It was an early town, its citizens habitually rising with the dawn and going about their business as streaks of pink and gold gilded the treetops and wreathed the summit of Pike’s Peak.  Loren faithfully opened the mercantile each morning as the clock on the bank struck seven; and it had often seemed to her, from her vantage point across the way, as if the Gold Nugget never closed.

     Michaela knew all this, and yet as they reached the border of Colorado Springs a couple of hours after sun-up, she couldn’t help indulging a slim hope that they might be able to slip into town unnoticed.  But as they rounded the corner of the saloon and she had her first glimpse of the clinic, she viewed the knot of friends and neighbors clustered outside the building without surprise.

     It was inevitable, she supposed.  News of any kind traveled fast in the small community, and a report of someone in trouble seemed to spread even faster.  Prior to their spur of the moment departure the previous evening to search for Sully, she and Matthew had made only two stops:  at Robert E.’s and Grace’s, to ask Grace if she could assist Colleen in looking after Katie; and at the homestead, to tell Colleen and Brian of their plans.  Michaela knew that neither the blacksmith nor his wife was in the habit of spreading gossip.  But word had a way of getting around nevertheless; plus her unexpected absence from the clinic might have already given rise to its own brand of speculation.  Not to mention the fact that Hank’s whereabouts might also be at issue.  With the saloon keeper still unconscious, and Sully unable, as yet, to tell them how or why he and the barkeep had fallen in together, there was no way of knowing how long Hank had been missing.  By now, Jake might very well be questioning what had become of his partner.  Given all the circumstances, she greeted the presence of the curious townsfolk with understanding and resignation.

     As they drew closer she was able to pick out friends and neighbors:  Dorothy, tall and slim, her flame-colored hair contrasting dramatically with the midnight blue of her heavy, knitted shawl; the black-clad figure of the Reverend seated serenely on the bench outside the clinic door with his cane propped between his legs, his head lifting in response to the sound of their wagon wheels approaching; the smaller figure of Brian sitting cross-legged at the Reverend’s feet, the blonde highlights of his darkening hair gleaming in the morning sun; and yes, there was Jake, the rusty red of his own hair concealed by the brim of his hat, arms folded across his chest as he perched casually on the edge of the water trough on the street.  Horace, tall and lanky, stood next to him, his head crowned by a dark derby.  There was no sign of Colleen, but Michaela was certain that her daughter would be inside, readying the clinic for their return.  Loren was also absent, but Michaela was equally sure that he was keeping a weather eye on developments from the entrance of the mercantile—and sure enough, as they rolled to a stop, she saw the elderly store owner heading their way, removing his apron as his came.  Simultaneously Dorothy, Jake and Horace moved to meet them, and even the Reverend rose to his feet in expectation.

     “Ma! Matthew!”  Brian exclaimed, jumping up.  “Colleen, they’re back!” he called over his shoulder as he closed the few steps to the wagon.  Matthew lifted Michaela down from the bench and set her on her feet.  She opened her arms and Brian hurtled into them for a brief hug.

     “You should be in school, Brian,” she said, the mildness of her tone and the warmth of her smile taking the sting out of the reproach.

     “I was worried,” he said frankly.  “I just had to wait here till you got back.”

     “I appreciate that,” she said, her voice gentle.  “But I imagine Miss Teresa was also worried when you didn’t arrive at school this morning.”

     “I asked a friend to tell her where I was,” he answered, quickly disposing of her objection.  “So did you find Sully, Ma?  Is he all right?  What happened?”  The words tumbled out of him as he peppered her with questions.

     “Give Dr. Mike a chance, Brian,” Matthew spoke up.

     “It’s all right, Matthew,” she said.  “Yes, we found Sully,” she replied to her younger son.  “He’s hurt, but he’ll recover.”  She moved to the rear of the wagon bed, Brian at her heels.

     “I’ll give you a hand carryin’ him inside,” Jake offered, following behind Brian.

     “Me too, Dr. Mike,” Horace chimed in, trailing after the others.

     “Thank you both.  You’ll need to move him carefully—he has some bruised and broken ribs,” she cautioned.  “And Jake, you should know that—“

     But Jake had already reached the rear of the wagon.  He leaned over, preparing to lift Sully, but then froze as he caught sight of Hank instead.  The barber’s face blanched, and he looked up at Michaela sharply, his brows knitting together in the half-suspicious, half-wary expression he so often wore.  “Is he dead?”

     Loren had neared them in time to hear Michaela’s reassuring words about Sully.  But his face registered shock as he glimpsed the body of the barkeep.  “What happened to Hank?” he gasped.

     Dorothy materialized at Michaela’s side.  Sensitive and practical, she didn’t waste time asking for explanations.  “Michaela, what can I do to help?”

     Michaela looked at her gratefully as Colleen emerged from the clinic.  “Thank you, Dorothy.  I’m sure that Colleen has everything prepared in the clinic, but it would be a comfort to me if you would see that Brian gets to school.”

    “But Ma—“

    “No arguin’, Brian,” his brother told him.  “Dr. Mike’s got enough on her mind with Sully and Hank.  She don’t need to be worryin’ about you, too.”

    “It’s all right for you to leave, Brian,” Michaela soothed him.  “Sully will be right here at the clinic when you return from school.  Perhaps he’ll even be awake by then and you can speak with him.”

    “Come on, Brian,” Dorothy said, slipping her arm around his shoulders.  “Let’s give your ma some room to work.  I’m sure with her special care, Sully will be feelin’ lots better and anxious for a visit from you this afternoon.”

    The boy’s face was reluctant.  “If I have to,” he said finally.  “But you don’t gotta go with me, Miss Dorothy—thanks all the same.”

    “Oh, I know you’re much too old for that,” Dorothy agreed.  “I just thought you might like some company.”

    “I’ll be all right—as long as Sully is,” he replied, casting Sully another worried look and then raising his eyes to his mother.  “He will be, won’t he, Ma?”

    “You have my word,” Michaela promised.

    But still he lingered.  “Tell Sully I’ll be back soon,” he importuned his mother.

    “We’ll both be waiting.”  Michaela gave him an optimistic smile.  Brian took one last glimpse of Sully, and then slowly walked away.

    “All the instruments are ready, Ma,” Colleen announced as she joined her mother. She was trying to mask her concern behind a neutral expression, and not altogether succeeding.

    “But what about Hank?” Loren insisted.

    “Loren!” Dorothy chided.  “Michaela’s got two injured men to care for.  She ain’t got time for long explanations now.”

     “Matthew, please find Robert E. and Grace and tell them that we’ve returned with Sully,” Michaela instructed her son.  “And ask if they can care for Katie a while longer.”  He nodded and headed toward the café and livery at a swift pace.  Turning to the agitated storekeeper, she took his arm and they strolled a few yards away from the wagon.  “I understand your concern, Loren.    And I promise that I’ll tell you everything I know just as soon as I’ve finished my examinations of Sully and Hank and attended to their injuries.  But perhaps it will calm your anxiety if I tell you that I believe both of them will be all right.”

     Loren’s worried frown relaxed marginally, and his eyes were grateful.  “Thanks, Dr. Mike.  Hank and me—we had our differences over the years, but—“ his voice was almost shy, “he’s my friend.  I wouldn’t wanna see nothin’ happen to him.  And ya know how I—“  He cleared his throat.  “—how I feel ‘bout Sully.”

     Michaela’s hand found Loren’s and she gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I know, Loren.  And thank you.  I’ll have news for you soon.”  She released Loren’s hand and started to return to the wagon, only to find Jake blocking her way.  He nodded in Loren’s direction and then looked back at her.

     “Dr. Mike—what Loren said—well, that goes for me, too.”

     Michaela felt oddly touched.  “I appreciate that, Jake.  I’m sure Sully and Hank would appreciate it as well.  And I thank you for your offer of help—I can use your assistance.”

     A trace of pride and satisfaction flickered in the barber’s eyes.  “Sure thing—whatever you need.”

     “Well, the first order of business is to get them both inside,” Michaela replied briskly.  “Then we’ll move on from there.”

     “Ma, Sully’s wakin’ up,” Colleen said from the rear of the wagon, where she had been joined by Matthew, Robert E. and Grace, with Katie in her arms.  Michaela’s heart lifted at the sight of her little girl, and she hastened toward her children and her friends, pausing briefly to kiss the crown of Katie’s silky head before turning her attention to Sully.

     “I can look after Katie as long as you need, Dr. Mike,” Grace told her.

     “Thank you, Grace—that’s a comfort,” Michaela replied, and then bent over her husband.

     “Michaela?” Sully questioned, his expression disoriented.  Automatically he stretched out his hand to her and she clasped it tightly.

    She smiled down at him.  “You’re home,” she told him.  “And you’re going to be all right.”

    “Right as rain,” Robert E. chimed in, stepping close to the wagon and reaching down to pat Sully’s shoulder.

    Sully’s eyes cleared as he recognized the familiar sight of the clinic, and the reassuring faces of his friends and family gazing down at him.  A moment later he glimpsed his small daughter and smiled.  “Guess I can’t help but get better, with all of you to help me,” he said, contentment replacing his confusion.  “And Hank?” he added, fighting the urge to drift away once again.

    “Hank, too,” Michaela assured him.  “We’re going to move you, now,” she cautioned, releasing his hand gently and laying it by his side.  “I’m afraid it will be painful, but we’ll be as careful as possible.  Are you ready?”

    He took as deep a breath as he could manage, trying not to let her see the pain it cost him.  Then, face set, he nodded.  “Go ahead.”

    Matthew, Jake, Robert E. and Horace grouped themselves around him, two on each side.  The four men slipped their hands under Sully’s shoulders and legs, preparing to lift him.

    “On the count o’ three,” Jake instructed.  “One . . . two . . .”  On “three”, they lifted Sully smoothly, handling him as tenderly as if he were a baby.  Michaela saw Sully’s face whiten.

    “Squeeze my hand,” she whispered, walking close by his side and grasping his fingers once again.  His hand tightened around hers.  The men bore Sully gingerly out of the street and onto the clinic porch, Michaela matching their pace.  Gratefully he clung to her, the lines of pain in his facing easing as he felt her warmth and strength.

    They moved into the clinic, Sully’s eyelids fluttering shut once more.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “You can lay back now,” Michaela told him.  He drew a breath and held it, girding himself against the anticipated pain.  Michaela placed her hand on his back to support him as he carefully reclined against the pillows.  The stiff bandage compressing his ribcage momentarily cut into his skin, causing him to grimace, but the pain was minimal.

     “Too tight?” Michaela inquired, instantly alert to his change of expression.

     Sully let out his breath slowly, still bracing for the pain that he was certain would come.  But Michaela had done her job skillfully, as always; and the bandage—while constricting—supported his bruised and broken ribs with a minimum of discomfort.

    “No, it’s fine,” he answered.

    “I can give you a dose of laudanum,” she offered.

    He finally dared to relax his tensed muscles.  “The pain ain’t that bad—I can live with it.”

    “Thankfully, that’s true,” Michaela said.  His ear detected an odd note in her voice and he scrutinized her closely.  He noted the rigidity of her posture as she perched beside him on the bed; and for a brief moment her unguarded expression allowed him a glimpse into the worry and fear she must have suffered at his expense.

    “I’m so sorry for puttin’ you through this,” he told her, his eyes now shadowed with guilt.  He took one of the hands resting in her lap and threaded his fingers through hers.  “Seems like I’m always gettin’ into trouble and forcin’ you to come rescue me.”

    “Sully, while I don’t yet know the details of the accident, I do know that it wasn’t your fault,” Michaela contradicted.

    “Maybe not this time,” he allowed, his voice low.

    “Any time,” she said vigorously.

    “Even the time I fell from the cliff?” he reminded her.  “Are you gonna try to say that I didn’t bring all that on myself?”  His tone was challenging, as if he almost dared her to disagree.

    “You mustn’t dwell upon the past.”  Her eyes were penetrating, her tone strong with conviction.  “Sully, whatever risks you had to take—whatever dangers we had to face—were necessary.  I see that now.  If I was . . . unsympathetic, at the time, it was only because I was caught up in the tension of the moment.  In retrospect, I understand that you couldn’t have made any other choice, and still remained true to yourself.  And be the man that I love.”

    “But did I have the right to put you through so much grief, thinkin’ I might be dead?”

    “Did I have the right to make you fear for my life when the dog soldiers abducted me, after I insisted upon telling Custer the truth?” she countered.  “Sully, as you’ve told the children and me so many times, regretting the past doesn’t change it, and punishing yourself doesn’t fix things.

    “And none of what happened in the past has any bearing on the present,” she added firmly, trying to deflect him from sinking further into guilt.  She was becoming concerned about his state of mind.  His remorse at causing her worry did not surprise her, given Sully’s devotion to her and sensitivity to her moods.  And some residual shock—even depression—at his near-escape from death was also to be expected.  But something more—something deeper—seemed to lurk at the heart of his distress.  Could it have to do with Hank?

    “You have no reason for remorse regarding the accident,” she reiterated.  “On the contrary,” she continued with spirit, “you acted heroically, extricating Hank and yourself from the burning coach despite your injuries.  If it hadn’t been for your bravery, both of you surely would have died!”

    “I ain’t brave.  And I sure ain’t no hero, Michaela,” he said.

    “But Sully—“

    “Trust me.”

    Michaela stared at him, at a loss as to how to give him comfort, when he seemed so determined to reject it.  Finally she caressed his cheek with her free hand.  “Sully, you’re clearly upset.  Tell me what’s bothering you, please.  I want to help you.”

    “Nothin’ you can do,” he told her.  “Like you said—you can’t change the past.”

    His comment made no sense to her, but for the moment she put speculation about it aside.  “I want to know,” she insisted gently.  After a pause she ventured, “Sully, is your melancholy somehow related to Hank?  What happened to you out there?  How did you and Hank come to be together?”

    “It’s a long story, Michaela.”  His eyes were bleak.

    “It appears we have plenty of time,” she said.  The seconds stretched out as she waited for his reply.  Finally he spoke.

    “To make you understand, I gotta go back.”

    “Back?” Michaela echoed, mystified.  “Back where?”

    “A long way,” Sully said quietly, his eyes darkened by an emotion she couldn’t define.  “More than eighteen
years . . .”

* * * * * * * * *

    “Maybe I shouldn’t get into this now,” he announced suddenly.  “You been up all night—you need to get some sleep.  You probably haven’t eaten anythin’ either, if I know you.”

    “I can rest later,” she said.  “And Grace brought a large tray here to the clinic.  We’ll eat together, in a little while.”

    “But what about Hank?  He needs tendin’—lots more than I do.”

    “Hank is all right for the moment.  I checked on him before coming to you.  Colleen is sitting with him, and she’ll come to fetch me if there’s a problem.  But for now, Sully, I want to hear the story.  Unless—“  She regarded him with concern.  “You’re too weak or tired to talk at the moment?  I can let you rest, and come back later—“”

    “No, that ain’t it.  I want to tell you—I owe you that.  But . . . you may not feel the same about me, after I’m through.”

    His comment caused a tiny spark of fear to kindle inside her, but she managed to maintain her serene expression.  “You can tell me anything, Sully.  You know that.  So please,” she added softly.  “Go ahead.”

    He sighed in resignation, then settled himself more comfortably against the pillows.  “Can I have a drink of water, first?  This is gonna take a while.”

     Wordlessly she poured water into a glass from the pitcher on the bedside table, and handed it to him.  He drank deeply, nearing draining the contents.  Michaela took the glass from him and put it aside.  She folded her hands in her lap, patiently waiting.

     Sully chewed on his lower lip—a sure sign that his mind was troubled—then raised his eyes to hers.  Without preamble, he began, “I was waitin’ in the train station.  The train was late, but nobody could tell me why.  And then Hank showed up . . .”