Rand wished Rachel would look at him. Her unshed tears barbed his conscience, and rightfully so. He’d been short with her, speaking out of frustration with himself and fear of what could have happened to Ben Mullins. Of what could still happen . . . “Mrs. Boyd, I . . . I didn’t mean to—” Her hands, clenched tight at her waist, only encouraged the knot of guilt twisting his stomach. “Believe me when I say that I . . . What I mean to say is that . . .”
What he wanted to say but couldn’t was that he’d behaved like a complete and unmitigated—
“Excuse me, I’ll get a cup of water for the medicine,” she said quietly, then spun on her heel and strode down the hallway.
He started to follow, then decided it might be best if he didn’t. Clearly she was hurt. But the swiftness of her stride said she was also riled. And with good reason. He hadn’t meant for his remark to come out like it had.
He shot an apologetic look at Angelo, who stood quiet, watchful. “I shouldn’t have spoken to Mrs. Boyd in that manner, Angelo,” Rand offered quietly. “Or to you either. I’m sorry.”
The boy smiled and gave a conciliatory nod. “What you do . . . it is important, Dr. Brookston. Your work is hard. You carry a weight, in here”—he patted his chest—“because of it.”
Rand often had to remind himself that Angelo was just a youth. Only fifteen, Angelo had endured more hardship than most boys his age and had the wisdom to prove it. Undaunted admiration filled the boy’s eyes, and while Rand appreciated his support, Rand also knew that he owed Rachel Boyd an explanation and an apology. An explanation as to why she’d found him at the local brothel with a woman posed provocatively on a bed, and an apology as to why he’d just behaved like an arrogant jackass.
Angelo glanced past him to Mr. and Mrs. Mullins. His dark brows pulled together. “Is Mr. Mullins going to be all right, sir?” he whispered, leaning closer. “Mrs. Boyd said there might be something wrong with his heart.”
Rand nodded, aware that Lyda was probably listening, though she was still speaking to Ben in hushed tones, encouraging him to waken. “Mrs. Boyd was right in her assessment, but I’m doing everything I can to make sure Mr. Mullins recovers.” Even as he said it, he knew the journey from this moment to that one would be long, and would depend upon so many factors—most of which were beyond his control.
“Mr. Mullins will be fine, sir. I am sure of this.” Angelo’s expression turned politely conspiratorial. “He has the finest doctor caring for him. I should know.”
Rand felt the compliment reverberating inside him as he watched the boy disappear down the hallway and through the curtained doorway. Angelo’s recovery from the beating he’d endured last fall was remarkable, as was his attitude about it. Recalling the event, Rand felt his stomach sour. In the weeks of recuperation following, Angelo had expressed hopes of becoming a doctor one day—a dream Rand thought possible. The boy was sharp minded and learned quickly, and he possessed a compassionate heart that served him well when ministering to people in pain.
Rand planned on writing his colleagues back east about the possibility of Angelo serving as an apprentice in one of their practices. The boy’s Italian heritage would be a deterrent to some, but once the doctors witnessed Angelo’s aptitude and ability, those possessing more open minds might be willing to consider him. And they wouldn’t be disappointed.
Rand took a deep breath and held it, then gave it slow release.
He knew what it was like to be a young man and have no say in your future, to have everything planned out and decided by others before any other options had been explored. And he was determined to give Angelo the chance that he himself had finally been given. Life was too brief to spend it doing something you didn’t love. Better to discover what God had created you for, and do that with your whole heart.
A low moan drew him back, and a rush of emotion bolted through him as Ben Mullins struggled to open his eyes. Rand moved closer and knelt. “Mr. Mullins . . . it’s nice to have you back with us, sir.”
Blinking, Ben stared between him and Lyda, then squeezed his eyes tight, as if trying to make sure that what he was seeing was real. He rubbed his chest and winced, his breath ragged.
Rand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to be sore for a few days, sir. I’m sorry, that’s my fault.”
Ben looked confused, but Lyda pressed a kiss to her husband’s forehead and narrowed her eyes at Rand, smiling. “Don’t you dare apologize, Dr. Brookston. You . . .” Her voice faltered. “You just gave me back my life.”
Hurried steps filled the hallway, and Rachel rounded the corner. She scooted into the storeroom behind Lyda and held out a cup of water to Rand, not meeting his gaze.
“Thank you.” He mixed the dried foxglove leaves with water and held the cup to Ben’s lips, supporting the man’s head. “This is digitalis, Mr. Mullins, a medication used to treat arrhythmia—a heartbeat with an irregular or abnormal rhythm, like yours.” He tipped the cup as he spoke, taking care not to spill the contents. “Due to Mrs. Boyd’s excellent foresight, it was here exactly when we needed it.” Along with the proffered olive branch, Rand tried again to snag Rachel’s attention, to no avail.
Ben drained the cup, taking in gulps of air between swallows. He let out a sigh. “Thank you, Dr. Brookston. And thank you, Rachel.”
“Yes.” Lyda turned. “Thank you, Rachel, for all you’ve done. And as for you, Ben Mullins . . .” She fingered the graying hair at his temple. “You frightened years off my life. Years I didn’t have to spare.”
Ben offered a weak smile. “I’ve always told you I’m going to be the first to go, woman. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”
Lyda shook her head and gently swatted his arm, but Rand caught a flicker of dread in her eyes, a hint of the future she was imagining. A future without her husband.
“You ought not say such things to your wife, Ben.” Rachel smiled as she said it, but truth permeated her tone. “And for the record, you frightened years off the lives of both of us.” She touched his arm. “How are you feeling now?”
He exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed. “Like I almost died.”
“You almost did,” Lyda whispered.
Ben opened his eyes and stared, frowning.
“Your heart stopped, honey.” Lyda’s expression softened, her tone revealing she’d told him this before. She indicated Rand with a nod. “Dr. Brookston here got it started again.” Her hand trembled against his cheek. “He saved your life.”
Ben blinked, and his focus slowly shifted. “Is that so, Doc?”
Rand answered with a steady gaze, grateful that Lyda understood the gravity of the situation. Informing a husband or wife that their spouse had a life-threatening health condition such as Ben’s was oftentimes harder than telling the patient himself. People like Ben and Lyda Mullins tended to worry more about those they would leave behind than about themselves.
Ben pursed his lips and a wry smile crept over his face. “Guess this means you’ll be wanting all those medical supplies of yours delivered free of charge now, huh, Doc?”
Rand laughed softly. “That thought hadn’t crossed my mind, Mr. Mullins. But now that you mention it . . .”
With a soft smirk, Ben gestured. “Speaking of orders, two more cases of lamp oil came in for you this morning. All I can say is you must be doing some mighty lengthy reading at night, Doc.”
Rand laughed again but knew, with good reason, that it didn’t sound as natural this time. “I like to keep a good supply on hand for surgeries. The lighting in my clinic isn’t too good.”
Ben nodded and started to push himself up.
“No, sir.” Rand urged him back down. “Please stay where you are. Let’s give the medicine a few more minutes to take effect.” He positioned the stethoscope over Ben’s heart. “I know it’s going to hurt, but try to take some deep breaths for me.”
Ben complied, grimacing. “Feels like someone slugged me right square in the chest.”
Reading skepticism in the older man’s gaze, Rand nodded. “Guilty as charged, sir. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll meet you out on the boardwalk and you can take your best shot at me.” A glint of humor lit Ben’s expression again, and Rand did his best to keep his own smile from showing. “I’ll give you a chance to make things even between us.”
Ben cocked his head to one side, as though seriously considering the offer. “You got it, Doc. Soon as I’m up and able, I’m callin’ you out.”
Appreciating the dry humor and impressed that Ben could manage it in the face of such a serious—and what had to be alarming— discovery for him, Rand leaned closer to listen. Ben’s pulse was notably stronger than before, which wasn’t saying a great deal compared to a healthy heart. But it was the whooshing echo enveloping the beat that underscored his greatest concern. “Have you experienced any pains or tightness in your chest recently, sir? Any difficulty breathing?”
Ben hesitated, frowning again, and shot a quick look at Lyda, which told Rand plenty.
Lyda’s concern gave way to surprise—and frustration. “Ben Everett Mullins, why didn’t you say something?”
Ben took hold of her hand. “I didn’t want you worrying. Not with everything that’s going on with the store. Besides . . .” He stopped and took a breath. “It’s only happened a handful of times, and it wasn’t too bad. Once I catch my breath, it goes away. For the most part.”
“For the most part,” Lyda repeated, her tone indignant but concerned.
Rand’s own concern edged up a notch. “How long have you been experiencing the chest pains? And do you recall what you’ve been doing when they occur . . . ? What brings them on?”
Ben gave a shrug. “They’ve been coming more often in the past couple of months, maybe a little longer. And it usually happens when I’m unloading a wagon or toting a crate. But it doesn’t happen every time.”
“So when you’re exerting effort?” Rand offered. He glanced around the storeroom. “And what were you doing today?”
Ben glanced at Lyda again, but this time his eyes took on a mischievous sparkle. Lyda looked away, an embarrassed grin lifting the corners of her mouth.
“You might say I was exerting effort, Dr. Brookston.”
“Ben!” Lyda gave him a scolding glance and her face flushed crimson.
Ben only chuckled and nudged Rand in the arm. “I was kissin’ on my wife, Doc. Just making sure she knows how much I still—”
“I think the doctor understands,” Lyda said, her gaze averted.
Rand couldn’t help but smile, and noticed a ghost of the same in Rachel’s flushed expression. “I see. Yes, I believe that would classify as exerting effort.”
Ben brought Lyda’s hand to his lips. “But I daresay, when it is my time to go, I can’t think of a better . . .” He raised his brows, his gaze only for his wife this time. And as if knowing—for the good of his tenuous health—he ought not finish that statement, he winked and closed his mouth.
Touched by the exchange, Rand had a thought. While he knew every biological detail about the physical intimacy God had designed to be shared between a man and a woman, he was the only one among the four present who hadn’t personally experienced the pleasure of that relationship. Uninvited, Patricia’s earlier question at the brothel returned—“Don’t you ever long for the pleasure of a woman?”—and despite his effort to block it, Rand felt an unaccustomed blush work its way up his neck and into his face.
He stole a glance at Rachel Boyd. At her dark hair piled atop her head except for a few long curls escaping down her back, at the way the blue cotton dress she wore hugged her figure, which he’d admired more times than was proper—in church, no less— and that he recalled with greater detail than a single man ought to. Her physical beauty contributed to his attraction to her, most certainly, but her intelligence, her knowledge of medicine, her ability to converse with him on topics that other women found unsuitable or unpalatable, those were attributes that drew him. Even though she’d never done anything to encourage his attraction.
He sighed inwardly. Her complete lack of coaxing had been deafening. Still, his gaze took her in, and his mouth went dry at the bold thoughts filling his head—then turned completely to cotton when he realized Rachel was watching him.