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Millie Hale recognized that knock. Two knocks high on the door and one low under the latch.
She took a moment to clear the table, and went to answer the door.
Rose leaned heavily against the door frame, one arm wrapped tight around her belly. Under her ruddy dark tan, she looked pale as death.
“Widow Hale,” Rose greeted. She bowed her head.
“Rose,” Millie replied. “What kind of trouble have you brought to my door this time?”
“Just myself.” Rose smiled, lopsided and charming, and collapsed.
It had been seven years since Millie first met Rose Draper on a sun-drenched afternoon just leaning towards dusk.
She had been pulling up weeds when Jed started barking out front, the way he only barked at strangers. Millie knew most people in town, and not a lot of strangers came her way, so Jed didn't often bark like that these days. Intrigued, she stood up and walked around front, grabbing the shotgun she'd leaned against the side of the house on the way. She'd never yet needed to use it, but the thing about trouble was it always came when you were least expecting.
Jed was halfway between the house and the fence at the start of the property, barking up a storm. He was a large mastiff, given to Millie as a puppy by Charles back when they first married, and his bark was so loud and fearsome nobody would notice the white on his muzzle or the missing teeth.
A man stood at the fence, his hands out and open in front of him as if to show he wasn't a threat. He stood heavily on one leg; there was a red bandanna tied around the thigh of the other. As soon as he saw Millie he tipped his hat and gave an awkward bow.
“I heard there was a doctor living here,” the stranger called in a rich, musical voice. Not a man, then, but a woman dressed as one. Millie eyed her as she made her way to Jed's side, touching his head to let him know he'd done his duty and could quiet now. He leaned against her side.
“You must be mistaken,” answered Millie. “The doctor's in town.” An insufferable ass, but a doctor all the same, with the newest medical journals sent to him annually to read or not as he saw fit.
“He won't see me,” said the stranger. She gave a short laugh. “I think I offended him, though I can only suppose as to how as he wouldn't speak to me either. A young lady told me I might find help at the Hale place, told me how to get here.”
That happened sometimes. Millie's father had been a doctor, and she'd assisted him until she'd married Charles Hale and moved out here. She'd helped some of the women in town with birthings and other accidents, and after Charles died they would sometimes send folks her way. Pity or trust or something in between.
“Is there any trouble following you?” Millie asked. She knew she'd help this woman, but she'd rather know what to expect ahead of time, if she could.
“Shouldn't be,” the woman said. “But if there is I swear I'll get out of your hair as quick as I can.”
“All right, then. Can you make your way to the house on your own, or do you need help?”
As an answer, the stranger slowly limped her way over. As she drew closer, Millie could make out her high cheekbones, the swing of a dark braid behind her, her broad mouth. When she drew even with Millie she held out a hand to shake.
“Rose Draper,” she said. “And you're Mrs. Hale?”
“I am,” said Millie. “Now follow me, and I'll take a look at that leg.”
That first time, Millie had put Rose in her own bed to recuperate. Rose was a terrible patient, but a charming guest, always trying to help around the house whenever possible, telling stories at night and singing songs during the day in her wonderful rich voice.
The night after Millie told her she reckoned Rose would be able to travel in a day or two, Rose disappeared, leaving three silver dollars on the table.
After the third time Rose showed up in need of help, Millie stopped sleeping by the fire out of the desire to be a good host and shared the bed instead.
“I don't see any reason to continue inconveniencing myself if you're going to insist on making this a habit,” she'd said huffily as she slid between the covers. Rose laughed.
“I'm glad,” she replied. “I always felt bad for turning you out of your own bed, but I remembered how mad you got the first time I questioned your doctoring, so I never said anything.”
“Well, you deserved it, the way you were about to undo all my good work by taking those stitches out early.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Millie carefully removed Rose's coat and jacket. The shirt was a lost cause, half covered in blood as it was, and she cut part of it away with her shears before laying Rose out on the table for a better look.
It wasn't a proper gut shot the way she'd feared at first glance, the bullet having entered and exited a little above Rose's left hip, but Millie knew that didn't mean Rose wasn't in danger. Rose had tried to sew herself up, but she'd never been good at that, and Millie felt a stab of irritation at her for making Millie's job harder.
“How you can patch your clothes so damn well but always make a mess of yourself, I'll never know,” she muttered as she cut the stitches out. The skin around the wound was hot and swollen, and although Millie couldn't see the red streaks that meant the infection was spreading, there was still time.
“Sorry,” Rose replied faintly. “You'll have to show me again, after this.” Strands of hair stuck to her face with sweat, and that worrying gray pallor was still there.
“You're awake?” Millie dropped the shears and moved to the head of the table. She took Rose's face in her hands and leaned down, kissing her fiercely. “Rose Draper, you fool. Wasn't there a doctor you could have gone to right after? This damn wound's already infected.”
“Came to the best doctor I know,” said Rose, her voice hoarse. “It was only a day or two ago anyway. I'll pull through.” Her eyelids fluttered and she once again lost consciousness.
Millie swore and went back to inspect the wound.
Three years into their acquaintance, Rose dropped by, completely unharmed.
“I was in the area and thought I'd drop by, if that's all right,” she said, a trifle awkwardly.
“And what if you found me caring for another patient?” Millie returned, aiming for arch but instead sounding aggrieved. She pursed her mouth in embarrassment.
Rose smiled and shook her head.
“Then I would have played assistant nursemaid, if you let me, or gone on my way, if you desired.”
“Well,” said Millie, her cheeks pink. “I suppose I'm glad enough to have you here. It will be a pleasant change, not to have to sew you up.”
As she followed Rose into the cabin, Millie was aware of how red her cheeks were, and how she hadn't felt like this since her first flirtations as a girl.
Though she did her best to keep it from Millie's door, trouble did, occasionally, follow Rose.
“I said, Mr. Billingham, that that woman is a patient of mine, and I will not let you drag her from my house.” Millie stood firm at the threshold, shotgun held at her waist.
“Come now, Widow Hale,” said Mr. Billingham with a strained smile. “She caused quite a ruckus in town this afternoon. Knocked several of my boy's teeth out.”
“I'm real sorry to hear that, Mr. Billingham, but I'm sure our barber will have him set up with some gold beauties in no time flat. And your boy managed to slice open her shoulder, so I'd say he did one better.”
“Well, I'd say that's for the sheriff to decide.”
Millie shifted her weight and readjusted her grip on the shotgun. A hand touched her shoulder.
“It's all right, Mrs. Hale,” said Rose softly. “You patched my shoulder up good, and some time in jail won't hurt me. Wouldn't be the first time I knocked some boy's teeth out for putting his hands where they weren't wanted.”
Mr. Billingham's face colored.
“My son never-”
“Thank you kindly for your help, Widow Hale,” Rose said loudly, delivering Millie an extravagant bow. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“If that cut gets infected in that jailhouse and you die, Rose Draper, I'll never forgive you,” Millie hissed.
Rose tipped her hat and walked away with Mr. Billingham and his men.
After Millie treated Rose's hip the best she could, she moved her to the bed. Rose came around just enough so Millie didn't have to drag her over, her steps heavy and unsteady, and as soon as she lay down she was out again, her face shining with sweat. It was a miracle she'd made it to Millie's door.
Millie prepared for bed and lay down next to Rose. The lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes were deeper now, and the edges of her wide, wonderful lips had blurred since they first met. Silver threaded through her hair. And beneath the coverlet and bandages, Millie knew there were dozens of scars, some small and neatly healed, some large and shocking.
In that moment, she was terrified that Rose's body, this wonderful body lying next to her, this body she loved, would give out somewhere far away from her. She'd patched her up so many times before, and she would do it as many times more as was needed, but the body could only take so much, and neither of them were getting any younger. Suppose one day Rose met her match, miles away, and Millie never knew? Suppose one day they said good bye for the last time and didn't realize it?
“Don't leave me,” she whispered into the dark.
Rose recovered, slowly but surely. As soon as she was able, she was back to being a terrible patient, pulling Millie in for kisses and trying to fix an old chair and doing anything but resting.
“I've rested long enough,” she complained. “I need to do something.”
“You are,” sighed Millie. “You're healing. Like I've told you a thousand times. Rest is an important part of that.” Rose smiled up at her and fluttered her eyelashes. “Well, I suppose while you're up, you might as well patch these clothes for me. You're better at it than I am.”
“Can do,” Rose said.
She healed, but not completely. There was a noticeable hitch to her step now, and mornings where she found it harder to get out of bed than she had before.
“I've been thinking,” she said one afternoon. “Maybe I oughtta stop my wandering. Settle down.”
“Oh?” Millie's voice was faint.
“I know I've always said I wanted to keep traveling as long as I could, but I think maybe I can't anymore,” Rose continued. She looked down at her hands. “And I think maybe I don't want to, if I can stay with you.” She looked up, met Millie's eyes. “If you'll have me, that is.”
“If I'll have you?” echoed Millie. “Rose Draper, you know damn well I'll have you as long as you'll have me, and the only reason I never pushed harder for you to stay was I didn't want to end up pushing you away instead.”
Rose slid close and kissed her, deep and full of love.
“I know,” she said. “And I'm sorry I made you wait. It wasn't because I don't love you. I do.”
“In that case,” Millie said, with as much dignity as she could muster when she thought her heart would burst with joy, “I suppose you can stay.” She drew Rose in for another kiss, the future ahead of them.