Bluebonnet Belle (2 page)

“My doctor prefers to talk to my husband, as if I didn't have enough sense to know what he's speaking about!”

“And it was one of those ‘educated physicians' who let my mother die,” April blurted.

When Gray's gaze swung to her, she wished she'd kept her temper in better control. Ordinarily she avoided drawing attention to herself, but today she couldn't help it. He was a rude, boorish…
man!
She met his gaze, lifting her chin in defiance.

“I say we take responsibility for our own bodies,” a tall, heavyset woman declared. “I'm buying two bottles right now.”

The crowd shifted restlessly, and April watched the onslaught coming toward her with growing alarm. She braced herself, her gaze darting about for a quick escape if things got out of hand. Boxes of compound were stacked to her right, two bramble bushes grew to her left. Mentally groaning, she feverishly searched for an out. She'd have to make a break for the middle, and run straight at…him.

She was sure Gray Fuller would recognize her now. Grandpa might look like a genial old Santa Claus without the beard, but when he was riled he didn't have that jolly old person's mild temperament.

Far from it. The rotund octogenarian had a razor-sharp wit and a tongue to match.

April was jolted back to the present as the crowd bore down on her, attempting to squeeze between the table holding the vegetable compound and boxes of the product.

Aware that she wasn't going to be able to get out of their way quickly enough, she braced herself for the attack.

A robust matron hit her sideways, knocking her into the heavily laden table. Stumbling, her hand flailing for support, April braced again as she was slammed from the other side. When yet another hard bump came from the rear, she fell against the table, knocking bottles of compound over in a domino effect.

Reaching out, she tried to save the batch of tonic from ruin, but the table legs collapsed, and it and the bottles tumbled to the ground with a thunderous crash of splitting boards and breaking glass.

The women kept coming, undaunted.

April was pushed forward onto the splintered table and broken bottles whose sticky contents were draining onto the earth below. She hit the ground with a thump.

Attempting to get up, she was knocked aside, whacking her head on a piece of wood. Pain shot through her temple and everything went blurry as she fell back, clasping her palm to her eye.

Silence fell over the crowd as all heads turned to her wilted figure.

“Oh, my!” a shrill voice exclaimed. “She's fainted!”

April hadn't, but she certainly wished she had. Not only had she humiliated herself, she was going to have a whale of a headache.

Moaning, she stirred ever so slightly at the feel of a cool hand on her cheek. She kept her eyes tightly closed, wishing everyone would leave her alone so she could just crawl away, unnoticed.

“Is she injured?”

“Oh, my, my.” A hand gently fanned her face. “Someone bring me a dipper of water!”

“Stand back!” another woman cried. “This man says he's a doctor!”

April froze when she heard
his
voice. Drat. Now she'd really done it. Of course Dr. Fuller would offer his services!

“Someone get this table out of the way.” Gray Fuller waded through the crowd, issuing orders. “One of you ladies loosen her collar. Please, the rest of you stand back and give her some air.”

April felt the pressure of four manly fingers rest against her neck for a brief moment. A pleasant woodsy scent drifted down to her, and she wondered why
he
smelled so good when other men smelled like…like…well, men.

Embarrassed, she groaned in frustration at the situation she'd gotten herself into. Most of the women she knew would give their eyeteeth to draw the handsome doctor's attention. She might feel the same if the circumstances were different. She'd hoped to be introduced to him at church, or a social function, not while lying on the ground surrounded by broken glass and brown, sticky goo.

Pressing his head to her chest, he pretended to listen for a heartbeat as he whispered, “You're going to have to groan louder. They didn't hear you.”

April's left eye flew open, then quickly closed. “Wh…what?”

Lifting his head, he grinned.

Cracking her eye open once more, April looked up into a pair of startling dark green eyes set off by lashes so thick any woman would envy them.

His smile, focused directly on her, was decidedly wicked. The firm set of his jaw drew her. She had never seen that look on Henry's face.

She mentally cringed. If they were handing out awards for good looks, Dr. Fuller would take the prize. His practiced masculine gaze ran over her lightly. She shivered, even though the day was blazing hot.

She felt a warm wave of breath in her ear as he repeated, “You'll have to groan louder. They can't hear you.”

Embarrassed that he had seen through her ruse, she mumbled through closed lips, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

Of course. Trust him. The first thing he was sure to do would be tell Grandpa that she was helping the controversial Lydia Pinkham sell her medicinal elixir. And when Riley heard that, along with what had happened here today, he'd have a fit of apoplexy.

“Moan!” Fuller ordered quietly.

Complying, April rendered a loud, mournful wail.

“Stand back,” he demanded, rising to clear a path through the crowd. The women obediently stepped aside, murmuring approvingly among themselves about the man's quick action.

“Is she all right, Doctor?”

“She appears to be coming around.”

The women oohed and aahed, their eyes anxiously trained on the young woman lying on the ground like a rag doll.

Assisting April to her feet, Gray led her to a nearby bench. She pretended to still be dazed, and if the truth were known, the good doctor did set her head spinning.

Although uneasy at the sudden physical intimacy, she kept up her pretense, wavering convincingly for the women who watched with open concern.

With the excitement over, the crowd began to break up. Most refused to leave without purchasing a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound.

Henry Long rushed to April's side, concern on his babyish features. “April, are you ill, darling?”

Patting Henry's hand consolingly, she assured him she wasn't, only a bit shaken up.

Lydia stepped over to ask if April had sustained any serious injuries. When told she hadn't, she made her way back into the crowd, where Will and Dan were selling the compound as fast as they could dole it out.

When the area finally cleared, Dr. Fuller attempted to conduct a brief examination. “You've got a bump.” He touched her forehead. “Should make a nice bruise.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, drawing a deep breath to clear her head. Something else to explain to Grandpa.

“Are you experiencing any pain?”

“No, and you've done quite enough, thank you.” April felt like a fool! Not only had she drawn undue attention to herself by speaking up like that, she'd created a scene that was sure to get back to Grandpa and all of Dignity before she did. Still, it wasn't that unpleasant being administered to by Dr. Fuller. The feel of his gentle hand on her forehead lingered, and she reached to finger the spot.

“Ouch!” It had felt much better when the doctor touched the bump.

Gray's brows lifted. “I'm trying to place you. Haven't we met, Miss…”

“I have a common-looking face,” she said, standing up hurriedly. He'd been at the house several times, but she'd managed to evade him. His very demeanor frightened her—and doctors plain scared her. Still, he might have spotted her lurking in the porch shadows….

Regaining her bearings, she straightened her dress, smoothed her flyaway hair, remembered to thank him, and took off in the opposite direction at a hurried pace.

“If you have any blurring of vision, be sure and see a doctor…miss?”

She dismissed him with an absent wave. “I'm fine, really.”

He would remember where he'd seen her, and tell Grandpa. She might as well brace herself for the explosion.

 

Gray stared after her, watching the sway of her slender hips as she hurried along. He searched his mind, trying to recall meeting her. How could he possibly have encountered such a beautiful woman and not remember?

One thing was certain: the incident today would not be forgotten. It would take some doing to forget this woman.

If he ever saw her again, he'd remember.

F
rancesca DuBois didn't understand the word
no.

“Have you not missed me,
chéri?
It has been too long.” The ebony-haired beauty seated across the desk smiled provocatively.

“It's difficult for me to get away. I'm the only doctor in town. A lot of people need me.”

“But, my darling, I need you, too.” She frowned. “Are you aware of how difficult it is to explain your continued absence to my friends?”

“You knew when I took this practice I would be in Dallas less frequently.” He tossed a folder on his desk, annoyed that she was here. He'd made it clear that when the time was right—and if he changed his mind and decided to honor the engagement—he would send for her. True to form, Francesca had jumped the gun, and here she sat, looking as though she was here to stay.

Her eyes roamed the small office. “Honestly, Gray. Why would you want to bury yourself in a backward town like Destiny?”

“Dignity.”

As usual, she ignored the correction. Had he noticed this irritating trait before?

“Even more appalling. You had a glowing Dallas practice, more patients than you could handle. Now—” she swept a gloved hand at the Spartan quarters “—this.”

At first she had argued about his decision, but when it became clear he was going to make the move, she'd stopped. Gray knew she thought the forced separation would strengthen their shaky relationship. But just the opposite had occurred.

Gray had realized his calling. Dallas had its share of progressive doctors, and few people who needed, or wanted, them. The rural communities still depended on midwives and herbalists to serve their medical needs—people with no training, who gained what little knowledge they had through information passed down from a grandmother or an aunt.

No, Gray wasn't needed in Dallas. But he was needed in the countryside. Francesca couldn't understand that; couldn't or wouldn't understand it. Her father wasn't much better.

Though he was indebted to Louis DuBois for financing his medical internship, he didn't agree with the older doctor's focus on medicine merely as a means to make money. Somewhere along the way, Louis had forgotten medicine was a service to humanity.

When Gray announced his intentions to take over Joe McFarland's practice in Dignity, Louis hadn't argued with him. Instead, he'd figured it wouldn't take long for Gray to admit his mistake and return to Dallas, where he would then be taken into one of DuBois' three clinics as a full partner—a stance Francesca also embraced.

Uncomfortable under the resulting pressure, Gray had broken their tenuous engagement. Only Francesca had ignored that fact. She'd refused to return the ring or to accept Gray's declaration that the relationship was over. Now here she was in Dignity, sitting in his office and acting as though he should be thrilled to see her.

Louis' offer was tempting. Only a fool would refuse it. But Gray had dedicated his skill to treating the ill rather than catering to the privileged.

Now that he had been in Dignity for a little over a month, his convictions were even stronger. He wanted to set down roots in the small town and develop a busy practice. Exactly how he was going to convince this woman that his life was here now, in Dignity—without her—he wasn't sure.

Admittedly she was a beauty, and entrenched in Dallas society. Would she be willing to give up the social whirl and move to Dignity? He doubted it.

She extended an entreating hand. “Why won't you listen to reason? Move back to Dallas. That is where you belong.”

“I believe Dignity is where God wants me to be.”

“God?” She shook her head. “You always had a streak of religious idealism. I find it hard to believe God cares where you practice medicine.”

Gray shrugged. “You're entitled to your opinion.”

She slapped a hand on his desk. “I do not understand why you feel you must live in this bumpkin town. What is there in Destiny?”

“It's Dignity. And it's people. They need a doctor.”

“There are sick people in Dallas, as well. People who pay for a doctor's service with things other than chickens, produce from the garden and baked offerings from their kitchen.”

“They give what they have. I find it sufficient.”

Sighing, she sat back in the chair, drumming her fingers on the desktop. “Will you just listen? Give up this crazy idea and move back to Dallas. Papa will set you up in a practice with Jake Brockman, Lyle Lawyer and Frank Smith. We can be married in a month.”

Drawing a deep breath, Gray pulled back the curtains to look out on the street. Dignity wasn't Dallas, and that was what attracted him. He liked the town's sleepy lifestyle. He liked its people: good, hardworking, God-fearing farmers, their children and wives, town merchants and neighboring families who came from miles around to seek his medical advice. Gray Fuller's knowledge, not Brockman, Lawyer, Smith and Fuller's advice, as Francesca would have it.

The area itself drew him; the small community sat near the upper corner of the port. Rail service of both the Houston and Texas Central and Texas and Pacific lines made travel practical. Hired carriages were available to take one anywhere in the city quickly. But out here in Dignity he enjoyed windswept land, trees shaped by gulf breezes, rolling surf…No, he would not abandon his dream. Not for her, not for any woman.

Families strolled around the common on a cool evening, or brought picnics on Sunday afternoons. Dignity was interesting, compelling, and more to his taste than the Dallas Francesca loved.

It was a sense of peace that had drawn him when he first visited here six months earlier. The doctor in him demanded it, the man in him wanted it.

“Papa was asking about you before I left. He worries that you're being a fool. He asked if you had come to your senses—”

Gray cut her off. “How is Louis?”

“Oh,
chéri
,” she complained, “someone has stolen your mind in this town! You are surely not thinking clearly!”

He suddenly lost his patience. Francesca was a beautiful, charming, but spoiled young woman who'd been raised in the lap of luxury, a woman who used her position as leverage to get whatever she wanted. Position her father had earned for her.

Louis DuBois had come to the United States from France shortly before Francesca was born. Starting with little more than ingenuity, he'd built a successful group of medical clinics in Dallas. Francesca was his only child, and he wasn't subtle about his desire for his daughter to marry Gray.

At first Gray had toyed with the idea; what sane man wouldn't be intrigued by the offer? Then sanity had returned and he'd decided marriage to Francesca was too high a price to pay for what a life of bondage it would in essence be.

He watched as she rose from her chair and sauntered to the mirror. She appeared to be studying her reflection, but he was aware of the intensity of her deep blue eyes.

“Papa is not a patient man,” she mused. “I fear he will soon tire of asking you, Gray, and bring someone else into the clinic.”

Gray heard the veiled threat in her voice. Submit or else. His independent streak refused to compromise.

“You could return to Dallas and never have to work long hours again. There will be three other men to see to your patients when you have better things to do. Papa will furnish everything we would ever want or need.”

She turned ever so slightly to allow him a better view of what he was refusing. “This would be the perfect time.” Her voice took on a husky timbre, as she mistook his silence for conformity. “The old Tealson mansion is up for sale—I've always wanted that house. It has been left to molder a bit, but it's such a beautiful place. I will decorate it, make it the showplace it should be. We will throw the biggest, most elaborate Christmas parties the city has ever seen! It will be so…”

As she droned on about the possibilities, Gray's mind turned to Dignity, and Lydia Pinkham's show a few days earlier. The nerve of that woman, claiming her elixir could cure everything from cramps to kidney ailments. And women were listening to the exaggerated claims!

His irritation eased when he thought about the spunky young woman who'd pretended to faint. Surely if she was the girl he had seen at the mortuary, she would have said so. He smiled. She'd felt rather at home in his arms—

“Gray? Gray?”

Francesca's strident tone drew him back.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“You're not listening to me. You do miss me, don't you?”

“Of course, Francesca, but my work keeps me busy and I get distracted.”

“If you would only return to Dallas, your life would be so much easier. There is no need—”

“Francesca, we've talked this to death.”

“You are entirely too practical, Gray Fuller. But I can wait. For you I will wait.”

“Francesca…”

“Oh, I remember that silly declaration, when you said the wedding was off, but you didn't mean it.” She came closer and kissed him lightly. “I forgive you, darling. You are coming to Dallas on the twelfth? You know Papa is entertaining some very prominent doctors, and he'll expect you to be there.”

Though Gray would begrudge the time, he would be there. He'd have the next installment on his debt to Louis by then. Though DuBois had assured him many times that repayment wasn't necessary, Gray was determined to owe him nothing but gratitude before the next year was finished.

“Gray!” she wailed. “You promised!”

“Of course I'll be there, Francesca.” He jammed his arms into his jacket. “I'll instruct all my patients that they are under no circumstance to become indisposed on the twelfth.” Suddenly he needed fresh air.

“Oh, wait! I have something for you.” She picked up a small hatbox and carefully opened it. “You're going to adore this.”

Gray stared at what he had to assume was a hat, though he'd never call it that himself.

Holding it up for inspection, she grinned. “Isn't it just the most extraordinary thing?”

Extraordinary? Every bit of that.

“Very nice. You'll look lovely in it.”

“Me? Oh, you silly goose! It's not for me, it's for you.”

Gray's heart sank. Surely she didn't expect him to wear…
that.

“It's marvelous, isn't it?” She turned the hat around.

“What is it, exactly?”

“A pillbox hat. It's the latest thing in bicycling attire. You're to wear it with tight-fitting knee britches, a very tight, military kind of jacket, and when you're cycling down the street, you carry a bugle to warn pedestrians of your approach. I ordered it from France.”

“I don't bicycle.”

“No?” She frowned. “Well, you should. It's the most amazing sport. Daddy bought me one…. Of course, I've purchased britches and a jacket for you also, so we can dress alike when we cycle.”

“I don't have a bicycle.”

Her eyes sparked devilishly. “You do now!”

She smiled as she turned the hat round and round. “Here. Try it on.”

Feeling stupid, he let her settle the navy-blue pillbox atop his head. This was what marriage to Francesca would be like. Manipulated, controlled…Between her and her father, he wouldn't stand a chance of being his own man. He felt even more certain that God's plans for him didn't include this woman and a Dallas practice.

Gray stood before her wearing the ridiculous hat, wondering how much he could be expected to tolerate for money's sake. If Louis called in his loan early he would have to cease practice; he couldn't afford to do it. He had to keep peace with Louis' daughter until the loan was paid in full. But he would not marry her. He rode horses, not bicycles.

Francesca ignored his protest, clapping her hands with delight. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of his glass-fronted bookcase, Gray grimaced. The hat made him look like an organ-grinder's monkey. All he needed was a tin cup.

“Francesca, I don't wear hats.” Feelings be hanged; he wouldn't be caught dead in it.

“Nonsense.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed the end of his nose. “You look splendid, darling. Absolutely splendid.”

He looked like a fool. A splendid one.

“I have to go. I have patients to see.”

“You work much, much, much too hard, Gray.” She tried to wind her arms around his neck. He promptly removed them.

Relinquishing her hold, she sighed. “When will I see you again? I will be waiting,” she promised. She blew him a kiss as he left the room.

As he walked through the lobby of the hotel, he carried the pillbox hat hidden beneath his jacket.

Eyeing the trash receptacle, he pushed temptation aside and walked out the front door. Francesca had an elephant's memory. She recalled every article of clothing she'd ever purchased for him.