Travis smiled. “Looks like you’ve been pretty well occupied.”
Matt chuckled. “Pretty well. I still can’t believe my good fortune.” He sent a long and loving look in Eliza’s direction. “For a man to have a woman such as this to walk through life with, is a blessing that only God, in His great mercy, could provide. You should try this business of marriage one of these days, my friend. You might find it suits you.”
“It obviously suits you. So tell me, Mrs. Wellington. Do you have a lasso ready to keep my friend in line? If not, you’d better let me rustle one up. Matt here can be quite the—”
Thud.
In an instant, Travis shoved past Matt. Eliza’s portly mother had fallen facedown onto the table. Supporting her head and shoulders, Travis assessed the woman. Still breathing. Pulse fast but not dangerous. A faint. Nothing more serious, as far as he could tell. But until she awoke…
Matt crouched at Travis’s side, both working as the team they had once been. Travis undid the buttons securing the top of her too-tight collar. Matt left his side, returning seconds later with a bottle of salts volatile.
Travis uncapped the bottle and waved it under the woman’s nose. Within a couple of seconds, a slight movement of the eyelashes told him she was reviving.
“Oh … my…” Mrs. Littlefield stared up at Travis with a dazed expression.
“Are you all right, Mother?” Eliza’s eyes were wide and worry-filled.
“I … I believe so.” Mrs. Littlefield’s fingers fluttered to her collar. Her hand shook.
“You’re perfectly fine, Mrs. Littlefield. You fainted. How much water have you drunk today?”
“Well … what with the wedding and the preparations and the guests … not nearly enough, I’m afraid.” She took the tumbler proffered by Matt and managed a few swallows. “How can I ever thank you?” Mrs. Littlefield’s voice became stronger, her face turning a more normal shade of pink.
Travis smiled, gently releasing his hold upon the woman. “I’m a doctor, ma’am. It’s my job to help people.”
“You’re just fortunate Dr. Hart responded so quickly. If it had been something more serious…” Eliza shuddered and buried her face against her groom’s chest.
“God’s timing is always perfect.” Travis patted the older woman on the shoulder. “My advice to you would be to drink several glasses of water per day, especially in this heat. And wear less constrictive attire.”
“Oh, I will. I will.” Mrs. Littlefield bobbed her head. “Thank you so much again, Dr. Hart.”
“Now, if you all will excuse me, it’s time for me to start heading home. I think I can safely release you into the care of your more-than-competent son-in-law.” Travis said his good-byes to Matt and Eliza, then exited the opulent dining room. It had been a relaxing couple of days, a chance to see some of his San Antonio colleagues and attend the wedding of his friend. But he would be glad to see the road to the 7 Heart Ranch and even gladder to return to his patients.
Helping people, healing them, was his life’s work. Hadn’t the past few minutes proved that? After the years of war, his profession gave him security. A calm consistency to his future. One that didn’t need marriage to be brimful with purpose.
His father’s edict notwithstanding.
Chapter Two
It might have been midnight. Or one. Whatever the hour, no matter the weather, the passing seconds filled Annie with a mix of exhilaration and dread. Every fiber of her body focused on one goal—arriving at the home of the mother-to-be.
The road, dark and unlit as a graveyard at night, lay uncharted before her. She gripped the reins of her mount, one of her father’s dappled gray mares, as the animal stumbled over some obstruction. A rock, perhaps. Beside her, Mr. Tatum urged his horse to move faster with a whip of the reins. A universal thing, that. No matter if the expected baby was their first or eleventh, good fathers were always anxious. Always eager to return to their wives’ sides with a midwife to aid.
A stream of light glimmered up ahead, casting dark and shapeless shadows. As they drew closer, Annie made out a farmhouse, middling size with a wraparound porch.
Mr. Tatum dismounted first. Annie flung her legs over her animal’s side and landed on the ground. She grabbed her saddlebag and rushed to the door.
Blinking at the sudden wash of light, she made her way down the hall, following the sound of groans she had come to recognize as oncoming labor. The two Tatum children stood at the foot of the stairs, sleepy-eyed and nightshirt-clad. She gave them a quick smile and then hurried onward.
Candles lit the room. A woman in her late twenties lay on the bed, legs drawn up, face damp with perspiration. Annie had met Helen Tatum once before, when she’d visited each of Mrs. Miller’s patients to inform them of the switch in caretakers.