Walker left for the Jeromes' homestead after his last appointment of the day. Old Mr. Munster's gout was acting up and Walker had reiterated the same instructions he advised every time he saw the feisty little man—lay off the moonshine. That had started the cantankerous old backwoodsman on a rant about the newly enacted Volstead Act, intended to make the United States a "dry" country.
Walker had inwardly sighed and listened to Mr. Munster because there was no shutting him up. And actually, he agreed that the act was foolish, but he never talked politics or religion with his patients. Early on, he had discovered that it only generated animosity toward him if he didn't agree with their perspectives.
He glanced at his pocket watch and as tactfully as he could, excused himself from the old man, stating that he had an appointment out of town. It was a fib because the Jeromes didn't know he was coming, but it worked for Mr. Munster as he grumbled his way out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Walker had hung the closed sign with the attached instruction that if there was an emergency, Birdie Swick was the person to seek out. She was the local midwife who was also a trained nurse. Walker had approached Birdie five years back suggesting a cooperative arrangement after he'd moved from Portland with his wife and newborn to start his practice in Oregon City, and the wise—and very skilled—middle-aged woman had agreed. Over the years she had asked for his assistance in difficult pregnancies and even refused a patient that she believed needed the skill of a trained doctor. The pregnant woman had balked at first, but acquiesced when she'd almost lost the baby. Five months later, Walker had had to perform a cesarean section before the child reached term, but mother and infant had survived and thrived.
An hour after leaving his office, he pulled to the front of the Jeromes' comfortable cabin. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm his raging heart. The reason for his anxiety stemmed not from meeting the woman he'd encountered at the general store, but from the possibility of seeing Murphy, the horse that had thrown his wife and caused her death.
The familiar guilt clutched his heart and he squeezed his eyes shut. If only he'd walked away from that equine auction and not purchased the high-spirited gelding; if only his wife had heeded his warning to stay off the horse until he'd had time to gentle the beast; if only Misty hadn't been the first one to reach her mother; if only…"
He heard a noise and opened his eyes. He inhaled sharply. The young woman from the store was galloping Murphy across the pasture in front of the house. He'd recognize that beautiful grey and white speckled gelding anywhere.
He'd loved Murphy, but he'd almost shot him after his wife's death. It was only through the intervention of Jake Jerome that he'd been waylaid. Walker had always considered it providence that Jake showed up just as he was leading the horse into the woods to shoot and bury. He'd been crazy with grief and the older man had gently taken the reins from him and asked if he'd consider selling the horse because killing him would only add to his sorrow. Walker had stared at Jake without seeing him, but registered the truth in his words and walked away.
From that day until this Walker hadn't seen Murphy and his eyes watered. Swiping a hand across his face, he stared mesmerized at the woman and beast soaring across the field in innocent abandon. Before they reached the tree line she slowed Murphy to a canter, then a trot, and finally a walk. She leaned over to hug his neck. Walker was hypnotized by the sight. She turned Murphy toward the Jeromes' house, a long building that had once been one room, but now comprised several rooms with a porch spanning half of the cabin.
A voice startled Walker.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Jake Jerome stepped beside Walker's door.
Walker had to clear his throat to speak, and even then nothing came out. Finally, he rasped, "Yes."