Authors: Jillian Hart
“My son hasn't always had the easiest time. He probably won't thank me for saying so, but he's been a bit discouraged since he had to return home for the summer. If there is any way you could...smooth the way for him in your father's clinic, I would be grateful.”
Hattie inhaled deeply. How dare this woman come in and ask for favors for her sonâwhen he already had so many advantages? Being born a male, for one. He'd been allowed to pursue his education, had been given the opportunity she desperately wanted.
Penny's brow creased. She seemed to realize Hattie had stiffened.
“I don't mean to offend or ask more than I should,” the older woman said in a quieter voice, putting one hand on Hattie's arm when Hattie would have turned away. “I only want things...not to be so hard for him.”
While Hattie could understand a mother's concern, to a point, this particular woman asked too much. Hattie smiled wanly. “I'm certain we'll rub along just fine.” As long as he stayed out of her way, she would stay out of his.
“I also wanted to say, I think it's admirable that you help your father in his work,” Penny said, just before she left. Hattie heard her speak to Maxwell in the front vestibule before things went silent.
Hattie was left to ponder her words. Had Maxwell really said positive things about Hattie, when she hadn't been particularly kind to him? She'd been a part of the conversation with her papa earlier and knew she could perhaps make things easier for Maxwell with her friends and acquaintances as they came to the clinic. But why should she? She didn't owe the cowboy anything.
Her roiling thoughts didn't last long. She had reorganized the examination room and was moving toward the waiting area when a screaming woman burst through the outer door.
Maxwell bumped Hattie's shoulder as he joined her. “Whatâ”
“He's choking! Please help!” the mother shrieked. She held out a limp, white-faced toddler.
When Maxwell didn't respond, Hattie took the small boy into her arms. “Where's Papa?” she demanded of Maxwell.
“He stepped out to check on someoneâsaid he wouldn't take long.”
Even if Papa would only be gone a matter of minutes, any delay would be too late for this child. The toddler's lips were turning blue. He gasped for breath but found none.
Hattie sank to the floor, heedless of dirtying her dress, and positioned the child facedown across her knees.
“Do something!” the mother cried.
“I am.” Hattie pounded the boy between his shoulder blades. Again. Again.
Nothing happened. The boy remained still, draped over her lap, and a jolt of fear surged through her.
She felt it when Maxwell knelt beside her. Would he attempt to yank the child from her, to try something else, thinking she didn't know what she was doing?
He didn't. He only placed one hand in support of her back and said, “C'mon, Hattie.”
Her open palm thudded against the little back once more, and this time the child hacked and a small object pinged against the wooden floor.
The boy gasped and squirmed. Hattie helped him to turn over and immediately noted the color blooming into his cheeks, his chest expanding with breath. And the boy began sobbing, reaching for his mother.
Weak-kneed now that the moment was over, Hattie attempted to lift him in trembling arms. Maxwell was there to help him get into his mother's embrace. The mother was now crying as well, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Shaken, Hattie attempted to push off the floor. Maxwell's hand came beneath her elbow and steadied her, remaining even after she'd managed to find her feet.
“You saved his life,” the mother said through her tears, clutching the now-quieting child to her shoulder.
Maxwell bent. When he rose, he held up the obstruction in his palm. “A marble, looks like.”
“From my older boy's things,” the mother explained. “I've told him time and again to keep them put up when the baby is on the floorâ” She dissolved into tears again.
A glance at Maxwell revealed he appeared flummoxed as to how to deal with the woman. Hattie rolled her eyes in his direction and moved forward to offer a comforting embrace. “It's all right now. Look at himâhe's just fine.”
Indeed, the baby was reaching for Maxwell. Or possibly the marble. Bright-eyed and alert, he didn't seem to know the danger he'd just escaped.
“He wouldn't have been fine without you,” the mother said. “How can I ever thank you?”
Hattie only smiled. She was still shaken, but at least her trembling had stopped. “I was only doing what needed to be done.”
She felt Maxwell's gaze on her but couldn't meet it. She escorted the mother and son outdoors, attempting to catch her breath. A feeling of elation and
rightness
stole over her. Hattie wanted to do more things like that, saving that child's life. And she could do more, as a doctor.
If only Papa had been here to see.
Regardless, the event made her more determined than ever to speak to her papa. She'd saved a boy's life today. And she wanted to do so again in the futureâby being a doctor.
* * *
Hours later, Maxwell stood in the clinic's hallway, debating between taking his leave of Hattie or stepping into the examination room to help her tidy up. He could guess which course of action she would prefer he take.
The doctor had already left on a late house call, and they were alone in the quiet building. Afternoon sunlight slanted in the window.
Penny's advice and the doctor's urging to find a way to be more comfortable with the opposite sex both rang in his head. He wanted Hattie for a friend, even if nothing more would ever come of it. How many rejections did it take for a man to realize he wouldn't make a good husband for anyone? And why did knowing Hattie rub against that thought like an annoying blister?
His heart thudded painfully. Should he be polite or make himself scarce?
The manners Penny had drilled into him and his brothers won out.
He cleared his throat so she would hear him come into the room. She looked over her shoulder from where she knelt near the cupboard on the far wall, scrubbing the lower front of the cabinet.
He went to the table and gathered up the soiled linens, putting them in a canvas bag laid alongside, as he'd seen her do once before. He guessed Hattie or her mother laundered the bandages and other linens at their home.
“You don't have to stay,” she said.
“I know.”
Without turning his head, he saw her scrub the cabinet even harder than before. “Papa likely won't notice you've helped clean up in here.” Meaning she wouldn't tell her father.
“I'm not doing it for your father. I agreed to work here to learnâand that includes helping out in the clinic. And I'd like to help you.” He stuffed the last of the linens into the sack and went out the door, face burning. He deposited the canvas bag near the back door, where he would offer to take it home for her. If she would let him.
She didn't glance up when he returned and wordlessly took the scrub bucket from her and began wiping down the countertop.
She turned her back and set about unfolding a new sheet across the table for the next morning's first patient.
“Most men would consider this women's work.”
He considered his words, considered what one thing he might be able to say to change her mind about him. “Maybe I'm not like most men.”
* * *
Hattie slipped out of the clinic, throwing the bag of dirty linens over her shoulder.
Not only had Maxwell stayed late the past few nights, talking to her father and ruining her opportunity to start the conversation about medical school, but now he intruded into her usual time of settling things in the clinic. After talking with his mother earlier, Hattie was feeling distinctly guilty.
She needed to escape, wanted to go home and have some time to herself, get her bearings again.
She was starting to like the man. Against everythingâhis presence in her space, his influence with her father, her worries that she wouldn't be able to convince her father about medical schoolâshe liked Maxwell White.
She needed to get away from him.
She heard the clinic door open and snap closed behind her. Papa had given the man a key so he could lock up. She kept going, hurrying her pace a bit.
He called after her, “Hattie. Hattie, wait!”
The alley wasn't long, but two men stumbled into the mouth of it, blocking her path to the street beyond. By their wobbly stances, they were obviously intoxicated, though it was early in the evening for them to be in such a state. Hattie's mother had warned her about rowdy cowboys, which by the looks of these men's worn shirts and chaps-covered trousers, had been a fair warning.
“Well, lookee here,” one of them slurred. “Found us a pretty lady.”
The other tried to doff his Stetson but ended up knocking it from his head. It took him two tries to pick it up.
“Excuse me.” She didn't waste time looking behind to see if Maxwell had followed her. No doubt her manner had put him off. She quickly pushed past the men onto the street. There wasn't much foot traffic, with it being the end of the business day. But it was still broad daylight. Surely they wouldn't pester her, even if they were inebriated.
She set her feet toward home, but a rough hand on her shoulder spun her around and she dropped the linens.
“Hold on there, missy.”
“Let go!” She struggled to get away from the man's surprisingly strong grip. She got tangled in the bundle she'd dropped and lost her footing, quickly finding herself sitting down in the street.
The men laughed, looming over her. Throat dry, she couldn't find her voice to call out for help. Fear sliced through her.
Was there no one on the street to come to her assistance?
“That's enough, fellas.”
A bolt of relief flared through her even as she recognized the voice. Maxwell.
The men turned to face him as he came up the alley behind, but they remained between Hattie and her would-be rescuer.
“Aw, now. We're just having a bit of fun. Nothing to concern you.”
“Anything to do with Miss Powell concerns me.”
Hattie's heart thudded at the blatant overexaggeration. With the way she'd treated Maxwell, he would be in the right to turn and walk away.
One of the men looked back at her, squinting. “Powell? This the doctor's daughter? One of the other hands was telling me all about herâhow she was a pretty li'l thing but as high-strung as a rattler about to strike. That true, sweetheart?” The man shot her a leering look.
Maxwell pushed his way between the two men and knelt over her. “As I said before, that's enough.” He was smart enough to glance over his shoulder as he helped her to her feet, but she knew it was still risky for him to turn his back on the men.
The warmth of his hand over her elbow was a momentary comfort. He gave her a gentle push down the street, away from the men. But she turned back, unable to just leave him to fend for himself against the two goons.
“Now, hold on, mister. You ain't got no right to interfereâ”
“As a gentleman, I have enoughâ” Maxwell started, but the man interrupted.
“You sayin' we ain't gentlemen?”
“That an insult?” The men's voices overlapped each other this time.
Before she could blink, one of them swung at Maxwell, clipping his shoulder.
Hattie shrieked.
The other man threw a punch, his fist connecting with Maxwell's cheek. But Maxwell recovered, shoving his shoulder into one man's chest and ducking a second punch from the other.
“Stop!” Hattie cried out as Maxwell took a kick to the stomach and went to his knees.
“Get outta here,” he ordered her, eyes like fire.
Unable to commit to running down to the sheriff's office, Hattie was relieved when a man with a tin badge thundered up the street to them.
He reined in his horse and roared, “What's going on here?”
Instantly, the two drunks stopped fighting, leaving Maxwell on his knees on the packed-dirt street, a trickle of blood flowing down his cheek.
Across the street, a door opened and one of the shopkeepers stepped out onto the boardwalk. “I saw the whole thing!” he shouted.
Then why hadn't the man come outside to help? Hattie wondered. She rushed to Maxwell's side, taking his arm in preparation to help him to his feet.
He squinted up at her. “You all right?”
How could he even ask that, when he'd been the one in the fistfight?
Beneath her hand, the muscles of his arm flexed as he stood. He hadn't really needed her assistance. But part of her needed to hang on to himâto make sure he was in one piece.
The emotion frightened her, and she quickly let him go, bending to scoop up the laundry bag and the few items that had spilled out of it. He took it out of her shaking hands before she could protest.
Somehow he knew. He grasped her wrist, holding her still, until she looked up at him.
She couldn't meet his gaze. Her eyes flickered instead to the trickle of blood on his cheekbone. “We should go back to the clinic and patch you up.”
His eyes remained on her for a long, silent moment. He wiped his cheek with the back of his other hand and barely glanced at the red stain that came away. “This is nothing. I've had worse tussling with my brothers.”
She breathed deeply. “It would make me feel better. I don't want my mother to see me like this. I could use a few minutes to compose myself.”
He watched her carefully. Then he nodded and turned to speak to the lawman in low tones. Remnants of fear still snaked through her, making her tremble deeply inside.
Then he was at her side, hand beneath her elbow, guiding her down the boardwalk instead of back through the alley.
“The leather-goods worker across the street saw the men accost you. The sheriff's deputy is taking those two down to the jail. There wasn't any question they'd both had a bit too much to drink.”