Kansas Courtship (5 page)

“I’ll write to Dr. Zeiss tonight,” she said to Emmeline.

“I’d be grateful. We’ll pay you, of course.”

As much as Nora needed patients, she couldn’t charge the Logans. She had an interest in psychiatry, but she didn’t have the expertise to consider Bess a patient. Helping the girl was an act of friendship. “Bess’s situation is unique,” she said. “There’s no charge.”

“But—”

“I insist.” Nora never took money from her friends. “When can I visit with her?”

“Anytime,” Emmeline answered. “She helps Rebecca at the boardinghouse. You’re staying there, aren’t you?”

Nora recalled Mr. Garrison’s original plan for room and board. “It’s my new home.”

“Then you’ll see a lot of her. I’m glad you’re here, Dr. Mitchell.” Emmeline held out her hand. “Welcome to High Plains.”

Nora gripped Emmeline’s hand in both of hers. “I’m Nora, remember?”

“How about Dr. Nora? I like how that sounds.”

“So do I.” She beamed a smile.

As the brunette headed for the door, Nora followed her outside to the boardwalk. The ping of hammers pulled her attention to the half-finished building across the street. Judging by the size and location, she was looking at the new town hall, a building Mr. Crandall had described during the trip.

Two men stood on scaffolding about six feet apart, each holding the end of a board and nailing it in place. A third man stood below them, shouting instructions over the racket. She recognized Zeb Garrison and felt the low beat of anger in her pulse. She could tolerate his rudeness. It came with being a woman in a man’s world. But how could he justify running her out of town? High Plains desperately needed a doctor. With the construction, men were sure to have accidents. Emmeline Logan had recently married. God willing, she and her husband would start a family of their own. And Bess…who would help her speak again?

The more Nora thought about Bess and Emmeline, the hotter her blood ran. Instead of treating her like a quack, Zeb
Garrison should have been helping her find a suitable office. He deserved an earful, but she couldn’t escape the memory of her father’s voice.

Before you speak your mind, daughter, count to ten. If that doesn’t settle you down, count to a hundred.

The harder she tried to calm herself, the angrier she became. Emmeline saw the good in him, but Nora saw the arrogance. “Help me, Lord,” she murmured. “I don’t want to turn the other cheek. I want to tell that arrogant, self-righteous
scoundrel
what I think of him.” She wanted to fight. She wanted—

Before she could finish the thought, he turned and caught her staring. He smirked. Furious, Nora started to count. “Ten, nine…Forget it!”

With her temper flaring, she headed across the street to give Zeb Garrison a piece of her mind.

Z
eb saw Dr. Mitchell coming straight at him and felt the uncomfortable urge to run away. He enjoyed a good fight as much as any man, but he didn’t want to argue with
her.
A few moments ago, Will had taken him to task.

You showed her Doc’s place? Are you stupid?

No, just hopping mad. She’d tricked him by using her initial, then she’d had the audacity to be poised and pretty about it. Why couldn’t she have had warts on her chin…warts with hairs growing out of them? Warts so ugly he wouldn’t keep smelling lavender and recalling her hand on his arm and the kindness in her blue eyes.

He’d argued with Will for two minutes and ended up feeling like an oaf.

We need a doctor, Zeb. I don’t care if he—she—whatever—is wearing skirts. I’ve got a family now. So does Pete.

Where am I supposed to put her? She can’t work in my parlor!

So find someplace else. We help each other in High Plains. Have you forgotten that? It’s called Christian charity.

Will was right. The town needed Dr. Mitchell until he could
find a replacement. And whether he liked it or not, he owed her amends for his surliness.

Tom Briggs, his foreman, called down from the scaffolding. “More lumber tomorrow, boss?”

“Plan on it.”

“Good.” Tom’s hammer pinged on a nail. “We’re about out.”

The demand for lumber kept Garrison Mill running from dawn to dusk and Zeb looking at ledgers well past midnight. Folks chipped in what money they could spare, but Zeb cheerfully absorbed most of the costs. He could afford it and others couldn’t. With good weather and a little luck, the town hall would be finished and High Plains would celebrate a full recovery with a summer jubilee. If he had to work like a mule to make it happen, so be it. He didn’t have time to eat or sleep, much less deal with Dr. Mitchell, but she was coming at him like a summer storm.

“Mr. Garrison!” she called. “I need a word with you.”

He did
not
want to have this conversation in front of a work crew, but he couldn’t avoid her without looking cowardly. “Get back to work,” he said to the man. The hammering resumed, but in a slower cadence.

As she hurried in his direction, he heard the rustle of her skirts and the scuff of her shoes, sounds that should have been drowned out by hammering, but Tom and the other man had stopped working. Zeb felt their eyes on his back, turned to glare at them and realized he’d been wrong. The men weren’t looking at
him.
They were gawking at Dr. Mitchell.

Briggs, a married man, went back to work. The other fellow looked like a starving man at Sunday supper.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“Thank you for speaking with me.” Panting for breath, she put her hand on her chest in an Abigail-like gesture.

He hadn’t judged her as prone to vapors. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I came to thank you for setting me straight.”

Zeb liked this kind of talk. “About what?”

“What it’s
really
like in High Plains. How
hard
my life would be here.” She bit her lip, then blinked as if fighting tears. Her eyes had a shine and he wondered if he’d made her cry. He hoped not, but the sheen revealed a simple fact. If Doc’s office could drive her to tears, she didn’t belong in High Plains.

He crossed his arms over his vest. “It’s tough here. That’s a fact.”

“It’s such a warm day! Too hot for a woman to be hurrying, don’t you think?” She took a hankie from her pocket and dabbed at her forehead. “I thought I could hire someone to fix the roof, but the hole’s too big.”

“I know.”

“I went upstairs to check for myself. There were
birds
everywhere.” She indicated the smudges on her skirt. “I ruined my
best frock!
”

Well, what do you know?
Dr. Mitchell had just proven him right about women. Knowing she wouldn’t stay longer than necessary, he could afford to be magnanimous. “I’ll pay for the laundering.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m not worried about the dress.”

“Then what is it?”

The simpering female vanished in a blink. “I came to tell you that you’re a fool, Mr. Garrison. I am
not
the shallow woman you’ve assumed me to be. Being who you are—a town leader, someone who’s responsible and intelligent—you
know
High Plains needs a doctor. You should be helping me, not running me out of town! It’s reckless. It’s selfish. It’s—”

“Stop it, Doc.” Belatedly, he saw through her act. The woman was playing him. “You’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Garrison.”

“I do.”

“You owe me an apology.” She stood tall, her head high and her eyes burning with outrage.

Zeb said nothing.

After twenty seconds, she gave up. “Don’t think you’ve won. At the very least, I deserve courtesy. As for your respect, I intend to earn it. When the time comes for you to eat crow, I’ll expect that apology.”

“You won’t get it.”

“It’s not for
my
benefit,” she said. “It’s for yours. I’m assuming you
do
have a conscience?”

Zeb had a conscience, all right. It prickled every time someone in High Plains caught a cold. It twitched when he thought of his men working double shifts and ignoring their own families. It burned like fire when he thought of the tornado and how it had stripped High Plains bare.
He’d
picked this spot to settle. The death and destruction were on
his
hands. So was rebuilding. How dare this woman judge him? “You don’t belong here, Doc. Go back to New York.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“Absolutely not! I care about people. I care about this town.”

“You think I don’t? I saw people
die
in the tornado, Miss Mitchell. What happens if you kill someone with your incompetence?”

“I’m not incompetent! I’m a highly trained physician.”

“You’re a
woman!
”

When the hammering stopped for the second time, Zeb realized he’d shouted at her. By tomorrow, the whole town would know he’d done battle with Dr. Mitchell. No way could he let her win.

She must have felt the same way, because she spoke in a voice loud enough for the work crew to hear. “You’re very observant, Mr. Garrison. I am, in fact,
female.
I’m also a doctor, and I will
not
leave High Plains.”

Zeb dropped his voice to a hush. “You’ll break your word, Dr. Mitchell. Mark my words.”

“Not a chance.”

Like Frannie, she made promises too easily. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

When she stepped closer, he smelled her fancy lavender soap, reminding him of Frannie. Women were all alike—two-faced Jezebels with heady ambitions and flapping tongues.

Dr. Mitchell took another step, crowding him because he refused to budge as she lectured him. “You, Mr. Garrison, have misjudged me. I don’t care about smudges on a dress. I don’t mind scrubbing floors. But I will
not
be disrespected.”

Zeb knew the feeling. The need for respect had driven him to build a mill instead of working for wages. Her breathing deepened and slowed as she fought for control. When she clenched her jaw, he imagined her counting to ten. The trick wouldn’t work. Zeb knew, because he used it himself.

He flashed a grin. “Cat got your tongue, Doc?”

She raked his face with those fiery blue eyes. “You need to know what happened after you left.”

“I don’t care.” He’d lied. He cared about everything in High Plains.

The redhead kept yammering at him. “You
should
care, Mr. Garrison. A girl came into the building. Bess Carter.”

“She can’t speak.”

“That’s right.” Dr. Mitchell spoke in a rush. “I’m a grown woman. I’m accustomed to adolescent pranks from silly little boys—”

“Wait just a minute!”

“No, sir.” She clipped the words. “I will
not
wait. That building should be boarded up. What if the roof had collapsed on her? You endangered a child today, a girl who couldn’t call for help. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He was, but he’d never admit it. “Anything else,
Dr.
Mitchell?”

“Yes,” she said. “With or without your help, I intend to find a place to practice.”

“Good luck.” He smirked at her.

“I won’t quit,” she repeated.

Zeb stared at her with a mix of disbelief and envy. Where had that faith come from? Didn’t she know life took dangerous turns? He flung up his hand to indicate the framework of the town hall. “Are you blind, Doc? A tornado blew this town to pieces. There’s not an inch of space that’s not being used except
my
parlor.”

“I don’t need your parlor,” she countered.

“Good, because you can’t have it.”

She stood ramrod straight. Zeb had a good six inches on her, but he felt no advantage. This woman had courage, the kind that made a small dog chase a bigger one. Of all the aggravating things, she reminded him of someone he used to know…not Frannie, but a young man who’d called on the foremost millwright in America.

I want to be your apprentice, Mr. Gridley.

So do a lot of men, Mr. Garrison. Why should I pick you?

Because I want it, sir.

Zeb had been full of faith that day, faith in God and faith in his dreams. Gridley had seen that confidence and taken him under his wing. A month later, the man arranged a dinner party to introduce his protégé to his upper-crust friends. Zeb had escorted Cassandra, but that night he’d fallen in love with Frannie.

Hammering pulled him back to the present. High Plains needed a doctor, not a debutante from New York. He couldn’t stand the sight of Dr. Mitchell and her red hair. As for her skills, he’d trust her to paint sore throats but nothing else.

She waved her hand to get his attention. “Mr. Garrison? Did you hear me?”

He’d been caught off guard and didn’t like it. “What?”

“I said, when I have a parlor of my own, I expect you to apologize.”

“Sure,” he said, mocking her. “Why not?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He’d never been more sure in his life. “You don’t have a prayer of finding an office, Dr. Mitchell. No one here wants a lady doctor.” Except Pete and Rebecca, Cassandra and Emmeline and Will and anyone with kids.

“I’ll have to change their minds, won’t I?” With a dip of her chin, she headed back to the street.

Her skirts swayed with lady-like grace, but Zeb saw past the poise. He’d just kicked a hornet’s nest. He felt the sting of it now. Even more confusing, instead of running
away
from the hornet named Nora Mitchell, he wanted to chase after her. He wanted to see the sparks in her blue eyes and the waves of her red hair. That desire couldn’t be tolerated.

“Dr. Mitchell!” he called.

She stopped and turned. “Yes, Mr. Garrison?”

“The Crandalls leave tomorrow. If you’re smart, you’ll go with them.”

She turned fully, giving him a good look at the high-and-mighty dress and the feather that had tickled his nose. “I assure you, sir, the Crandalls will be leaving without me. You may not like my gender. You might not trust my abilities. But I’m a good doctor. I also have a conscience. The people in this town need me.”

Yes, they do.

Pride sealed his lips, but he didn’t turn away. Neither did she. They glared at each other until she gave a ladylike dip of her chin, followed by a smile and a sly wink.

Completely disarmed, Zeb couldn’t think of a thing to say. The redheaded doctor had thrown down the gauntlet. They’d gone to war and he wanted to win. He also imagined kissing that smirk right off her pretty face. He had no right to such a thought, but he couldn’t help it. Dr. Mitchell had gotten to him. For that reason alone, she needed to go back to New York.

Nora kept her chin high as she crossed the street, but her insides were churning. Winking at Zeb Garrison bordered on shameless. What had she been thinking? Even more frightening, what was
he
thinking? The wink had been a trick she’d learned from male students who’d harassed her. Whenever a man made that presumptuous gesture, she felt flustered. She doubted a wink would fluster Zebulun Garrison, but she hoped so.

“Oh, dear,” she mumbled as she avoided the broken boardwalk. What if he misread the wink as flirting? They’d been alone in Dr. Dempsey’s office when she touched his arm. She’d acted out of concern, but she’d felt something stronger, a connection that made her notice his green eyes, the stubble on his jaw. Winking at Zeb Garrison had been a mistake. Either she’d insulted her new boss, or he’d take it as a brazen invitation. At the thought of seeing him again, she stifled a groan. In a town the size of High Plains, their paths would cross no matter how hard she tried to avoid him.

Eager to escape the prickle of his gaze on her back, she rounded the corner and headed for the boardinghouse. There she climbed the steps, walked into the foyer and smelled fresh bread. The aroma reminded her of her empty stomach, so she
went to the kitchen where she saw a tall blonde, presumably Rebecca, stirring a pot of soup. She hoped the cook would be pleasant. Even more than food, Nora needed a friend.

She tapped on the door frame. “Hi, are you Rebecca?”

Recognition lit the woman’s eyes. “You must be Dr. Mitchell!”

Judging by her accent, the cook had recently come from Scandinavia. “That’s right,” Nora replied.

Rebecca indicated a small table by a window overlooking a meadow. “Please, sit down. Mrs. Jennings told me to expect you.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” the cook replied. “I’m eager to speak with you. Pete, my husband, was just here. There’s already talk about you and plenty of it!”

Nora forced a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Garrison wasn’t expecting a woman.”

“That’s the truth!”

Unsure of the cook’s opinion, Nora measured her words. “I’m a good doctor. I may be female, but—”

“Glory! You don’t have to explain to me. My grandmother was a healer in Norway.” The cook pointed at the chair. “Sit. You must be hungry.”