By Pam Hunter

This story was originally written as an episode of the virtual seventh season which can be seen at: http://geocities.datacellar.net/dq7thseason/ . In writing such a piece I was bound by various story arcs, so before posting it here on my web page I have modified it so that it stands alone and is more in keeping with the way in which I enjoy writing of Michaela and Sully and my friends in Colorado Springs. I hope you enjoy it

Part 1

Michaela dejectedly dropped the patient file back into the drawer before pushing it closed with a bang. Her eyes drifted to the window and the filtered hustle and bustle in the street outside. She wandered across and pensively pulled the lace curtain back a little. Her eyes, squinting against the fall sunlight, followed among other things, a loaded wagon rumbling past; an unshaven, old man slowly making his way out of town, his possessions in a sack on his back; and a drunk reeling from the noisy Gold Nugget opposite; but her mind registered little. She had no spirit today to ponder what Dorothy might be doing in the Gazette office next door, or how Grace was coping with her newborn. In fact, she had no spirit for her medical practice either. She'd tried all day to concentrate while her numerous patients moaned about their aches and pains, their sniffles and coughs, but she just didn't have the heart for it.

She dropped the curtain back into place and turned into the room, glancing at the clock as she did so. Nearly three, so she had only a couple more hours to put in before she could go home, but even that left her feeling flat. For once, soon joining her precocious daughter and sometimes too astute husband did not awaken the usual longing. In fact, she felt slightly apprehensive. What if he was to mention it yet again? She bit her lip and again fought the tears which had been threatening to fall since mid-morning. She swallowed deeply and then disconsolately made her way across to the bandages she'd begun rolling shortly after lunch, only to have her progress arrested by a sudden and persistent rapping on the clinic door. She swiped at her eyes, straightened her skirt and apron and hurried across to pull it open. On the threshold stood an obviously troubled young man of about sixteen, dark brown hair unkempt, face and hands smudged with dirt, patched and worn clothes barely adequate to cover his maturing physique. His blue eyes opened wide when he spied her, and he muttered, "Ah missus .. I .. I was lookin' for the doc ..."

"I'm the doctor," she replied assuredly. "Are you ill?"

"You're the doc!" he exclaimed, obviously flabbergasted. "But you're a w ..."

"A woman yes," rejoined Michaela, wryly. "But I'm also a doctor ... Now are you ill?"

"Ah ... no ... it ... it aint me ... its me gran," mumbled the boy, unable to take his eyes off the attractive and assured woman standing before him.

Michaela looked around. "Ah ... where *is* your gran?" she asked.

The boy swallowed and, dragging his eyes from Michaela, indicated the old wagon by the clinic porch. "She's ... she's in there," he muttered. "I ... I ... couldn' stop the bleedin' ..."

Michaela gasped and rushed toward the sturdy conveyance. Laying prostrate in the back was a small-boned, grey-haired woman of indeterminate age, her face bloodied and swollen. She was attempting to hold a blood-soaked towel to one cheek and eye, but it was obvious her strength was failing her. Michaela frowned, considering her options. It was imperative she get the woman into the clinic straight away so she could attend to her injuries. She turned back to the boy who still stood gazing at her stupidly. No, it seemed he wouldn't be much help at all. At that moment Hank appeared on the porch of the Gold Nugget opposite. "Hank!?" she called urgently. "Hank!"

The barkeep cum part-time lawman halted in his tracks, his eyes narrowing, and then he hurried across the street toward her, dodging a galloping horse and rider in the process. "What's up Michaela?" he asked, as he approached.

"Can you help me here?" she asked urgently. "I need to get this woman inside ... please ..."

Taking in the situation immediately, Hank quickly unlatched the rear board and then reached in to carefully slide the woman into his arms, heedless of the blood which instantly soaked the shoulder and collar of his clean shirt. He stepped up onto the porch, brushed past the apparently dazed boy and carried the woman into the clinic. He gently placed her down on the examination table and then stepped back so Michaela could begin her work. He watched for a moment, and then, curiosity gaining the upper hand, asked, "Who is she Michaela?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied, turning to regard the boy hovering with concern behind her.

He reddened and lowered his eyes to the floor. "She's me gran," he muttered. "Name's Ruth ..."

"And you are?" inquired Michaela.

"I'm ... I'm ... Jimmy .... Jimmy Murphy," he replied.

"So this is Ruth Murphy," assumed Michaela, going back to work.

"Ah ... no ... she's Ruth Cardew ... she's me ma's ma," replied the boy quietly. "She gonna be alright?"

"Yes ... she should be," replied Michaela guardedly. "I'm a little worried about the loss of blood though ... and she keeps drifting in and out of consciousness ..."

"But I can take 'er home ... soon as you've patched 'er up ... right?" asked Jimmy anxiously, noisily shuffling his booted feet on the bare boards of the clinic floor.

"She'll have to be here for a while yet," rejoined Michaela perfunctorily, beginning work on the nearly three inch long, ugly gash which started on the woman's cheekbone and ended close to her temple. "She really needs to stay here the night ... I don't like the fact that she keeps losing consciousness ..."

Jimmy regarded her in horror. "But .... but we gotta git back .... 'fore pa gits mad ... I should o' listened to her ... She said not to bring her inta town ....," he groaned, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly.

"No ... you did the right thing Jimmy ... your gran is very weak ... and this cut would never have healed properly without stitching ...," advised Michaela.

"But pa's gonna be so mad ... I ... we ... aint supposed ta be here ...," the boy tried again. He paused, obviously torn, and then backed toward the door. "I gotta go ... 'fore pa gits real mad ... I'll try ta git back for gran later ..." He pulled the door open and headed out.

"But Jimmy!" protested Michaela.

"I gotta go," he called back. "I gotta ..." He hastily climbed up into the wagon, and flicked the reins, setting it moving forward at a fast pace out of town.

Michaela's brow furrowed with surprise and concern and, as she turned back to the woman, her eyes met Hank's. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, then followed in the boy's footsteps out the door, pulling it quietly shut behind him.

Michaela sighed and went back to work. Deciding to check the woman's vital signs, she placed her stethoscope to her ears and quickly and efficiently unbuttoned Ruth's high-necked blouse to place the bell over her heart. As she peeled back the shabby but clean cotton fabric, her jaw set and tears abruptly welled in her eyes. The bell hovered over the woman's chest as Michaela turned and eyed the closed door with mounting anger.

Part 2

Loren consulted the shopping list on the counter before him and then began to gather together the items required. He'd taken to encouraging his customers to leave their lists with him while they went to do something else in town. That way, he didn't get all flustered about trying to do things in too much of a hurry while they waited impatiently at the counter. Two full wooden boxes stood on the table behind him, the lists sitting neatly on top, awaiting their purchasers. There was a couple of people in the mercantile, but they appeared happy to just browse for a while. Old Mrs Birch was over by the women's clothing. She seemed to like feeling the fabrics and even tried on a hat every now and then, but he knew from past experience she was unlikely to actually buy anything. Tom Sanders was weighing shovels in his hand, trying to decide which one felt best. Loren knew that once the decision was made Tom would expect to be dealt with quickly and efficiently. He didn't come into town often, but when he did, he expected good service.

The storekeeper added two bags, one of salt and one of sugar, to the growing pile of groceries and then headed to the back of the store to the flour bags. He grasped a fifty pound bag by the corners and half lifted it, half dragged it across the room, then took a deep breath and swung it up onto the table beside the other goods. That was when the pain struck yet again, sort of sharp across his ribs. It made him gasp and then fight to take a breath. He leant forward, the palms of his hands on the table, and tried to compose himself.

Michaela stepped up onto the mercantile porch and then through the door, her mind haunted by the image of the weak, elderly woman she'd left sleeping in the front, upstairs recovery room of the clinic. She was hoping Loren would know something about her. She turned to the counter only to see him bending forward uncomfortably over a table piled high with merchandise. His face was red and pained, and his breathing was laboured. "Are you alright Loren?" she asked with concern.

The storekeeper jumped and then immediately straightened to face her. "Course I'm alright," he rejoined gruffly. "Can't a man rest for a minute without people fussin' about it?"

"I'm not fussing Loren ... I'm just concerned ... you seemed to be having difficulty breathing ..."

"Yeah well .... I'm just fine ... just fine," he assured her, taking another deep breath and then moving across to the counter. "Now what was it you came in for?" he asked, all business.

"Actually I was after some information," she replied, her eyes never leaving his lined face.

"Information don' make me any money Dr Mike," he rejoined, turning his attention to Tom Sanders who had finally decided on the shovel he wanted.

Michaela stepped back and watched her old friend carefully. As he dealt with the farmer, the uncharacteristic ruddiness to his complexion slowly faded and he seemed to be breathing more evenly and easily. Ever since his stroke some years back, she tended to worry about his health. He wasn't getting any younger and as the town grew, so did his business and consequently the work involved.

Having received his change, Tom Sanders stepped back from the counter, doffed his hat to Michaela and left the mercantile. As if regretting his previous gruffness, Loren asked with a smile, "You were wantin' some information Dr Mike?"

Desperately wanting to return to the subject of his health, Michaela was torn. A steely look from him during the pregnant pause, made her hesitate to pursue it right now, so she merely nodded, making a mental note to question him later. "I was wondering if you knew a Ruth Cardew Loren?" she asked instead.

"Sure I know Ruth," he replied immediately. "I aint seen her around town for a long time though .... Her an' her daughter Maggie used ta be in an' out o' here a couple o' times a week ... Maggie was a friend of Abagail's ...." He paused and then asked with a frown, "Why ya askin'?"

"Ah ... She's over at the clinic," replied Michaela guardedly. "I've never come across her ... or her grandson before ... I was surprised after all these years ..."

Loren nodded. "Now ya mention it," he rejoined pensively. "She aint bin inta town for a long time ... maybe years ... not since Maggie passed on maybe ..."

"Her daughter?"

"Uh huh ... she got the grippe ..." He paused, thinking back. "The influenza," he clarified. "Just after you came ta town ..."

Michaela frowned with the memory. She took a deep breath. "And Maggie was married?" she inquired further.

"Yeah ... ta Ben Murphy ... He had a hard time o' it after she died ... Hard workin' fella though ...," replied Loren. He waved his hand around the mercantile. "Supplies me an' Grace with fresh milk an' eggs every mornin' ... I can always count on it bein' on the doorstep when I open up ... then there's turkeys at Thanksgivin' an' apples an' strawberries in the summer ..."

"So you never see him?"

"He comes in about once a month ... I pay him what I owe an' he buys a month's supplies for him an' Ruth an' young Jimmy ..."

"But Ruth and Jimmy never come into town?"

"I guess they don't," rejoined Loren, surprised by his own admission. "I aint given it much thought."

"Where do they live?" Michaela asked, still trying to glean all she could about the woman's apparently odd, perhaps dangerous, situation.

"Got a holdin' out on the Soda Springs road," replied Loren. "Why don' ya ask her? Ya said she's over at the clinic ..."

"Ah ... yes ... well ... she's sleeping," replied Michaela. "I needed a couple of things over here," she fibbed. "And wondered if you knew anything about her."

"Is she real sick Dr Mike?" asked Loren with concern.

"Ah ... she needs some medical treatment, that's all," she replied. "She'll be fine."

Loren nodded. "That's good," he rejoined. "Now what were those couple o' things ya said ya wanted?"

***************

Carrying a small number of items she hadn't really needed, Michaela hastened down the steps of the mercantile and towards the clinic, worried that Ruth Cardew may have woken and feel disoriented. Watching her step, and dodging various wagons and riders on the way, she wasn't aware that Sully and Katie were also nearing the clinic until she almost bumped into them as she jumped up onto the porch. She smiled as Katie instantly reached down to her from atop her father's shoulders. She placed the packages down on the wooden bench and took her daughter into her arms. "Have you been a good girl for papa today hmmm?" she crooned, as the little girl wound her arms around her mother's neck.

"Uh huh," replied Katie with an exaggerated nod.

Michaela chuckled, her eyes meeting Sully's with a silent query. He nodded in turn and gave her a rueful grin before picking up her packages and then opening the door of the clinic so they could enter.

As Katie immediately made for her small collection of toys in a corner of the room, Sully placed the packages down and turned to Michaela. "You almost finished here?" he asked hopefully, resting his hands at her waist. "I thought maybe ... seein' as how I haveta go away agin for a few days next week ... you an' me could have some time alone ... have supper at Grace's ... maybe go for a walk after .... Brian offered ta take Katie home ..."

Michaela swallowed and had difficulty meeting his eyes. "That sounds nice," she replied softly. "But I ... I ...can't Sully ... I have a patient upstairs ...," she added haltingly.

His eyes flew upwards. "Someone we know? Are they alright?" he asked immediately.

"Um .. she'll be fine," replied Michaela ambiguously.

"She?"

"Mmm ... a lady Sully ... an elderly lady ... I hadn't met her before today ... Her name's Ruth ... Ruth Cardew ..."

Sully's eyes narrowed. "Maggie's ma," he mused softly. "Haven' seen her in years ..."

"Loren said Maggie was a friend of Abagail's."

"Uh huh .... We went ta their son Jimmy's christenin' ... long ways back now ..." He paused. "Maggie passed on ... in the influenza epidemic ...," he informed her quietly.

She nodded. "Do you know Ben? Maggie's husband?"

"Sure I do ... works hard on that bit o' land o' his ...," replied Sully. "Don't come inta town much though ..."

"So it seems," rejoined Michaela wryly. "What's he like Sully?" she asked.

He frowned and his eyes met hers. "Know you too well Michaela," he said guardedly. "Why ya askin'? What's goin' on?"

Her brow creased. "I shouldn't say," she said uncertainly. Her eyes involuntarily moved upwards as her concerns once again centred on the elderly woman in the recovery room. Needing to know, she put aside her misgivings and asked quietly, "What *is* he like Sully? What kind of man is he?"

Puzzled, Sully returned concisely, "Hard workin'."

"That's all?"

"What else do ya want me ta say?"

She swallowed. "Is he ... well ... would you know ... Is he inclined to be a violent man?"

Sully regarded her in surprise and then suddenly his eyes also flew upwards as an unwelcome suspicion entered his mind. He immediately started towards the interior door.

Michaela reached out to grasp his arm. "No Sully," she said urgently.

He shrugged her off and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the recovery room door, he paused, took a deep breath and quietly pushed it open. He walked silently into the room a few steps and his jaw set when he spied the bandages across Ruth's cheek and her swollen, black eye. He ran his fingers agitatedly through his unruly, long sun-bleached hair as he watched the elderly woman sleep.

Michaela, close behind him, reached out to lay her hand on his shoulder. At first he did not respond, but then a gentle squeeze from her gained his attention and he followed her from the room. As soon as the door closed behind them, he asked urgently, "Looks pretty bad. She gonna be alright?"

"I hope so," she replied softly.

"She tell you Ben did this to her?"

Michaela shook her head. "No ... she hasn't been conscious enough to make any sense ... Jimmy brought her in .... then, when he discovered I'd need to keep her here, he took off ... He seemed frightened of what his father would say," she explained in a hushed tone.

"I can't believe Ben would do somethin' like that ... don' seem like the Ben Murphy I remember," mused Sully. "There's gotta be another explanation ..."

She grasped his hand. "Perhaps there is ... we're both making assumptions here ..." She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Though there's more bruising than you could see," she added reluctantly.

Again he shook his head, rejecting the notion. "So what are ya gonna do about it?" he finally asked, an angry glint in his eye.

"Treat her physical injuries ... see if she'll tell me what's been happening," rejoined Michaela immediately.

"That all?" he asked with indignation.

Michaela's brow creased. "I could be completely wrong Sully ... Besides ... what do you expect me to do?" she asked, a little hurt.

He lowered his eyes and rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, its just that ... well ...," he murmured contritely. "You know how I feel about people hurtin' others ... especially when it's the sorta thing that might be happenin' here ..."

"Yes I know," she rejoined, standing on tiptoes to kiss him lightly. "And I'll certainly try to get to the bottom of it, but now I have to go back in ... she may wake ... and I want to check how she's doing ..."

"Sure ... I'll wait downstairs with Katie ... maybe later we can have that supper anyways, even if we can't go for our walk ... Seems a while since we've had a talk ... just us ..."

Suddenly recalling her earlier distress and the reason for it, Michaela felt guiltily relieved that Sully's plans for a romantic evening had been dashed. She just didn't feel up to those same questions, again. She nodded noncommitally and re-entered the room.

Sully thoughtfully watched her go and then returned downstairs to their tiny daughter.

*******************

Michaela quietly pushed the recovery room door closed and then turned towards her patient only to discover Ruth awake and sitting on the side of the bed attempting to pull on her boots. She hurried across to the woman, exclaiming, "No ... please ... you're not well enough ..."

Ruth turned dazed eyes on her visitor. "Who are you?" she asked disinterestedly. "And where am I?"

"I'm Dr Quinn," Michaela replied immediately. "And you're in my clinic in Colorado Springs."

The woman stilled. "Jimmy brought me here," she said rhetorically. "You patched me up?" she added, feeling the bandages on her face.

"Yes ... it was a bad gash ... I made the stitches as small and fine as I could, but I'm afraid there'll be a scar ..."

Ruth gave her a rueful smile. "With the lines already on this old face doctor, no-one's gonna worry about a scar ...," she muttered resignedly. "Now I'd better be gittin' ready ..."

"You shouldn't leave you know ... you've lost a lot of blood ..."

Ruth shrugged. "No matter ... I gotta git home ..."

"Please ... you're not well enough," urged Michaela once more.

The woman raised dull eyes to hers. "I'll make do ... I gotta git home ..."

Michaela stepped closer. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"Jimmy'll take me ..."

"He's not here ..."

Ruth frowned. "He aint?" she asked in surprise.

Michaela shook her head. "No ... he left a couple of hours ago ... said he'd try to come back for you ..."

Ruth abruptly slumped back against the pillows. "Now there'll be trouble," she moaned softly, her former resolve crumbling and tears welling in her eyes.

Michaela sat herself on the side of the bed and gently laid her hand over the elderly woman's. "How did you get hurt?" she asked softly.

Ruth withdrew her hand from Michaela's and crossed her arms across her chest defensively. "I ... I ... tripped an' fell ... against the kitchen table," she rejoined unconvincingly.

"Is that how you got the bruises on your shoulders and chest too?" inquired Michaela kindly.

Ruth instinctively shielded herself with her hands. "I ... I must have," she replied. She lowered her eyes under the lady doctor's scrutiny.

"The bruising's quite bad ... and you'll have to have that cut checked for infection," Michaela informed her. "Has ... has something like this happened before?" Ruth mutely shook her head in the negative. "Oh," rejoined Michaela quietly. "I .. I saw the fading bruises ... I assumed ..."

"You don' got any right to assume anythin' doctor," rejoined Ruth, her back straightening.

"I'm sorry," returned Michaela immediately. "Its just that I hate knowing someone's ... someone's ... hurt."

"It aint your concern," Ruth defended stoutly. "Now if ya don' mind ... I'm gonna git dressed an' wait for Jimmy ta fetch me ..."

"But it *is* my concern ... I'm a doctor ... What about your injuries?!"

"Aint nothin' I can't look after meself ... bin doin' that for years now," Ruth stated unequivocally. "Just let me be ..." When Michaela looked to be about to object once again, Ruth added in a heartfelt plea, "Please ... ya don' understand ...."

"I'd like to," replied Michaela softly.

Ruth stood, teetering a little. "Ya can't," she responded. "Ya just can't." She reached down to the foot of the bed where her clothes sat neatly folded. "When Jimmy comes ... please tell him I'm ready ta go," she asked, raising her eyes to meet Michaela's defiantly.

*******************

When Michaela re-entered the clinic, Sully immediately looked up from her desk where he'd been reading Katie a story. "She alright?" he asked with concern.

Michaela nodded. "She's awake and insisting on going home ... as soon as Jimmy comes back for her ...," she explained wryly.

"She well enough for that?"

"Probably not ... but it might make matters worse if I try any more to persuade her to stay here."

Sully's eyes narrowed and he asked warily, "She tell ya Ben did it?"

She shook her head. "No ... she insists she fell." Her jaw clenched. "I don't believe her though," she added crossly. "She was hiding the truth ... I could tell ..."

********************

Michaela pulled the covers back and crawled into bed to lay on her side facing the door. She was so tired her bones ached, but a certain tension remained in her body as she watched and listened to Sully bank the fire and wash at the basin on the dresser.

They'd waited until well after dark for Jimmy to return to the clinic for Ruth. Despite the way she was feeling, Michaela smiled a little at the memory. Jimmy's appearance had certainly been different this time around. He'd slicked back his hair with hair oil and was wearing what was probably his best coat when he arrived, though it too was far too small for his now manly frame. He still seemed to be overawed at the notion of a woman doctor. Sully had teased her that the boy was sweet on her. There was a certain irony in that notion, considering the way she'd been feeling lately, especially since mid-morning. She shook herself and focussed her thoughts on her patient. Ruth had proudly and determinedly insisted on walking unaided down the stairs and out to the wagon. The only time her façade had slipped a little was when she realised that neither she nor Jimmy had the means by which to pay for the doctor's services. Despite assurances that it didn't matter, Ruth's composure had not been quite as resolute after that.

She took a deep breath as Sully extinguished the last lamp and made his way across and into their bed to lay beside her. She felt him sidle up against her back and his arm came around to rest against her flat stomach. She swallowed.

"You bin awful quiet tonight," he murmured caringly, gently fondling her skin through the cotton of her nightgown. "You still worried about Ruth Cardew?"

She shivered as his warm breath caressed the skin of her neck and shoulder. "I ... I ... suppose," she replied uncertainly.

"I was thinkin' o' goin' out there tomorra ..." he suggested mildly, lovingly drawing her back against his chest, his hand continuing to tenderly stroke her skin. "To check on 'em ... Don' want her gettin' hurt no more ..."

"No ... you ... we ... shouldn't make any trouble for Ruth ... or Jimmy," she rejoined in a whisper, her senses stirring at his touch. "I thought ... well ... perhaps *I'd* go out there ... tomorrow afternoon ... as Ruth's doctor ... to check on her injuries ....," she added, her concentration on the subject wavering.

Sully's hand suddenly stilled. "I don' want you gittin' inta any trouble Michaela," he murmured apprehensively. "If it *is* Ben ..."

"He won't touch me Sully," she replied with certainty.

"You don' know that! ..."

"I'll stay well out of his way ..."

"Think I oughta come with ya."

Her jaw set and she said firmly, "I can look after myself ... I'm not old and frail like Ruth ..."

"Course ya aint," he returned immediately. "But Ben's a big man ... a strong man ..."

"I'll be fine ... just fine," she asserted, brooking no argument.

This time Sully took a deep breath, accustomed to her innate stubbornness. "Still think I oughta come with ya ... I'd stay out o' the way ..." Michaela sighed and shook her head. There was silence while Sully considered the matter. At last he muttered reluctantly, "Well ... as long as you're real careful ... but I don' like it ..." He tenderly kissed the nape of her neck and embraced her possessively.

"I'll be careful ... I promise ...," she restated softly. As his hand began to gently caress her again and then ventured upwards towards her breasts, she grasped it and held it still against herself. "Just hold me tonight Sully," she whispered unexpectedly. "Just hold me ... please ..."

Sully's brow creased, but he immediately acquiesced, kissing her shoulder and then moulding his body to hers in a loving, protective embrace.

Part 3

Michaela unlocked the clinic door and pushed it open, her low spirits of the day before still weighing upon her, though perhaps not quite so heavily. Thankfully, it was early and there were no patients waiting on the bench outside, so she had a little time to prepare before the working day began. She entered, strode across to place her medical bag on her desk and then removed her coat, replacing it with a clean white apron. As she began to pull back the heavier curtains, letting light spill into the room, there was a knocking on the door and Dorothy entered. Looking apologetic, the editor said quickly, "I hope I aint disturbin' you Michaela ... but I wanted ta speak with you before any patients arrived ..."

"Of course you're not disturbing me Dorothy," stated Michaela quickly. "I always have time for you .... Is something wrong?"

"Well," began Dorothy uncertainly. "I was just over at the mercantile ... collectin' paper an' ink ..."

Michaela's eyes narrowed, as she anticipated what her friend was going to say. "And?" she prompted.

"Well ... maybe it aint none o' my business ... but Loren didn' look right ta me ... like he was sorta poorly," finished Dorothy. "He's a very dear, old friend ... so I felt I had ta say somethin'."

Michaela nodded. "I'm glad you did Dorothy," she replied with concern. "I thought the same thing myself yesterday ... but he wouldn't talk about it ..."

Dorothy gave her a rueful smile. "Aint surprised ... Loren'd rather die than admit when somethin's ailin' him ...," she said quietly. "So will ya go back over there?"

"He wouldn't speak to me about it yesterday ... so I'm not sure how I can persuade him to change his mind today ...," warned Michaela.

"He'll come round to ya ... he always does," rejoined Dorothy with an encouraging smile.

In response, Michaela quirked an eyebrow, gave a mock sigh, picked up her medical bag and exited the clinic, to stride purposefully across the street towards the mercantile. A hopeful Dorothy watched her friend dodge the early morning traffic, and then she too stepped off the porch, but towards the Gazette office.

Loren was serving Teresa Slicker when Michaela entered the store. She was almost relieved. It gave her the opportunity to observe her friend from a distance before she questioned him outright. He was much as he'd been yesterday, perhaps looking a little strained, but for the most part his usual self. He scurried about filling Teresa's order, the pile of groceries and produce on the counter gradually growing. It was only when he climbed a ladder to one of the upper shelves and drew down a heavy roll of fabric that his demeanour changed. She watched with growing concern as his face alternately reddened and then paled and he gasped for breath. Both women rushed toward him, lifting their arms to relieve him of the heavy bolt of material. "Are you alright Loren?" asked Michaela urgently, as Teresa took the fabric, and she grasped the man's arm to assist him down.

"Course I'm alright," he replied gruffly, shaking her off and shuffling slowly across to lean against the counter.

Catching Michaela's eye and realising the potential seriousness of the situation, Teresa retreated from the counter so that the doctor could take over. "You're not alright Loren," said Michaela politely but firmly. "And we need to do something about it before something more drastic happens."

Loren refused to meet her eye. "It aint anythin' I can't handle," he muttered defensively.

"And you were *handling* it when you climbed up for that fabric?" queried Michaela pointedly.

"You see anyone else round here ta do it Dr Mike?" demanded Loren with disgust.

"No," she replied reasonably. "But perhaps I should."

He at last raised his eyes to meet hers. "I bin runnin' this business for more years than you've bin in long skirts ... an' I aint handin' it over to anyone else ...," he remonstrated. "This'll pass ..."

"And what if it doesn't," she returned immediately. "We don't even know what's wrong with you yet."

"Oh I know alright ... an' I don' need you gittin' on your high horse ... an' tellin' me in all those big medical words," he responded brusquely.

"Alright ... what *is* wrong with you?" Michaela demanded.

Loren glanced across to where Teresa Slicker stood patiently waiting for her order, then, his jaw setting, he said firmly, "This aint the time nor the place. I got work ta do ..."

"When *will* be the right time and place Loren?" hissed Michaela. "When you're found lying unconscious ... or worse ... on the floor?"

As two other customers entered, he said with a false smile, "I'll talk to ya about this later Dr Mike ... Its gittin' kinda busy in here."

Michaela shrugged her shoulders in exasperation, picked up her medical bag from the counter and glared at Loren before angrily exiting. He watched her go with some misgiving and then turned his attention back to his customers.

****************

"Anythin' else for you Dr Mike?" asked Annie, as she finished pouring fresh coffee into Michaela's cup.

Her thoughts still on the letter she'd been reading over lunch, Michaela looked up and answered, "Ah .. no thank-you ... I've had plenty ... lunch was delicious ..."

Grace's assistant smiled her gratitude and made her way back to the stoves. Michaela sipped at the steaming coffee, then again lowered her eyes to Colleen's neat, but small script and re-read the page. She'd been so excited to receive the letter this morning, but she was having trouble concentrating on it. Jumbled thoughts of Ruth, Loren and Sully had her mind whirling. She frowned and forced herself to concentrate again. Moments later she was once more distracted, this time by the shuffling of footsteps and a sardonic voice, commenting, "All on ya own today hey Michaela ..."

She looked up into the amused eyes of Hank who was standing by her table, a sheepish Loren alongside him. "I occasionally do get a little time to myself," she retorted, a touch haughtily. She certainly wasn't in the mood for the barkeep's good-natured but oft times irritating teasing.

Hank smirked, held up his hand in mock surrender and they began to move off, only to stop so he could inquire more seriously, "Ah ... Michaela ... I was wonderin' about that woman yesterday ... the one I carried inta the clinic ... she gonna be alright?"

Michaela swallowed. "Ah ... yes ... she should be fine," she replied quietly.

His eyes narrowed. "Bin thinkin' about her ... Looked ta me like someone slugged her," he suggested. "Looked pretty bad too ..."

"You talkin' 'bout Ruth Cardew? She was at the clinic yesterday ..." charged Loren in puzzlement. "I thought you said she was sick Dr Mike?"

"Ah .. no ... I said she needed medical treatment," rejoined Michaela, reluctant to discuss a patient amidst the throng of café patrons.

"Is Hank right? Did someone hit her?" demanded Loren, aghast.

Michaela bit her lip and then rejoined, "She said she fell ..."

Hank's eyebrows rose. "Fell pretty hard," he commented dryly.

"You sayin' someone *did* hit her Hank?" queried Loren again, this time even more vehemently.

Michaela stood and deliberately folded her letter. "Hank doesn't know that Loren," she said quietly. "He's only guessing ..."

"Bin known ta guess right before," stated the barkeep confidently. "An' she looked like a woman who's bin hit ..."

Michaela's jaw set. "And you'd know what that looked like wouldn't you Hank?" she lashed out exasperatedly. The last thing she wanted was the barkeep jumping to conclusions and then hot-temperedly acting upon them when even *she* wasn't sure what was actually going on.

He smirked. "Hey Michaela ... there's bin times I might o' wanted ta slug a woman ... but ..." He trailed off, regarding her with amusement. Missing his nuance altogether, she raised her eyebrows cynically, prompting him to add with haste, "But that aint my style ..."

She shook her head ruefully, adding under her breath, "Perhaps not now ...."

Hank's fists clenched and he fought his desire to do exactly what he'd just denied. Instead, he said between clenched teeth, "Reckon I oughta go out there ... speak to her family ... in my official capacity I mean ... See what's goin' on ..."

Michaela raised resolute eyes to his. "I .. I don't think that'll be necessary Hank ... Her grandson collected her last night and took her home ... I'm going out there this afternoon to check on her ..."

"Maybe I oughta go with ya," he rejoined immediately. "If there *is* somethin' goin' on ..."

"I said *I'll* handle it Hank," Michaela snapped indignantly. "Until I inform you differently, there is *no* problem with Ruth ... She fell and hurt herself and I'll ensure her injuries are tended to ... Do I make myself clear?"

Hank sighed in vexation and again raised his hand in surrender. "I got ya loud an' clear Michaela," he retorted. "But I want *you* to know I'm deputisin' as sheriff of this town for now ... an' if somethin's goin' on I'm gonna do somethin' about it ... Do *I* make *myself* clear?"

Michaela nodded. "If I ... or Ruth for that matter ... need your help Hank I'll be sure to ask for it," she said determinedly. "Now I take it we understand each other ..," she adjured, beginning to move off, sincerely hoping the matter was closed. She sighed to herself when Hank called to her retreating back, "I'll be askin' after her agin Michaela ... don' be thinkin' I won't."

*******************

"You look just about as tired as me Dr Mike," remarked Grace with concern, from her chair by the fireplace. She stretched and vainly tried to stifle a yawn.

Michaela sighed, "Its been a difficult couple of days," she rejoined softly. "And I can't see it getting much better." She straightened from bending over the new baby's crib. "He's doing just fine Grace," she asserted with a smile. "Just fine."

"He is aint he?" murmured Grace. "Took us a long time ta git this far ... an' he's a lotta work ... more an' I ever imagined ... but its all worth it ..."

Michaela smiled at her sympathetically and then returned her attention to the baby. "He was little when born ... but he's starting to catch up ...," she murmured, gently stroking his round cheek with her forefinger.

"Won' take him long Dr Mike ... he's always hungry," chuckled Grace. She paused as she watched Michaela gently caress the baby, her expression pensive. At last she said softly, "I've seen that look before ... You an' Sully lookin' ta have another little one?"

Michaela started and reddened. "Ah ... we were ...," she rejoined softly.

"Were?"

Michaela bit her lip. "It ... it just doesn't seem to be happening ...," she murmured wistfully.

"That's what you said last time ... remember ... an' then ... all o' a sudden you were pregnant with Katie," offered Grace reassuringly.

"That's a long time ago Grace ..."

"Aint that long ..."

"More than three years ..."

"Me an' Robert E waited a lot longer 'an that ..." Grace's eyes narrowed as she watched her friend. As a thought occurred to her she inquired thoughtfully, "You worried about bein' too old for another baby?"

Michaela's eyes welled with tears. "Not too old to care for another child Grace ... but perhaps to conceive ...," she rejoined quietly.

"Ooh ... That's silly Dr Mike ... Like I said, look at me an' Robert E ... Why ... how do ya know ya aint pregnant right now?" Michaela turned her shimmering eyes away to gaze sightlessly out the window and Grace's shoulders slumped. "Ya got ya monthly," she murmured compassionately. When Michaela nodded, Grace stood and walked across to rest her hands on her friend's shoulders. "Sully know?" she inquired softly. Michaela shook her head. "Ya gotta tell him," Grace urged.

"I know ... but he'll be so disappointed ..."

"Not half as much as he will if ya keep it from him," Grace averred.

"After all we've been through ... especially losing the baby last year ... He wants ... we both want ... another brother or sister for Katie ... and each month he's disappointed ... He tries to hide it ... but I see it in his eyes ...," murmured Michaela remorsefully. "If he'd married someone younger ...."

"What are you sayin' Dr Mike?" exclaimed Grace. "Sully married exactly who he wanted ta marry ... even if you'd bin ten years older an' couldn' have any kids at all he would o' married you anyway ..."

"That's what *he* said."

"An' don't ya believe him?"

Again Michaela bit her lip. "Its hard to ... You see ... I want another baby just as badly as he does ... I know how he feels because I feel the same way ...," she admitted softly.

Grace stepped closer. "You sayin' if for some reason not havin' a baby was Sully's fault ... like he got injured or somethin' ... you wouldn' wanna be married to him?" she asked gently.

Michaela's eyes widened in horror. "Of course not!" she exclaimed.

Grace smiled broadly. "Exactly," she rejoined triumphantly. "An' he feels just the same as you ... Ya got a beautiful family ... an' a husband who'd die for ya ... There's a lot o' folks who'd say you were real lucky ..."

Michaela reddened. "I know," she said, a little shame-faced. "But I wanted so badly to give Sully a son ... and if it *is* because I'm too old ..." She trailed off.

"You don' know that's the reason for sure ... just like me an' Robert E don' know why it took us so long ... Ya gotta have faith in God ... He's got his reasons ..."

Michaela nodded resignedly. "Life goes by so swiftly Grace ... and to think after all we've been through the past couple of years ... the opportunity for another child may have passed us by ...," she murmured, turning her attention back to the content baby. "It hurts," she added under her breath.

******************

As Sully nonchalantly entered the mercantile, Loren's eyes narrowed and his jaw set. The last thing he needed was more haranguing about his health! Hoping to forestall any efforts, he said sternly, "You here ta nag me too ... Well I don' need it ..."

Sully's eyes opened wide in surprise. He stepped up to the counter. "Don' know what you're talkin' about Loren," he responded guilelessly. "Who's bin naggin' ya ... an' what about?"

"Don' give me that Sully," rejoined Loren cynically. "You know well as I do ..."

The younger man shook his head. "'fraid I don't Loren ... aint got a clue ... You gonna tell me who's bin naggin' ya? Is somethin' wrong?"

Loren frowned. Sully seemed genuine enough. "You really don' know?" he asked, his tone softening. When Sully again shook his head, he grimaced. "Forget about it," he muttered, feeling stupid.

"I'm a good listener Loren ... if you've got a problem," offered Sully with concern.

Loren gave him a wan smile. "Aint nothin'," he said quietly. "Now ... did you come in here ta buy somethin' or didn' ya?"

Sully watched the elderly man carefully. There *was* something troubling him. He could tell, but not being one to pry, he decided to let it be. "I thought I'd get somethin' nice for Michaela," he said quietly. "Maybe some o' that sweet smellin' soap she likes ..."

"Its over here," rejoined Loren, leading Sully across the store to a small stand of lady's perfumery. "Special occasion?" he asked, as Sully proceeded to pick up one container after another and sniff at the sweet scents.

Sully shook his head. "Nah ... she just seems out o' sorts right now ... sort o' melancholy ... like maybe somethin's worryin' her ... Thought somethin' nice might cheer her up ..."

"She does?" asked Loren, swallowing. He pointed to a particular box of soap. "That's the one she likes," he said. "You don' know what it is worryin' her?"

Sully shook his head. "She won't tell me. Could be anythin'," he replied, holding the suggested box to his nose. "She gits upset about her patients sometimes ... an' she misses Colleen an' Andrew ..." He handed Loren the box. "I'll take this," he said. "How much?"

The storekeeper walked back to the counter. "Fifty cents," he said, placing the box in a brown paper bag. "She'll like that ..."

Sully nodded and started towards the door only to turn back and offer quietly, "Ah Loren ... I meant what I said ... if you want ... need ... ta talk ta someone ...."

Loren waved him away. "Aint nothin' ta worry yourself about," he said dismissively. "Everythin's just fine."