Love Inspired Historical December 2013 Bundle: Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides\The Wife Campaign\A Hero for Christmas\Return of the Cowboy Doctor (75 page)

Why was he able to talk to Hattie so easily—or, if not easily, then at least not as awkwardly as with the other girls? Was it really their shared interest in medicine, or was there something else between them?

But once the gal in charge began the reading, he was able to relax a little. Some of the tension left his shoulders, until Hattie shifted in her chair and her skirt brushed his calf. In the small room, they were pressed so close together that he couldn't help but be aware of her closeness. She smelled like peaches and something else sweet, and he knew he still had to smell of horse after working all day with Oscar. He'd dunked his head in the stream and cleaned up as best he could before they'd come into town, but he
was
a working cowboy.

Ricky had disappeared, but Matty and Davy stood at the back of the room, not taking seats. He'd been surprised how they'd gotten on with the others and realized that his brothers had grown up some while he'd been gone to college and medical school. Davy seemed to be looking through the crowd, but Maxwell couldn't guess who he was looking for. Did his brother have a sweetheart? Max had been so caught up in his own plans that he hadn't noticed if the boy did.

And Matty had spoken to every single girl in the room already, his charm full-on. Even though he was younger than many of the young ladies, he had a way to make them smile.

Maxwell tried not to be jealous of his brother's easy manner with his acquaintances.

Or of his best friend's love match, either. When Sam and Emily settled in chairs directly in front of him and Hattie, and Sam tucked his wife close to his side with an arm around her shoulders, Maxwell looked down at his feet.

He couldn't expect to find love, not with his past.

The gal up at the front of the room was reading something of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's. Maxwell knew some of her love poems, but she wasn't particularly a favorite of his. Until one of the phrases being quoted made him think of the woman beside him.

He had his private notebook tucked in his pocket and itched to take it out and mark down a stanza of what he'd just heard. He didn't dare risk it. He tried to commit the phrase to memory, instead, so he could jot it down as soon as he escaped to the bunkhouse tonight.

After a short reading, refreshments were served, and the young people began mingling again.

Hattie seemed lost in thought at his side as they lingered near the rear of the room.

“You all right?”

His question seemed to stir her from her thoughts. She nodded, expression serious. “I was just thinking about what we might need to do in the office tomorrow. Are you certain your brother will be able to spare you?”

“Yeah. I'll talk to him on the way back to my pa's place tonight. He'll understand—probably be glad to get me out from underfoot for a while.”

Thinking about what they might face in the office made him realize he should probably let Hattie turn in early so she could be rested up for the day. He still didn't know what illness plagued her, hadn't seen any specific symptoms, but if he could ease things for her throughout the day, he would.

“Should we— Can I escort you home? I mean, we could walk, and I'll meet my brothers back here to head out to the ranch.”

She agreed, and he told Oscar he'd walk Hattie home and come back. His older brother waggled his eyebrows but, to Maxwell's relief, made no other protest or comment.

On the boardwalk, Hattie slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, and he nearly lost his footing.

Aware of the noise coming from the saloon one street over, he turned them in the opposite direction, which he hoped would keep them out of the way of any carousing cowboys. It was dark, and he'd hate to face a repeat of what had happened in the street days before. And the longer walk would give him at least a few more moments of Hattie's company.

“So, what was your favorite class in college?” Was it his imagination, or did Hattie sound particularly wistful when she asked the question?

He couldn't admit that he'd loved the poetry more than anything else. “Probably some of the literature courses.”

“You like to read? I'm sure your primary-school teachers appreciated a student like you.”

His face burned in the dark, remembering his teenage embarrassment in front of Emily about his education or lack thereof. “I didn't have much of an education before my ma got ahold of me. She actually taught me to read when I was sixteen.” Would Hattie think less of him for that admission? He hadn't meant to admit to it, but the words had just burst out on their own.

Looking down on her in the moonlight, he found himself talking about a subject that was usually painful for him, but somehow the words flowed easily tonight. “My birth ma didn't care much about me—didn't let me go to school or anything like that. She died when I was pretty young, then I was on my own, trying to survive, and school was low on the list when my belly was empty.”

Hattie didn't look up at him, watching where she was stepping as they moved down off the boardwalk to a more residential side street. But he had the sense she was listening intently.

“By the time Jonas took me in, I was older—a teenager—and too ashamed to admit I couldn't do the lessons. Until Penny got ahold of me, that is.”

He was watching her, but Hattie's gaze didn't stray in his direction as they neared her house.

“My mother kept me home from school on the days when my condition would act up,” she said. “I never knew what to tell the other children and had to work extremely hard to keep up on my own. It was hard...not quite fitting in.”

He really wanted to ask more about her health complaint, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he said, “And yet, you've found a way to work through it now, working with your pa.”

He hoped that she would take the opening to tell him more about what plagued her, but all she said was “The same way you've overcome your childhood to get an education, I suppose. A strong will.”

As they reached the porch steps, he tried to think of the best way to phrase what he wanted to ask. “Is there anything you need in the next few days—anything I can do to help so you won't overtax yourself?” An idea sparked and he blurted it out before he thought. “I could bring your rolling chair to the office and if you got overtired or needed to rest awhile it would be there for you.”

She went stiff at his side, withdrew her hand from his arm. Had he blundered by mentioning the chair?

“I'll be fine.” By her quick, blunt words he knew that he had.

“Hattie—”

“I'm certainly capable of knowing if I need to sit down and rest for a few moments. My condition won't hamper you in any way.”

She cut her eyes to him, and the coolness in the blue depths stunned him.

“Hattie, wait—”

“I think we've said enough to each other tonight. Good night.” She slipped inside and the door clicked shut behind her.

He'd thought they'd shared something, talking about their pasts, but obviously, it hadn't been enough to build a camaraderie. He was beginning to think such a thing might be impossible between them.

* * *

Hattie stood just inside the front door, shaken by what she'd shared—something she'd never told another soul. But now Maxwell knew. She guessed he hadn't meant any harm bringing up her medical condition—she'd almost forgotten that he knew about it, though he didn't know the details. They'd had such an enjoyable evening. Though he was shy with the other women at the poetry reading, he'd been conversational with her, asking questions and even sharing things of a personal nature.

And then he'd shared something, and she'd shared something, and suddenly it seemed they'd gone from being mere acquaintances, working together for a purpose, to almost...friends. She didn't have room in her life for a friendship with Maxwell. She needed to be at her best while Papa was gone and then move forward with her plans.

No matter if she'd thought there had been a connection between herself and Maxwell tonight. She needed to keep her focus on her real aim—medical school. And forget about the polite, quiet cowboy with an ear for poetry.

* * *

Maxwell was trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong when he returned to the wagon. By the rumble of voices still coming from inside the tearoom, he knew most folks were still visiting.

He elected to stay out in the dark, alone.

He hadn't meant to offend Hattie by questioning her about the medical condition. But she was so prickly about it....

A feminine giggle brought his head up, jolting him out of his thoughts. Something moved in the shadows around the corner of the building. Make that some
one.
A young woman dragged a young man by the hand, saying, “We can find some privacy over at the—”

Her companion interrupted her by drawing her in for a kiss. Maxwell started to avert his eyes, but a shaft of light fell on the man—

“Ricky?”

Folks started pouring out of the tearoom as his younger brother broke away from the girl.

Oscar and Sarah were among the first outside and they seemed to understand the situation instantly. Oscar clapped a hand on Ricky's shoulder and Sarah pulled the girl aside, effectively separating them.

They headed home quickly, Oscar reading Ricky the riot act while the younger boy grumbled.

“Y'all won't tell Pa, will ya?” Ricky asked as they neared the homestead.

Maxwell shrugged.

“Aw, just 'cause you can't woo your nursie don't mean you have to ruin my fun,” Ricky taunted.

“It's not your brothers' job to cover for you,” Sarah admonished. “You are responsible for your own actions.”

“Says the schoolteacher.”

Oscar started to take up for his wife, and Maxwell ignored his brothers' arguing.

Was it so obvious to everyone that he had trouble relating to Hattie? And that he desperately wanted to win her as a friend?

Should he give up on her? It might make things difficult as they worked together.

He wished he knew the right thing to do.

Chapter Six

M
axwell had tossed and turned all night, unable to shake the remembrance of the shadows in Hattie's eyes when he'd left her. Of the connection they'd shared, even briefly, before she'd rushed inside. He wanted to be her friend, knew it could never be more than that, but he almost...craved her friendship. Had he ruined everything by talking about some of the things he was ashamed of in his past?

The sun was only a hint of silver on the horizon when he crossed from the bunkhouse to the barn, intent on saddling his mount and getting to town. His ma would probably fuss at him for missing breakfast, but he had a powerful urge to see Hattie, to find out if what he'd said last night would affect her manner this morning.

The sound of whistling turned his head. Seb sauntered into the barn, scrubbing his eyes. His whistling broke off under a huge yawn.

“What're you doing up?” his youngest brother asked, voice cracking.

“Going to town. The doctor had to leave for a while, and he asked me and his daughter to watch over the clinic.” Oscar had understood and even been proud of his brother last night when Maxwell had informed him of the change on their way back out to Pa's ranch in the wagon.

Maxwell buckled the last strap, tugging on the stirrup to ensure it was secure. He paused, letting out a long breath. Would Hattie be happy to see him, or upset?

Seb lounged against a nearby stall. “What'sa matter? Thought you liked the doctor's girl.”

Maxwell ignored the insinuation, knowing that if he admitted his attraction to Hattie that every single brother would know by breakfast. “She's a friend. At least I think we're friends. I might've offended her last night after the poetry reading. I just don't...”
know how to talk to her.

Seb snorted, and it was all the impetus Maxwell needed to put his foot in the stirrup and mount up. Face hot, he wheeled the horse toward the barn door.

“Remember how we left those wildflowers for Ma when she and Pa were courtin'?” Seb asked casually as Maxwell walked his horse past the younger boy.

Maxwell didn't respond, only sent his brother a wave as he left the barn. No doubt his brothers would tease him mercilessly tonight, but maybe there was no helping it. He'd missed the camaraderie while he'd been away at medical school, but he could certainly do without their constant teasing about his romantic life. Or lack thereof.

He'd gotten to the edge of his pa's property before he slowed his horse. Could Seb be right? Would wildflowers sooth Hattie's feelings? Or make a fool out of him?

Would she think he meant more than just an apology by the gesture? He didn't want to overstep his bounds, especially since they needed to work together.

He got off the horse anyway and began gathering a colorful collection of flowers. Then he realized he didn't have anything to tie them up with. He turned his Stetson upside down and put the flowers inside. Remounting, he settled the hat upside down in front of him. He'd be all right as long as no one saw him riding into town with a lap full of flowers. Then he'd never live it down.

He'd thought he might beat Hattie to the clinic, but by the time he'd stabled his horse at the livery for the day, gathered up his handful of wildflowers and made his way down the boardwalk to the clinic, he found the front door unlocked. Soft rustling from the examination room told him Hattie was preparing for the day.

“Good morning,” he called out.

Her reply was muffled, but at least she'd answered. He clutched the wildflowers in his now-sweating hand and went looking for her. She was opening the curtains, looking pert and fine in a dark blue dress covered by a white apron, her hair tucked behind her head in a bun.

He nearly choked on the words, but forced them out. “I wanted to apologize if I offended you last night. I was only trying to help. I know you'll do a good job while your pa is gone.”

She turned and he stuck out his hand, the multihued flowers bobbing as he did so. Her eyes widened minutely, and she hesitated. Then, finally, she reached out and took the flowers from him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, averting her face. “I think there's an extra pitcher in the supply room.”

She ducked past him, scurrying from the room.

What had her reaction meant? Did it mean she forgave him for his blunder last night? He wished he could read her better, wished that this awkwardness between them would disappear.

* * *

Hattie hid in the supply room, momentarily unable to do anything but stare down at the clutch of flowers in her grasp. The bright blues, yellows and purples blurred together momentarily until she blinked.

He'd brought her flowers.

It was a small gesture, but no one had ever done something like that for her before. Blood rushed to her ears, and her spine tingled—and she still had to work with the man all day.

She was intensely aware of him as they stood shoulder to shoulder to treat a child with a deep, racking cough.

Aware of his steady manner as they disinfected and stitched a nasty cut for the butcher.

And when Mrs. Fishbourne had arrived complaining that her rheumatism was acting up, she'd been amazed by his patient, quiet manner in reassuring her. Hattie had seen the older woman just about every other day since her papa had set up practice in Bear Creek, and found it hard to bear the long-winded Mrs. Fishbourne, whom she suspected was lonely and wanted conversation more than she actually experienced pain.

Now Corrine was the only person left in the waiting room.

Hattie escorted her friend to the examination room. “I'm afraid Papa is out of town, but Maxwell and I are handling the clinic until he returns.”

Corrine smiled warmly at Maxwell as she climbed onto the examination table. Hattie's statement didn't seem to surprise her one bit. Did her friend have an agenda in coming to the clinic?

“I'm sorry to hear about your papa, but glad that you're...
both
here. Wasn't the poetry reading last night divine?”

“Browning is all right,” agreed Maxwell as he remained near the counter at the far wall.

Hattie tried to see him through the other girl's eyes, his lanky, tall bearing, his quiet manner. Strong hands.

He wasn't bad to look at.

And he seemed a bit more at ease with Corrine this morning, at least offering the one comment on the poet. Part of Hattie didn't particularly like the idea of Corrine chasing the cowboy.

“What seems to be the problem?” Hattie asked the other girl briskly.

“I've been experiencing a headache for the past few days. It hasn't gotten any better.”

Hattie narrowed her eyes at her friend. Corrine hadn't mentioned anything when they'd chatted last night at the poetry reading. Was this another ploy to get Maxwell's attention, like Annabelle's “injured” ankle had been?

“Is there anything specific you've noticed that has brought on the headaches? Being out in the sunlight? Working on a certain project? Attempting to see long distances?”

Hattie watched her friend's face as she considered Maxwell's questions. When Corrine's eyes darted to one side, Hattie was sure she wasn't telling the full truth. “Not that I've noticed. But it has been persistent over several days.”

Maxwell moved closer to Corrine and examined her eyes, asking her to follow his finger back and forth several times. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “Not feverish.” Took her pulse.

He glanced back at Hattie once, brows furrowed. Had his mind followed the path hers had taken? Was he wondering if the girl's complaint was genuine?

Hattie shrugged and ticked her head toward the door, asking him silently to exit the room.

“Excuse me a moment.” He quickly backed out into the hall.

Hattie asked what Papa would've. “When was your last woman's time?”

The other girl flushed slightly, eyes averted. “I don't see how that's relevant.”

“Sometimes that can cause headaches, or if there's a chance you might be carrying a child, that could be a cause, as well—”

“Hattie!” Corrine cried, with a quick glance at the door Maxwell had departed from. “How could you even ask such a thing?”

Hattie crossed her arms over her middle. “It's a valid question. Papa would've asked.”

“Nothing like that,” the other girl muttered, with another glance at the doorway. Then her eyes seemed to swing around the room and stop on the small pitcher holding the wildflowers Maxwell had brought Hattie this morning.

When Corrine glanced back at Hattie, it was with raised brows, but before she could say anything, Maxwell pushed back inside. “Everything all right, ladies?”

“Hmm, yes,” said Corrine, still with eyes narrowed at Hattie. “Can you give me something to ease the pain or not?”

Maxwell took three small envelopes from the corner cabinet, a simple powdered form of pain relief. “This should help for now. If the headaches continue or get worse, you should consult Doc Powell when he returns.”

He went over the instructions for mixing the powder with her.

“Will you be at the next poetry reading?” Corrine asked, looking up at Maxwell from beneath long eyelashes.

Hattie felt slightly ill. She was gratified—and she probably shouldn't have been—when Maxwell glanced at her briefly. “Perhaps.”

Hattie waited near the door for her friend to join her. Corrine's eyes flicked back to the pitcher and flowers before joining Hattie and sweeping from the room.

In the hallway, Corrine gripped Hattie's arm almost painfully. “Is there something going on between you two?” she whispered.

Hattie glanced behind to ensure Maxwell hadn't followed them out the exam room door. “Absolutely not.”

“Then do you have another suitor?” the other girl continued.

Hattie wasn't close enough with Corrine for the question to be appropriate—it was entirely too nosy, but Hattie gave a tight-lipped “No” in response anyway.

“Then what—” Her friend seemed to think better of continuing her questioning, but her narrowed eyes on Hattie made her feel as if Corrine could see through her feeble defenses.

“If you aren't interested in Maxwell, why don't you tell him so and give the rest of us a fighting chance?”

Heat rose in Hattie's cheeks. Her friend had it all wrong. She and Maxwell weren't even
friends.
They were only working together.

“If you aren't smart enough to snatch up a man like that...” Corrine let the words trail off and then flounced through the hall and out of the clinic, closing the door behind her.

“We're working together, and that's all,” Hattie repeated softly to herself after her friend had gone.

She lingered in the hallway longer than she probably should've, trying to get her rioting thoughts and heartbeat under control.

Friendship was all that could ever be between them. She had plans, goals, a future mapped out for herself.

Even if a tiny part of her registered disappointment way down deep in her gut.

* * *

Maxwell suspected that something had passed between Hattie and her friend. Hattie had been close-lipped when she'd returned from escorting the other girl out of the clinic, but before he'd decided whether or not to ask about it, the afternoon had gotten away from them.

One of the last patients to come in was the man who had been shot on the first day Maxwell had arrived back in town. He looked hale and hearty, if a little pale. He was standing on his own two feet, though, so that was a good sign. The woman Maxwell recognized from that day came in right behind him.

Hattie greeted them both with a smile from behind the desk in the front corner. “Mr. Spencer. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The man scowled at the woman beside him.

“He isn't,” she said. “He's in a lot of pain. We're hoping to see the doctor.”

“I'm sorry.” Hattie's brows drew together in concern.

Maxwell took a step closer as she continued.

“There's been an outbreak of cholera nearby, and Papa went to help the doctor over in Pear Grove. He won't be back for several days, at least. This is Mr. White, a medical student home for the summer. He and I are watching over Papa's patients. Would you mind if we examined you?”

The man shot a disgruntled look at his wife. “The doc ain't even here.”

Maxwell cleared his throat, hoping he wasn't stepping on Hattie's toes, but he couldn't remain silent. “If there are still internal injuries present, they could become life-threatening if they aren't treated.”

Now the man's assessing eyes rested on him, as if taking Maxwell's measure. Finally, Spencer relented, nodding once.

Hattie ushered him into the examination room, asking him to unbutton his shirt and lie back flat on the table.

“I don't like it,” Hattie said in a low voice moments later as they conferred in the hallway while the man and his wife remained in the examination room. “He's too tender. And did you hear him groan—he tried to stifle it—when he was lying down on the table?”

“You'd probably be tender, too, if you'd had a surgery like that,” Maxwell reminded her. He'd only seen the crisscross of healing scars on the man's side—Hattie had been there with Doc Powell in that surgery and seen the man's inner workings—but surely it would take a good long time to heal that much damage.

“Did his skin feel warm to you? Too hot. I think he might have internal bleeding.”

Maxwell wished there was a way to be sure. “There was no discoloration, though. No swelling.”

“There doesn't have to be. If the blood swells so much that it mottles the skin, many times it's too late to save the patient—he could bleed to death.”

Her emphatic words were underscored by the passion in her expression. It was obvious she had the patient's best interests at heart. They stood so close in the hallway that Maxwell felt the brush of her breath against his chin.