Touching Heaven Read online

  As she clutched her medical bag, she wished once again the town would accept her as a woman doctor. Until that time, though, she must let them believe she was Doctor Copeland—a man.

  With a sigh, she longed for a buggy or something to make this trek less laborious. Since the midwife, Mrs. Whitestone, was visiting her daughter in Virginia, the doctor had been called in to assist. The birth of Mrs. Upton’s fifth child had gone longer than expected because the baby had turned the wrong way in the womb.

  Cecilia was grateful for her small hands, which she’d used to guide the baby out the right way before delivering the bundle of joy. The new mother had been exhausted, and by the sluggish response from Cecilia’s legs, fatigue had settled in her, too.

  Moisture formed underneath her fake mustache and beard, making her chin itch. She didn’t dare scratch it in case it fell off and exposed her true identity. For three years people around these parts saw her as Doctor Lee Copeland, a man who was in his mid-thirties. If they’d just accept women doctors, she’d show them the twenty-five-year-old woman, instead. But she couldn’t chance that. Especially after the last woman doctor had made the town hate her. Under that other woman’s care, twenty people had died. The town ran her out and demanded a male physician.

  Being a doctor had always been Cecilia’s dream—the only thing she’d ever wanted. And if it meant dressing as a man for the rest of her life, she’d gladly do it. But sometimes she wished for those moments she could be a woman again.

  She sighed and hitched the medical bag back underneath her arm. Once in a while she adorned herself in a fancy dress and fixed her hair pretty just to make an appearance in town, but only on those rare occasions when she needed to keep the townsfolk satisfied that she did reside at Belle Grove. Her brother, Hank, wasn’t doing a very good job of portraying the master of the plantation, especially since their parents had passed on.

  And his gambling...

  She gritted her teeth. If he didn’t stop this unscrupulous habit of bidding his money on a foolish hand of cards, they might have to sell their home and the sugarcane field along with it.

  As she walked past the saloon, she scowled. Her brother was probably still in there gambling or drinking, and he’d certainly have a painted lady by his side. The off-tune piano sang with life, and the giggling of feminine companionship, designed to entertain men like her wayward brother, rose high above the other sounds.

  Cecilia stopped near a window and peeked inside. A few times she’d wandered into the establishment dressed as herself to retrieve her brother. Not only did it embarrass her, but made Hank a laughingstock. She’d always used the excuse she needed him at home because of her phony illness that kept her isolated in her room most of the time—or so everyone in town had thought.

  Cecilia really gave no reason to the townsfolk for being sick. Under the weather was the excuse she always used.

  She scanned the patrons in Deborah’s Delights but didn’t notice her brother. Perhaps he’d gone home early. Then again, why would he? It was only ten-thirty. She shrugged and turned away.

  Taking two steps, she tripped over a rock and fell to her knees, her medical bag landing in front of her. She groaned and sat back on her legs. Definitely time to go home and put herself to bed.

  From the alley next to the saloon, a scuffling noise interrupted her thoughts. A man ran out, clutching his bulky coat. He didn’t look her way as he ran past, but he stayed in the shadows of the buildings.

  Cecilia grimaced. She’d recognize that gangly run anywhere. Hank must be in trouble with some woman. Again.

  She stood and brushed the dirt off her pants then bent to recover her medical bag. After taking two more steps, she stopped. Another noise came from the alley. Somebody gasped and choked. Scanning the darkness, she stepped closer to the sound.

  A sliver of light from the saloon highlighted a hulking figure curled against the wall. By the deep moan, she assumed it was a man. His breathing grew more ragged by the second.

  She rushed to kneel beside him. Even in the shadows, his face glowed with a deathly pallor. Although large and muscular, she could still roll him onto his back. An intense moan escaped him. Moving her hands over him, she checked for injuries, but it wasn’t until she rolled him on his side and touched his back that she understood the crisis. A warm, sticky substance coated her fingers. She brought her hand to the small amount of light and gasped.

  Blood!

  “Can you hear me?” Cecilia spoke in her doctor’s voice, much lower than her own.

  He didn’t respond. Shallow breathing echoed through the silence, and her heart wrenched. She had to work fast, or she might lose him.

  Taking care not to hurt him more, she pulled off the man’s over jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. She lifted the garment and peered at the injury on his back. The moon didn’t shine very well in between the two buildings but enough for her to see the spot she needed to study. Instead of finding the hole a gunshot would make, a slice about an inch long appeared lower on his back.

  She hissed and sank on her heels. He’d been stabbed.

  A different rhythm took over her heartbeat. Panic consumed her, threatening to cut off her breathing. Hank had run away from the scene. Tears filled her eyes. Could her brother be the culprit?

  Cecilia grabbed the unconscious man’s wrist. His pulse was faint—dangerously slow. She had to help him.

  Now.

  She ripped a band of fabric from his shirt and tied it around his torso, praying it would slow the flow of blood. Quickly, she jumped to her feet and rushed into the back door of the saloon to get help. Squinting against the sudden bright lamps, she spotted the sheriff as he climbed the stairs with one of Deborah’s painted ladies on his arm.

  “Sheriff Hampton,” Cecilia called, running toward him.

  He whipped his head her way. His gaze did a quick take of her bloodied shirt and hands. With a jerk, he turned and rushed down the stairs coming straight for her.

  “Doctor Copeland. What happened?”

  Using the back of her hand, she swiped her brow. “I need help. There’s an injured man in the alley. He’s been stabbed, and I need to get him to my office.” She took a deep breath. “And I need a wagon to haul him.”

  Sheriff Hampton nodded and elbowed his way through the crowd. She turned and hurried out the back door to her patient.

  Cecilia touched the stranger’s brow. His skin wasn’t as warm as before. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and a knot formed in her throat. In her three years of practicing medicine, she hadn’t lost one patient due to a knife wound and she wouldn’t lose one now.

  Sheriff Hampton and two other men carefully lifted the stranger into a wagon and drove them to Cecilia’s office. She had rushed ahead to prepare the table. As they carried her patient into the three-room cottage, she shouted instructions. Obeying, they took her patient to the back room, which held a single bed. While the men stripped the stranger’s clothes, Cecilia washed the blood from her hands and then readied her instruments, filling a basin with water and grabbing the vinegar and sponges.

  Into the kitchen she hurried and lit the stove. After spooning alum into an iron frying pan, she shook it over a flame. When the alum began to burn, she sprinkled it over a strip of gauze and rushed back into the bedroom.

  Now exposed, her patient lay on the bed bare from the waist up. A white sheet draped over his lower half, his toes peeking from beneath the coverlet. As she moved to his side, she tried to ignore his muscular arms and chest. The men rolled the injured man away from her.

  When she glimpsed his finely shaped buttocks, paler than the golden tan covering the rest of him, she sucked in a quick breath. Tearing her gaze from that particular spot, she focused on the wound. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, but thankfully, it wasn’t flowing as fast as it had been earlier.

  She thrust the sponge in the water and wiped away the dirt gathered around his injury. Once she had the area cleaned, she took another sponge and dipped it in the vin
egar. When she placed it over the gouge, the man’s body jerked.

  “I think he’s just about out of it, Doc,” the sheriff stated.

  “It would appear that way.” She leaned closer and continued to soak the gash with vinegar.

  Sheriff Hampton sighed. “It’s such a shame. He’d just won a huge amount of money in a card game. But I didn’t see a hint of it anywhere in his belongings.”

  Cecilia snapped her eyes to the lawman. Her heart sank. “Nothing?”

  He shook his head. “I thought he might have a saddle bag or something, but I didn’t see one.”

  She looked to the injured man, blinking back tears. Hank wouldn’t have been so callous as to stab a man in the back and steal his money, would he? No! She mustn’t think that way about her only sibling. Hank would have more sense than that. Certainly, he had a good explanation. As always.

  How long she stared at the gaping wound without moving, she didn’t know, but suddenly, it felt someone had thrust a knife into her chest. A sharp pain in her heart jolted her into action. She had to help this man, and she had to do it now. Keeping him alive was top priority. Her brother she’d deal with later.

  With a needle and thread in hand, Cecilia leaned over the man’s body. Making careful stitches, she sewed the gash and placed the burnt alum glaze over the wound. When she brought out a longer gauze strip, the other men held her patient so she could wrap it around his middle. The others helped her maneuver the gambler on his stomach, his head turned to the side.

  “So, Doc, what do you think?” The sheriff ran his fingers through his graying hair. “Will he live?”

  Sighing, she nodded and folded her arms over the padding she wore beneath her shirt to hide her breasts. The padding made her appear portly around the middle. “As long as I keep his fever down and the infection out of his body, he’ll live. He’s lost a lot of blood, but that’s to be expected.”

  Sheriff Hampton laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re a good man, Doc. I have faith in you.”

  She glanced at the gambler. “Do you know anything about him? Where he’s from? His family should be notified as soon as possible.”

  The sheriff glanced at the other two men who shrugged. “Sorry, Doc. He wandered into town a couple of days ago. All I know is his name. Peter Grayson.”

  Cecilia scratched the side of her face and nodded. “I’ll keep watch on him, and I hope he’ll be coherent enough to answer questions later.”

  “Let me know. I need to find out who stabbed him. We’ll get that criminal put away, I promise.”

  With each step the sheriff and his men took as they walked out, her heart dipped lower. What if the culprit was her brother?

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she rubbed her forehead.

  Please, Lord, don’t let it be Hank.

  She dragged herself to the washbasin and plunged her hands in the water. The sight of her disheveled appearance in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room caught her unaware. Her cropped brown hair—that needed a haircut badly—was almost black from dust and sweat, stuck up on her head in cowlicks, and smudges of dirt crossed her forehead and nose. Splotches of blood stained her white shirt, and her trousers showed evidence of her fall at the knees.

  Confident her patient slept, Cecilia unbuttoned her bloody shirt and shrugged out of the thick padding she used to hide her womanly curves. Wearing only her chemise, she took in a deep breath, enjoying the freedom for just a moment. With a frown, she moved to the back room to retrieve another shirt, but put it on without the padding underneath. There shouldn’t be any guests tonight, and if by chance some did come, she’d just put on her over-jacket to hide her bosom.

  She groaned. Times like this, she wished she didn’t have to portray a man. How good it would feel right now to wear an evening gown, have long hair that she could sweep up into some fancy style, and dance the night away in a man’s muscular arms that were worthy to hold her. And to be loved—the way only a man could love a woman—was her fondest dream.

  Although she’d like to do these things, she had a higher purpose. She had been put here to treat the sick, tend the lame, and help new miracles take their first breaths. The Lord gave her this calling, and no amount of sacrifice was too great.

  The gambler moaned, and she settled her gaze on him. Sweat dampened his back and arms. She brushed her fingers along the side of his face, and the day’s growth of stubble pricked her skin. But the temperature of his body had her worried. An unhealthy amount of inner heat radiated through him. A fever must have set in, although, he could have only been lying in the alleyway losing blood a few minutes before she arrived.

  A lock of sandy brown hair lay over his forehead, the same color as the stubble darkening his upper lip and jaw. His eyelashes were long and slightly curved, his nose straight, his jaw hard...like the rest of his body.

  As she studied him, a flame shot through her, weakening her limbs. Sensations she never experienced before disturbed her, but she understood it wasn’t from fatigue. The longer she gazed upon his muscular back and brawny shoulders, the hotter her cheeks burned. Cotton dryness consumed her throat, and she swallowed hard to relieve the pressure.

  What unknown ailment had consumed her? As a doctor, she’d seen half-naked men before, yet none so finely sculpted. Being a doctor didn’t make her eyes innocent to a man’s body, but she had never wanted to run her fingers over his sandy hair sprinkled lightly across his chest and arms to see if it felt as soft as it appeared. Not like she did with this one.

  Cecilia clasped her hands to keep from doing exactly that and moved to the basin, submerging her fingers. Much to her dismay, the tepid water did nothing to chill her body’s feverish temperature.

  Tugging at the collar threatening to choke her, she breathed deeper. She’d backed herself into a corner this time. How could she tend to her patient if she couldn’t keep from having improper thoughts?

  The mirror caught her attention again. She wiped away the blood smudged across her cheek, letting her fingers brush across the fake mustache hiding the curve of her upper lip. She sighed. It would be Heaven to be held by a man such as this gambler and to have his lips on hers.

  She shook her head and pushed away the indecent thoughts. Peter Grayson would see her as a man, not a woman. She frowned. This was the way it must be, and she wouldn’t do anything to alter her situation.

  Not for him.

  Not for anyone.

  Chapter Two

  Cecilia bolted up with a start. Darkness invaded the small room where she’d fallen asleep. A rapid rhythm took over her heartbeat, and she placed her hand on her bosom. Something in the room had awakened her. But what?

  She slowed her breathing and glanced toward the back door. Closed. The curtains on the nearby window still protected her from the town’s curious eyes.

  The single-cushioned brown chair where she’d dozed offered no comfort, but it sat close to the bed where her patient rested in fitful slumber. She swiped her hand over the lower half of her face, then paused.

  Her facial hair—gone.

  Along the smooth skin of her upper lips, she dabbed her fingertips. Sitting up straighter, she patted her hands over her neck, shirt, and lap. Her breathing increased, and she glanced at the window again. If somebody came by, she’d be in a heap of trouble. Hopefully, the lateness of the hour would keep visitors away. But what of her patient? She couldn’t let him see her as the doctor this way.

  She swung her head toward the bed. Through the shadows, the outline of his body appeared different. It looked like he’d turned.

  Jumping out of the chair, she blinked, trying to adjust her vision to the darkness. The tips of her boots hit the edge of the bed. She stumbled and braced her hands on the mattress near his chest. Heat emanated from his body and burned her skin.

  Lord, please no!

  She righted and slid her hands over his skin. Wicked hot. Tightness consumed her chest, and she clenched her jaw.

 
This cannot happen.

  Labored breathing caused his chest to rise and fall as if he struggled for each breath. He rolled onto his back and moaned.

  “No.” She clamped her hands onto his shoulders. Tugging with all her might, she brought him toward her, but the obstinate man thrashed his arms and pulled away.

  She moved to the closet, yanked open the door, and clawed for a blanket. When her hand brushed across coarse wool, she grabbed it. As she rushed back to the bed, she rolled the blanket up tight.

  Around the bed, she hurried to his other side. With gentle care, she pushed his shoulders, hoping he’d lean forward. It was like moving a building for all the strength it took, but finally he budged enough for her to slide the blanket under his back and tilt him to one side.

  She blew out a gush of air and combed her fingers through her hair. Now to bring down the fever. She grabbed her overcoat and swung it on before heading outside toward the water pump. On the porch, she picked up a bucket and ran to the water. Once she filled the bucket, she took quick steps into the office and toward the bedroom.

  After setting the water by the bed, she turned to the oak dresser to retrieve a sponge. She glanced over her shoulder. His chest still rose and fell with difficulty. From the moon’s dim light coming from the window, his pale skin contrasted with his dark hair.

  She reached for the lantern and lit it, but softened the glow. There wasn’t time to look for her mustache, and there certainly wasn’t time to dress into the doctor’s apparel and place her padding back on.

  Shrugging out of her overcoat, she let it fall to the floor before moving to the bed. She swept her hand over his face and cringed at the amount of heat radiating from his body.

  When she lifted the sponge to his forehead and touched his parched skin, he moaned, turning his head from the contact. Her hand brushed over a lump the size of her fist. With a gasp, she grabbed the lantern for closer inspection. On the back of his head the huge knot swelled, darkened with dried blood.