“Just Lay Back — Let Me Handle It,” The Town Doctor Told the Stubborn Cowgirl

Alvara Trenhome fell to her knees in the early morning dirt, gripping the saddle horn so tight her knuckles turned white. The sun was barely up over Picos County, Texas, but her pain was already burning like a knife inside her ribs. She tried to breathe through it, but the world spun around her.

 Tough cowg girls did not fall. Tough cowg girls did not show weakness. And Alvara had been the toughest girl in Bitter Creek for as long as anyone could remember. But that morning, toughness was not enough. Buttercup, her bay, nudged her shoulder, worried. Alva pushed herself up, jaw set. Anger beating inside her louder than her heart.

 Anger at her body for betraying her. Anger at her pride for keeping her silent for weeks. Anger at the memory she hated most. The words she never heard growing up. Let me take care of you. No one ever told her that. Her mama died when she was 10. Her father died three winters ago. She ran the ranch alone now, feeding cattle, fixing windmills, and surviving storms that could kill a weaker person.

 Asking for help felt like laying down her gun in a gunfight. But the pain stabbed again, she grabbed Buttercup’s reinss and swung into the saddle, fighting tears of frustration. She turned the horse not toward home, but toward Bitter Creek, toward the doctor, toward something she feared more than a wild bron being cared for. The ride took an hour.

 Each step of the horse felt like a hammer hitting her side. By the time she reached town, sweat dripped down her back, though the morning was cool. She tied Buttercup outside the doctor’s office and forced her boots to move across the porch. Cobburn Medical Practice. She expected some old fellow with shaky hands and whiskey breath. She was wrong. Dr.

 Jarth Coburn looked up from his desk when she entered. He was 30 or so, strong shoulders, clean shirt, dark brown hair, and eyes that seemed to look right through a person. He did not move like a bookman from the east. His steps were steady, balanced, like someone who knew horses and hard ground, too. His voice made her stand straighter without thinking.

Miss Trenholm. What seems to be the trouble? Trouble? She hated that word. She tried to hide the pain twisting inside her belly. Just need something quick. Maybe I ate bad beans. His eyebrow rose like he knew she was lying. He pointed to the exam table. Lay back. Let me take a look. He said it gentle. Too gentle. Her chest burned with panic.

Lay back. Let him see her pain. Let him know she was human. Her pride reared up like a spooked horse. “I ain’t laying nowhere,” she snapped. “I don’t need help.” He stepped closer, calm as morning coffee. “It’s your body hurting you, not me. Let me help.” His hand motioned to the table again. His voice softer than rain.

 “Just lay back and let me take care of you.” The words hit her harder than the pain. No one talked to her like that. No one saw her like that. Her cheeks flamed hot, her boots scraped back toward the door. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “You can walk out of here,” he said. “But pain will follow. Pain always outlasts pride.

” It was the truest thing she ever heard. And it scared her. Her heartbeat thundered as she turned and shoved the door open. She stumbled into the street, face burning, feeling every eye on Main Street watch the wild Trenhome girl run like she’d seen a ghost. By the time she reached home, she was shaking with embarrassment and pain.

Golden Crochia, her father’s old partner, saw her limp and narrowed his eyes. What the doctor say? Didn’t see him. He rode all that way and chickened out. Quote, “I changed my mind.” She spat, hating every word. Golden shook his head. Your daddy would tan your hide if he knew you were letting pain win. But Alvara was done with talking.

 She worked through chores with a stubborn fire that only made the pain worse. That night sleep found her late. And when it came, so did the doctor’s voice. Just lay back and let me take care of you. She woke angry at herself for remembering. 3 days later, the pain doubled, tripled, turned into fire with every breath.

 She collapsed in the dirt by the windmill and lay there helpless. Buttercup crying nervously beside her. Hours passed like heavy stones. She could not get up. She could not hide from pain anymore. Hoof beatats came fast, Golden shouting her name. Then strong arms lifted her, the world spinning away as fever took her mind. She gathered one last clear thought as darkness closed in.

 She should have stayed in that office because now she might die before she ever learned what it felt like to be cared for. Alvaro woke on a velvet sofa, soft cushions under her shoulders instead of hard ground. The room around her smelled like soap, clean bandages, and something warm cooking. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

 No ranch house had curtains this fine. No ranch house had a rug thick enough to bury a boot heel. Then the pain sharpened in her side. Too real to be a dream. Her eyes shot open. And there he was. Dr. Jarth Coburn sat beside her, sleeves rolled up, hair a little wild, eyes fixed on her like she was the only patient in the world.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice calm but tight with worry. She tried to sit up. Bad idea. Fire stabbed through her ribs and she gasped. Don’t move. His hand was on her shoulder before she could argue. Your appendix is infected. If Golden hadn’t found me, you’d be dead right now. Dead? The word struck deeper than the pain.

 You brought me here, she rasped. You collapsed, he said. I wasn’t going to treat you in the dirt. She swallowed hard. Her pride prickled like a burr under the saddle. I’m dirtian and up your furniture. He leaned closer, eyes fierce. I don’t care about my damn furniture. No one had ever cursed out of worry for her before.

 The heat rising in her cheeks wasn’t from fever this time. He checked her temperature and gave her a dose of some bitter medicine. She tried to refuse. He didn’t let her. You’re staying here tonight, he said. And tomorrow, too, if needed. That ain’t proper, she whispered. Proper went out the window when you nearly died in my arms.

 Her breath caught. Nearly died in his arms. She looked away. People will talk, she said. Let them, he answered, no hesitation. You’re alive. That’s what matters. His certainty shook her. She wasn’t used to someone fighting for her. “What do they owe you?” she asked softly. “Who?” Quote. She stared down at her hands. Women who let you help them.

What’s the price? Understanding flickered in his eyes. He knelt beside her close enough she could see gold flexcks in his brown irises. There is no price, he said. Not for you. Not ever. Her chest tightened. A different kind of ache. She didn’t know how to accept kindness without suspicion attached. He placed a gentle hand over hers.

 All your life you’ve been the strong one, the one who never needs anything. his voice dropped. But strong people deserve care, too. Her throat closed, tears threatened. She turned her face away. “I don’t know how to do that,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to let someone take care of me. You don’t need to know.

” His thumb brushed the back of her hand. “Just don’t fight me.” She stared at their joined hands, his clean and warm, hers calloused and scarred. “They shouldn’t fit together, but they did. You’re a mystery,” she murmured. “So are you,” he answered, a smile touching his lips. “And I want to solve you.” She almost laughed. “Almost.” But the pain reminded her she was still broken.

 “How long do I stay put?” she asked. “Until I say you’re healed,” he stood, stepping back into doctor mode. “You’re stubborn enough to tear open any stitching I do, so you rest. That is an order.” She scowlled, but a tiny spark of warmth bloomed inside her at his words. In order, someone finally telling her she could stop fighting.

 Just for a moment, he brought her soup. She couldn’t finish. He didn’t scold. He guided her to drink water and helped her lay back down when her legs wobbled. His hands were strong but gentle, his voice low and calm. Hours passed, slow and quiet. At one point, she drifted in and out of sleep and heard him pacing the room.

 “You scared me,” he said softly, thinking she couldn’t hear. “Don’t ever do that again,” her heart twisted. When the fever finally eased, she forced her eyes open. He was still at her side. “You can go home now,” she whispered. “No.” His answer was quick. “Not until you heal. You got patients in town need you.

 And I have one right here who needs me more. Her breath hitched. No one ever said she needed anything. Part of her wanted to shove him away. Run from this closeness she didn’t understand. But the other part, the tired part, wanted to stay right there forever. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. You’re not alone anymore, Alvara Trenholm.

 The words shook her harder than any storm. Her voice was barely sound when she spoke. Why me? His eyes softened. because I see the woman behind the steel and I like her very much. Her heart hammered loud enough she feared he might hear it. “Get some rest,” he murmured. She watched him walk to the window and look out over the wide Texas land, a land she always thought she had to face alone.

 Now she wondered, just wondered, what it might feel like to face it with someone else by her side, someone like him. As her eyes closed, she breathed the truth she had never spoken aloud. “I am scared,” she whispered. He turned back toward her, voice steady as a promise. “Then I’ll be brave for both of us.

” The sun rose slow and golden over Bitter Creek the next morning. Alvara woke to the soft weight of a blanket tucked around her and the clean scent of coffee filling the room. Her side still achd, but the pain was no longer the fire that once stole her breath. For the first time in her life, she felt safe enough to rest.

 Jarth stepped into the room carrying a cup. His shirt sleeves were rolled up again, and his hair was slightly messy from lack of sleep. He must have been watching her all night. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Like someone poked a hot knife in my ribs,” she said. “But I ain’t dead. Guess that’s a start.” A smile tugged his lips. “A very good start.

” He helped her sit up, careful, steady, no rush. She sipped the coffee. Warmth spread through her chest. A different kind of warmth than fever. A comforting one. You shouldn’t have stayed awake all night, she said. I couldn’t leave, he replied. You needed me, she looked away because his words hid deep in the place she kept locked shut.

 The place that feared leaning on anyone. “You saved my life,” she said, voice rough. He knelt beside her again, looking into her tired eyes. You’re not used to needing help. I get that. But needing someone doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. Her heart quivered. The truth of it scared her. I don’t know how to do this.

 Letting someone in, she whispered. Then we take it slow, he said. One day at a time. Before she could answer, Golden appeared in the doorway, hat in hand, and worry carved into his face. Relief washed over him when he saw Alvara sitting up. Well, praise the Lord,” he sighed. “Thought we’d lose you, girl. You’ll have to try harder than that,” Alvara said, managing a small grin.

 Golden shook Jarth’s hand firmly. “Thank you, Doc. You did right by her.” Jarth nodded. “She did the hard part. She fought.” Alvara shot him a look. “More like you drugged me and carried me here.” “And I’d do it again,” he said. “Not the slightest bit. Sorry.” Golden winked at her. He’s a keeper. Alvara’s cheeks warmed, her fingers twisted in the blanket.

 Golden left them with a final pat to her shoulder, leaving the room quieter, filled with words unspoken. Jarth took her hand gently. “Stay a few days. Let me make sure you’re truly healing.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “What will people say?” “They’ll say a doctor saved a life,” he answered. “And maybe they’ll say he cares a bit too much.” His voice dropped lower.

 I don’t care what they say. Not if it keeps you alive. Her walls trembled again. Not from fear this time. From hope. But the ranch. She tried. The work. Golden’s got it. Jarth cut in. He’s tougher than he looks. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. You’ve spent your whole life working.

 Let someone work for you for once. Her eyes stung, but this time she didn’t look away. What happens when I’m healed? She asked. That depends, he said softly. Do I walk away and pretend none of this happened? His gaze held hers. Or do I keep trying to be the man standing at your side? Her breath caught. No one had ever wanted to stand with her.

 Not like this. Not because they needed her strength, but because they wanted her heart. She tightened her grip on his hand. What if I’m still scared? Then we face it together,” he whispered. In that moment, she let her guard drop, just enough for one truth to slip out. “I don’t want you to walk away.” He leaned closer. “Then I won’t.

” His lips brushed her forehead. Soft, careful, like she might break. But Alvar Trenholm did not break. She healed. Outside, the wind stirred the Texas grass. Life kept moving. cattle grazing, water tank sloshing, the wide world waiting. But for the first time, she didn’t feel like she had to face all that alone.

 “You’re stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “So are you,” he replied. She gave a tired smile. “Maybe that’s why we fit.” He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Rest now, cowgirl. Doctor’s orders.” She settled against the pillows as he stood. Sunlight warmed her face. She met his eyes once more. Jarth, she said softly. Yes, you can take care of me, she said.

If you want. His smile spread slow and strong like sunrise easing over the land. I do want more than anything. Alvara closed her eyes, not in fear, but in peace. A peace she’d never known. Outside that house, people might talk, but inside, a heartened cowgirl finally let someone hold her. And a good man finally found someone worth staying for.