Texas Twilight (6 page)

“From my brothers, Roland and Sigmund. They
are great sportsmen.”

His brows lifted in interest. “Well, it’s a
good thing they did. How old are they?”

“Roland is the oldest. He is twenty-seven,
married and has three little children. Sigmund is twenty-five and
still a bachelor. Mütti says he will never settle down and give her
any grandbabies.”

“So,” John said, chuckling again. “You’re a
miniature Annie Oakley—as well as a Florence Nightingale.” He
quickly put up his hands defensively. “I’m not calling you that,
mind you.” He shrugged. “Just observing the truth. Do you have any
more talents I should know about?”

“Why? So you can tease me?”

“Maybe.”

When he gave her a playful wink Lily couldn’t
help remembering how he’d held her so gently in his arms. All her
sisters would think him the handsomest man in the world. And truth
be known, she did too. Emma would love his hair and Giselle his
strong, manly jaw. His sensitive green eyes would be what Gretchen
would notice first. Ida and Louisa, being only twelve and eight,
would just love the “whole idea” of him—the cowboy doctor.

“Not unless you count the ability of
balancing a plate on my head while dancing the waltz.”

He stopped and his eyes opened wide.
“Seriously? That’s something I’d like to see.”

She laughed, continuing down the boardwalk.
“Perhaps you shall.” He had to hurry to catch up. “And, I also play
the harpsichord.” His expression was one of amazed amusement. She
could not recall him ever looking so happy.

They were passing a leather tannery and a
small speckled hen darted out the front door. It smacked wildly
into John’s leg then made a dive for Lily’s hemline. She gasped,
pitching towards John off balance.

John clasped her by the shoulders. “Easy.
It’s just Chicken Little.”

Lily laughed again, enjoying this new, more
easygoing Dr. McCutcheon very much. “You know that story, too? My
mother used to tell it to us girls. She used to say if the sky is
not falling, things cannot be all that bad. Look for ways to be
peacekeepers. There are two sides to every story.”

John laughed appreciatively, nodding his
head. “Us girls?”

“I have so many sisters that most young men
are too nervous to come to the Anthony home. Emma is twenty-three,
and she, too, is married, to our landlord’s son, Jürgen. They are
expecting their first child this winter and are hoping for a
Christmas baby. Then me. I am nineteen. Then comes Giselle,
sixteen, Gretchen, fourteen, Ida, twelve and Louisa is the baby.
She is only eight.”

“Holy cow. That’s some brood. And I thought I
had troubles fighting for my very survival in my good-sized
family.”

“Fighting to stay alive?”

“That’s just a figure of speech. Although my
three older brothers and one younger sister were a force to be
reckoned with sometimes. The thought of eight children is hard to
comprehend. What does your father do for a living?”

John seemed keenly interested in her answers,
and she felt satisfied to while away the whole morning just as they
were doing now. “He is one of the best watchmakers in all of
Germany. His shop sits in the town square and we live a short
distance out in the country. Our home is small, and we all had to
share, but that is all we have ever known. Our town is quite
beautiful. Picturesque, as you would say.”

They walked along in a moment of silence.
“That is why my Tante Harriett sent for me to come to America. By
teaching me a trade that is one less mouth to feed and one less
Madchenkind to worry over.”

“Madchenkind?”

“Girl child.” A warm flush moved through her
again and she hoped he could not see the tell-tale signs on her
face.

“Do you ever get homesick?”

Lily glanced away. That was something she
struggled with often. “I do. But, I know I will eventually go home
to my family.”

They stopped in front of the Bank and John
opened the door. A young man rose from his desk and met them at the
counter.

“May I help you?” His hair was slicked back
from his forehead and he was nicely dressed and clean. His skin
glistened from the uncomfortable warmth of the room.

“We’d like to see Norman Shellston, please,”
John said.

“Is there something I can help you with? Mr.
Shellston is busy at the moment.”

“No. We’ll need to speak with him.”

“One moment, then.” He hurried off and came
back a moment later. “He’s busy and won’t see anyone until
afternoon. Would you like to make an appointment?”

J
ohn looked at
the clock on the wall and counted slowly to three. They’d have to
come back for a ten minute conversation? Damn, if this wasn’t
turning into the most aggravating town. But, he had to keep his
head about him since he was a doctor now and needed to stay in a
good standing in his new community. “Seems we have no other
choice.”

“Will two o’clock work for you?” the teller
asked.

John glanced at Lily. “Yes, that will be
fine.”

Back outside, the town was alive with the
mid-morning business. Three wagons passed in the street, followed
by a man with a big stick driving two cantankerous cows. What to do
now? They had a few hours before they needed to be back. “Come on,
Lily, I’ll walk you to the hotel,” John said. “How did you enjoy
living in Boston?”

She nodded and they started up the boardwalk.
“The whole way here we talked about me. I want to know about you.
Did you get your things settled in your office?”

John stifled an inner groan. “Not exactly.
The prior doctor hasn’t left the premises yet even though I was
told he’d be retired and gone. That’s what the mayor and I were
discussing. I want to be able to get my things in but the place is
in bad shape and needs a lot of work. And now I find out the doc
wants to stay around to make sure I know what I’m doing. Actually,
I’m at a loss. I can’t just kick him out, but I can’t get on with
my life with him there. I don’t know.” He stopped and removed his
hat, running his hand through his hair and down the tense muscles
in his neck. “I know what my mother would say, though.” He settled
his hat back on his head and leaned against a post.

“What would she say?”

“She’d say be patient. And respectful.” He
shrugged. “And kind.”

“Your mother sounds a lot like mine.”

Lily was not only beautiful and brave, but
had a good sensible head on her shoulders. She was smaller than
Emmeline and her nose had a dainty little slope. He glanced away.
Why the heck did he keep comparing the two? Lily was his friend.
And thank God he had her. He’d thought the process of moving to Rio
Wells was going to be easy. But, so far, it had been the exact
opposite.

“Does she?” He hitched his head and they
continued on. “I’ve come to learn the hard way that she’s right
almost one hundred percent of the time. Okay, so the ol’ doc stays
awhile, what could it hurt? But, will he let me clean up the place
and get it into shape? I don’t think I could stand it for long the
condition it’s in now. It needs paint and a whole hell…” John
stopped and pointed across the street. “There’s the place now.”

Lily shaded her eyes with her bag to get a
better look. “Oh.” Her face took on a pained expression. “I see
what you mean.”

“Go ahead. Say it. The place needs more than
paint and a cleaning. It needs three sticks of dynamite and a
match.”

John was surprised when Lily started to
laugh—because he hadn’t said it to be funny. Soon she was laughing
so hard others were looking their way. She waved her hand in front
of her face, trying to get control, but high-pitched squeaks kept
escaping.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she finally said between
gasps. “It is just…” She pointed. “It is as horrible as you said.
You were not exaggerating in the least. I can see it blasting into
the sky, boards raining down this way and that, finally ending in a
big messy pile.”

“Well, laugh all you want, but I don’t think
it’s all that humorous,” he replied, trying not to smile. The only
other girl he’d ever seen laugh so hard was his sister Charity, and
only after a good tickle. But Lily’s laughter was contagious, and
before long he was laughing so hard tears ran down his face.

“Well, I guess there’s no help for it now,”
John said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “All in due
time.” He took Lily’s elbow and continued on until they were in
front of the post office directly across from the Union Hotel.

“Mind if I check the mail before we
cross?”

Lily drew away. “I am certainly capable of
crossing a street on my own, John. I am not a baby or a
weakling.”

“I know. I know. But as soon as I see if I
have anything, I’m crossing too. I need to get a room for a few
nights until I can figure out what I’m doing. Where I’ll be
living.”

A distant gun blast sounded and Lily
flinched.

He raised a brow. “I’ll only be a
moment.”

“In that case.” She smiled and nodded and
John went into the post office while Lily waited on the walk.

The tiny building looked deserted. John
swiped his hat from his head and went up to the counter. He tapped
the bell several times. “Anyone here?”

A scuffling came from the back room and a
young woman hurried out. She was of medium height and weight with
dark braids twisted up like cinnamon rolls on either side of her
head. Her attention was focused on a mound of papers in her
hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” She
stopped for an instant, then proceeded forward. She quickly stuffed
what she’d been carrying under the counter, then reached up to pat
one side of her hair. “May I help you?”

“Can you see if you have any posts for Dr.
John McCutcheon, please?”

“You’re the new doctor?”

“Yes. Arrived yesterday.”

“Let me check.” She rushed away but was soon
back. “This is for you. It arrived two days ago.” She held tightly
to the post when he tried to take it from her fingers. “My name is
Louise Brown,” she said, smiling into his face. “I’m pleased to
make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Brown.” She
finally let go and he slipped the letter into his front pocket.

“
Miss
Brown,” she
corrected, dipping her head shyly.

John replaced his hat, giving it a polite
tip. “Good day, Miss Brown.” As he stepped away she cleared her
throat. Against his better judgment, John glanced back to find her
gazing up at him through a barrage of fluttering eyelashes. He
hastened out the door.

***

John settled into his hotel room after
retrieving his medical supplies and books from the stage office. He
unpacked just the bare necessities, believing he wouldn’t be
staying long. He hoped that within a couple days he’d have the
mix-up with Bixby resolved and have things back on track.

With his letter in hand, he flopped down on
the goose feather mattress and got comfortable, plumping the pillow
before doubling it over and sticking it behind his head. For a
brief moment he closed his eyes.

As was usual, the face of Bob Mackey, the man
he’d killed when he was nine years old, popped into his thoughts.
Although the number of times the vision awakened him in a cold
sweat had lessened over the years, they still occurred
occasionally. Like an old, unwelcome friend showing up at odd
times, not quite ready to give the relationship up.

It had been a stormy August night and John
was home alone having missed the social and barn dance because of a
stomachache. At the sound of the door opening John grabbed his gun,
and snuck down the big staircase in the darkness. A tall figure
loomed in front of him, seemingly larger than any bear he’d hunted
with his father. His trigger finger trembled. There was an
earsplitting crash, then shards of glass sprayed him. His gun
discharged accidentally. In the close proximity, the blast was
deafening. It wasn’t until the smoke cleared and John was able to
light a lantern that he saw who it was. He’d tired to stop the flow
of blood, but the effort was futile and soon the man was dead.

Bob Mackey was a merchant from town and a
friend to all. He’d been delivering a new pane of glass and it had
slipped and broken. Flood had told Mackey to drop it off anytime,
and since no one appeared to be home it was speculated that he was
putting it inside the front door.

His parents had paid restitution to Bob’s
brother and business partner, and after time, he’d forgiven John,
but the shooting weighed heavily on his little-boy’s heart,
regardless of his mother’s assurance that it had been an accident.
And, truth be told, it was still as heavy a burden today as it had
been sixteen years prior. His mother looked for ways to help him
though his pain, to heal, but there hadn’t been a magical fix. As
he grew older, his ache turned to anger, and he began letting his
temper get the best of him. Longtime friends whispered behind their
hands. He started getting into fights. The betrayal of his friends
hurt. It was only after he’d decided to become a doctor that the
horror of it lessened. He’d pay his debt by saving a life, then
another, and another, and another…until his debt was gone. His
moving away from Y Knot had been a relief of sorts, finally free
from the stigma he still felt, even if most people had
forgotten.

John held up the letter to divert his
thoughts. It was from Charity. She’d written to him unfailingly
while he was at Harvard, keeping him updated with all that was
happening at home.

The most recent news was a new baby girl,
born to his brother, Luke, and his wife, Faith. The first two
grandbabies for his parents had been boys. Billy and Adam were
older now and were becoming a real help on the ranch. Then there
was Colton, Faith’s feisty eleven-year-old stepson. John stifled a
chuckle thinking how the boy had knocked Luke out with a frying pan
the night he’d found Faith.