Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I love it when readers say it feels like they're reading published work! :D

There's one review that came in that I wanted to clear up. Mark's reaction to Tanya questioning him in the previous chapter is based on two things that must be understood: even in today's world, staff does NOT question a physician in front of a patient. The physician is pulled aside and questioned for reasons that Mark stated - being seen as incompetent. It's an unspoken rule that Tanya didn't understand. Also, the story is in a time when men ruled everything, so his response wasn't offensive to her but acceptable for the times.

Regarding him telling her to not return to the clinic, that was about his self-esteem misplaced. He's so convinced that he's a monster after everything that's happened with leaving England that he doesn't believe a woman could have a crush on him. It's more his backlash out of self-consciousness that he reacted and said it was Tanya who was overreacting. Tanya understands him well enough that she only took offense that he said she was overreacting, not his abrasive manner. We see Mark's stress building with worry about finances, patient load, etc., so he exploded a bit. After that, we see him past the point of anger to having a meltdown due to his exhaustion. It's strain that's getting to him, and we saw Tanya recognize it in the previous chapter. We see her starting to have a hard time too when she asks if he'll always be away from home so much. It'll pull together more with this next chapter. :)


"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do," she said in shame a few nights later in the clinic.

"Tanya, it's fine," he replied, his tone a bit hard as he started surgery by lantern light.

She knew better than to leave an infected bullet wound alone until Mark returned from patient calls. Now the man had been pulled under by a fever, leaving Mark to do surgery on an unstable patient. Mopping away more pus so Mark could see the site, she carefully approached the topic that had been nagging the past few days. "There's enough patient load for you to bring on a partner surgeon."

He snorted. "And not enough money to go around for even us. No." The man dug deep into the thigh muscle with forceps.

"You need someone here who can hold down the clinic when you're out on a call," she said quietly.

His eyes flicked up to glare beneath his brow. "I haven't slept in twenty-seven hours. I won't be held accountable for responses to such idiotic comments," he growled, keeping his voice low for Mary, who still resided in the infirmary. "There's no reason why you couldn't have done this."

Her eyes popped. "You're blaming me for not doing a surgery that I've never even seen done?"

The man scowled. "I'm saying that you have more brains in your finger than some surgeons do in their bodies. Should a man come to the clinic in dire need of medical care and I'm not around, you get his permission to treat him as best as possible as a non-surgeon until I can arrive. You're goddamn good at what you do and don't need me around telling you what you already know." He dropped his head back and released a deep sigh. Then his eyes returned to the surgery. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. It's not your responsibility to fill in for me. We're running out of stock of supplies for the clinic, and there are no funds to replenish or buy us food. I'm goddamn tired all the time, and don't like leaving you and Charles alone so much. I thought I could do this, but I can't. I'll put the clinic up for sale, and we'll see what kind of employment I can find in a bigger town."

"Mark?"

His eyes met hers across the table.

"You need to be patient and stop stressing so much. Rome wasn't built in a day. We can't just plop down somewhere in America and start thriving. I can get work to help us get by. In a few more months, your reputation will have spread, and money will follow. You need to get out to meet some other physicians who will refer patients to you for your expertise. All work and no play is not good for you."

He sighed and kept his eyes on extracting the bullet. "I know I'm difficult," he growled. "I would miss working with you," he grunted. "You absorb everything and often have an instinct to know what to do even before I say it. You know when to tell me that I'm being an arse, or you have an idea of how to do something better. We work like clockwork, and I don't want to bring in another surgeon because it would mean not working as intimately with you," he huffed, as if self-conscious with the vulnerability of that confession.

A smile tugged. "I would miss working with you too. You're a good teacher, and your temper doesn't bother me. Most of the time." That earned a sheepish look from him. "I like medicine, and I think you're a rarity in that you treat me as a capable student. Not many surgeons would take a female seriously."

The man scowled. "Should you ever decide to become a surgeon, I'll make room for you here. You would have your own cases, and I would stand in as your nurse should you need assistance." To anyone else, it would have come across as a command rather than an offer.

Her eyebrows rose as that generous offer. It was an offer that any surgeon dreamed of - and much more. "You would be my nurse?"

He grunted. "On your cases, you would call the shots. I would discuss if I disagreed, but it's ultimately your decision."

"I'm not sure what to say. That's a wonderful offer, but I fear if I should become a surgeon, your practice would suffer having a female physician. It's a very radical notion that I'm not sure Society is ready for. If not for that, I would accept in a heartbeat." She held out a bowl for him to drop the bullet in and traded him the forceps for packing gauze to debried the wound.

"It would take time, but your skill would come to override any prejudices. The offer always stands." He glanced at her from beneath his brow.

Her heart melted. "Thank you, Mark. I would like that very much should I become a surgeon."

He cleared his throat and growled, "Don't give me moon eyes like that. Any surgeon would be lucky to have you or should consider himself a moron," he snapped.

A blush rose and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. His overtired crankiness was somehow endearing. "Yes, Mark."

An irritated expression marred his features, but he kept his eyes on his work as he barked, "Don't say my name like that unless you wish for another brat running around in nine months."

That won a smile and made her heart skip a beat. Even worn to the bone and up to her elbows in blood, he still found her desirable. "Yes, cuddle bear," she whispered in shyness and dropped her eyes the moment his eyebrow snapped up and he threw a dark look. Her heart stumbled with the raw desire that crackled in his eyes, fueled so perfectly with irritation. Dear heaven, he looked so masculine and powerful when he was in one of his moods and sexual tension was high.

The clinic door burst open, making her jump as hard as Mark. A burly man stood there with a gun aimed at her. "Where is she?!" he screamed.

Without missing a beat, Mark whirled and slammed a fist into the man's jaw, dropping the intruder like a ton of bricks and somehow catching the gun before it even hit the ground. "Don't you ever aim a goddamn gun at my wife!" he roared and pointed the gun at the man.

She blinked. Her heart started beating again, and she stepped away from the surgery table to Mark. "As breathtaking as your chivalry is, it's best not to add another patient to the list." She eased Mark's arm down. Poor Mark's nerves were so frayed the past weeks. Then she looked at the man on the floor. "Who are you looking for?"

"My wife! I've been looking over a week for that bitch!"

Mark's arm tensed under her hand.

Mrs. Wolfe whimpered from behind the curtain.

"You have her here?!" The man surged to his feet. "I'll teach you a damn lesson you won't forget for running away, whore!"

Before she had a chance to react, a gun fired.

The man froze.

Her eyes flew to the hole in the floor at the husband's feet.

Mark looked ready to shoot the man himself. "Leave."

"She's my wife!"

"She's my patient!" he roared, the veins in his neck bulging. "Until I say it's not life-threatening for her leave, she's legally my charge! Get a court order before you step in my clinic again! Get out!" Oh dear. Mark seemed at breaking point.

"You are - "

"Law twenty-one, section-three! Get out!"

The man must've sensed Mark's finger twitching because he took off.

"Mark, you were brilliant! I didn't know there was such a law." She kissed him, mindful of not getting her bloody hands all over him.

"There isn't. Hurry up. We need to finish surgery and find the sheriff before he realizes I lied." The poor man looked so exhausted.

The husband thankfully didn't return, and Mrs. Wolfe went to her sister's home north a few days later.


Mark answered the knock on the door one morning as she came out of the kitchen with Charles.

"I heard this is the new physician's residence." Brigands and his wife stood there with big smiles.

Mark stepped forward and gave Brigands a long hug. The older man stood there stiff in shock. Teresa even blinked when then Mark moved on to her. Mark looked so relieved, as if a little bit of the burden on his back had been lifted.

Dear heaven, it was a relief to see some familiar faces, some family. She hurried forward and gave tearful hugs.

"Look at how big the young master has grown," Brigands beamed and touched Charles's tiny hand. He must've noticed her glance out the door for her grandparents because his smile faded. "They send their regrets and promise that they'll return soon. They lost many of their tribe in a massacre, and your grandfather is needed there."

Mark set a hand on her back. "It doesn't mean they don't love you and won't be back," he promised.

She nodded and swallowed down the disappointment. "I know."

"Show us what the little one has learned," Teresa cooed and led her to the small sofa.

Another patient arrived at the clinic during dinner. When Mark excused himself, Brigands turned to her with concern in his eyes. "Things are not well here. The master has that worry in his eyes that I haven't seen since you almost lost the babe."

She sighed, the weight of the world pulling down her shoulders. "People here are in dire need of a physician, yet there is no money to be paid. We are receiving bags of grain or flour or promises instead of coin. I had to sell my hair to put food on the table. We're running out of supplies for the clinic, and Mark is gone all hours of the day and night treating patients. He's barely sleeping, Charles is fussy from ear infections that won't come or go even though Mark put tubes in his ears, and I'm so tired trying to make sure they're both not run ragged," she whimpered as all the worries came pouring out. "He refuses for me to find employment and is considering a bank profession in the city."

Brigands scoffed. "He was miserable at the bank once. I could be hired help at the mercantile. Teresa could be a cook at the restaurant down the road, and you stay here taking care of the little one and helping His Lordship with the clinic. We will help make ends meet until business straightens out."

She shook her head. "That's the thing - this town is drying up."

Brigands smiled. "My lady, you haven't heard? A railroad is being built through town."

"I know, but - "

"And one of it's stops will be here."

Her heart stopped. "The town will boom?"

"On the way out West, we saw several towns that had gone from twenty to one hundred within a year." His smile grew and he leaned back in his chair. "Has the master traveled north about five miles?"

She frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"

"A lumberyard is taking up residence in preparation for the railroad to bring settlers, who will build houses and shops. I think he'll be in for a pleasant surprise." He set a calling card down on the table. "By luck, we sat on the train beside the owner. He's looking for a surgeon who will get injured men back on the job fast. A company surgeon, he called it. A pre-established clinic and patient load, and very likely a handsome salary that won't be rice and grain."


"Mark, I should not be here. It's improper and will ruin your reputation," she whispered on the front step of Mr. Price's home. Or more like fortress that almost put Mark's estate in England to shame.

He dusted off the road dirt from the blacksmith's suit coat on loan. "I do not care. You are my business partner for all intents and purposes, and he will learn the boundaries from the start. A contract will not be entered into without both clinic partners present." He rang the bell, the aire of marquess coming right back to him as if he had just left the drawing room in England.

"His name certainly suits him," she mumbled.

A butler answered and led the way to a study quite reminiscent of the old money back in the home country. A man not much older than Mark stood from where he smoked a cigar in his fancy suit.

"American manners," Mark whispered under his breath and led her over while the butler announced them.

"Dr. Johnson, a pleasure. I ran into a friend of yours on the train, who sang your praises so high that I had to meet you." He stood and gave a nod rather than a handshake like the Americans.

"Mr. Price. It's a pleasure." Mark extended a hand even though it was unreciprocated. Oh dear. However, he fluidly went into introductions. "May I introduce my wife and business partner, Mrs. Tanya Johnson?"

The man's eyebrows touched the vaulted ceilings. "Business partner? Surely you can't be serious that a female is a business partner?"

"Oh, Mr. Price," Mark tisked, "you have much to learn about America. Women are encouraged to pursue intellectual pleasures and economic ventures. It is a fresh breath from England's lands."

Oh goodness. Mark planned to take Mr. Price offguard with America's ways to pave her into the business deal. Dicey to make such a lie, but clever. She bowed her head to hide a smile.

"You are from England?" Ah, Mark had set the bait and reeled in the fish. Poor Mr. Price didn't seem to realize that Mark was gaining the upperhand in the negotiations already.

"Aren't most of us? My wife is marchioness of the late Marquess Debonairo. She took pity on me being disinherited from my Earl father for becoming a soldier and accepted my proposal. Her beauty quite took my breath away."

Before Mark could continue, Mr. Price looked down his nose at her. "Mmm. She's a bit dark."

Now Mark looked down his nose at the man. "Spanish women often are. Much more beautiful than English women who are so pale they appear sickly." The man breezed right onto the next topic, expertly leaving Mr. Price off-kilter again. "I studied in the battlefield and eventually in university, so I recognize skill when I see it. An avid intellectual she is, for she has increased my clinic's business two-hundred percent a week since the inception just weeks ago." His eyes narrowed on the man, striking precisely where he wanted. "I see to the patients, oftentimes with my wife as my nurse - mind you that I'd take her over several surgeons I've had the unfortunate opportunity of working with - and she runs the business side so I can keep bringing in the cash." Her hand tightened on his arm for the danger of that fib about running his clinic, but Mark didn't quiet. "In my decade of practice, I have lost less than twenty percent of my patients - most of those birthing women in the wild forests of Africa. I currently have patients flowing through my doors at all hours of the day and night. If I'm not mistaken, you've asked us here because your lumberyard recently opened."

Goodness, Mark kept a steady stream that left her head spinning. Mr. Price barely had time to react to one topic before Mark was onto another.

"I do not want for patients, Mr. Price. There's a surgeon a few miles West whom I know has lost most of his loyal patients to me. Perhaps 'loyalty' isn't the proper word but patients who seek to not perish in a surgeon's hands. Anyways, I'm sure he'd welcome a contract as your surgeon." He gave a single nod of departure.

"Mr. Johnson." Mr. Price's tone held no room for disobedience. "Have you successfully reattached limbs? Our saws are dangerous, and often men have the blade stop once it chews through to the bone. My former surgeon would amputate."

That slightly arrogant gleam came to Mark's eye that made her heart flutter. It hadn't been since the early days of their marriage that he'd had that confident look of being able to conquer even the King himself. "I imagine a lesser surgeon would, as it is more convenient and quick to finish the amputation. You've heard of the Xhosa Wars in Africa? In the fifties, I was a battlefield surgeon. Men had to return to the field and could not do so with missing limbs."

Oh dear god. That bloody war had been going on for decades and still was. He'd never said a word about it in his time in Africa. The haunted look in his eye said it wasn't a lie either.

Mr. Price waved for them to sit and then seated himself. "You do not want more patients and seem to not desire the funds, so why are you here?"

Mark reclined back with all the haughtiness of a marquess. "Intrigue. And you, my good man, asked me because you either think or know I am cheaper than the professors a bit further North but better."

She held back a smile. My goodness, Mark was good at this game.

Mr. Price smiled and crossed his legs. "You are bored with common ailments and seek something of a challenge. A lumberyard surgeon, if indeed skilled, would grow a reputation reaching coast to coast within a couple years. You crave the ego of a renown surgeon."

The corner of Mark's mouth curled. "I imagine a renowned reputation isn't all it's cracked up to be. I seek the hours of a lumberyard where I'm not interrupted during dinner or pulled out of bed every night. I may be interested, if a deal is packaged right."

She sat back and watched the men, thoroughly enjoying this game of aristocratic egos and bluffs.

"The package is ten thousand a year salary, with handsome raises should you be as good as you claim. Clinic hours would be daylight lumberyard hours for the most part. You and your wife will live in this town and shall have full use of my clinic, with the latest medical toys you desire to provide top-notch care to my workers. Your house will be provided, one like this but on a smaller scale."

He promised to sweep away all the hardships of the past weeks - past years even, as if they all had been a bad dream.

"No." Mark's eyes narrowed. "Your house must be the biggest because you long to rule over your kingdom. Should I agree to this employment, I do not want a house that you own. I will not be at another man's mercy of having my family turned out homeless. We would move to the outskirts of town, and I will purchase my own land and build my own house. I will not reside within lumberyard borders, so should you cease my employment, I have every right to open my own clinic on the edge of town. And we both know that a lumberyard surgeon's salary is fifteen thousand, not ten."

"You've done your homework, Dr. Johnson." The man sounded pleased. "However, your wife has not yet spoken. As your partner, of course."

Mark gave a nod. "As you wish."

She smiled. "Yes, Mr. Price. Salaries just a few miles East in the larger cities go as high as even twenty-five thousand. However, should you provide the clinic and supplies - when and what we say are needed and not rationed - fifteen thousand would be sufficient. However, as we are relieving you of the expense of housing us, eighteen thousand is agreeable."

"Cheeky, isn't she?" Mr. Price sneered and didn't look too pleased that Mark had received his salary knowledge from her research.

"Oh no," Mark said with an arrogant smile at her beating Mr. Price at his own game, "she's just that good."

"Sixteen," the man countered.

"Seventeen, and we'll just lump in my salary with his," she stated before Mark could speak.

Mark looked at her in surprise but quickly recovered before Mr. Price saw. If it took her getting a salary to increase lump wages, so be it. Perhaps it would've been wise to have discussed it with Mark first. But if the whole deal was ruined because Mr. Price wouldn't hire on a woman, good riddance to him.

"Your salary?" Mr. Price asked in a deadly tone that threatened to shut down the entire deal.

"Surely you didn't expect me to work for free running your clinic, Mr. Price?" She laughed like it was the silliest thought in the world.

"Tell me why you need a salary, Mrs. Johnson." He sat up straighter, his tone irritated. He was either goading or truly considering it.

Perhaps that had been a push too far, but she deserved compensation too. And respect having her time acknowledged by him and the workers as being worthy of something. "Because when my husband is otherwise engaged with a patient and another comes in the door with mortal injuries, I can stabilize him until my husband is freed. Because if my husband is to spend his time saving lives and limbs of your workers so you do not lose production, someone has to be tracking that lifesaving supplies - such as sutures to stop hemorrhages - are always in stock. Or even transfusion tubes being my husband is a walking blood bank."

His eyes flicked to Mark, clearly liking that factor.

"Or perhaps you don't mind risking your men and your business shutting down because no one will work in a lumberyard with high death tolls. Those are my terms, Mr. Price. My husband and I are not a package deal." She folded her hands in her lap to hide the shaking. Not even a marchioness would have the guts to press a man so. But it felt damn good to demand respect from a man to be seen as an equal.

Mr. Price sat back and eyed her, as if considering the matter. "Sixteen is my offer."

Mark had just lost the upper hand, and she couldn't back down now without looking weak and of little value.

"Alright. I suggest you hire a bookkeeper for supplies and expenses." She stood, forcing both men to rise, and gave a nod of departure. "I shall wait in the foyer while you discuss your business," she told Mark.

Panic widened Mark's eyes, as if he hadn't dreamed that losing her entirely would happen.

"Mrs. Johnson. A pleasure." Mr. Price bowed, seeming pleased that she pulled out of the mix.

It was money or dignity. Mark had the money, so she could afford to hold onto the dignity.

Mark turned to the man and folded his arms behind his back, his tone stone cold with displeasure at this turn of events. But bless his heart, Mark didn't object to her decision. "Since I am deprived of a nurse as well, I'm in need of a man with brains and a hearty stomach. And a moron barber off the street will not due," he snapped. "I'm not an easy man to work with, and I require an assistant who is obedient yet has the brains to help me come up with better methods always. Should I do surgery the same way twice, it is poor technique. There is always room for improvement. I will return to consider the contract once you find a suitable assistant, whom I will interview as well." His eyes narrowed. "The quality of brains that I require in my assistant will not come cheap. Hand me a moron, and I will walk on the spot, Mr. Price," he growled, clearly ready to breathe fire. Then he turned and took her arm.

"Sixteen-two. I will not salary a woman more than two hundred pounds a year," Mr. Price huffed. "It's my final offer."

A glance at Mark revealed his lip twitch in a smile. His eyebrow rose in question if this was agreeable.

She turned to Mr. Price. "A fixed rate without raises, I presume?"

"Take it or leave it. You are lucky that I'm in an agreeable mood to consent to the nonsense of paying a woman to run her husband's business," he grumbled.

"You offer because two hundred a year for a woman is far cheaper than what a man in the same position would charge," Mark growled.

She squeezed his arm to hold back his temper. It was a small victory, but still a victory. "I agree to a one-year contract. That shall be sufficient time for you to see how my husband and I will build your lumberyard, and you'll be amenable to raises."

He snorted. "And how will a clinic build it?"

"Your men will not die or be mutilated on the job near the typical rates. Families will have better health, thereby lowering your workers' sick leave rates. And my husband's reputation will spread so that outsiders will offer to pay for services at your clinic. Men will want to work in your yard, and your business will only grow."

The man's eyes lit up with dollar signs.

"Mr. Price, you have yourself a deal." She caught his hand and shook it.

He jerked free. "I say that's forward, Mrs. Johnson. Your husband and I are discussing business - "

Mark offered her his arm and gave a nod to Mr. Price, a slight smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "My partner has authority to answer for both of us, Mr. Price. We shall return in a few days to sign the drawn-up contract."

Down the road in the buggy, Mark burst out laughing. "Tanya, I think we just traded our financial problems for other issues."

She smiled. "Yes, but we're a step in the right direction, Mark." She giggled and let down her hair. "Ugh, these pins are too uncomfortable with short hair - " His top hat plopped on her head, and she raised her eyebrows.

"I told you that you're not allowed in public with your hair down," he growled and burrowed into his cape, his mood suddenly changing.

"There's no one around." She rolled her eyes.

"If we pass someone on the road, then there will be," he huffed. "I'll not have men lusting after my woman even more than they do."

A smile tugged. "Why, Mark, are you jealous?"

He gave a dark look.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "No one lusts after me." The man interrupted with a snort. "I shall only let my hair down for you. Shall I do it in the bedchamber? That seems safest should you have to tear off my clothes all the sudden - "

The man halted the buggy right on the road and turned to her. "Should you not wish for another babe this year, your tongue will be kept in check," he snapped. "There are hay bales a plenty in these fields, and the chill is enough that no one shall be wandering through them."

"Yes, Mark," she purred and look at him from beneath her lashes.

"You irritating wench," he huffed. "Do you not know when to stop playing with fire?!"

"Yes, but I love it when you're in a temper and want me," she breathed and gazed at his lips. "The past few days, you've left my bed too cold." She leaned forward and kissed him.

He set her back and kept her at arm's length. "Because I've been out on cases! You think I wouldn't prefer to have a naked woman in my bed than be driving in the cold in the middle of the night? Your body is likely becoming fertile again. A dally in the fields isn't happening."

A soft pout tugged at her lips, and she began to put up her hair. The man watched, making a blush rise. "Why are you staring?"

"We're making love in my head."

It was said with such seriousness that she burst out with laughter.

The man turned and snapped the reins to start the horse forward. "You won't be laughing when we get home, woman," he snorted.

She snuggled against his arm. "Yes, Mark," she sighed in bliss. "I'm glad that you're feeling better enough to be my cuddle bear again the past couple days. I missed you when you were so quiet."

"Daft woman," he huffed. "A normal wife doesn't make her husband fall in love with her more every day," he grumbled. But a soft kiss pressed on top of her hair.

Teresa was a wonderful nanny when Mark insisted on her attendance at business meetings with Mr. Price, and Brigands knew exactly how to get a clinic in order while Mark met with Mr. Price to review who all needed medical care right away.

"Brigands," she whispered in the back lab that had a microscope and everything Mark could possibly want, "we sort of fibbed that I keep Mark's books and supply stocked. I know nothing about running a clinic - Mark just wanted me kept on as a nurse."

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "My lady, I ran the master's supply for years when he practiced. It is not hard. I'll teach you, and you'll start to get a feel for what he uses more than other things. Sutures will likely be in high demand here, and I suggest you locate ten blood donors. In this line of work, much blood will be used. Always have many bandages. Should there be an accident, there could be dozens of patients at once. Always keep pain meds and chloroform stocked well." His lesson went on all morning.

The front clinic door banged open. "Tanya!" Mark roared.

She hurried out to the commotion with Brigands.

A man laid a worker on the table whose chest and mouth were bathed in blood. Mark's hands were already bloody like he'd tried to start treating out in the field. Another man laid a second patient on a bed whose leg gushed from a broken bone that perforated his pants.

"Grab the chloroform and wash," Mark ordered. "A horse reared and caught them. You take the leg, I'll take the punctured lung."

Brigands sedated the men and fetched supplies as she and Mark set to work.

She pulled the leg, shaking from the effort, but it wouldn't align. "Brigands, I'm not strong enough. Help me pull his leg to set it." No success.

"Stabilize him and then come help me finish here," Mark ordered. "I'll set the leg."

He had a tube down the patient's throat, and a man pumped a bag on the other end to do the breathing. It created a terrible gurgle. Mark worked through chest incisions between the ribs. "Tanya, figure out a way to suction before he drowns in his own blood," he snapped. "If he stops pumping, this man is dead, so deal with the movement. I have to suture punctures so we can get the goddamn lung inflated again."

She stuck in a drain and suctioned out blood. The gurgling ceased and Mark's hands whipped in sutures, but the lungs wouldn't inflate.

A curse left Mark's lips. "Pleural edema. Son of a bitch, we don't need that. Tanya, fluid is collecting around his lungs from the trauma. I cannot stop stitching. Get a long-needled syringe and drain his chest. I don't care where as long as you don't get in my way."

"I went through inventory with Brigands this morning. There aren't syringes long enough to work, and he'd need punctures almost hourly to drain more fluid, increasing his risk for infection."

"Put in a drain then." He frantically worked, catching her eye just long enough to give a look that said he knew they didn't have any of those either.

That left tubes and creativity. And a good chance of dying from experimental medicine. Her heart galloped. She had no idea how to do this and Mark's expertise was needed suturing a moving lung. He struggled as it was to repair jagged tears in delicate tissue.

"Instinct is all we got, and yours is as good as any," Mark whispered without looking at her, as if knowing her thoughts and fears.

She wasn't a surgeon or even an experienced nurse. This patient needed someone skilled. His medical books said that few chest drains were successful yet, oftentimes killing the patient. "Mark - "

"Tanya, do it," he ordered.

Something about that command, his absolute trust that she would think of something, shoved out the fear. Kneeling down, she scrubbed the side of the chest near where Mark worked. She grabbed a scalpal and cut at the bottom of the lung.

His eyes flicked over. "Whatever you do, do not go into the lung. He's turning blue and has no time for more incision repairs. Get his lung inflated."

Then she grabbed a tube and listened with a stethoscope. "Pump a deep breath into him," she ordered the man. Right there. She jammed the tube up and fluid gushed out of the tube. A lot of it. The next pump raised the chest with inflated lungs.

"Goddamn, you're good," Mark muttered. "When you're done, I need your finger."

Once she had the tube stabilized, she stood up beside Mark.

"Stick your finger in here and see if you feel any hole left in the lung. I think I stitched it all shut, but I can't fit my finger in far enough to tell."

The warm, slippery lung was interrupted with rough knots from sutures. On the ends, it evened out into smooth tissue again. "It seems good. Trade. I can suture his skin shut while you align the leg."

"Put a drain tube in here too because it'll likely get infection from where the horse's hoof went in." He leaned over quick and whispered in her ear, "Few surgeons can make up how to do something and do it perfectly the first try." Then he washed to work on the next patient.

She began stitching and couldn't hold back the smile of pride that beamed from his praise. Maybe medical university wouldn't be so bad. Especially if Mark was her partner.

Mr. Price stepped in as she was bandaging the lung patient and Mark devised a contraption to keep the leg stable. "They're both alive?" He folded his arms over his chest and propped his chin in his hand.

"Of course they are." She gave him a look.

"Collapsed lungs and a broken leg don't make dead patients," Mark drawled.

Mr. Price walked over to the broken leg. "No amputation?" he asked with condescension.

Mark's eyebrows rose and he looked up from where he knelt beside the bed. "Just what kind of a quack did you have here?"

"They're alive for now. We'll see in two weeks if they've survived." Then he walked out.

She glanced over her shoulder at Mark, who glared at the door. "Pleasant, isn't he?"

He snorted and finished up. "This will be great fun," he growled.

"He'll come around once he sees your skill, Mark. Don't worry about him."

Those blue eyes gave a pointed look to the chest drain. "Maybe he'll fire me and put you on as surgeon." He winked.

Her heart fluttered, Mark's praise having far more effect than it should.


Within the first week, Mark had to sleep overnight at the clinic because of a full house of ten men who were hospitalized for grave injuries.

She arrived with the babes, Brigands and Teresa one morning just in time to see Mark slam the door and storm out of the clinic. He spotted the buggy and marched over. "Tanya, come," he ordered and helped her down. "Leave the babe with Teresa for a minute." Then he caught her arm through his and led the way to Mr. Price's office.

"Do I get to know where we're going?" She trotted to keep up with his long strides that were quite impressive for a man who needed a cane.

"To dumbass's office," he snarled.

Mr. Price sat behind his fancy wood desk smoking a cigar when Mark barged through the door.

"These men are coming into my clinic with preventable injuries!" he roared. Then Mark slammed a hand down on the desk and seethed, "Fix whatever the hell you have going on."

"You're the surgeon - "

"I will not have men die on my watch because you're a tightass about putting safety measures in place!" he shouted, his face red and neck veins bulging. He straightened when she set a hand discretely on his back to calm down.

"My employees do not raise their voices to me. I'm a businessman, not a philanthropist, Dr. Johnson. You're welcome to quit," the man drawled.

Mark snatched the cigar from the man's mouth. "Get to the clinic and see what your carelessness has done to these men."

Mr. Price didn't move.

"Fine." He flung the cigar down on the desk. "You figure out yourself how to keep men with punctured organs and half severed limbs alive. I'm opening my own clinic on the edge of town," he spat.

The man shot to his feet. "With what salary?"

"We're not going to work for damn scum. When your men to come to us for real medical care instead of some quack you hire, your pocketbook will remind you every day of your profit losses."

"You cannot set up competition - "

"It's in the damn contract. And guess what? I just did." He slammed the clinic key down on the desk and caught her arm to walk out.

"Abandoning patients. Dr. Johnson?"

Mark stopped in his tracks and turned, with an arrogant smile. "Oh no, Mr. Price. They're being transported to my clinic south."

The man's face reddened. "You can't take my men off this property!"

Mark looked ready to explode and stepped toe to toe with Mr. Price. "When they're on their deathbeds, they're legally under my care and I can haul them five miles south for proper care! Tanya put in an order for more sutures, and when I checked at the mercantile, he said you haven't given the funds for the order to be submitted!"

"You have no right to come in and tell me what to do! You're a lowly surgeon!" Mr. Price shouted, not backing down either. The men glared at each other, the tension so high that someone would throw a punch at any minute.

She pressed between the two men. "Knocking out teeth will do nothing but give us a need for a dentist. Mr. Price, it would behoove you to install safety measures. Not only would it cut down your profit loss for men losing production, but it would spread your reputation of this being the lumberyard to work because of low injury rates. Low injury rates, compounded with skilled medical care would make death rates nearly non-existent."

The men just glared at each other overhead. "But go ahead and continue losing men and driving your own business to the ground. By all means, a lowly surgeon shouldn't stop you," Mark snapped. Then he led her to the door and followed her out.

"Mark, we cannot transport these men. They're too injured," she whispered down the steps.

"Yes, but he doesn't know that. Pray that our bluff isn't recognized." He kept his eyes forward as he led her across the dirt road. His knuckles shined white from his strangling grip on the cane. "You should've let me punch him. At least it'd make me feel better," he growled.

"And give you a broken hand so you can't work." She linked her arm through his and gave a soft pat of comfort to his arm.

"Dr. Johnson, a word!" Mr. Price called.

Mark glanced at her and then led her back to Mr. Price's office. However, Mark stood in the doorway with the door wide open for anyone to hear.

"If improvements are made, you agree to stay on until a replacement can be found should you still decide to terminate your employment." Mr. Price sat at his desk like this should've been an offer to make Mark jump with joy.

His grip tightened on the head of the cane, if possible. "No, we agree to give two month's notice. Otherwise, you could drag your feet for years finding a replacement. I do not wish to fight you every step of the way, but it benefits you to not have many patients in the clinic - it doesn't benefit me financially."

"Other than not spending nights at the clinic?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I see more than you know, Dr. Johnson. You do not favor me, but it's not my job to be favored. My job is to have a profitable business so men can put food on the table for their families. Come in here again and tell me how to run my business, and you're both fired. She opens her mouth, and you're both fired. I will not tell you how to run your business, Doctor. The sutures order was an oversight - I took care of it yesterday. You're welcome to check with the merchant today that it was rectified."

"I will. I'm obligated as the company surgeon to bring it to your attention should I see physical harm being done to my patients that is avoidable," he stated, his tone as cold as Mr. Price's. "When my patients are affected, I have every right to tell you how to run your business. Should I return men to work too soon, you have a right to tell me how to run my business."

The two men looked at each other for a long, strained few moments. Mr. Price held out his hand.

Mark hesitated but ultimately stepped forward and accepted the handshake. He led her to the door way and then turned. "And Mr. Price? If you must state your lack of faith in our medical capabilities, it's not to be done in front of patients."

"Of course, Dr. Johnson. We agree to dislike each other but be respectful in front of the men."

Mark gave a nod of agreement and led her out.

"He might be a little bit of a better man than you think, Mark. Give it time before you hate each other. I think you'll earn his respect once he sees your skill."

"We'll see, He seems content to completely ignore you during business conversation, the pompous arse.."

"Which I prefer for the time being while I'm learning. I'm excited for you to open your own clinic. I sort of like having the house attached to the clinic."

"I do too. I can't wait to be back in a bed instead of sleeping on a floor."