Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“I don’t understand it, Doctor—” she began, voicing her confusion and apprehension.

“Simon.” He corrected her with a faint smile.

“I feel fine when I get up in the morning. Then, shortly after lunch, I get sick to my stomach. I’m so dizzy and weak I can hardly stand.” She repeated the symptoms that plagued her. “Is there something you can give me? Some medicine I can take?” She tried to laugh away her fears. “I know Webb is tired of fixing his own supp

er every night.”

“I have a feeling he’d better get used to the idea.” There was almost a twinkle in his eyes when he straightened, his examination evidently concluded.

“What do you mean?” She looked at him uncertainly, afraid to move her head too much in case the dizziness hit her again.

“I strongly suspect that you are going to have a baby,” he informed her with a smile that slowly widened across his face.

“But—” She hardly dared to believe it. All those barren years married to Stefan, she had wondered if she would ever have children despite the doctor’s assurances of her own fertility. “Are you sure?”

“It’s early,” he admitted. “But I’m about as sure as I can be. All the signs point to that. The sickness associated with pregnancy doesn’t always come in the morning. Some women don’t get sick at all.”

Tears filled her eyes. She bit down on her lip, trying to contain the happiness that bubbled in her throat. She reached for the doctor’s hand and squeezed it tightly, unable to express all the emotions that were tumbling through her.

“Is Webb back yet?” Laughter ran through her eager question. “I can hardly wait to tell him.”

“I’ll check with Ruth and see.” He winked. “I think she’s still downstairs,” He stood up, smiling at her, some of his tiredness fading. “If you two women would take some pity on an overworked doctor, you’d have your babies on the same day so I wouldn’t have to make two trips all the way out here to deliver them.”

“We’ll see what we can do about it,” Lilli promised with a laugh and hugged the delicious news to her as Simon Bardolph left the room.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Ruth on her way up. “No need to rush,” he cautioned her against the way she was hurrying. She stopped abruptly.

“You’re needed downstairs, Simon, right away,” she murmured anxiously. “Shorty got in a fight in town. He’s in bad shape. Slim brought him here.”

There was a time when he first came to this empty country to begin his practice that he would have raced down the steps to treat an injured patient, but he’d since learned to ration his energy. It was rarely a life-or-death situation, so he neither took his time nor rushed.

The cowboy had an assortment of injuries including a dislocated shoulder, some busted ribs, and broken fingers, plus a deep cut that required some stitching. Those were the injuries Simon could treat; the multitude of bruises would have to heal on their own. Niles had been worked over thoroughly, and looked worse than the injuries indicated. Simon was taping up his ribs and shoulder when Webb walked in.

At first, Webb didn’t even recognize Shorty Niles. Both eyes were blackened and swollen to mere slits, the purpling bruises spreading across the rest of his facial features. His chest was swathed in bandages. Red blood was seeping to the surface of the bandage on his forearm. His puffy lips were split in several places and a couple of front teeth were missing. The only clue to the man’s identity was the shortness of his stature.

“What happened?” Webb asked the doctor, then glanced at Slim Trumbo, who also bore some marks of battle.

“He isn’t as bad as he looks.” Simon Bardolph secured the bandage and handed Shorty his shirt. “Although I guarantee you he hurts like hell.”

“How did it happen?” Webb repeated his question, addressing it strictly to his two men as Slim helped Shorty ease his shirt on. Both men avoided looking at him.

“They got into a fight in town,” Simon volunteered as he repacked his medical bag and closed it up.

“Who with?” The doctor shrugged at Webb’s question and Slim shifted uncomfortably under his steady regard, darting glances at Shorty. “They nearly beat your face into a pulp, Shorty.”

Shorty Niles said something that sounded like “personal,” but with his missing teeth and battered mouth, it was difficult to understand his words. Slim handed the cowboy his hat.

“You were with him, Slim,” Webb stated. “You tell me what happened.” Again he had the feeling something was being kept from him as the cowboy glanced at his injured buddy.

“You know how Shorty is,” he hedged. “Somebody said something to him that he didn’t like and he laid into ’em. ‘Fare I knew what happened, they were swarm in’ all over him.”

“Who?”

Slim shrugged nervously. “Just some nesters,” he said without naming names. “Kreuger and his friends?” Webb guessed.

Slim looked down at his boots and glanced at Shorty. There was a faint negative shake of the cowboy’s head, warning Slim to keep silent.

“We didn’t catch their names,” Slim mumbled, and tried to joke his way out of the question. “They didn’t exactly take time to introduce themselves.”