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  "Nonsense. Maybe Manitou Springs doesn't have a hospital, but I know a city the size of Colorado Springs has to have one."

  He shook his head again. "Not yet."

  "Bullshit!" He squeezed her arm, and she lowered her voice. "You're just going to let her die when you know this is all a charade."

  "I have no intention of letting her die, but I will need your cooperation, your assistance, and maybe a bit of your trust. Hard labor just started within the hour. We have time to turn the baby. But," he emphasized with a downward tilt of his chin, "I'll need you to be for me and not against me."

  Lalita couldn't believe what was happening. If this was some kind of "Truman Show" set up for a paying patron's historical whimsy, then surely this was all a very elaborate fake, and the woman would be all right. Isn't this what you've always wanted? To be a part of an era gone by? To play dress-up for just a day?

  She squared her shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "I'm in."

  Chapter 7

  Dr. Cavanaugh took off his jacket and draped it over an upholstered red velvet armchair in a seating arrangement by the fireplace, then proceeded to roll up his sleeves. Lalita removed her own hat and flung it on the chair as well, then at the doctor's direction, pulled Mrs. Pilson's nightgown up above her belly. He coated it with petroleum jelly while he explained what he was about to do. "I'm going to be pushing pretty hard on your abdomen, and I know it will not be comfortable, but it will be more pleasant than a delivery that goes nowhere."

  Mrs. Pilson nodded with a knitted brow.

  The doctor put his hands on either side, pressing in and rotating. Mrs. Pilson gave a little gasp, and Lalita took her hand in a firm grip. The woman gave her a worried smile then gasped again as the doctor readjusted his hands. She cried out as a contraction came over her, and the doctor released her. "There's no point trying to fight with a contraction. Miss Torres, take note of the time."

  "I don't have a watch."

  Dr. Cavanaugh looked at his pocket watch, unfastened it from his vest and handed it to her, then removed his vest as well. When Mrs. Pilson was once again breathing easier. He placed his hands on her and blew out a frustrated breath. "That's what I was afraid of. The contraction let the baby slide back to where we started."

  He began again, more vigorously this time, which had Mrs. Pilson gasping and moaning, holding Lalita's hand so tightly, she was about to lose circulation.

  Sweat was running into his eyes, but he wouldn't release his hold on the infant to wipe it away. "Almost there, Millie."

  He'd no sooner said it than the next contraction was upon her. Tate stopped, wiping his brow with his sleeve, and Lalita prayed that the baby would stay in its new position. The woman's pain was obviously increasing, but with the baby out of position, the contractions were doing nothing to speed delivery.

  After Mrs. Pilson relaxed once again, he felt her belly and smiled. "We only lost a little bit of ground this time. Miss Torres, if you can assist me, I want this done before the next contraction hits." He moved around to the other side of the single bed, and she released Mrs. Pilson's hand and moved hesitantly to her belly. "Put your hands here." As she reached forward, he took her hands and positioned them. "You'll be pushing the rump, and I've got the head. Ready? Push."

  Lalita visualized a tiny baby's bottom under her hands, and with the two of them working, they moved the baby the last few inches that would allow it to enter the birth canal. Lalita removed her hands and the doctor examined his patient, a grin spreading over his face. Lalita clapped, feeling victorious, but then another contraction hit the laboring mother, and Lalita realized that there was still a long way to go before they reached the finish line.

  ***

  "Why don't you get something to eat? I promise you the baby won't be born while you're gone."

  Lalita was lurking just behind Tate's shoulder while Mrs. Pilson rested in between contractions. Her nearness was… unsettling.

  "I'm not hungry."

  Her stomach picked that moment to growl, and Tate looked back at her. "You were so wound up this morning, did you even eat breakfast?"

  She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to his ear, her breathy whisper tickling the back of his neck, causing all manner of sensations to wing through his body. Instead of answering his question, she asked questions of her own. "What happens if something goes wrong? If the baby is in trouble, you'll call for an ambulance, right?"

  He swiveled on his chair to face her. "You have nothing to worry about. As far as I can tell, labor is progressing as expected. I don't anticipate any trouble."

  She crossed her arms so tightly, her shoulders rose. "But… what if there is? What's your plan? You can't do a C-section here, can you? Are there surgeons waiting somewhere?"

  Rising, he led her a few steps from the bed. "Miss Torres," he began in low tones. She pursed her lips with eyebrows raised, and he corrected himself to the name she insisted he use. "Lalita, as I said, I don't anticipate a problem, but your anxiety will most certainly be transferred to our patient. I suggest you go downstairs and partake of the offered meal."

  He tried to move her toward the door, but she latched onto his hand. "Please, just tell me you have a plan for an emergency."

  Her worry was so evident that Tate's other hand came to her cheek without thought. "Yes, I can perform a C-section if necessary, but—" Mrs. Pilson began to moan with the next contraction, and both moved back to her bedside. "You really should go eat, Miss—Lalita."

  Tate sat as Lalita wiped Millie's face with a damp cloth. "In a minute, Doc."

  Tate turned, smiling. He didn't know why he was proud of this woman he'd barely known for a day, but he was.

  ***

  Lalita came back to Tate's side after grabbing a bite to eat. "Your turn."

  Tate pulled his stethoscope from Mrs. Pilson's rounded belly. "I'm fine."

  "You said yourself this could go on all day. Better to eat now before the real show starts."

  He rose and took the woman's pulse. "I'm used to going without."

  Lalita waited until he laid the woman's hand down on the bed. "But that's because you do this alone. You don't have to today. I'm here, and I can sit with her for the ten minutes it will take you to eat."

  He looked at his watch. "I think you were only gone five."

  "I'm a college student; I eat on the run a lot." He tilted Mrs. Pilson's chin until she opened her eyes, seeming to study them. "Is everything all right?"

  "Her pain level shot up considerably with that last contraction, and she has requested chloroform. I'm just check—"

  "Chloroform! You mean you're going to knock her out?"

  "Yes, we've found that it is less traumatic for the mother." He moved toward his medical bag sitting on a dresser by the door and pulled out a small bottle.

  Lalita followed. "But… how will she help push the baby out? Won't it take longer—be more dangerous for the baby? Why do you insist on doing everything old school?"

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Miss Torres, the use of chloroform is relatively new, and you said you'd trust me. I am a doctor."

  "But," she scrambled, following him back to the bed, "nobody puts women out for childbirth anymore. Sometimes they do a spinal block or use other pain meds that help her relax, but nobody puts them clear out. They use breathing techniques to help with the pain." He looked at her blankly. "You know, the Lamaze method?"

  His brows rose, and he stood a moment staring at her. Finally, he gave her a patronizing smile. "I think maybe your head injury is causing some confusion. Why don't you go downstairs and rest in the parlor?"

  Lalita felt as if she could scream, when Mrs. Pilson did it for her.

  The doctor moved back to her bedside, and Lalita was determined that this woman would be awake for her baby's birth. "Doctor, you need to go eat now before you give her the chloroform. Afterward, you won't want to leave her side, I'm sure." He didn't move. "I ate in five minutes, and I bet you can too." When
he still didn't move, she added, "You need to keep up your strength to help her."

  Finally he set the bottle down on the bedside table. "Perhaps you're right." He patted Mrs. Pilson's hand as she relaxed back onto her pillow. "I'll just be a few minutes."

  She nodded, and the doctor strode out of the room. Lalita didn't waste any time. "Okay, Millie, we are going to handle this pain so you can stay awake. It's better for you both." She paused and tried to remember all the chatter of the pregnant mothers who frequented the daycare where she worked. They talked nonstop about breathing methods and birthing balls and massage. She swept the sheet off of the woman. "Do you have any lotion?"

  ***

  Tate stopped abruptly as he came back into Mrs. Pilson's bedroom, unsure of what he was seeing. His patient was on her knees on a pillow beside the bed, resting her head and arms on the bed itself. Her lower half was swathed with the bed sheet and her nightgown was rolled up, exposing her lower back. Lalita was on her knees behind her, her hands rubbing and kneading.

  "What is going on? Miss Torres… Mrs. Pilson…"

  Lalita looked as though caught in the act but brought a hurried explanation forth. "Doc, I know you all like to do everything the old-fashioned way for some reason, but sometimes you just have to use some modern techniques. The massage is making her more comfortable, and when a contraction starts, I'm helping her focus on breathing. That helps shift it away from the pain."

  The doctor squatted down to look into Mrs. Pilson's eyes. "Is this helping?" The woman nodded. "Do you still want to use the chloroform?"

  "Let's give this a try," she panted. "Edwin didn't like the idea of the chloroform anyway."

  He covered her hand with his. "Where is Edwin today? I assume someone called his office."

  "He's out of town," she puffed as another contraction came over her. She began rocking back and forth on her knees while Lalita pressed the sides of her hips and encouraged her to breathe in a series of "hee hee hee hoos."

  Tate was fascinated. "Where did you learn this?" he asked after the contraction had passed.

  "I work with little kids, and little kids have young mothers and pregnant mothers." She swept up the hem of her skirt and wiped her brow. "They talk a lot."

  Whatever Lalita was doing, it seemed to be a comfort to Millie, and he could see no harm in it. Most of the job of baby delivery was a matter of comfort, anyway, until the woman became fully dilated. He rose and sat in the chair by the bedside, watching. "So you're not a midwife."

  She laughed. "No. I just listen and read." She suddenly stumbled back and to her feet. "Oops, we've got a sudden flood happening here."

  Tate looked down at the sheet turning wet. "Ah, her water broke." They both helped the woman to her feet, and Lalita walked her to her dressing room to find another gown while Tate buzzed for the maid to bring them another pillow and more linens.

  Tate and Lalita assisted the now contracting and groaning woman back to bed, and Tate checked her progress. He had hoped for more. Forcing a smile, he tugged her night gown down. "Not quite there yet."

  As the woman rested, Lalita came to his side and squatted down to his ear. "What does that mean in real time?"

  He tried not to think about how near she was and looked to the foot of the bed. "It's hard to say. Every delivery is different. Sometimes progress just stops."

  "Completely or just for a while?"

  She straightened, and Tate let out a breath. "Either could happen."

  She looked at his pocket watch laying on the bedside table. "She's already been in labor for more than six hours," she whispered, "but that's not unusual, right?"

  "No, that's not unusual." Tate smiled at his patient turned maternity ward assistant. "If you are tired, I won't think any less of you if you'd like to go down to the parlor and rest."

  A look of indignation came to her face. "Although I might look it, I'm not a wilting violet, Dr. Cavanaugh. Millie can't walk away from this, and neither will I!"

  He couldn't keep a smile from spreading over his face, which seemed to bring a blush to hers. Their eyes held for a moment before the birth pains were upon Mrs. Pilson once again, and the two turned their focus to her comfort.

  ***

  Tate adjusted the reins in his hands, more than a little bit worried. Lalita had spoken hardly a word since the baby delivery.

  He had been surprised at both her stamina and her very real assistance. She hadn't been squeamish or faint of heart as many women seemed to be and had not only followed his every instruction precisely, but brought new comfort techniques that he had never heard of to aid the laboring woman.

  He wasn't really sure what to think about her ideas of massage and breathing, hot water bottles and comfort positions, but there was no doubt that Mrs. Pilson had been helped, and she got through the birth without chloroform. Maybe I've missed some new developments in childbirth since leaving Denver. He vowed to write his colleagues at the earliest opportunity.

  His thoughts returned to the moment when the infant had finally made its way into the world. Lalita had held the screaming newborn with tears streaming down her face, but ever since, she had been quiet and withdrawn. He hoped he hadn't pushed her delicate mental state too far.

  He glanced over at her on this cloudless night and saw that her chin was bobbing toward her chest. It was a long day. Taking the reins in one hand, he swept an arm around her with the other, pulling her head to his shoulder.

  Who are you, Lalita Torres, and where has your friend Nonnie gone?

  He suddenly realized that he should have gone to the marshal's office to see if anyone had reported a missing person. Without thinking, his fingers sifted through her short hair. First thing tomorrow.

  He pulled into the carriage house and was met by Mrs. Kettler's son, Harold. A bright boy who was eager to work, Harold took care of Dr. Cavanaugh's horses and kept a good polish on his buggy.

  He'd sent word that he'd be arriving home late, and he'd half expected the care of his horse to fall to himself after his long day of caring for Mrs. Pilson. Seeing Harold ready to take on the responsibility warmed his heart. Tate smiled at the boy's disheveled appearance as he unhitched his horse, Maisy. He was probably sleeping in the hay.

  Tate handed Miss Torres down to the strapping teen. "Thank you for being here so late, Harold. You've certainly earned yourself an extra nickel tonight." He jumped down and took her back into his arms.

  "Is she the Injun they found on Pikes Peak half dead?"

  Tate gave a weary smile. "She is the lady, Harold, that was found knocked out on Pikes Peak and who still has some memory loss. Right now, she is merely exhausted after helping me with a birth." He turned to leave. "Good night, Harold."

  "G'night, sir."

  Carrying her in, he laid her on the bed still in his late wife's dress and realized that somewhere along the way, they had lost the hat.

  Mrs. Kettler looked in the door as he finished unlacing Lalita's high top shoes. "Do you want me to get her dressed for bed?"

  "No, I don't want to wake her." He pulled off the shoes gently and placed them on the floor beside the bed.

  "Did going out do her any good?"

  Tate rubbed a hand around his weary face. "Time will tell."

  "Did she make more sense today?"

  "Yes." He sighed. "Mostly. It's late. Harold has probably settled Maisy in for the night, and I'd think you'd like to be heading home." He tacked on a small smile, knowing she'd had a long day as well.

  With a curt nod, she headed for the door. Tate knew he'd been brusque. "Take tomorrow morning off, Mrs. Kettler. I appreciate you staying late."

  She nodded again and let herself out.

  Tate's stomach rumbled, and he headed for the kitchen. He found a bit of left-over beef in the ice box and ate it with one of Mrs. Kettler's yeast rolls.

  Before turning in, he looked in on Lalita. He let his gaze wander over her face. A face that was altogether lovely. He thought about the previous night when she had a
sked him for a kiss, and he found himself moving toward her bedside.

  Holding a hand out, he studied the difference in their coloring. He had a summer tan on his hands that came close to her complexion, but pulling his sleeve up revealed a much stronger contrast. He let his hand fall to his side. Respectable white doctors don't kiss Indian women. He watched her sleep another minute or two, old memories pulling at his emotions. "Until they do," he whispered, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  Chapter 8

  With Mrs. Kettler taking the morning off, Tate was left with a little fair-haired shadow that followed him everywhere he went. He had finally put his ledgers aside and let her crawl up on his lap for a story. He didn't have the incredible imagination of Miss Torres, however, and had to rely on the written word.

  After several books, he and Nellie looked through the rest of Augusta's dresses to see what else might fit Lalita, all the while acknowledging she might not be with them much longer if the marshal had some knowledge of her or her family. Still, she needed something to wear for the trip to the marshal's office.

  Opening a trunk of dresses that Augusta had packed away, he found her smaller sizes. He was flooded with remembrance of the earlier years of their marriage, but there was no real longing for days past. Their life together had never been all that he had hoped.

  He hung a couple dresses out on the balcony to air out and had just come back into his bedroom, when Lalita sailed by on her way to the bathroom.

  He and Nellie went down to the kitchen and had a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs ready for her in the dining room when she returned. His brows rose at the sight of her in his dressing gown.

  She slid into a chair at the table across from him. "I hope you don't mind my wearing your robe, Doc. After yesterday's sweaty business, that dress reeked. I don't suppose you have any lady's deodorant around the house, or would that be historically inaccurate?" She scooped up a too-big bite of eggs and washed them down with a swallow of tea. She lowered her voice. "I really need some clean undies, as well." She grinned. "Does Manitou Springs have a Victoria's Secret?"