Love Inspired Historical December 2013 Bundle: Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides\The Wife Campaign\A Hero for Christmas\Return of the Cowboy Doctor (84 page)

He took a step in that direction. The movement carried him far enough to see Hattie in her wheeled chair, half-hidden around the corner.

Still hiding from him. Why?

He started to go to her, until she looked up at him and he froze. She was pale, a bit more than usual, but roses bloomed in her cheeks. She didn't smile at him.

“Hello, Maxwell.”

His senses went on high alert while his fingers curled into the brim of his hat. He'd meant to leave it in the front hall, but in his nervousness he'd forgotten and carried it with him.

“Evening. Can I help you into...?” He motioned to the parlor behind them.

She shook her head, pushing the wheels to move herself forward, maneuvering into the room with seeming ease. Except that, from slightly behind her, he saw her hands shaking between pushes.

Was she nervous that seeing her in the chair again would somehow change what he felt for her? She should know better, but based on his limited experience, he knew women weren't always rational. Maybe she just needed to be reassured of his feelings, that he didn't think less of her for having to overcome the obstacles she did. In fact, he thought more of her.

When she would've stopped her chair near the fireplace, away from any of the seating in the room, he gave the conveyance a gentle push and settled it right in front of the sofa, then took a seat so their knees nearly touched.

“Hope you don't mind.”

He didn't think he could do this—share his feelings—if she was too far away. As it was, his heart was pounding, even as his pulse accelerated.

The pink in her cheeks intensified. He hooked his hat over one knee and clasped his hands loosely between his legs, leaning forward slightly on his elbows, bringing them even closer.

How to start? He couldn't just blurt out his feelings. Sam hadn't given him advice on how to do this with finesse. Now that he was here, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of messing everything up.

“I missed you at the clinic the last two days,” he said, hoping that his words were enough to open the conversation, to ease the awkwardness building between them.

“I'm afraid I wouldn't inspire confidence in most of our patients at present.” Her words seemed self-deprecating, and she raised her hands out of her lap. They trembled badly, the same way they had in the church the night she'd asked him for help.

He did what came naturally and reached out and took her hands, still leaning forward, and rested their clasped hands loosely between them.

“It doesn't bother me.” He gazed straight into her face, hoping to show her his confidence. She looked down, hiding her eyes. She didn't move away, but neither did she return his handclasp or link their fingers together.

His nervousness increased. Something felt wrong between them. If it was about her condition, he wanted the record straight. How to best convince her?

“Hattie...” He swallowed nervously. “This condition doesn't define you. It is a part of you, but it isn't who you are. You're someone that I've...come to care about—”

Her eyes dropped, and she slid her hands from his. She was pulling away.

His pulse pounded in his ears and suddenly his head felt stuffed with cotton gauze.

“Maxwell—before you say anything more...” Her eyes still didn't come up to meet his, and his stomach swooped low.

“I've been thinking, and...well, I think we've let things between us get too far, too fast.” She breathed in and finally met his eyes, and there was none of the warmth there that he'd seen before, during those late nights in the clinic or at his pa's ranch.

He felt frozen, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Her words registered, but he couldn't think. Was it because he'd kissed her? Had he gone too far, even though at the time she'd seemed open to his attentions?

“If this is because of Sunday afternoon...”

She shook her head, her face still averted. “It isn't that.”

“Have I...have I done something else to offend you?” He thought quickly back to Monday and Tuesday, wondering if something had happened in the clinic. Had he been thoughtless and not even realized it?

She shook her head. “It's just, I have plans. For medical school and for the future, and I can't—”

She wrung her hands in her lap. He had the sense that this conversation was hurting her as much as it was him, but he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't figure out a way to fix things as they disintegrated around him.

“Do you want me to...do you want me to go?”

She didn't have time to answer as Doc Powell blustered into the room. “Hullo, Maxwell. The missus says supper is about on the table. You two had enough alone time?”

Not nearly enough. Part of him wanted to keep tossing questions at Hattie. Find out what he'd done to upset her.

And part of him knew why, or at least strongly suspected why.

His birth ma had been right, after all. No woman in her right mind would want him. Wasn't this the ultimate proof?

He'd shared more with Hattie than he had with anyone else. They had so much in common, both with dreams of practicing medicine. During those long nights of working together, he'd thought they'd forged a bond...and then spending time with her this past Sunday had cemented his feelings for her.

Before he could ask Hattie to stay for a moment, she was already following her pa from the room.

Should he head home and save himself from further humiliation by having to sit through supper with her parents?

But the doctor didn't give him a chance to excuse himself, ushering Maxwell to sit down after Hattie and Mrs. Powell had been seated. Doc chattered about the day's patients and his wife asked after Penny and Jonas and the new baby.

Neither seemed to note the awkwardness between Hattie and Maxwell.

His skin burned when their hands brushed passing a bowl of potatoes.

She bit her lip when her mother referred to the next poetry-club meeting, which had been rescheduled after the cholera had passed. Now he couldn't see himself attending.

He was dying to escape and go home to lick his wounds—although he would have to find somewhere without any brothers present first—but both of Hattie's parents were more chatty than usual. Could they really not feel the tension between him and Hattie? Were they that unaware of their daughter's feelings?

Was their self-absorption why they still didn't know she wanted to be a doctor? It hadn't taken him but a few days working with her to see how she cared about the patients, to get a grasp on her intelligence and capability.

He shouldn't think about it, about her dreams and wishes, anymore, but he couldn't help the thoughts from coming.

When he'd put away all he could stomach, he excused himself before dessert was served. He couldn't be here any longer and maintain the facade that everything was all right, not when he was dying inside.

He shook the doc's hand, waved his hat to Mrs. Powell and Hattie, and escaped.

Outside, he couldn't get in the saddle fast enough, almost immediately let the horse have its head. The night air chilled his face as the dark landscape rushed past them in a wild gallop, making him blink over and over again as it bit into his eyes. He refused to think the moisture could be any other bodily function, like tears.

He'd started to believe that Penny was right, not his birth ma.

He'd wanted to believe it. That someone like Hattie, someone strong and smart and courageous, could love him back.

He'd been wrong, apparently.

But if she'd been right that no one could love him, what if she was also right that he'd never amount to anything?

It hurt less to think about his future as a physician, wondering if he could really make it. He wanted it badly enough, but now...could he do it without the dream of Hattie by his side?

* * *

Hattie only wanted to be alone after Maxwell had taken his leave.

She wheeled her chair out onto the back veranda and sat for a long time, looking up at the sky. Wondering if she'd done the right thing.

She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but the increased reserve in his manner throughout dinner had made it clear that she had. By the time he'd left, he wouldn't—or couldn't—even look at her.

She'd made a mess of the whole thing.

What had she thought? That he would understand her fears when she couldn't even understand them herself? Couldn't express them?

Talking with Emily earlier in the week hadn't helped at all. The other woman was content to be a wife and mother, to be her husband's helpmate. She hadn't really understood Hattie's need to practice medicine, to have a career of her own.

Hattie couldn't stop wondering—what if she did marry Maxwell, if their courtship continued, and she lost her dreams? She'd wanted to be a doctor for so long! How could she give it up—how could she even
risk
giving it up now that she was on the cusp of achieving what she wanted?

Even though her parents still didn't know about the possible scholarship. She needed to talk to them, at least convince Papa she could do it. Time was running out before she had to leave for her scholarship interview. But she wanted a few more days to get out of the wheeled chair before she spoke to her parents. Mama would never agree if Hattie was relegated to the chair. Her nerves had been slightly better today, and if she could return to the clinic next week, then she was determined to speak to her father, to
make
him understand that she had to go.

She only hoped she would do better expressing herself than she had with Maxwell tonight.

Chapter Fourteen

W
orking with Hattie in the clinic had turned from a joy to the hardest thing Maxwell had ever had to do.

At least she was well enough to come back to work. That was something to be thankful for, even if it was difficult to be around her.

He was aware of her every movement, whether she conversed with patients in the outer vestibule or was at his side in the examination room, assisting him as the doctor looked on.

Those times were the worst. She was polite, professional. Distant.

Gone were the shared smiles, the understanding that had passed between them freely before he'd ruined things between them. Once, when he'd successfully stitched a young boy's nasty gash, he'd looked up, elated, only to see her turn away without meeting his eyes. His joy had turned to ash, and he'd had to take a moment outside, behind the clinic, to catch his breath before meeting the next patient.

He'd asked the doc to cut down his hours in the clinic, blaming it on the fact that his brother needed him to help finish the horses. It was true that Oscar wanted to attend a big sale in a couple weeks and wanted the horses broken first. But it was also an excuse.

Maxwell couldn't bear to be around Hattie with things so strained between them. He was angry at himself that he couldn't be satisfied with their friendship—he'd had to push for more and ruin everything. She'd said it wasn't his physical advances that had made her rethink their relationship, but what else could it have been?

He'd spent hours in the dark of night reliving those last few weekdays before she'd broken things off, trying to pinpoint anything else it could have possibly been, to no avail. He'd expressed everything he could to make her see that he didn't want to hinder her from becoming a doctor, even hinted that he'd like to work beside her. So it couldn't have been that—she had to know he supported her. No, it had to have been his kiss. Likely, he'd been too clumsy or too forward or too...something.

He didn't even know what he'd done wrong, and he was too humiliated and hurt to ask Oscar or Sam what it might've been.

Somehow his brothers, all of them, had figured out that things had gone badly between Maxwell and Hattie. They'd been tiptoeing around him for days, and he almost,
almost,
missed their teasing.

His ma had been distracted by the new baby and the adjustments in the household, and he hadn't told her yet that he and Hattie had parted ways. That was a conversation he'd avoid for as long as possible. He couldn't face his ma's indignation on his behalf, not when he was sure he'd done something to make Hattie push him away.

His pa hadn't said much, had only pressed his shoulder and said he was there if Maxwell wanted to talk. It was Jonas's way. He and Maxwell were a lot the same—they looked before they leaped, liked to think things through and make a logical decision. Held things close to their hearts.

Maxwell knew he could go to his pa if needed, or even to Oscar or Sam, but he was adrift, floating in hurt and disappointment until he barely knew which way was up.

It was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other every day. But he would get through it. He had to. He
would
get back to medical school, if not in the fall then in the spring, and he would graduate and become a doctor.

He would prove his birth ma wrong on that point, at least. He could make something of himself. He might never find the love he was looking for, but he could be a doctor. He must. It was the only thing he had left.

* * *

“I'm sorry I'm a little late—Mama wanted to send over some biscuits, and I had to wait.”

No one answered Hattie's call as she slipped through the clinic's back door, though she knew her father was already here, and Maxwell probably was, too.

Although she'd been running behind, it was still earlier than they usually accepted patients.

Except she heard voices in the examination room.

She left the biscuits on the storeroom counter and went into the hallway, pausing outside the cracked door to determine if she should enter or wait.

“Nice stitching here.” That was Papa's voice.

“It was all Hattie's doing.” And there was Maxwell's. But who and what were they talking about?

She peered through the crack in the door and saw Maxwell's broad-shouldered form next to the exam table, blocking her view of whomever was in the room with them.

“She was calm and did what needed doing—I just acted the nurse,” he went on.

Maxwell shifted slightly to the side, and she was able to see the head and shoulders of the patient laid out on the exam table—John Spencer. He must've come in to have his stitches removed. And her papa had complimented her work. But the words that repeated in her head were Maxwell's.
She did what needed doing.

She should move—the direction Maxwell had shifted meant he could see her through the slit in the door if he looked up. She didn't want to be caught eavesdropping, but neither could she make herself move from this position.

“I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that your daughter saved my life,” admitted the man on the table.

“She's competent” came Maxwell's voice again. “Probably has more experience than a lot of nurses—even some doctors.”

She couldn't really believe he was praising her to her father and in front of a patient, not after what had happened between them. He barely spoke to her anymore, only when needed. He was professional, never crossing into personal territory.

Had he guessed she hadn't gotten the courage to talk to Papa yet? Could he be...paving the way for her? She didn't know.

He looked up then, and their eyes met.

Instantly, she saw the deep hurt he'd been able to hide by not completely meeting her eyes since their talk. The connection between them flared to life. Her breath caught in her chest in a painful lump. She'd put that hurt in his eyes. Her fault.

And just as quickly, it was gone as he lowered his gaze and shifted slightly toward the patient on the table.

She knocked softly, pretending she hadn't been there and overheard.

“Papa? Do you need anything?” She pushed the door partially open and stuck her head inside. “Good morning,” she murmured in Maxwell's direction.

He only nodded silently.

“We're doing fine in here.” Papa's attention didn't waver from where he snipped the stiches in Spencer's side. “You might check the front room. It appeared a little disheveled last night before I left.”

She did, only to find that someone—probably Maxwell—had rearranged the chairs and swept out the room, things she'd left undone and meant to do first thing this morning.

Another sign of his consideration, even after she'd treated him poorly.

She slipped back down the hallway and out the rear door, sinking to her haunches on the small stoop, pressing her hands to both temples.

Why did the man have to be so courteous? So considerate? Still wanting the best for her, even after what had passed between them?

Movement from beside her startled her. A small, shaggy white head appeared and was quickly followed by a wiggling body and thwapping tail.

“Oh, hello,” she said to the dog, Maxwell's little friend. “Did you follow him to town today?”

She halfheartedly reached down to pet the animal, absently rubbing behind its ears. The dog seemed to sense her inner turmoil, because it sat beside her, raised one paw and planted it on Hattie's knee. She would have to remember to change her apron when she returned inside, but she welcomed the company for now.

It laid its head on her leg and looked up at her with mournful eyes.

They were on par with Maxwell's, as she'd seen moments ago. She realized it was the first time he'd looked her in the eye since Friday night—and he probably hadn't meant to do so this morning, wouldn't have done so if she hadn't been hiding behind the door.

Laying her hand on top of the dog's head, she closed her eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt Maxwell, only to protect herself. But now things were even more muddled, and she didn't know how to fix them.

And she found that she felt the hurt, too. When had she come to care so deeply for him? When he'd stood beside her as she performed surgery? Upon discovering there was more to him? Now her feelings ran deeper than she'd thought possible.

“Hattie?” A soft, feminine voice brought her head up.

“Emily.” Hattie stood, dislodging the dog, who went to the newcomer with its usual exuberance. “Maxwell's dog,” she explained when Emily looked at her questioningly.

“Hmm,” her friend said.

“What are you doing here?” Hattie asked, hoping to distract her friend from the mention of Maxwell.

“I'm helping my father in the shop this morning for a bit and thought I might stop by to talk to you, after we ended things so abruptly the other day at lunch.” She shooed the dog off and sat next to Hattie on the stoop. “You look about as well as Maxwell seems to be doing.”

“Is he...all right?”

“You know Maxwell. He's reserved. Hasn't said much, even to Sam.”

Hattie nodded, unsurprised. She stared over her knees at the ground.

“I wish you would've told me sooner that you had reservations about a relationship with Maxwell. I could've...I don't know.” Hattie's friend blew out a breath. “At least I wouldn't have gone on and on and sounded so silly....”

“I really like Maxwell.” She couldn't admit she loved him, not this moment.

Emily touched Hattie's sleeve. “Then I don't understand.”

Hattie drew in another deep breath.

“I don't understand, but I'll listen,” Emily prompted.

“I want to be a doctor.”

Emily nodded. Waited.

“And Maxwell wants a family.” It had become obvious to her after witnessing him with his own family on the homestead. And he'd said as much to her.

Emily hesitated, then spoke softly. “Being a doctor and a wife and a mother aren't mutually exclusive, are they?”

“For a woman? Who wants a wife who works long hours instead of keeping house? Who will watch the children, when they come?”

She dared to speak her real fear. “What if...what if I want to be with the children? What if my ambition goes away?”

Emily turned a frank, skeptical gaze on her. “Do you really see yourself wanting that?”

“With Maxwell...?” Hattie whispered.

Her friend seemed to understand what she couldn't say. That she
could
envision it happening. Hattie didn't know anything anymore.

“You've wanted to be a doctor forever, haven't you? Even taken steps to make it happen? Do you really think that desire to help people will just go away?”

Hattie shrugged miserably.

“Well, maybe you'd better figure things out before everything with Maxwell gets beyond repair.”

Emily sat with her silently for a while, then had to leave. She gave Hattie a warm hug before she went. At least their friendship hadn't suffered, even after Hattie's abrupt departure from lunch the other day.

But Hattie's larger problems were ultimately unresolved. She
was
frightened to take a chance on loving Maxwell. And the only person who really seemed to understand her was the man inside with her papa. And she was no longer free to talk to him.

But maybe she could try to make things right. Make him understand she wasn't as callous as she seemed.

After Emily left, Hattie forced herself to go back inside. The clinic was still quiet, the flood of daily patients not yet arrived.

She went to find Maxwell and to ask for a moment to speak privately, but instead found herself eavesdropping again when she heard his quiet voice from inside the examination room.

“I wasn't exaggerating about Hattie's skill. I'm sure you've seen it plenty yourself, working alongside her.”

* * *

Maxwell knew there was a chance he was overstepping his bounds, talking with Hattie's pa, but he also knew that her deadline for attending the scholarship interview was coming up quick and he suspected she hadn't settled things with her parents. And he cared about her enough to want her to get what she deserved.

“You've seen how she is with the patients. You know how smart she is—did you know she's read all of the medical texts you've got at home?”

He'd been absently writing in a journal, but now the doc's full attention turned to Maxwell.

“She's assisted you enough she could probably do most of the procedures on her own. I've never seen someone as cool under pressure as she was when doing that surgery. And she has a heart for the patients—I saw it in action when we were working with the cholera cases.” He hesitated and then just put it out on the table. “You should allow her to attend medical school. You should encourage it. She'll be an amazing doctor.”

The doctor set aside his journal. “And what about when she has can't help patients because of her nerves? What then? Who will care for her?”

“That sounds like something Hattie's ma might say. Not you.”

The doctor flushed.

Maxwell knew the doctor's question stemmed from concern for his daughter. But he also knew that Hattie was capable.

“Being in the wheeled chair wouldn't hinder her studies—she could still attend classes and read her texts.”

Now the man crossed his arms. “And what about when she moves to practice? Would it compromise her treatment of a patient?”

“Have you ever taken a sick day yourself?”

The man nodded, conceding the point.

Maxwell went on, “She is capable of handling herself. During the cholera outbreak, she knew her limits and traded off with me when she needed to rest. And if she was in a practice where she was a partner—perhaps with her father,” he hinted, “she would have someone to lean on during those times.”