Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (5 page)

When we reached the livery, the stage was nowhere in sight. I left Lydia standing outside while I returned the buggy inside the livery.

“Is the coach late, or has it come and gone?” I asked the man inside.

“Ain’t been here yet. There’s a bench outside. You can wait there. Should be along soon.”

Outside, I found Lydia already on the bench, so I took a seat beside her, being sure to leave space between us. She remained silent, so I took her cue. I couldn’t think of anything to talk about anyway.

“Miss Templeton? What are you doing here?”

A young, high-pitched voice called to us from the street, followed by a jumble of voices, and then the thunder of little boots in the dirt. Before I knew it, a huddle of children collected around us, and Lydia transformed. She let her guard down and bloomed like a spring flower.

“Why are you at the livery?” one little girl asked.

Lydia’s smile warmed the air around her. “I’m taking a trip, Bess, so I’m waiting for the stage.”

“When are you coming back?” a boy of no more than six or seven asked as he squeezed between Lydia and I so he could lean on her.

She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him against her side. “Well, Jacob, I’m not sure. I have to go help my brother in Omaha.”

“But we need you here,” Jacob said, his voice so earnest I could sense his concern.

Lydia leveled him with a look that left no doubt how important he was to her. “It warms my heart to hear you say so. But right now my brother needs me a little more. So I need to go take care of him.”

One of the other boys noticed me, and giving me a suspicious glare, he asked, “Is this your gentleman friend?”

That earned him a round of laughter from the group. “Oh, please,” another girl said. “Miss Templeton’s an old maid. She doesn’t have a gentleman friend.”

I’d been so interested in the rest of the exchange, the boy’s question took me by surprise, but the girl’s response got my hackles up and a need to defend Lydia came rushing out of nowhere. “Now listen here,” I said.

Lydia rested a warning hand on my arm. “No, Stewart, he isn’t my gentleman friend. My brother sent him to escort me back to Omaha. And Irene, I’m not quite an old maid yet. Twenty-eight may seem old to you, and I’ll grant you I’m pushing the limit, but I still hope someday I’ll find the man of my dreams. Just like I’m sure you will.”

“Irene already has her eye on a boy,” Bess said, grinning ear to ear. A little girl with that kind of information could do serious damage, I imagined.

The thunderous glare Irene gave Bess confirmed my suspicions. “You keep your big mouth shut, Bess Martin.”

Bess just grinned and rocked back and forth on her heels. That girl was nothing but trouble.

“That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that you behave while I’m gone,” Lydia said.

Given the evidence at hand, I had serious doubts that would happen, but Lydia seemed to have faith in them.

The group made no verbal commitment, and mostly just grumbled.

“Come now. Why such long faces? You’ll love your new teacher so much you’ll forget all about me.”

Another girl, maybe ten or eleven, made a scoffing sound. “I doubt it. The teacher we had before you was a horrible mean witch. She yelled at us when we answered questions wrong, and beat us with a ruler when we spoke out of turn or fidgeted in our seats.”

“Yeah,” another boy said. “You’re the best teacher we ever had. Whoever our new teacher is, she’ll probably be awful.”

Lydia frowned a little, shifting her gaze to the older boy. Her smile disappeared and she looked angry for just a moment, but then the corners of her mouth twitched in a teasing smile. I wouldn’t have imagined Lydia as the teasing kind; more the straight-laced, straight-forward, no-nonsense type. “William, you should know I’d never leave you with a horrible teacher. In fact, your new teacher is my friend. He’s a very nice man, and I’m sure you’ll like him just fine.”

“Our new teacher’s a
man?
” Jacob asked, as if he’d never thought it possible.

“He certainly is. In fact, he’s Sheriff Collins’ brother, Sam.”

“Sheriff Collins is mean,” Stewart said.

The older girl made her scoffing sound again. “That’s only because he arrested your daddy when he got drunk and started a fight at the tavern.”

“Mary-Ellen, you take that back. My daddy did no such thing. Somebody else started it. Daddy just tried to break it up.”

Mary-Ellen rolled her eyes. “Pffft. That’s a dirty old lie.”

Stewart launched himself at Mary-Ellen, shoving her backward until she had to windmill her arms to maintain her balance and keep from falling into the muddy street. “I’m not a liar.”

“No, but your daddy is,” Jacob said, then sidled closer into the safety of Lydia’s arm.

I almost jumped in to separate the children in order to avoid an all-out brawl, but Lydia intervened. All she did was stand up.

“Stewart. That’s enough,” she said, her voice quiet but stern.

Stewart, whose daddy was apparently a drunken, brawling, liar, stood to attention, then turned a bashful face to Lydia. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she said, drawing out her comment just enough to suggest he owed his apology elsewhere.

“But…” he said, his voice hinting at a whine.

Lydia tilted her head a bit and raised her brows, letting him know she expected more from him.

“Fine,” he said. “Mary-Ellen, I’m sorry I shoved you. But you shouldn’t talk about my daddy that way.”

Mary-Ellen looked down at her shoes, then back up at Stewart. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

I was agog. In my experience—which was mostly limited to sick children, or watching other people’s children in public venues—children were difficult at best and hooligans at worst. But Lydia had them wrapped around her little finger, and all of them—including Lydia—seemed happy about it.

Hooves and jingling tackle sounded not far off, which meant the stage was nearby.

“Okay, children,” Lydia said. “You need to get to school.”

A chorus of groans greeted her command.

“No complaining,” she said. “Mr. Collins will be wondering where all of his students are on his first day.”

They all shuffled forward into Lydia’s little universe. She clearly loved each and every one of her students. I wondered why she’d never married and had a whole brood of her own. She’d likely be in her element as a mother.

The herd of children each stepped up for a hug, and after she’d obliged the last, they stumbled off for the schoolhouse just as the stage pulled up to the livery.

Lydia stood in the street, watching after the children. From the straight, tight lines of her back, I could only imagine how difficult it was for her to leave them behind. Randall was a poor exchange.

I stepped up behind her. “We need to go, Lydia.”

She cleared her throat and turned, meeting my gaze. For just a moment, bold, raw sadness flashed in her eyes, but then she nodded a brisk nod and took a step past me to collect her things. “They’ll be fine, you know,” I said to her back.

She was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me, but then she turned her head and said, over her shoulder, “I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I hadn’t expected to see my students before I left. For a woman who desired to avoid complicated, involved goodbyes, I’d failed miserably.

Emmett handed my luggage to the stage driver, who slung it up onto the roof of the stage.

“Ma’am,” the driver said. “You can board if you’d like.”

He opened the door and offered me his hand. I held my skirts and climbed the steps. Emmett stayed, handing the driver our tickets as he spoke with him.

Inside the coach, it startled me to realize another passenger was already on board. The man, perhaps in his forties, with dark brown eyes and a mustache waxed into a very slight upturn, wore a camel-colored felt hat at a jaunty angle on his head.

“Oh, hello,” I said.

“Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat in greeting. “Wallace McCoy.”

“Lydia Templeton. Pleased to meet you,” I said, taking a seat opposite him and arranging my skirts. I scooted to the far end of the bench away from him.

“What’s a lovely lady like you doing traveling all alone?”

I gave him a strained smile and hoped Emmett would hurry his business and board the stage. If I had to make this trip, I had a sudden gratitude for the buffer of an escort. My social skills were insufficient for dealing with strange men. Most men, if they even noticed me, which didn’t happen often, overlooked me quickly in search of a prettier face to admire. As I was the only woman in the coach, Mr. McCoy had no choice.

“Actually, I’m not traveling alone. My companion will be along shortly.”

“Oh.” Mr. McCoy sat up straighter and peeked out the window, no doubt hoping to spot the more attractive woman who would, undoubtedly, be my companion.

Instead, Emmett climbed on board and sat next to me. I noticed with a hint of relief—tinged with regret—the wide space between us, preventing our legs from rubbing against one another for the next five hours.

“Are you comfortable, Lydia?” Emmett asked.

I glanced up at Mr. McCoy and had to suppress a chuckle at the confusion, and subsequent disappointment, on his face.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Emmett noticed the man across from him and offered his hand. “Good morning. I’m Emmett Wilder.”

“Wallace McCoy.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. McCoy. What brings you to Palmer?”

Mr. McCoy’s face brightened. “Business. I’m a salesman. I represent a company in Chicago that sells ranching supplies. I’ve been traveling the west, most recently here in Nevada, calling on ranchers to tell them about our products.”

The driver stuck his head in the door and asked, “Everyone settled?”

We all made noises of affirmation.

“All right then,” the driver said. He shut the door and climbed up to his seat, and the coach swayed as the shotgun rider climbed on board as well.

We heard the driver call
hyah
to the horses, and began our journey to Carson City.

Emmett leaned forward so he and Mr. McCoy could engage in conversation over the sound of the wheels bouncing the rutted road, the noisy harness equipment jangling, and the thunder of hooves pounding the packed earth.

I tuned out the men and their conversation. I had no interest in hearing about sales or whatever equipment or products Mr. McCoy sold. Being excluded provided me, in this case, an easy excuse to watch the landscape pass by, to read my book, or to doze away the hours between Palmer and Carson City.

Wallace McCoy was well suited to be a salesman given his enjoyment of conversation. The man could talk the ears off an elephant, and sell sand in the desert. Made me feel like an introvert, despite having done fairly well as a salesman myself.

More than halfway through our trip I heard a thud next to me. McCoy glanced over at Lydia. “Looks like we bored the poor little lady into a stupor.”

I followed his gaze. Lydia had nodded off to sleep, dropping her book to the floor in the process. I leaned down to pick it up, and couldn’t help noticing her ankle—slender, delicate—and even in stockings, I was tempted to trace the curve of her calf as it disappeared up under her skirts.

McCoy clearing his throat broke the spell, and when I sat up and caught his eye, he twitched his brow at me in a way that suggested he understood completely.

I closed the book and set it on the seat between Lydia and I. I didn’t like the thought of McCoy thinking about Lydia.

“She your girl?” McCoy asked.

“What? No. We just met.”

“She claimed you were her companion. I just assumed.”

The look in his eyes went from polite to slightly more wolfish.

“I’m escorting her back east, to her brother.”

McCoy tilted his head, considering Lydia’s sleeping form. “She’s not the prettiest thing, is she? But I suppose I’ve seen worse.”

I frowned, then turned to study her profile as she slept. Was she the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on? No. But I found her smooth milky skin, high cheekbones, and easy blush charming. Her spectacles had slipped midway down her nose, and her thick dark lashes brushed her skin as she slept. A few loose tendrils of hair had escaped her bonnet and flew in the gentle breeze that blew in through the cracks around the coach door. I was beginning to see that those loose curls were normal for her, and it surprised me to realize I wondered what her hair would look like as I pulled the pins out one by one and let it fall down her back.