Love Inspired Historical December 2013 Bundle: Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides\The Wife Campaign\A Hero for Christmas\Return of the Cowboy Doctor (79 page)

His fingers itched for his poetry journal, which was currently stowed in his saddlebags back at the clinic. He would love to capture a verse about how she looked just at this very moment. With all that had been going on, with the doctor being gone and then this outbreak of cholera, he'd barely had time to think about his poetry or the journal. Until now.

He was a little afraid his feelings for her were growing beyond friendship.

And after both women he'd cared for had deserted him before he'd even made it to medical school, he knew that it wasn't entirely realistic for Hattie to return his feelings. He needed to find a way to protect his heart, to stifle his admiration from growing into something it shouldn't.

She hummed softly and shifted. Before he could look away, her eyes fluttered open, and he was caught by the welcome in the blue depths, warmer than he'd ever seen before.

She blinked and he quickly turned away, hands shaking, to ladle some of the prepared water into a sterilized Mason jar.

“Good—” He had to clear his throat when his voice threatened to crack like Seb's. “Good morning,” he offered quietly.

Behind him, he heard soft movements, blankets stirring and Hattie's soft “Morning.”

He dared a look over his shoulder to see her sitting up in the cot, attempting to twist her hair back into place. She had several pins pinched between her lips.

The near darkness and their hushed voices gave the moment a peculiar intimacy—what it might be like to be married to Hattie, readying for their day.

And again, the look in her eyes—soft, warm...

He turned back to the table, squeezing his eyes closed, trying to erase the image from his vision, but instead searing it into his memory. Whether she felt the link between them or not, he had to find a way to get his rioting imagination in check. They were working together. Saving patients' lives. That was it. He couldn't expect more.

He cleared his throat again. He hoped she would think his voice was rusty from whispering to the patients all night and not attribute it to the real cause—how she unsettled him. “How are you feeling?”

The soft swish of fabric and movement at his elbow was his only warning of her presence as she joined him before the table. “Better.”

She extended her hands, and he saw the tremors were gone. She seemed steady on her feet, but he carefully kept his eyes from straying to her face, half afraid her bright-eyed gaze would unman him further.

“Steady enough to perform surgery.”

He sensed more than saw her smile. “One of us should check on Mr. Spencer this morning.”

“Your ma was here a little bit ago. She said his wife got help and moved him home. Your ma didn't know for sure but thought he was awake and talking.”

Her hands gripped the table. “Did you tell her—about last night? About my nerves?” The tremor in her voice betrayed what she wanted the answer to be.

“Didn't see any reason to. She only asked if you were getting rest, and since you were asleep, I told her you were.”

“Thank you...” she breathed. “Sometimes it seems she doesn't see me as an adult yet—capable of knowing my own limitations. I'd rather not have to fight with her to stay and help today. Not with so many who need us...”

He scratched the back of his neck, knowing he needed to put some distance between them. “If you don't mind, I'll check on Mr. Spencer and then bunk down at the clinic for a bit. I'll be back by lunchtime.”

She made a noise in the affirmative and turned to look over the room full of patients. “Is there anything I should know about?”

He shook his head. “Two more people arrived real early, about the same condition as the others. No one seems particularly worse, or better for that matter. I think we're in for a siege.”

When she only nodded, mind obviously on what tasks she would start with, he headed for the door. Her soft words stopped him.

“I'm sorry you had to take the burden of work last night. It...it wasn't fair to you. My condition is worse when I overextend myself, and the last couple of days...”

He fought and won against the urge to go to her. Better to hold himself distant than risk getting hurt one more time.

“I should've told you sooner, made a better effort to rest. I won't let it happen again.”

Her chin tipped up in the way he was coming to recognize, and he plopped his Stetson on his head, hoping it would shield the grin he couldn't suppress. He couldn't
not
encourage her. “Hattie, you're something. That's all I got to say.”

Chapter Nine

“H
ere's some milk that Mrs. Fishbourne just dropped off.” Hattie passed the full jug to Maxwell, who nodded and took it from her, not giving her a verbal reply as he turned to take it to the table along the back wall.

His reserved manner unnerved her. Ever since he'd returned from his rest around lunchtime, he'd seemed quieter, more hesitant around her, although he'd worked hard all afternoon with hydrating the patients and changing linens.

Oh, he was as professional as he'd ever been, but the easy, more conversational manner he'd shown, the warm smiles he'd shared with her last night had disappeared.

He was putting distance between them. After the emotional moments yesterday following Bobby's small improvement and his understanding of her condition, she'd expected something different.

Could his manner be attributed to the exhaustion and strain they were both under? Or had she done something this morning to offend him? Could it be because she hadn't wanted her mama to know that she'd had to ask for help?

Her parents believed her condition meant she shouldn't be a doctor. Did Maxwell now think the same way?

* * *

Evening was falling and Maxwell stood outside the church, leaning back against the building with his hands pressed over his eyes.

He'd woken from a few hours of broken sleep more convinced than ever that he should pull back from Hattie. But keeping his distance from her all afternoon hadn't been easy, and seeing the confusion in her eyes as the afternoon wore on made him feel like a heel.

Wasn't it better to hold himself back, to keep what had happened with both of the girls he'd cared about in Denver from happening again? He'd thought his feelings for them had been reciprocated, but both women had found him lacking. With Elizabeth, it had hurt even more because he'd believed he had loved her enough to want marriage. But when they'd spoken of future plans and Maxwell had revealed he wanted to move back to Bear Creek or a similar small town, she had quickly broken things off.

He knew the need for doctors in small towns. Before Doc Powell's arrival, Bear Creek had been without a doctor for several years after the previous doc had retired. Maxwell had seen folks suffering firsthand without proper medical care.

He'd thought if Elizabeth really loved him, she would be willing to go with him, even to a small town. But she hadn't loved him enough. Just as his birth ma had told him over and over again. With his record of women leaving him, how could he doubt it was true?

He knew better than to think that Hattie could develop true feelings for him. So wasn't it better to guard his heart and keep from feeling the awful things he had when Elizabeth had left him?

What if the things he felt for Hattie, what she was willing to share with him, weren't real anyway, just emotions forced by their proximity?

The sound of a wagon creaking and a horse's soft blow brought him upright and out of his morose thoughts. Was someone bringing another patient?

But it was a familiar pair on the seat of the wagon. Jonas and Penny.

“Ma? Pa? What're you doing here? Is it one of the kids?” Maxwell's heart pounded, his thoughts immediately going to Ida and Walt. He pushed off the wall and bolted forward, reaching out for the wagon bed.

“No, no,” Penny reassured him. “We just came to check on you. And from the shadows under your eyes, it's a good thing we did.”

“Didn't Sam deliver my message for you to stay on the homestead? Stay safe?” His heart still thudded painfully, thinking of the danger his parents had put themselves in by coming to town. What if they came in contact with the cholera and got sick themselves?

“Of course he delivered it, but you know your ma....” Jonas said. It was clear from his voice he didn't fully agree with her decision to come to town. He set the brake on the wagon and climbed down while Maxwell went to Penny's side and raised his arms.

“I was afraid she'd try to hitch the horses herself if I didn't bring her to see you.”

Penny wrinkled her nose at her husband's words—they were obviously only half in jest. Once on her feet, she reached up and smoothed Maxwell's hair from his forehead. He'd left his Stetson inside the church and had forgotten to grab it before he'd come outdoors. He wished he had the slight protection it might offer in keeping Penny from reading his eyes—she always seemed to know when he was most discouraged.

“How are things?” she asked.

Jonas rounded the wagon and came close to clap Maxwell on the shoulder.

At his parents' show of support, Maxwell felt the emotions he'd been suppressing for the past days expand in his chest. He shook his head, unable to express the despair he'd felt when the one patient had slipped away from him and Hattie, or the exhaustion that seemed a part of his marrow from days and nights of working.

Somehow, they knew. Both put their arms around him, supporting him. Loving him.

It was their love that had given him courage to go to college and further to medical school, and it was that same love that held him up now.

Finally, after a few moments, he was able to clear his throat of emotion and speak. “Hattie—Miss Powell and I are both tired, working day and night. We've been blessed that we've only lost one patient. Cholera is an awful thing.”

“I'm real proud of you, son,” Jonas said, hugging his shoulders before stepping back.

Penny still stood close, her arm wrapped around his waist and his around her back, her burgeoning belly between them.

“We brought some fresh milk. Heard that was helping some folks,” Jonas said, moving to the back of the wagon, where a large container had been wedged in.

A small bark came from the back of the wagon and a white fur ball jumped to the ground.

“And a stowaway,” Penny said.

Breanna's white dog lunged up and put its paws on Maxwell's knees, wiggling its whole body along with its tail in happy abandon. Maxwell couldn't suppress a chuckle.

“Breanna was worried about you being lonely. Walt and Ida overheard her, and the three of them cooked up the idea to send the pup along. If we need to take him home, we will, but the kids wanted you to see him.”

Maxwell knelt for a moment, scratching the fur on the dog's ruff. “He'll be a welcome distraction for those who start to come out of it. It shouldn't be long for some of the folks.”

With one final pat, Maxwell straightened and the dog moved to sniff his boots.

Maxwell directed Jonas inside, to where he could leave the milk. He could still feel Penny's gaze on him. And his pa was getting to be more perceptive; no doubt he'd sensed his wife had something to say to Maxwell.

“I was out in the bunkhouse, straightening up a bit—and missing you,” Penny admitted as the door to the church building closed behind Jonas. “And this fell out from beneath your bunk.” She held out a familiar small leather-covered book. His poetry journal.

He took it from her and tucked it in his breast pocket. “I thought I'd stowed it in my saddlebags.” Had she looked into his most personal thoughts?

“I didn't read it,” she said, seeming to understand his concern. “Once I saw what it was, I closed it up. But I thought perhaps you might not want your brothers to get ahold of it, either.”

“Thanks.” Relief sluiced through him. He trusted his ma more than anyone else—except maybe his pa—but these were his most personal thoughts and dreams, on paper. His ma's perceptiveness reminded him that she could be trusted. Her next words were still a surprise, though.

“I was wondering if...” She sighed. “At the risk of becoming as nosy as your brothers, I'll just ask. Has there been any resolution with Hattie? I know you were trying to befriend her....”

Maxwell leaned back against the wagon wheel, hand going to the back of his neck. “It's...complicated.”

“Why?” His ma touched his arm gently.

“We've gotten...closer, I guess you'd say. Don't know how we couldn't, working together like we have been.”

She nodded.

He swallowed. Considered what he should say, if anything. Must've considered a little too long, because she spoke again.

“Do your ‘complications' have anything to do with the young lady you wrote about in your letters home and then suddenly stopped mentioning?”

She seemed to know what he couldn't say about Elizabeth. He looked off into the distance, squinting, because it was hard to meet her eyes, even knowing she wanted the best for him.

She squeezed his arm as the silence lengthened, as he couldn't tell her that Elizabeth hadn't really wanted him. And neither had his birth ma. She'd told him often enough.

“You can't be afraid to offer your heart,” she said softly. “Whether that means friendship or something more. I think your father would tell you the same thing. I seem to remember a story about several of you boys convincing him to come after me when he was fearful of being vulnerable.”

“Yes, but...” It hurt to be rejected.

Even though he was now thinking that maybe Elizabeth hadn't been right for him from the start. Not like Hattie could be. Maybe.

“Even if it isn't Miss Powell, there is someone out there for you. I believe it.”

He was a little afraid he was already too attached to Hattie—he wanted her to be the woman for him.

“That's all I'll say for now,” she whispered, putting her arms around his neck in one last hug.

Jonas stomped down the steps in front of the church, giving them ample warning he was on his way back.

“We know you're busy. We'll get outta your way, now that your ma's reassured you're alive and well. Take care of yourself,” his pa said, clapping him on the shoulder once again. “And that gal in there.”

Penny met Maxwell's eyes in a pointed gaze. “We love you.”

She allowed Maxwell to help her back into the wagon, and then his parents were off.

He stood for a long moment after the wagon had gone, Penny's advice warring with everything his birth ma had said until he was thirteen years old.

Who was right? His birth ma had also said he'd never amount to anything, but because of Penny's pushing, he'd gotten into college—even graduated. He was still proving that he could be someone, could finish school and be a doctor. His family believed in him, even if he wasn't always sure himself.

But his ma had often told him that he was worthless, that he would never find a woman to love him.

She certainly hadn't loved him.

And neither had Elizabeth.

Could he trust in Penny's blind belief that there was a woman made for him? Was it possible that Hattie could develop feelings for him?

Could he risk opening his heart further...?

* * *

Dark had fallen and Hattie was supposed to be trying to sleep, but even though she was tucked into a cot at the back of the church sanctuary, she couldn't quiet her restless thoughts.

Two days had passed with minimal improvement in their patients—but at least no one else had died.

Being forced to work closely with Maxwell for the past several days had caused her to see him in an entirely new light. Would she have ever seen the real man behind the medical student if not for being forced into this situation with him? She doubted it.

She'd heard him whispering prayers over the patients when he thought no one was close enough to hear. He endured when her patience would've been tried, took time to ensure each person got the treatment they needed. Hiding behind his reserved manner was an intelligent and competent man.

It worried her a little. In her plans for medical school, she'd wanted to return to work with her father, but Maxwell was already more than halfway through his education. What if her father saw the potential in him and then had no room for her in his practice...if she could even convince him to allow her to go to medical school?

But she found she couldn't even begrudge Maxwell that. He wasn't her rival—not any longer. Working together so closely had changed her perspective on him. She could easily count him as a friend now.

Her eyes flicked over the silent, sleeping patients to where her surprising colleague sat at a chair pulled up to the table, partway across the room. Probably taking a well-deserved break. At his feet was the small white dog that she'd seen at the picnic; it had appeared at his side after his parents' visit. His dark head was bent over the desk, and his hand moved rapidly across a...journal? Yes, she could just hear the
scritch-scratch
of his pencil over the page.

He stopped writing, raising his pencil to gnaw on the end of it, brow scrunched in concentration.

His deep absorption in what he was doing allowed her to study him freely.

Her changing feelings wouldn't allow her to ignore him as a man any longer.

She'd recognized his strength and his height before but never looked beyond to make a study of his features. She considered his strong brow and the elegant line of his nose. She couldn't see his green eyes from this angle, but she couldn't forget his intensity when the patient had died or the tears she'd glimpsed when young Bobby had spoken.

He bent over his book again and the muscles of his shoulders bunched and stretched beneath the material of his shirt. He was a fine specimen indeed.

He glanced furtively at her, then back at his sketchbook. Then he froze.

Slowly, his head turned slightly and their eyes met. Surprise registered on his face. Had he just realized she was awake?

Color rushed into his face, and her curiosity went from mild to full-on. She sat up, heart drumming against her rib cage.

“Are you sketching me?” she demanded.

He shook his head slightly but that dark stain remained in his cheeks, belying his denial.

A hank of hair fell into her eyes but she shoved it aside, reaching out one hand toward him. “Let me see.”