Winter had settled in on Denver, bringing with it cold winds and blowing snow. Doc leaned against the wall just outside the door of his room in the boardinghouse and smoked a cigar. He heard the pane in the window at the end of the corridor rattle as the howling wind struck it, but he was really listening for something else.
He was waiting to hear a baby's cry.
The sawbones had run him out of the room, making some excuse about how the place wasn't big enough for the doctor, the nurse he had brought with him, Lettie, and Doc. He knew the man just wanted him out because he was afraid Lettie was going to have a hard time of it.
Judging from the screams that had sounded earlier, that was what had happened. The cries had twisted his guts. Even worse was the knowledge that he couldn't do anything to help her. Being one of the best poker players in the territory didn't mean a damn thing.
Doc puffed anxiously on the cigar. Over the past six months, he had grown closer to Lettie than any woman he had ever known. He had done his best to talk her into marrying him, but she steadfastly refused. She said she couldn't marry another man until after the babies were born. That didn't make any sense to him, but he hadn't been able to get her to budge from her decision.
Now it might be too late. He tried not to allow that thought to sneak into his brain, but it was impossible to keep it out.
He straightened and tossed the cigar butt into a nearby bucket of sand as a wailing cry came from inside the room, followed a moment later by another. Doc's heart slugged hard in his chest. He was no expert, but to him it sounded as if both babies had healthy sets of lungs. That was encouraging.
But he still didn't know how Lettie was doing.
After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the door opened. The doctor looked out, and the gloomy expression on the man's face struck fear into Doc's heart. “You can come on in, Mr. Monday, but I should caution you, the situation is grave.”
“The babiesâ?” Doc asked with a catch in his throat.
“That's the one bright spot in this affair. Or rather, the
two
bright spots. Two healthy baby boys. I think they'll be fine.”
Doc closed his eyes for a second. He wasn't a praying man, but he couldn't keep himself from sending a few unspoken words of thanks heavenwards.
But there was still Lettie to see about. He followed the doctor into the room.
She was propped up a little on some pillows, and her face was so pale and drawn that the sight of it made Doc gasp. Her eyes were closed and for a horrible second he believed she was dead. Then he saw the sheet rising and falling slightly over her chest.
There was no guarantee how long that would last, however. When the doctor motioned him closer, he went to the bed, dropped to a knee beside it, and took hold of her right hand in both of his.
Her eyelids fluttered and then opened slowly. She had trouble focusing at first, then her gaze settled on his face and she sighed. A faint smile touched her lips. “Doc . . .” she whispered.
His hands tightened on hers. “I'm here, darling.”
“The . . . babies?”
“They're fine. Two healthy baby boys.”
“Ahhhh . . .” Her smile grew. “Twins. Are they . . . identical?”
Doc glanced up at the physician, who spread his hands, shook his head, and shrugged.
“They look alike to me,” Doc said to Lettie, although in truth he hadn't actually looked at the babies yet. They were in bassinets across the room, being tended to by the nurse. Of course, to him all babies looked alike, Doc thought, so he wasn't actually lying to Lettie.
“That's . . . good. They'll be . . . strong, beautiful boys. Doc . . . you'll raise them?”
“We'll raise them. You've no excuse not to marry me now.”
“No excuse,” she repeated, “except the best one of all . . .”
“Don't talk like that,” he urged. “You just need to get your strength backâ”
“I don't have . . . any strength to get back. This took . . . all I had.” She paused, licked her lips, and with a visible effort forced herself to go on. “Their name . . .”
“We'll call them anything you like.”
“No, I mean . . . their last name . . .”
“Margrabe,” Doc said. “Your late husbandâ”
“No,” Lettie broke in. “I'm ashamed to admit it . . . even now . . . but I was . . . never married to their father. His last name is . . . Jensen . . . I want you to name them . . . William, after my father . . . and Benjamin, after my grandfather . . . William and Benjamin . . . Jensen.”
“If that's what you want, my dear, that's what we'll do,” Doc promised. “I give you my word.”
“You'll take care . . . of them?”
“Weâ”
“No,” she husked. “You. They have . . . no one else . . .”
Lord, Lord, Lord, Doc thought. This couldn't be. He'd barely spent time with her, barely gotten to know her. She couldn't be taken away from him now.
But he couldn't hold her. He sensed she was slipping away. A matter of moments only. He felt a hot stinging in his eyes and realized it was tearsâfor the first time in longer than he could remember.
“Take . . . take care . . .” she breathed.
He could barely hear the words. Her eyes began to close and he gripped her hands even tighter, as if he could hold on to her and keep her with him that way. “I will. I'll take care of the boys. I love you, Lettie.”
“Ah,” she said again, and the smile came back to her. “And I love . . .”
The breath eased out of her, and the sheet grew still.
Doc bent his head forward and tried not to sob.
The doctor gripped his shoulder. “She's gone, Mr. Monday. I'm sorry.”
“I . . . I know,” Doc choked out. He found the strength to lift his head. “But those boys. They're here. And they need me.”
As if to reinforce that, both babies began to cry.
“Indeed they do,” the doctor agreed. “Would you like to take a look at them?”
Gently, Doc laid Lettie's hand on the sheet beside her and got to his feet. He turned, feeling numb and awkward, and the doctor led him over to the bassinets. Doc had seen babies before, of course, and always thought of them as squalling, red-faced bundles of trouble.
Not these two, though. There was something about them . . . something special.
“William and Benjamin. Those are fine names, but . . . so formal. I'm not sure they suit you. We'll put them down on the papers because that's what your mother wanted, but I think I'll call you”âhe forced a smile onto his face as he looked at the infant with darker hairâ“Ace. And your brother . . . well, he has to be Chance, of course. Ace and Chance Jensen. And what a winning pair you'll be.”