heart sank. He could still taste Winifred’s lips, her skin; the last place he wanted to spend the night was at the hospital.
“You’ve set up an isolation ward?”
“Yes. Ten beds and it’s almost full.”
“Identify the source?”
“Contaminated stream serving eight families between here and Gillette Springs.”
“Okay. Let’s go to work.”
They labored through the night and well into the morning forcing saline solutions down throats and wrapping shuddering bodies in warm blankets. At four in the morning Zane insisted Samuel go home to rest. By noon, his nurse, Elvira Sorensen, pushed him out of the ward and pressed his medical bag into his hand.
“Go home, Zane. We can manage until Dr. Sam gets back.”
He nodded. He was out on his feet, but he hated leaving when patients were so ill. At least they hadn’t lost any.
“I’ll be back at midnight. Send a note if you need me before then.”
The house was quiet when Zane quietly entered the front door. But before he could drop his bag on his desk, the doorbell jangled.
“Sam,” he called. “Send whoever it is down to the hospital. I’ve got to get some sleep.”
His houseboy nodded, but before Zane reached the staircase he heard a shrill female voice. “I know he’s here. I just saw him walk up the hill from the hospital.”
“Doctor very tired, missy. Need sleep.”
“I’ll just be a minute, so don’t try to stop me.”
“But missy—”
Zane turned his weary body back toward his office and watched Darla Bledsoe push her pink muslin-clad frame past Sam.
“Zane! You’re just the man I need to—”
“Good morning, Darla. Or is it afternoon? I’ve just spent all night at the hospital and I’m a bit fuzzy.”
“It’s lunchtime. I thought we might—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m not interested.”
“Well, supper, maybe? After you—”
“Not interested,” he repeated.
“Zane,” she wheedled. “Please. Don’t you—?”
Purposefully he took her elbow and steered her toward the front door. “Darla, this house is not only my medical office, it is my private residence as well. I would appreciate your not coming here unless you need medical help.”
When the door closed, Zane expelled an angry breath and turned to find Sam watching him, his arms folded over his midriff. “Good ridding,” he said with a sniff.
“Riddance, you mean. Yes. In future, you have my permission to shut the door in Mrs. Bledsoe’s face.”
Sam grinned. “Happy to do, Boss.”
“Now, where is Winifred?”
“With baby Rose in bedroom. Both take nap after lunch.”
Zane nodded and started again for the stairs. “Wake me for supper, Sam.”
“Will do, boss. Missy, too. Make special.”
Zane sighed wearily. Special, huh? It would be special to sit at the table across from Winifred and just look at her.
* * *
Zane slept until Sam tapped on his bedroom door to announce supper, and then he sat at the dining table bouncing a spoon impatiently against the tablecloth until Winifred appeared with Rosemarie in her arms.
He took the baby from her and while Sam and Yan Li set out the supper plates and a platter of cold meat and cheese, he cuddled his daughter, letting her pat her small hands over his neck and chin and play with his unbuttoned shirt collar. She smelled faintly of Winifred’s spicy lavender soap.
“You gave her a bath?”
“We took a bath together.”
He wished he hadn’t asked. The vision of Winifred naked in the bathtub set his senses humming.
Yan Li brought two salad plates loaded with sliced cucumbers and tomatoes and lifted Rosemarie out of his arms. “I feed baby now. You eat.” The slim, dark-haired girl disappeared into the kitchen with Rosemarie balanced on her hip.
