Authors: Jillian Hart
Now it was her turn to hesitate. Their murmured conversation was nearing dangerous territory. “Someday. Perhaps.”
If she ever met a man who could appreciate her ambitions. And if that man was content to help raise their family so she could practice medicine. Both of those scenarios seemed unlikely.
For a brief second, she allowed her gaze to slide to the steady, broad hands of the man working beside her. His quick support tonight was in direct contrast to his manner earlier in the dayâbecause he felt guilty for not supporting her or because of the urgent need to save the man beneath their hands?
If Maxwell respected her...was there any chance the handsome cowboy could be her match?
A sudden welling of blood from the wound ended their conversation for the moment. Hattie blinked aside the turmoil of her rushing thoughts, forcing herself only to focus on the patient. If she could save this man, how could her father refuse to let her attend medical school?
Chapter Seven
I
t was well into the wee hours of the night when Hattie closed up Mr. Spencer.
Maxwell watched her put in the last stitches and then drop the needle on the smaller table beside them. She flexed both hands, still covered in blood, and he saw her begin to tremble.
She'd held up amazingly. Been stoic. Calm. Until now.
He was no more comfortable than his pa or brothers with a woman's sensitive emotions, but he went to her without thinking, taking her in his arms. She tucked her head beneath his chin, and she just...fit.
He closed his eyes tightly, aware of the tickle of her hair at his collar, the womanly scent of her even beneath the antiseptic smells that surrounded them. Holding her just felt right.
It was also a reminder that she wasn't really his.
No woman will love you
came that insidious voice from his past. Hattie was everything he would never have.
Her entire body shook, and he pushed away his own turmoil. Was her medical condition affecting her, or, after performing the surgery, were her nerves simply wearing thin at this point?
“Are you all right?” he asked, the words muffled in the crown of her hair. She hadn't rested once since they'd begun the operation.
“Just exhausted.” Her mumbled words were hot on his chest through his shirt.
Above her head, he could see that, while Spencer remained pale, the man's breathing had eased.
“You did it.” He meant to say the words into her ear, but when he tilted his head down, the scruff on his chin caught in her hair, and he had to raise his hand to brush it away.
She slipped out of his hold, and he ached with wanting her back in his arms. He fisted his hands at his sides.
“We did it,” she said, turning her back to him and going to the sink. “I don't know how you always knew what I needed, but you did. Whether it was a cotton swab or you asking questions to keep me from being terror-stricken.”
He'd never sensed that she'd been close. She'd seemed as calm and unruffled as he imagined her pa would've been.
“We make a good team.” He dared to say the words, dared to hope that, after this, they wouldn't have to return to the cool politeness they'd shared in the clinic before.
She looked over her shoulder, and their eyes met and held. She nodded slightly, and he experienced a moment of joy. Oh, she would likely never be attracted to him as he was to her, but if they could be
friends,
what more could he ask?
He piled the soiled cloths and linens they'd used near the back counter, then changed places with her at the sink to wash his own hands. When he was done, she stood at the patient's side, lifting the man's eyelids.
“Time will tell,” she said softly. “If he makes it through the night...”
“He will.”
She was still shaking. She had to be tired, after they had worked in the clinic all dayâit wouldn't be long until dawn.
“I can stay with him while you get a few hours' rest,” Maxwell told her.
He received the protest he'd expected. “I should stay.” But her words were more a sigh than anything else.
“I'll come get you if there's any change,” he promised. He took her elbow and gently ushered her to the front room, where Sam was sleeping upright in a chair, head back against the wall, snoring.
He shook his friend awake and urged Sam to escort her home and then get some sleep himself, then Maxwell returned to keep vigil over the still-anesthetized man. Sitting on the cot in the corner of the room, he rubbed a hand through his hair.
Had holding Hattie been a mistake? She'd felt so right in his arms...but he couldn't expect anything from her.
How often had his birth mother told him he'd never have someone? He hadn't wanted to believe her, but when the first girl he'd tried to court at college had rejected him and then Elizabeth had broken things off, it had seemed to prove the woman right. He couldn't trust his emotions, his desire to be close to Hattie. Couldn't stand it if he got closer to her and she broke his heart, too.
* * *
Hattie woke to bright sunlightâmarking the time as much later than she'd asked her mama to wake her in the note she'd left downstairs. When Hattie had been called out of the house at suppertime, Mama hadn't had time to make a protest, but Hattie hadn't wanted her to worry.
But neither did she want Maxwell to be stuck with a clinic full of patients by himself.
She hurriedly donned one of the dresses she reserved for working in the clinic and met Mama in the kitchen, where she found her pounding on bread dough.
“Why didn't you wake me? It's late.” Hattie went to the bread basket, then the cold case, and began assembling ingredients for a thick sandwich that she could eat on her way to the clinic.
“I thought you needed your rest, dear. You didn't come in until late. Very late.” Mama didn't even look up from her work. Maybe on purpose.
“I'm not an invalid, Mama. I know my limits.”
Mama only hummed while pressing the heel of her hand into the dough before her.
“I do,” Hattie mumbled as she broke off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. She was ravenous.
Why couldn't Mama see past Hattie's disease? That Hattie was capable of not only helping in the clinic but being a physician herself? It wasn't as if the condition prevented her from having an active life. She just had to be careful.
Hattie blinked away the familiar train of thought. She and Mama hadn't seen eye to eye for years, and it was up to Hattie to bring Papa to her sideâso he could help convince Mama.
“Did Maxwell send over a note or anything this morning?” she asked.
“No, dear.”
Would Maxwell have eaten anything? She couldn't know, and she was much later getting to the clinic than she'd wanted to be. Perhaps Emily had sent over something for him, but it wouldn't hurt to make a kind gesture, not after his help with Mr. Spencer.
Hattie started a second sandwich for him, setting out a large cloth napkin to wrap it in.
Maxwell had been proud of her accomplishments last night. He'd understood that her fatigue hadn't prevented her from doing what was needed.
“There was some apple pie left from supper last night,” Mama said. “Since you missed it. Perhaps your Maxwell would like a slice, if you're taking him a sandwich, as well.”
Hattie let the comment about her skipping dessert slide. “He's not âmy' anything, Mama.”
“Maybe not yet. But that's a good idea, bringing him food. Men think with their stomachs sometimes. It won't hurt for him to see you have a feminine side, as well.”
Hattie barely resisted the urge to express her annoyance at her mother's assumptions. It wasn't as if she strutted around the clinic in men's clothing or acted inappropriately. Nursing was not an uncommon vocation for a woman.
For now, she wouldn't protest her mama's misconceptions. Hattie wouldn't risk Mama pulling her away from helping at the practice while Papa was gone, not when Bear Creek needed her. And not when this could be her chance to prove herself to Papa.
She slipped out of the kitchen moments later, unable to bear more of her mama's overprotective mothering. Would Mama's disappointment be worse after Hattie left for medical school? Providing she could win Papa to her side...
Determined to focus on last night's success, rather than her slightly frustrating morning, she put on a smile for Maxwell as she climbed the steps to the clinic, finding he hadn't left the office-closed sign on the door as she'd expected. Inside, the waiting room was dim and empty, but she could hear his voice coming from somewhere in the back.
Had their patient wakened?
She tightened her hold on the basket of food she'd brought from home and slipped back into the hallway. The exam room door was partially open, and as she passed she heard Maxwell speaking to someone inside.
She left his food in the supply room and slipped into the operating room. Mr. Spencer remained on the table. She put the back of her hand against his forehead, where he felt slightly warm to her touch. But that was to be expected. A slight fever would burn off any infection that had managed to remain in the open wound during the surgery.
Behind her, footsteps sounded. She looked over her shoulder to see Maxwell poke his head inside. “Thought I heard you come in. What's that basket in the other room? Did you bring me breakfast? I thought I smelled something good.”
The moment hung between them. They both knew that everything had changed last night when they'd worked together so closelyâsaved a man's life together.
“I did. You brought me flowers,” she explained. She smiled, and perhaps it was a bit tremulous, but the warmth in his eyes eclipsed her trembling.
He looked exhausted, with shadows beneath his eyes, but when he joined her in the room, he radiated positive energy. Handsome, tall, a pillar of solid strength. He'd gone from rival to friend. She never would've been able to accomplish the surgery last night without him.
“He woke earlier for a bit,” Maxwell said. “He was coherent and said the pain had abated some.”
“I almost can't believe we did it.”
“You were amazing.” His quiet words thrilled her. Maxwell believed in her. Why couldn't Papa?
“How come you aren't a doctorâor attending medical schoolâyourself?”
His words stunned her. How could he have guessed her most closely held dream? And then she realized he didn't know; he was waiting expectantly for an answer. If she told him, would he say something to Papa, get in the way of her plans?
“Doc?” an urgent voice said from the front room, saving her from answering.
She and Maxwell moved together through the hallway to find a man supporting his teenage son. The teen was white-faced and clutching his stomach.
“Bring him back this way.” Hattie ushered the man into the exam room, where Maxwell helped settle him on the table.
Hattie hurriedly tied on an apron.
“I'm afraid the doctor isn't here. What's wrong?” Maxwell asked as the teen groaned, attempting to curl into himself.
“He started complaining of a stomachache this morning. I thought maybe it was something he ateâor he was trying to get out of his chores. You know how kids do.”
“And it's gotten worse?” Hattie moved to press gently on the boy's abdomen. As she did, he leaned forward and vomited, splattering the floor and the bottom of her apron. The vomit was speckled with blood.
Hattie and Maxwell shared a concerned look.
The father stammered, “I'm sorryâreal sorry.”
“Don't worry. It'll clean.” Hattie tried to reassure him. “Are you sure the pains didn't start in the night?” she asked the boy. “Or last night, even?”
He shook his head, sweat breaking out on his brow. She touched his face and he was burning up. “Just this morning.”
“Did you eat anything unusual? Anything that might've been spoiled? Anything from the woods or outdoors?”
The teen shook his head, looking even more pallid than a moment before.
“All right. Lie back down.” She ticked her head to the side, a silent gesture to Maxwell that she wanted to speak to him in the hall. “I'm going to fetch a basin and talk to Mr. White for a moment.”
Maxwell followed her into the supply room, where she rustled around beneath the cabinet for the basin usually kept there.
“I'm worried,” she said. “A simple virus or something he'd eaten shouldn't have had such a fast onset or be showing so violently. And he was burning upâa high fever.”
She found the basin tucked in the very back of the cabinet and pulled it out. She hesitated momentarily, sitting on her heels before gathering the courage to turn to Maxwell. What if he discounted her opinion again, as he'd done with Mr. Spencer?
He reached out one hand to take the basin and the other to help her to her feet. “Are you thinking it's possible the cholera has spread from Pear Grove to Bear Creek?”
“It's certainly possible. But is it probable?” she asked herself.
“The boy could be an isolated case. Or something else entirely.”
She glanced at Maxwell as she rinsed the basin quickly. He only seemed to be working through his thoughts aloud, not questioning her. “It certainly wouldn't be prudent to start a panic in town if it
isn't
cholera.”
“Should we try telephoning your pa?”
“Perhaps. What if we kept the boy here for observation for a bit first, see if there is any improvement on his own?”
Maxwell nodded, accepting her suggestion. “I'll go tell the boy's pa.”
By later that afternoon, Hattie's suspicions had become reality. They'd received four more patients with symptoms of violent stomach pain, including Annabelle and a small boy, Bobby, Walt's friend from the church picnic. Hattie was especially concerned about the boy, since he was so young.
“We've used up all the cots,” she murmured to Maxwell as they passed each other in the hallway. She had an armful of soiled linens to take to the storeroom, while he carried a pitcher of water.
“I want to send Sam to ride for my brothers. There's enough of them to start spreading the word in town and the surrounding areas to boil all water and cook all food before it's consumed and how to best help anybody else who comes down with this. Like you said, we're already running out of room for more patients.”
“It's a good idea.” She fought back a yawn. After their late night and now an influx of severely ill patients, her energy was flagging.
Maxwell had gotten even less sleep than she had, but only concern showed in his expression as he looked down at her. “Should you rest for a while? You were on your feet for hours last night.”
He touched her arm lightly, reassuring, supporting her.
“I'll be all right.” She would have to be. Her nervous condition had been quiet for months, even though she'd had to take precautions on the day Maxwell came to dinner. And if Bear Creek was experiencing cases of cholera, she would be needed.