By the time Rand got to Rachel’s house it was nearly dark. He’d been looking forward to this night all week, and despite being dog tired, he wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else. True to her word, Rachel served a delicious roast dinner, complete with tiny potatoes and all the trimmings, and he enjoyed every bite and every minute with her and the boys.
After dinner, Kurt disappeared from the table only to return a minute later with a box in his hands. “Can you stay to play dominoes?”
Rachel shook her head. “Dr. Brookston’s had a long day, son. We need to let him—”
Rand touched her arm. “Sure I can. But only if we can play more than one game. I hear you and your brother are mean domino players, so you need to give me a fair chance to win.”
Later, the boys in bed, he readied to leave, and Rachel walked him to the door.
She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, quieter than she’d been all evening. “I’m glad you came tonight, Rand.”
“I am too, Rachel.” He loved it when her mouth tipped up on one side like that. Sort of a half smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”
She stared, her expression all but lost to him in the shadows. “And thank you again for the wonderful evening at the resort. Even though it’s been a week, the boys are still talking about it, as you saw at dinner. It really made an impression on them.”
He wanted to kiss her so badly but held back, not wanting to move too quickly, having promised himself he’d be patient. But that was easier said than done. He’d seen her the other afternoon with Edward Westin at Miss Clara’s cafe. She’d told him beforehand about the meeting so he wasn’t surprised to see them there together. He’d gone out of his way not to intrude, to give her space. More than once in recent days, he’d asked her about the ranch, and she always told him, “I’m managing just fine.”
He knew she wasn’t, and he wished she would confide in him about it. But again, he was determined not to push. He thought of his meeting with James that same afternoon and knew Rachel had to have seen them. He’d been more nervous than he’d thought he would be and was glad that particular task was behind him.
Slowly, Rachel rose on tiptoe, and for one brief, hopeful second he thought she might be issuing an invitation. But just as quickly, she pressed her lips against his cheek and then retreated into the cabin, giving him one last smile before closing the door.
Carrying that smile with him, along with her kiss, he stopped by the clinic to make sure no one had left a note requesting his assistance, then headed back out to the resort.
After checking on Ben, he fell into bed, exhausted, only to awaken in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep. He heard Ben coughing and went to check on him, taking one of several lamps he kept lit.
On the off chance Lyda was still asleep on the cot across the room, he kept the light low so as not to awaken her. “You all right, Ben?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Ben finally whispered back. “I’m fine, Doc.” But he didn’t sound it.
Rand moved closer, lamplight illuminating his steps. “Is there anything I can get you? Are you experiencing any pain?”
“No. I’m fine. Just can’t sleep for some reason.” His laugh held no humor. “Maybe ’cause that’s all I’ve been doing lately.”
Rand got him a drink of water, and they spoke softly in the dark. When Ben’s cough persisted, Rand gave him a dose of laudanum. Lyda stirred on the cot, and Rand was almost certain she was awake. Yet she said nothing.
Ben took a breath and exhaled. “This time of night’s got to be the loneliest of all, Doc. Feels like everybody else in the world is asleep.” Reminiscence thickened his voice. “Makes a man take inventory of his life and wish he’d done better with the time God gave him.”
Hollow regret filled the silence.
Rand knew the root of Ben’s feelings. This kind of reflection, and regret, was common when people were facing their own mortality. “I’d wager most men haven’t done half as well as you have, Ben, with the way they’ve lived their lives. I know your wife would agree. And I think the people in town would too.”
Ben didn’t say anything, but his quiet sniff a minute later was answer enough.
Rand took hold of his hand. “Could I pray for you, Ben?”
Ben’s feeble grip tightened, and Rand bowed his head.
“I’m tired of this place, Doc. I want to go home.”
Rand situated the pillows behind Ben’s head and warmed the bell-shaped end of the stethoscope in his palm, hearing the weariness in Ben’s voice. And no wonder, with how Ben had slept during the night. “I know you do. But you’re not strong enough to make the trip just yet. Especially not with what happened this morning.” The heart episode he’d experienced following breakfast hadn’t been severe, but Rand knew that keeping him at the resort for another few days would be best. “The swelling in your legs and feet tells me you’re retaining a substantial amount of fluid. The medicine I gave you earlier should help that, but we need to give it a couple of days.” He paused, waiting until Ben looked at him. “I promise, Ben. . . . As soon as you’re able, we’ll get you home.”
Ben stared up for several long seconds, then closed his eyes.
Rand positioned the stethoscope on his chest, not unsympathetic to Ben’s request, nor having forgotten his and Ben’s conversation during the early-morning hours. “Take some deep breaths for me, if you would. Hold . . . then exhale.”
Eyes closed, Ben cooperated and Rand heard what he did not want to hear. Fluid was thick and tight around Ben’s lungs. Again.
The low howl of wind drew Rand’s attention outside, and he watched a cluster of stalwart pines—some seventy feet tall and two feet around—sway to and fro, yielding to nature’s will.
Since noon, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. Typical for a late Colorado spring, winter was returning to the mountains for one final, bitter stand.
“Doc?”
Rand looked up.
“I’m grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me. For everything you’ve helped me do for Lyda. The extra time you bought me . . .” He smiled his easy smile and drew in a breath. “But I don’t want to spend my last days here in this place. I want to be back in my own bed . . . in the room above the store . . . where Lyda and I first lived when we moved to Timber Ridge.” His exhale carried a weight of fatigue and memories. “Where we used to lie in bed at night . . . dream of all we’d do with the store. Where she gave birth to our children. And where—” His voice caught. “Where we held them for the last time.” He stared ahead, not bothering to wipe away the tears. “I don’t mean any disrespect by this, but . . . it only seems right that the person dyin’ should get to choose.”
The words resonated within Rand. And not for the first time with this man, he felt less like the doctor and more like the patient. Part of him wanted to argue, wanted to try and persuade Ben to keep on fighting, to hold on to this life. Then he looked at Ben, and as if looking into a mirror, he saw himself—in this situation, in these circumstances—and a certainty settled deep inside him, silencing every remaining argument.
Head bowed, he covered Ben’s hand with his. “You’re right,” he said softly. “The person dying should get to choose.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll make the arrangements, and we’ll have you home tonight.”
He prayed Ben would survive the ride back into town, through the bitter cold, over the washboard roads. Yet he feared the odds of that happening were slim. But if that was what Ben wanted, that is what he would do. Slipping the stethoscope back into his bag, he glanced out the window, the gray of late day gradually giving way to approaching evening—and he paused. Then he squinted to make sure what he was seeing was real.
He’d seen God work in many ways, but this . . . He felt the touch of a smile inside, sensing those less-than-favorable odds shift in their favor.