Love Inspired Historical December 2013 Bundle: Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides\The Wife Campaign\A Hero for Christmas\Return of the Cowboy Doctor (74 page)

He'd never strung so many words together, to her at least, at one time, but he kept up a steady stream of commentary as he ushered her carefully down the street.

“Didn't know you'd left the building until I came outside after you. I was going to offer to escort you home but you were already halfway down the alley. Then I saw those men....”

They reached the front door of the clinic, and she drew the brass key from her skirt pocket. She was relieved that her hand didn't shake as she turned the key in the lock. Of course, she would have to tell her mama and papa about the incident, but if she was able to compose herself first, then perhaps she could downplay her foolishness.

She locked the door behind them and he followed her into the first exam room, silent now.

“Sit down and I'll clean your cheek.” She pointed to a hard-backed chair near the far wall. She moved to throw open the curtain so the last of the afternoon light would prevent the need for lighting a lamp.

* * *

Maxwell perched on the edge of the chair, acutely aware that they were alone in the silent building—and that Hattie's focus was on him. He probably should've just taken her home, but he understood her need for a few moments to herself. He just hoped he could be in her presence without making an utter fool of himself.

When Hattie approached with a damp rag, he swallowed hard. She stepped into the shaft of sunlight and it turned her hair gold, including the wisps now curling around her cheeks—they hadn't been loose when she'd left the clinic, and a renewed surge of anger went through him at the thought of what those two thugs might've done to her.

Gently, she touched beneath his chin and turned his face to the side.

The damp cloth moved over his skin, but what he noticed most was the light brush of her fingertips that followed. He closed his eyes against the sensation. Tried to forget the slice of fear that had cut through him when he'd seen her fall to the ground. Why had she rushed off alone?

“It's not terrible. A little scrape.” Her voice remained matter-of-fact, as if she was totally unconcerned with touching him.

He knew it was just a scrape. But he wasn't going to risk her moving away by saying so. The cheek barely stung at all. However, his stomach muscles ached from the fluke kick one of the men had given him. In a few days, that would wear off, as well.

He'd wanted to do so much more to the two bullies but hadn't been able to with Hattie nearby and the urge to protect her still so strong in him.

“I'll put a little ointment on it, regardless.” She turned to the cabinet, giving him a reprieve from her close presence, her womanly scent. He took a deep breath.

“I'm a bit surprised you came to my rescue,” she said with her back still turned. “I haven't exactly had the most welcoming attitude toward you. I probably owe you an apology.”

He shifted his feet, uneasy with her words, her acknowledgment that there was something between them—but not in the way he wanted. He shifted his legs again, out of her way, when she moved close.

He was glad to turn his face and focus out the window as he said, “I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable. But I really need this experience with your father.” He wouldn't apologize for that. Being a doctor was his life's mission.

“It's not that.” Even though they were conversing, her total focus seemed to be on her task as she brushed medicine across his cheekbone. “You might say I'm a little protective of my working relationship with my father. A bit reluctant to let anyone in, I suppose.”

He could understand that, given that her mother didn't seem to approve. But he also had the sense there was something else she held back, something more that meant she didn't want him in the clinic. He was surprised by how much he wanted her to trust him with it. But she stayed silent. Disappointed, he remained quiet, too.

She leaned back and wiped her fingers with the damp rag, then surprised him by reaching down and scooping up his hand from where it rested on his knee. She wiped away the small dried patch of blood from his knuckles, then turned his hand and wiped across his palm, as well.

He had the strongest urge to curl his fingers around her hand, to clasp it, to hold just that one part of her close, even for a moment. He resisted, afraid of what her reaction would be.

He flexed his hand as she moved away. He watched as she moved to the cabinet and used a small hand mirror to attempt to fix her hair, finally giving up and removing some pins so that her chestnut locks fell loose. He swallowed hard as his eyes followed her every movement.

Now was his chance to ask what he'd been building up to before she'd sneaked out the back of the clinic. He'd been thinking about it all afternoon, since the doctor's challenge and his ma's visit. Hattie seemed more settled now, less shaken than she'd been right after the attack. She seemed a bit more open, maybe because of their shared experience.

So he stopped thinking and just asked.

“I was wondering if...you'd consider helping me with something. After what your father said, I need to...to figure out a way to talk to gals our age better. I was thinking, if you'd give me some advice...maybe help me through a couple of interactions with your friends, then start some conversations, help me get to know them...”

She had turned in the middle of his request and stood staring at him, mouth slightly open. Surprised or dismayed?

He tried to backpedal. “It's all right if you don't want to. I just thought since we were already spending some time together here in the clinic—”

“All right,” she said softly, interrupting him.

He went silent. Afraid she could hear his heart thundering in his ears.

“I suppose I owe you, after what happened this afternoon.” She appraised him with those vivid eyes. “There's a poetry-club meeting early next week. I can't remember which evening—Monday or Tuesday. If you'll escort me, I'll give you some pointers on talking to the other girls.”

He nodded, pulse still pounding frantically. She'd agreed to help him—why did he wonder what he'd gotten himself into?

Chapter Five

M
axwell stood just outside the doctor's front door, shoring up his courage to knock. He was really doing this. Escorting Hattie to the poetry-club reading.

Behind him, voices conversed, and a low laugh sounded. He couldn't resist looking over his shoulder to see if one of his brothers was laughing at him. Oscar had reluctantly agreed when Maxwell had asked if he would attend, too. Then some of his other brothers had found out about it, and Davy, Ricky and Matty had somehow ended up in the wagon as well, spiffed and shined in their Sunday best. Edgar, the jokester who was notorious for being wary of women, was absent.

No one in the wagon seemed to be paying him any attention; his brothers were listening avidly to something Sarah was saying. Then Matty looked up and shot him a rakish grin.

All Maxwell could think about was the moment, years ago when Seb had blurted out to Emily that Maxwell couldn't read, humiliating him in front of the girl he'd been interested in at the time. Had he made a mistake in requesting his brothers' presence?

He never should've asked Oscar and his wife to go, but he was afraid he would run out of things to talk about with Hattie on his own.

His hand shook as he raised it to rap on the door.

Hattie's mother answered, a smile on her lips. “Hello, Maxwell. Come in. Hattie's just gathering a light shawl.”

He followed Mrs. Powell into the foyer. He heard the doctor's voice from somewhere deeper in the house but couldn't make out the man's words. Hattie's mother seemed preoccupied, glancing over her shoulder instead of making conversation with Maxwell.

“Is everything all right? Hattie okay?” he asked, concern instantly cinching his chest tight. Had something happened between the time he'd left the office to get cleaned up and now? Had her condition, whatever it was, worsened?

“I'm fine.” Hattie's voice turned his head, and he swallowed hard.

She wore a dress of dark pink that complemented her complexion. Her chestnut hair was done up fancier than it had been earlier, with several wisps clinging to the line of her neck. She was beautiful. But her eyes were shadowed.

“What's the matter?” he asked, coming closer. He wanted to reach out and touch her elbow, reassure her in some way, but he didn't dare.

She shook her head wordlessly, and at that moment the doctor came in from the hallway.

“Oh, good, Maxwell. You're here. Can you come into the parlor for a moment? Hattie, you, too.”

She glanced at Maxwell, a wordless fear in her eyes, and this time he allowed himself to clasp her elbow as they followed the doctor into the sitting room. The older man didn't motion them to sit, though. Doc looked worried, with his bushy white brows down low over his eyes.

“Papa?” Hattie prompted him.

“Oh, yes. The doctor from Pear Grove just rang me up again. What he suspected was cholera has gone from two cases to an outbreak. In fact, he's down with it himself. He's asked for assistance, and I feel I have to go.”

Maxwell's spirits sank. Without the doctor here, he wouldn't have the benefit of training with the man. Would he lose a week of patient care? A month? And worse—what about the people of Bear Creek who needed help?

“At this point, I don't know how long I'll be gone. And I'm conflicted about leaving my patients here without care.”

Maxwell strove to control his disappointment. Working with Doc Powell hadn't been in his plans when he'd returned to Bear Creek, but it had eased his frustrations in not being able to return to medical school.

“Maxwell, do you think your brother can survive without you training those horses? At least for a while?”

Doc's words brought Maxwell's eyes up and stopped his whirling thoughts.

The other man was bent over his desk, rifling through a drawer.

“I thought that if the two of you could work together, perhaps you could take on the minor cases in the office. Can your brother spare you?”

Everything in Maxwell stilled as the doctor's words registered. His hand beneath Hattie's elbow, he realized she'd frozen, as well. Was she as surprised as he was by her pa's request?

He nodded. Oscar would have to rely on one of the other brothers to help him break the horses for a few days. It wouldn't be long, sounded like.

“Since last week, you've both shown better cooperation in the clinic. If you can work together, I believe the people of Bear Creek will be better off than not having anyone to help them.”

The older man went silent, obviously waiting for an answer.

* * *

Hattie worked to contain her rioting emotions, to remain as still as possible, not to show the excitement that thrilled her. Here was her chance to prove her real worth to her father. All she had to do was agree to work with Maxwell while her papa was gone.

She would do anything to reach her dreams of becoming a doctor. Even that.

“Of course, Papa.” She glanced quickly at Maxwell. Would he agree?

He met her eyes and nodded gravely, apparently as serious about the responsibility as she was. Her heart thrilled.

“Any life-threatening injuries or illnesses you'll need to send on to the doctor in Calvin. Hopefully, there won't be many of those cases until I return.”

Hattie nodded, her mind spinning ahead. She would need to keep a journal, a record of all the treatments she administered while her father was gone. To prove what she'd done.

“With Hattie's longtime assistance to me, she'll be familiar with some of the chronic cases. Maxwell, you've proven yourself in the last couple days. If you work together, you should be able to help the people of Bear Creek.”

Her mind went to Mrs. Fishbourne, one of the older ladies in town who suffered from rheumatism and came in often for treatment. Hattie would have to hope that there would be some new cases that she could diagnose, in hopes of impressing her father.

“I know you children are off to a social event, so I won't keep you. I've got to pack—the train leaves first thing in the morning. If I think of anything important, I'll leave a note for you, Hattie, and you can share it with Maxwell.”

She blinked. In her rising excitement, she'd forgotten about the poetry reading. She would much rather stay home to make plans for working in the clinic, but she
had
promised to help Maxwell. She couldn't go back on it now.

She followed the cowboy doctor into the foyer, tucking the ends of her shawl around her upper arms.

With a quick buss on her mother's cheek and a squeeze of the older woman's shoulders—she could see the worry in her mother's eyes, no doubt over her father's impending trip—they scooted out the front door. She would have to comfort her mother later. Her father practiced more preventative cleanliness than many. She had faith he would be all right even in the midst of an occurrence of cholera. They had to trust to his training and trust God to prevent the outbreak from spreading further.

As she stepped over the threshold, Maxwell's hand came to her elbow again, enclosing her with warmth. She looked up to find his eyes resting on her, something unreadable in their depths. The moment stretched between them, until the sound of voices broke the connection.

Hattie looked up to find a passel of people bundled in the wagon that awaited them, and she hesitated on the stoop.

Maxwell cleared his throat. “I forgot to mention that some of my brothers decided to join us.”

Well, that was a surprise but not totally unwelcome. Maybe they would ease the sudden tension that had sprung up between them after their talk with her father.

The wagon's tailgate was down. “Do you mind riding back here? It isn't far.” Maxwell seemed so apologetic that she felt a pang of pity for his discomfort.

He gently boosted her into the back of the wagon, where two young men sat watching curiously. She couldn't help but be aware of his strong, wide hands at her waist. Her legs dangled off the back of the wagon and she shifted her skirts around them.

“All right?” he asked quietly.

She barely eked out a nod.

“Good evening, Hattie!” Sarah welcomed her with a smile from the wagon's bench seat.

“Hello,” Hattie responded.

The wagon dipped as Maxwell climbed up beside her. His thigh brushed hers, and when he settled, they were hip to hip. She was aware of his warmth, his height. Where their legs and shoulders touched, sparks zinged along her traitorous nerves. There was no hint of numbness or fatigue tonight—she felt everything connected to the man beside her.

A soft slap of the reins from the front set the wagon in motion. Fortunately it was only a few blocks to the tearoom, where the rest of the young people would be gathered.

“Hullo,” said another voice, and there was another shift in the bodies in the wagon. Hattie half turned to find one of the young men had extended a freckled hand to her. The freckles were a dominant feature, flowing all the way up into his face, where dancing blue eyes examined her. He had a mop of red hair, as well.

“These reprobates are some of my other brothers. Davy—” through Maxwell's introduction, the redhead pumped her hand enthusiastically “—and Matty. And that far one is Ricky.”

Matty had blond hair and brown eyes and mischief in his quicksilver grin; Ricky was a darker blond with gray eyes. Both were slightly younger than the others, perhaps in their late teens.

“I'm Hattie,” she offered. “I didn't know Maxwell had so many brothers interested in poetry.”

Davy coughed, but Matty's smile spelled his orneriness. “You could say we're more interested in the gals interested in poetry. Ain't that right, Maxwell?”

Maxwell's hand on the wagon's side flexed.

“You might actually learn something about wooing women, Matty,” Sarah chimed from the front of the wagon. “Women like romantic things like poetry.”

“I don't need no help with my wooin',” the teen retorted. “What, did Oscar quote you rhymes when y'all was courtin'?”

A hearty baritone laugh broke out from the front of the wagon. “
That
must be what I did wrong, why I messed up my original proposal.”

Hattie heard a
thwack
as if the man's wife had thumped his arm with the back of her hand, and his chuckles ceased. Hattie glanced over her shoulder to see the couple sharing a deep, intimate look. There must be a story there—Oscar had said
original proposal.
Did that mean he'd had to propose marriage to Sarah more than once? How curious.

“I took a poetry class at the normal school,” Sarah went on, ignoring her husband and his younger brother's cutting up as if it hadn't happened. “It was one of my favorite courses. Maxwell, did you have to study poetry while you were at college?”

“Um...yes.” Hattie thought for a moment that was his entire contribution to Sarah's attempt to draw him into the conversation. Then came a hesitant, “I don't want to court anyone...just make some friends.”

The wagon slowed as they neared the tearoom, and Maxwell hopped off before it had even come to a complete stop.

There were several people out on the boardwalk, including Corrine and Wanda. Annabelle must be inside. Hattie waved when the girls glanced in the direction of the Whites' wagon. They seemed to barely see her, their gaze immediately going to Maxwell.

He didn't notice, coming to Hattie and gently taking her waist to set her on the ground. Behind her, the younger brothers clambered over the side of the wagon as Oscar helped his wife from the bench seat.

Maxwell rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to do next. She took his arm and turned him toward the tearoom.

“Did you enjoy your poetry class?” she asked quietly, wanting to ease his nervousness.

“Hmm?” He looked down at her.

“The poetry course. Did you enjoy it? A subject like that would at least be a conversation starter if you're hoping to make some new friends of the female persuasion tonight.”

He looked over at his brothers. Was he afraid of their censure if he said yes?

“Yes, I enjoyed it,” he finally responded in a low voice. “How should I...? What should I say about it?”

“Just bring it into conversation naturally,” she said, squeezing his arm lightly. The others were descending, greeting Maxwell's family, and Hattie couldn't help but notice that Corrine's gaze was on the cowboy doctor. “You're thinking too much, worrying too much. Just let the conversation go naturally where it goes.”

“Will you stay with me? By my side?”

His words sent a thrill of sensation through her. Before she could agree or disagree, the group surrounded them, greetings and conversations flowing. Wanda shot Hattie an envious look when Maxwell kept her arm practically clamped to his side.

Hattie wanted to take the girl aside and tell her there was nothing to be envious of...but she couldn't quite make herself do it.

There was a part of her—a very small part—that was happy, proud to be at his side.

* * *

Maxwell had never been so glad as he was when the poetry-reading portion of the evening began. Chairs had been arranged in rows as if in a classroom setting, and somehow Hattie guided him toward the back and one side.

He hadn't even known this many young single people resided in Bear Creek. He recognized a few faces from his school days, but more had moved into the area and some had left, moved away. He'd met so many young ladies tonight he couldn't keep their names straight. Even Sam and Emily had shown up.

His face felt permanently hot, and the collar of his white Sunday shirt choked him.

Hattie had kept her word and stayed tucked close to his side. Almost as if they were courting. Even with her gentle prompting and guiding the conversations, he felt awkward and unsure.

This situation was infinitely uncomfortable for him. When Hattie had suggested the event, he'd agreed because of his enjoyment of poetry—not thinking about just how overwhelming it would be. He should've suggested something more private, perhaps a lunch with one or two of her close friends. Not this mass of chattering, flirting, fluttering young women.