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cool hard stare at the man who had been doing all the talking. “Get ’em.” Reining his horse in the direction of the little white house, he tapped his heels.
    “Go on,” he heard one of the two men whisper, and feet scurried off in the opposite direction. Trace heard the second man step down from the porch as Diablo walked toward the house.
    “You need some help?”
    “I’ll get by.” Trace hated his words were clipped, but he needed to take care of the woman he held in his arms.
    The man ran a few steps and caught up with him. “Nice family, those Thorntons.” The man fell into step beside Diablo.
    “Family?” Trace wondered if there were members he’d have to call on to inform them of the death.
    The man beside him gave a quick nod. “She and her brother run the freight office.”
    He didn’t look forward to having to tell a mother or a wife about the loss of her son or husband, nor did he relish the idea of explaining how the man’s sister became injured. News like that usually got a man a fist in the face, or worse. The man beside him continued to talk.
    “Both of ’em were hard workers, building a business from the ground up. Say,” he exclaimed in surprise. “You didn’t bring in nobody else, did ya?”
    Trace pulled his mount to a stop at the hitching rail. His ears ached from the man’s rambling. He dropped the reins on the horse’s neck and ignored the question. “Hold my horse.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man hurried to the horse’s head and gripped the bridle.
    He didn’t have time for the town’s gossip. Seeing the man steady Diablo’s head, Trace concentrated on getting the woman down as gently as possible.
    “Miss Thornton…” He paused. “Can you hear me?”
    Beneath his gaze, her lips parted, and he heard her give a rough swallow. Raising his hand, Trace brushed back the damp hair from her cheek. Beneath his fingers, unnatural warmth radiated from her skin. His anxiety increased.
    “Can you sit forward?”
    He watched her head roll as she opened her eyes and leaned to grasp the pommel. With a firm hand upon her back, he kicked free of the stirrups and scooted back. He let go long enough to slither off the rump of the horse and moved quickly to the side as she slipped from the saddle to pool in his arms. “It’s all right. I have you,” he whispered, and carried her boneless body past the stunned man to the doctor’s door.
    He paused and looked back. “The door locked?”
    “Yeah, Doc says...” The man never had a chance to finish.
    Trace stepped up, shifted the burden in his arms, and raised his right leg. Lashing out, he kicked the door open, breaking the wooden panel and splintering the doorjamb.
    “Hey! You can’t do that,” the townsman spoke up, following him into the house.
    Instead of answering, Trace gave another order. “Light a lamp.”
    The cold tone jerked the man to action. He scooted past, giving Trace a wide berth, mumbling under his breath. In moments, a match scrawled across the wood, burst into flame, and the yellow light from the kerosene lamp chased the shadows from the room.
    “Where does he see patients?”
    The man put the globe back on the lamp and pointed, “Room on the right.”
    “Bring the light,” Trace ordered as he moved to the indicated room.
    The light revealed a narrow poster bed covered by a patchwork comforter, a few glass cabinets, and a counter with labeled bottles across the back. The man placed the lamp on the nightstand and backed out of the way so Trace could lay Mary Rose upon the bed.
    “We’ll need water,” Trace told him.
    “Can go for it right now.” The man disappeared.
    Trace looked down on the unconscious form of the young woman. On the table beside the bed lay a small hand towel. He picked it up and mopped the perspiration from her brow. “You’re going to be just fine.”
    She sighed and turned her head toward him, licking her dry lips. Trace stared. He wanted to see those soft blue eyes look to him. To his