He gave her a crooked smile. “He’s also going to be the busiest doctor in the whole world. Everyone in town knows he’s here by now. A goodly number have aches and pains. There’ll be a line two deep tomorrow.”
Upstairs, Saint helped Byrony sit down in a chair, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He said very gently, “Tell me how you feel.”
“I’ve had pains already, Saint. Then they go away. I do try to rest, but—”
“Yes, I know. These pains, Byrony, tell me about them.”
She told him of the sharp, low pains, finishing with, “I thank my lucky stars I didn’t tell Brent. He would have gone crazy.”
“Yes, it’s just as well. Now, I’d like to feel this child of yours.”
Byrony undressed while Saint waited outside in the hallway. She was swathed in a long white cotton nightgown when he came back into the room. He helped her lie on the bed, then very gently slipped his hands beneath the gown to feel her belly.
“No, Byrony,” he said, looking at her tightly closed eyes, “please, just relax.” His knowledgeable hands lightly roved over her belly. “That’s better.” He decided to wait to examine her internally. Best to let her accustom herself to him first. He straightened her nightgown and took her hand. “Now, Mrs. Hammond, let’s chat a bit.”
Byrony was in bed by nine o’clock that evening. Saint looked at his wife and decided bed was the best place for her too. He felt a surge of desire for her, and frowned at himself. His hand, though, went around her waist, and she leaned into him, smiling up at him.
“You know something, Saint?” Brent asked.
Saint turned toward him.
“Never play poker, my friend. You’d lose.” Brent chuckled, patted Jules’s arm, and took himself off.
“What was that all about?” Jules asked.
“Brent saw the lustful look in my eyes, I think. He’s right, I’d never win at poker.”
“Would you care to play something else, Dr. Saint?”
“What a wanton woman you are, Jules,” he said. “I suppose I have no choice?”
“None at all,” she said, and dragged him upstairs.
29
The child screamed at the top of his lungs, so loud Jules wanted to clap her hands over her ears. Instead she held the wriggling little boy down while Saint vaccinated him.
“There,” Saint said. “Stop your caterwaulin’, boy. You’ll live, I promise.” He patted the boy’s woolly head and helped him up. “Now, you’re going to live forever—”
“Yessir,” the boy gulped. “Ma name’s Jonah.”
“That chile need a whippin’, Docta,” the mother said, shaking her head fondly. “No guts atall. Yer little missis here is a real sweetie pie, yessir, she shoh is.”
“Hi, sweetie pie,” Saint said, kissing her the moment they were alone. “I’m about ready to drop, love. How about you?”
“A nice strong cup of tea would put me to rights, I think,” Jules sighed. She shook her head. “I think I’m temporarily deaf.”
“Did I ever tell you that Napoleon had all his troops vaccinated if they had not already had smallpox?”
She blinked up at him and he grinned, adding, “I’ve done about eighty-five vaccinations today, and not a soul would have known who Napoleon even was. I had to tell that interesting fact to someone, just to keep my hand in.”
Jules clasped his hand in hers, silently studying the long, blunt-tipped fingers, the sprinkling of chestnut hair.
“Now, I wonder where you think my hand should be in next?”
She kissed each finger. “This is a start,” she said. “Now, you need to tell me how you managed to get enough supplies to vaccinate all the children.”
“A mistake, Jules, a simple mistake, at least that’s what Sam Pickett told me. Some government fellow showed up at the hospital wanting to get rid of cases of what he believed were useless medical supplies. Needless to say, Sam nearly did a jig for joy, kept a straight face, and called me. And here we are and all the children are now protected, thank the Lord.”