Banner O'Brien (6 page)

“Stranger things have happened,” Jeff replied. “Besides, she’s so beautiful—
I
only met her about five minutes ago, and I’m a little in love myself.”

Adam whirled, his fists clenched, his reason displaced.

Jeff laughed and stepped back, holding up both his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Adam, Adam—for God’s sake, it’s almost Christmas. What will Mama say if she comes home from Olympia and finds me, her favorite son, a mass of bruises and cuts?”

Adam relaxed his hands. “Am I insane?”

“Yes,” replied Jeff. “But that’s nothing new. And there isn’t any medicine for the fever you’ve got now, brother—believe me.”

Adam made a bellowing sound, strode over to the nearest snowbank, and fell into it face first. He was almost surprised that the ground didn’t sizzle.

Jeff’s laughter rang toward the sky, and then he
reached down and helped his brother to his feet and they went into the house, each with an arm around the other.

*  *  *

Banner learned much while she was trying on Melissa’s spare skates—with two extra pairs of stockings, they fit her feet perfectly—about the Corbin family.

There were three brothers, all born within a year of each other, Adam first, Jeff second, and Keith third. The youngest brother had been thirteen when Melissa came along, but despite her late arrival, she was very close to all three of her siblings.

Her mother’s name was Katherine, and from Melissa’s description Banner discerned that she was both beautiful and formidable. She traveled almost constantly, making speeches in support of woman suffrage, and wrote articles that were printed in highly respected periodicals.

“What about your father?” Banner ventured, as she sat tugging her high-button shoes back onto her feet.

Melissa’s expression made her instantly contrite. “He died five years ago,” she said.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have asked.”

Melissa went to stand at the window nearest the fireplace, where a pleasant blaze was crackling, and stood looking out, one lace curtain crumpled in her hand. “There was an accident, out on the water—P-Papa and Adam were salmon fishing in Papa’s boat. The Indians saved Adam, but they couldn’t find Papa.”

Banner swallowed hard. “Oh, Melissa.”

The girl turned to face Banner, and her crystalline eyes were glistening. “It was terrible for Adam. I think he blamed himself. He still broods about it, and sometimes he disappears for a whole day or even longer.”

Banner spoke gently. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Adam likes you—I know he does. Maybe
you’re exactly the person we’ve all been hoping he’d find.” She paused, searched the shadowed ceiling of her bedroom, and sighed. “Please, Banner, don’t hurt him. He’s been through so much.”

Banner recalled his reaction to her question in the examining room, a question that had only echoed Francelle’s. “The girl in his office,” she mused. “She asked him if he meant to come to the Christmas party or if he would disappear again. Is that what you mean?”

Melissa nodded miserably. “Holidays are harder for Adam. He stays away as long as he can, and when he gets back, he’s impossible.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t enjoy celebrations,” offered Banner lamely, wishing that she could say something that would reassure the girl.

But Melissa shook her head. “Before Papa died, he loved them.”

Banner ached to think of what Adam might be suffering, of how he might be burdened with guilt because he’d lived after the accident and his father hadn’t. There seemed nothing to do but change the subject.

“You’ve told me that Jeff is captain of a clipper ship—the
Sea Mistress,
wasn’t it—and that Keith is in charge of the family’s apple orchards over beyond the mountains. What about you, Melissa? What do you do?”

Melissa’s pinched little face brightened, and she lifted her chin proudly. “I attend the territorial university, in Seattle. I want to be a journalist, like Mama.”

“That’s wonderful! What kind of pieces do you write?”

Mischief frolicked in the beautiful blue eyes. “I’ll show you, if you
promise
never to tell a soul! My brothers would—would—well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, that’s all.” She was opening a chest at the foot of
her bed, rummaging through it. After a moment or so, she drew out a publication with a lurid cover that showed a scantily clad woman being carried by a bearded mountain man. The title read, “Tenacia’s Adventures in the Wild West.”

Banner was aghast for a moment, but she recovered herself quickly. The byline was that of a man named Marshall S. Whidbine. “You—you drew this picture?” she asked, hopefully.

“Heavens, no,” said Melissa, sitting down beside Banner on the bed. “I’m Marshall Whidbine!”

Banner’s mouth fell open, much to Melissa’s uproarious delight.

“Remember, Banner,” she chided, between giggles, “You promised to keep my secret! Besides, the stories aren’t really like the pictures lead one to believe.”

“I certainly hope not,” breathed Banner. “Why do you do this, Melissa? You surely don’t need the money—”

Melissa spread her hands in a Corbinish gesture that was becoming very familiar to Banner. “I do it for practice, for experience. The same way you probably visited hospitals when you were still a student.”

Banner’s hands trembled a little as she handed the dime novel back to its very young author. “Why don’t you write a—a real book?”

Melissa smiled and touched the cover of her work with a tender hand. “I will, when I know enough. Would you read this for me, Banner, and tell me what you think? What you honestly think?”

Banner had been meaning to buy a copy at the first opportunity, but she took the volume Melissa offered eagerly. “I’d love to read it,” she said in all sincerity.

“Good,” replied Melissa in a delighted whisper. “But be sure you don’t tell. Adam stopped spanking me years ago, but if he found out about this, he’d probably take it up again!”

Banner laughed all the way down the stairs, but Melissa’s novel was tucked safely into her cloak pocket, and she would have died before betraying the secret.

She and Adam shared a rather stiff luncheon, alone in the big, brick-floored kitchen, and then left the house again.

They were settled in the buggy, this time with a heavy bearskin lap rug to cover their legs, before Adam spoke of what was on his mind.

“Will you join my practice, Banner?”

She smiled at his use of her first name, welcoming it. “Yes,” she said. “But I’d best go on living in Dr. Henderson’s house—just until I find a place of my own.”

For a moment Adam looked as though he might protest this last, but in the end, he didn’t. “Thank you,” he said. “Did the skates fit?”

Banner smiled. “Yes.”

He frowned, keeping his eyes carefully on the road, which the horse seemed to know well enough for both of them. “You’re coming to the party, then?”

The prospect of a Christmas spent alone paled beside one passed with such fun-loving sorts as Melissa and the charming and handsome Jeff. “Of course,” she answered. “Don’t you want me to?”

A muscle flexed in his angular jaw, then relaxed again. “O’Brien, as long as you take care of my patients, I don’t care what you do with your free time.”

Banner sank back against the cold leather seat, feeling as though she’d been slapped. “I see.”

“Good.”

“Are you going skating, Dr. C—Adam?”

He flung one unpleasant, wondering look in her direction. “I never do stupid things, O’Brien. My brother—no doubt,
both
of my brothers—will look after you, so don’t give me another thought.”

Banner again felt the need to strike this man, to
strike him and strike him until he stopped hiding behind that wall of hostility.

Instead, she watched the tugs and cutters and clipper ships interweaving on the stormy water.

She wondered about the accident that had claimed Adam’s father’s life and the affect it had had on the one who had survived. She suspected that there was more to the incident than anyone had guessed—much more. For as brief a time as she had been acquainted with Dr. Adam Corbin, she knew that such a thing, however terrible, could not do such lasting damage to him on its own.

He disappeared, Melissa had said, especially around holidays. And he was always in a nasty temper when he rejoined his family.

Banner sat bolt upright as a most disturbing possibility struck her. Suppose Adam had another family hidden away somewhere, perhaps an Indian woman and several children? Many men did this, she knew. Some of them were even married to a white woman in the bargain.

A feeling of desolation swept over her, and she closed her eyes, only to see visions of Adam making love with a beautiful, coppery-skinned woman. She even heard the cries that had seemed so ugly coming from Sean—the hoarse, beautiful cries that Adam would utter when his joy became too great to bear.

One tear trickled down Banner’s cold cheek to shimmer in the folds of her cloak.

“What the hell is the matter now, O’Brien?”

She opened her eyes, looked into Adam’s arrogant, insolent face, and put out her tongue.

He laughed as they reached the bottom of the hill and turned the buggy toward Water Street. “I’m sorry I asked,” he said, with a shrug.

And I’m sorry I ever met you, mourned Banner, who had thought that she would never want a man again, after all she’d suffered with Sean Malloy.

But she wanted this man, and she cared for him, too. Worse, one day she might even love him.

A shudder rocked her, and Adam reached out, impatiently, to pull the lap rug up around her waist. The contact made that strange melting sensation start up again, and Banner was so annoyed by this that she slapped away his hand and barked, “Don’t touch me!”

Adam stared at her, shook his head, and passed all the brothels and saloons Banner had noticed the night before to drive the buggy down over a hill, toward the water.

Her eyes popped open when she saw the beached clipper ship there. It had been put into dry dock, and there were steps leading up its side to the decks. At its ornately carved bow was the legend,
Silver Shadow.

Along the railings of the vessel, prostitutes lounged, looking down at the approaching buggy or gazing off into the snowy skies. Somewhere on board a tinny piano was playing and exuberant voices were singing, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

A brown-haired, lushly curved woman near the bow smiled, patted her outlandishly styled locks, and shrilled, “Hey, Doc, did you bring Bessie her Christmas present?”

Adam laughed and shook his head as he halted the rig and tossed back the lap robe to alight. For a moment, it seemed that he’d forgotten Banner existed, and no wonder. “Not now, Bess,” he called back. “Can’t you see I’ve got a lady with me?”

Bess pouted. “Mind you don’t give her
my
present, sweetness.”

Banner reddened and her back stiffened and she would not have gotten out of that buggy at all if Adam hadn’t rounded it, taken her arm, and forced her to step down.

“You wanted to practice medicine, O’Brien,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “so stop acting like an offended missionary wading into the heathens.”

“D-Do you
visit
that awful woman?” Banner whispered back furiously, and though she pulled with all her might, her arm would not come free of his hand.

He flung a look of evil mirth at Banner. “What the devil do you care?” he retorted.

“I don’t!” lied Banner with spirit.

“Good. The sweet young thing in room four has a boil on her backside. You go and lance that while I—er—while I examine another patient.”

“Bessie, for example?”

The perfect white teeth flashed in another dazzling smile. “O’Brien, O’Brien,” he breathed. “When will you learn? When I want a woman, I don’t have to pay.”

For weeks afterward, everyone on Water Street talked about the way one doctor had slapped the other, right in the middle of the
Silver Shadow’s
boarding ramp.

Chapter Three

T
HE DECKS OF THE
S
ILVER
S
HADOW
WERE SLIPPERY
with snow and the spittle of tobacco-chewing patrons, and Banner held her skirts above them, curling her upper lip.

“People get sick everywhere, O’Brien,” Adam reminded her dryly in a crisp undertone. “Even in nasty places like this.”

Banner stiffened. She’d been in worse places during her training—tenements and shanties where rats roamed free and broken windows were stopped up with wads of damp newspaper. Hospitals where alleged physicians smoked cigars over open wounds and sported a coating of horse manure on their shoes. “Thank you very much for that enlightening remark,” she retorted.

Bessie, the prostitute, was sidling toward them with
well-oiled hips, her thin taffeta dress leaving much of her body bare to the biting cold. She patted her hair again and dragged slumberous eyes from the toes of Adam’s boots to the top of his head, pausing once, with sympathy, at the flaming mark Banner’s hand had left on his face.

Adam thrust an appalled Banner forward, in introduction. “This is my colleague, Dr. O’Brien,” he said. “Will you show her where Lou’s room is, please?”

Bessie tossed her head and looked Banner over with tolerance. “This way, Red,” she said, after a long and rather unsettling silence.

Too proud to look back at Adam, Banner followed Bessie down an inside hallway lined with numbered doors. Room four was at the far end, and the prostitute rapped at it with unsympathetic vigor.

“Lou!” she shrilled. “Hey, Lou! You decent? You got company.”

“Come in,” wailed a pitiful voice.

After drawing one deep, preparatory breath, Banner clasped the knob and turned it. The room was surprisingly clean, though dimly lit, and it smelled of some flowery perfume.

On the bed, in a tumble of pink satin, her patient waited. The woman—in this light, she hardly looked older than Melissa—was crouched on her knees and elbows, with her plump, lawn-covered posterior pointing heavenward.