“Are you sure you want to do that?”

Jeremiah Fischer looked at the chess board and saw immediately that his queen was in danger. “Ah, I see. Well, I concede the next move to you.”

Lalita took the opposing queen with her bishop. “Since I’ve never played with you before, Dr. Fischer, I don’t know whether to chalk that up to a lack of skill or a lack of mental focus.”

Fischer smiled. “Ah, I think the acceptable excuse in the presence of a lady would usually be distraction, but since I am happily married, I will have to concede to the lack of skill.”

She laughed. “You are slick. I think you left out one possibility. Distraction by vocation. I think you are trying to puzzle me out, and that leaves precious little brain power for chess.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he pondered his next move both on the chess board and in getting her to open up to him. He knew she was hiding something, but at the same time, it seemed obvious that she wasn’t used to hiding.

Her voice across the table brought his mind back to the game. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to fall asleep over here. Dr. Cavanaugh got me up rather early this morning.”

He moved a pawn forward. “Oh? Did you have plans other than jail today?”

Pulled off balance she stumbled sideways, watching Tate and Nellie heading out without her. She looked to the one who waylaid her, already suspecting whose hand was still wrapped around her arm. Seth Dickson grinned down at her, his blue eyes shining.

“I say, Miss Torres, you’re looking prettier than a picture this morning.”

Lalita swallowed. “Mr. Dickson, if you’ll excuse me, my ride is leaving.” She pulled her arm from his grip.

He put his bowler on his head. “Aw, the doc won’t leave you. You can talk a minute with me.”

The crowd had mostly gone out the door, and Lalita turned to follow. “I’m sorry, but—”

Dickson caught her arm again. “Now hold on, there’s no reason to be afraid. I don’t hold any grudges against your people.” He grinned again. “Especially when they’re as fine as you.”

Lalita’s brows knit together as she tried without success to pull away again. “My people?” Her volume was rising. “What are you talking about?”

“Seth, I don’t believe the lady appreciates your attention.” Lalita looked to the door, so relieved to see Tate striding toward them.

Seth let loose of her arm and backed up a step.

“Now, Doc, you said she wasn’t your woman, and I don’t mind if she’s a bit addled.”

Lalita’s jaw dropped. “I am not addled, you over-bearing asshat!”

Tate’s eyes grew wide as he tried to move her toward the door. “Lita, this is a church.”

Dickson just grinned as he followed them out of the building and down the steps. “She’s got spunk. That comes from the Injuns.”

Tate watched his patient, wondering if he should take her to the hospital in Denver—a journey that would take him away from his practice for several days. She was still out after twenty-four hours, and he feared a full out coma. He and his housekeeper, Mrs. Kettler, had been monitoring her around the clock, and even little Nell had stayed with her, giving her droppers of water and broth at regular intervals.

After the discovery that “he” was a “she,” he’d sent the Hill brothers to fetch Mrs. Kettler but proceeded to undress her himself down to her underthings—the strangest, skimpiest underthings he’d ever seen. If she hadn’t been in desperate need of warming up, he would have waited for his housekeeper for the sake of propriety, but he’d told himself that the young woman’s health was more important, and he was, after all, a doctor.

Mrs. Kettler had arrived in time to remove the last of the girl’s wet clothes and get her dressed for bed in one of his late wife’s nightgowns.

As surprising as her underclothes had been, the colorful flowered tattoo that covered her right shoulder and upper arm had captured his attention the entire time he had been warming her in the bath, and even now his eyes drifted to the spot, even though he couldn’t see it through the long-sleeved gown.

He couldn’t help but appreciate the artistry—he’d never seen a tattoo like it—but was shocked that a woman would have such a thing permanently done to her body. Not to mention the piercings on her earlobes. One of her earrings was missing, but the hole was still plainly there. With such bodily decoration, he feared that she had spent time in a house of ill repute. The cross necklace she wore at least spoke to the possibility of redemption.

He sat back, letting his gaze rest on her peaceful face, her long dark lashes resting against her high cheek bones. Perhaps it’s all merely for tribal distinction.

Another curiosity was her hair. Not even the Ute men wore their hair so short. His eyes narrowed remembering the union suit she’d been wearing with the prospector’s slogan on the backside. Was she trying to pass for a miner? He smiled. Better remove the other earring, then, missy.