That Certain Spark (26 page)

“But you, Taylor. What about you? What about your needs? When are they met?”

“I made my choice when I chose medicine. Medicine is my love. There isn’t room for anything more.”

They spoke no more as they traveled out to the Bunce farm, then over to Checkered Past before coming back to town. As they rode the last mile into town, Karl directed his horse so close to her that their clothes brushed. It made everything inside her tingle. “That’d be a real shame if what you said about not having room for anything more in your life were true, darling. But you know things can change. They have changed. I’ll give you time to figure it out.”

He helped her dismount out in front of her surgery. “I’ll board Dimples for you, but it’s silly for you to have bought her. She was already at your disposal.”

“No, Karl. Once I make up my mind, I don’t change it.”
Not about the horse, not about medicine, not about marriage.
Taylor thanked him, unlocked the door, and went into the empty—and yes, lonely—place that was both office and home. Her steps echoed in the silent void. Pressing her hands to the top of her kitchen table, she allowed her head to hang low. Karl’s questions pounded at her like his hammer on his anvil.
“What about you? What about your needs? When are they met?”
Deep inside, a cold, awful ache spread, chilling her to the core and making her crave things she’d sacrificed because she’d been so sure medicine would be more than enough. For the first time, it fell short. Frighteningly, heart-wrenchingly short.

But I took my professional oath. I can’t have everything.

“One of your breakfasts is a wonderful way to start a day, Eunice. I was thinking last night about what would make me happy, and you came to mind.”

Widow O’Toole gave a start. “Me?”

“Yes. I need someone to help me out. You already do it—as you did the day Enoch and Mercy married and that night when you stayed over. Often, you’ve come taken my laundry off the line when I’ve been out on a call or brought over food. I’d like to make it official and hire you.”

Now if only I could ignore the feelings Karl stirs up. . . .
Taylor opened her mail and found the usual “We don’t want no wimmin docter” notes. A rueful smile twisted her lips.
It’s a pity some of Karl’s warm feelings can’t be siphoned off and administered to some of these other people.

Over the next few days, she wished she could fully depend on Karl’s protection and safety—but that wasn’t right. Bad enough, she had to mind her actions and reactions around Karl at every turn because he’d made his feelings clear and she couldn’t be anything more than his friend. But added to that, strange things kept happening, and she’d gone through an entire tin of chamomile tea trying to keep herself calm. Odd sounds in the night, manure on the porch, dirt and worms in drawers, mean grease pencil messages on the windows, missing food—those had been sporadic since her arrival. All were things that sounded like imaginings of an overwrought woman. But over the last few days, she’d sensed she was being watched much of the time. Small items got moved or were missing—and she was sure Eunice had nothing to do with it. And this morning, there was the note on the inside of her top dresser drawer. She shuddered and lifted the stove burner.

A thump announced Karl’s entry. “Goed morning. Mrs. Ochoa—she has need of you.”

Hastily tossing in the note, she slapped the burner back in place. “Let me get my bag.”

Karl’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Too embarrassed to tell him, she turned away. “You know better than to ask questions, Karl.”

He tugged her back around. “I know you better than to be fooled. What was on that note?”

“I’m sure word’s gotten around that I need ten more names and there’s less than a week to go. If the men who don’t want me here can’t vote me out, one of them thought maybe he’d scare me out. Obviously he didn’t know how stubborn I am.”

Keeping hold of her wrist, Karl tugged her toward the stairs. “You’re packing a valise and staying at Mercy’s.”

“I’m going to the Ochoas’.”

“We’re not done talking about this.”

Good as his word, Karl harped on her the whole time they were making calls. Finally, when they returned to town after making a string of calls, he went into her place and assured himself all was safe. Since Eunice O’Toole came over, he left them alone. While Eunice went upstairs, Taylor headed for her surgery.

Once there, she heard a cabinet door creak. It wasn’t a loud sound, but just enough to let Taylor know she wasn’t imagining things. Everything within her cried that something was wrong. She never left cabinets or drawers open or even ajar. When Bethany and Mercy had been there as patients and she’d heard a sound, nothing odd or frightening had happened, and as the day progressed, she’d convinced herself she’d been the butt of a sick joke. Right now, the light creak of the cabinet door warned her the dangers she’d faced weren’t all in the past.

Though it was just afternoon, heavy clouds darkened everything, promising another storm. She lit a kerosene lamp and stepped inside.

The skeleton hung undisturbed, the microscope curled precisely where the sun would slant first thing in the morning. Those things registered in a mere instant. Most people didn’t know she kept the addictive medications such as opium, laudanum, and Brown’s mixture in a locked drawer. To feed their insatiable cravings, people who were desperate for the substances were known to sometimes break into doctors’ offices to obtain the drugs. Even though such medications weren’t available to whoever had been there, that didn’t mean they’d . . .

Oh, Lord, no. Please, Lord—no.

Twenty-Five

M
outh dry, Taylor knew for certain whoever had been in her surgery had also tampered with her pharmacopeia. Only this wasn’t the pillaging search of someone desperate for a medication his body craved. The glass-fronted cabinet doors rested shut—except for one that barely hung ajar. Order mattered—but so did precision. As she scanned her shelves, the evidence was undeniable. The royal blue Latin script indicating the contents of each white porcelain container always faced directly forward, and she always kept the jars two inches apart, set back from the edge.

Only now, not all of them were in the correct alignment.

It wasn’t Enoch. He knows my protocol. Mercy’s too short to be able to reach the jars on that top shelf. Widow O’Toole was gone before I left, and I locked the doors.
One realization after another hit, each striking harder.

I’ve been naïve to think the men who want to discredit me and run me out of town wouldn’t try to tamper with my materials. They already did that stunt with the bugs and worms on my sterile instruments.

This was far worse, though. After the other stunt, she could notice the damage and correct it before treating anyone with the compromised instruments. This time, she couldn’t be sure precisely what had and hadn’t been moved. A deep breath filled her lungs, then whooshed out.
Lord, grant me wisdom.

After lighting more lamps and carefully assessing everything, Taylor knew for certain seven jars had been moved. Or at least seven. Maybe more. Immediately, she took down all seven jars that were off-kilter on the shelves. Setting them apart from one another, she tried to determine what her foe had done.

It was worse than she could have imagined.

Whoever it was had taken it upon himself to dump the contents of a jar directly into another, stir it, and then return a portion back into the first jar. The slight difference between a granular and a powdery texture of the first pair tipped her off. For the second pair, the scent was wrong. Each medication had a specific aroma—whether sweet, acrid, oily—just like foods did. Immediately the mingling of scents gave an odd bouquet that qualified as suspicious—if not downright malicious.

Which left three last jars. Three. Meaning they’d put away another jar and she’d not detected which one. By opening up those three, she’d try to find out what the other jar was. Valeriana officinalis—valerian—and Tanacetum parthenium—feverfew—were the more important of the three. The third, Caccinium macrocarpon—cranberry—didn’t matter as much. Carefully prying off the tops of the first two, she peered inside. Then it hit her.
He didn’t care that she knew.
She’d been so taken in by the trappings of stealth that this was a slap in her face—he was showing her what a cat-and-mouse game he was playing. He’d toyed with her, letting her anguish over what had and hadn’t been adulterated, then he’d mixed three different colors together.

Anger surged. No one was going to harm her patients. She secured the lids, pushed the jars to the back of the counter, then marched to the oak hall tree. Eunice came down the stairs. “Was there anything you needed while I’m here?”

“Goodness, no. Thank you for doing the laundry.”

Gloves, hat, and pelisse on, Taylor stepped outside, as did Eunice. A savage twist of her key, and the lock clicked shut.

Experience had taught her the value of pausing to take a deep breath instead of rushing headlong into something. Invariably, the seconds used to gather her thoughts saved several minutes of trying to redeem lost time due to a poor decision.
I’m not going to give whoever it is the satisfaction of seeing me look rattled.
Plastering a smile on her face, she stepped out into the rain and waited for Eunice to go home before going down the boardwalk.

Daniel Clark subscribed to three different newspapers so the mercantile patrons could read the paper and enjoy coffee while playing chess or checkers. Papers had just arrived, declaring the stock market was plummeting and the railway system’s financial underpinnings showed signs of grave instability. With everyone distracted, Taylor selected some cabinet locks and had Millie put them on her account.

As Taylor walked home, she looked out at the rainbow.
Lord, I have plenty to thank you for. You’ve ironed things out for Enoch and Mercy, and Tim and Sydney have a healthy baby. I’m in need of your wisdom and help. I don’t want anyone to be hurt because someone is trying to discredit me, Father. Please, protect everyone.

“Botheration!”

Karl paused outside the doctor’s house and didn’t bother to muffle a chuckle. He tapped on the window, and Taylor yelped. “Open the door.”

Scowling, she met him at the front door. “Did you need something?”

“I thought perhaps
you
did. You’re making plenty of noise in there.” He glanced down and squinted in the dim light. “What happened to your hand?”

She shoved it behind her back. “It’s cold out there.”

He shrugged. “Since it’s too early yet to go to bed, I thought to go for a walk.”

“Where’s Skyler?”

“Drinking from a puddle. Still, he will not drink from the horse troughs.”

“Skyler’s an intelligent dog.”

Hoping for an invitation to come in, since he’d just scorched his own pot of coffee, he angled, “Your coffee—does it taste any better than the trough water?”

Her chin came up. “Are you calling me a horse, Karl? Do you think I drink out of those troughs?”

He sidestepped the second question. “A while back, I paid you the compliment of calling you a Thoroughbred.”

“You most certainly did not.” She arched a brow. Her eyes were sparkling too much for him to think she’d taken any offense. “You likened certain admirable traits to a Thoroughbred. There is a vast difference.” She bit her lip, but a smile broke through. “Logic dictates that you, on the other hand, have inadvertently made an admission that you’ve tasted the water from the horse troughs since you believe a comparison can be made.”

Guilt hit as he saw her shiver. “You’re cold.”

“I’ll get some coffee.” They spent some time sitting on her front veranda, sharing an entire pot of coffee. Bundled in her pelisse and beneath a lap robe, she seemed . . . different.

“You’re acting nervous.”

“Too much coffee tends to make my hands tremor a little. For that very reason, I rarely indulge in more than a single cup.” She set aside the mug. “It is, however, cold and late. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Of course. I shouldn’t have kept you up or outside.”

Rising, she gave him an amused look. “We’re friends. As long as we’re outside, there’s no reason we cannot appreciate a pleasant evening together. Good night, Karl.”

“Good night.” He opened her door. Skyler sniffed, started growling, and pushed past her.

“Skyler—”

His dog didn’t listen to her. Then again, neither did he. Karl barreled on in. Skyler’s hackles stood straight up as he ran about the surgery. Low growls continued to curl in his throat.

Once Karl was sure no one was there, he spied the lock she’d started to put on one of the glass-fronted cabinets that held her medicines. Fury billowed off him. She’d wasted time hiding this from him when he could have been tracking down who’d been there. “Why didn’t you tell me someone’s been here?”

“That’s not what’s important.”

His hands itched to grab her arms and yank her out of there. Maybe shake some sense into her along the way. “Nothing is more important than your safety.”

“You’re wrong.”

She was so scared, she wasn’t making any sense.

“Other peoples’ safety is more important.” She drew in a breath. “Someone got into my medications and has tampered with them. In trying to discredit me, someone—or a group of people—is exercising horrendous judgment that could prove deadly.”

Horrendous.
It wasn’t just the word she chose, but the way her voice shook when she said it that struck Karl. Suddenly it hit him. “Sharing the joys like Rose’s birth the other day—that was good; but I am here for you in times of fear and sorrow, too. Come to me.” He reached over and took her hands, pulling her closer. “Come to me, good or bad, right or wrong, day or night. Promise me.”

Slowly, she withdrew her hands. “No, Karl. I made—”

“Don’t tell me about your oath. Your oath was not meant to put you in danger or isolate you so you couldn’t be effective. I’m putting those locks on. Now.” He knew he was pushing her, but it was for her own good. The woman he loved was in danger, and she hadn’t come to him. It tore at him. If she wouldn’t come to him, he would at least make sure she’d get help elsewhere.

“ ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens.’ You think you’re supposed to help everybody else handle their burdens, but you hide your problems and carry everything on your own shoulders. That verse isn’t just about you doing it for others, Taylor MacLay Bestman. That verse is just as much about you letting others share your load. It’s time you stopped trying to handle all of this by yourself. As soon as the locks are on, I’m going to haul you over to Enoch’s and we’re going to tell him just how far things have gone.” Angry, he grabbed the screwdriver.

A moment later, he heard the front door click shut.

Karl put the locks on her cabinets, but he’d taken the shutters off her eyes. Shaken and humbled, Taylor walked over to the boardinghouse and asked Enoch and Mercy to come over. Mr. Michaelson promised to listen for Heidi in case she woke up before her parents returned. She then went to get Daniel and Millie Clark, who came at once, their butler and cook happy to mind the little ones. Last, she went to Piet.

When Taylor walked back in, Karl was standing off to the side. She went and tapped him on the shoulder. “Remember what I told you? When I’m wrong, I do a spectacular job of it.” In the next hour, she proved her case.

No one had known everything that had been happening. After completely unburdening her heart and revealing everything, exhaustion pulled at her.

“Mercy, my sister needs to feel safe to sleep. I’m going to spend the night here.”

“I’m staying.” Karl didn’t ask. He stated the fact.

Enoch gave Piet the keys to the barn so he could let Ozzie and Lloyd in to muck in the morning, and Daniel escorted Mercy and Millie home.

The next morning, when Taylor emerged from her bedchamber, Enoch met her in the hall. “If you’re serious about wanting a puppy, Sis, you ought to come see what I have in the barn.”

“That’s the nicest way I’ve ever started a day!”

Karl opened the door to the patients’ room and leaned against the doorframe. “Seeing you first thing is the nicest way I’ve ever started a day. Looking at puppies with you will be a nice second thing.” Suddenly, in comparison to the compliment given in Karl’s deep, husky morning rumble, Taylor wasn’t so sure the offer of the puppy was the best start after all.

They’d just started walking down the boardwalk when the desperate shouts of men cut through the morning air, barely to be heard through the most tortured, panicked horses’ sounds she’d ever heard. A rifle shot boomed through the air. “Doc Enoch! Hurry!”

“Watch her!” he shouted to Karl and took off at a dead run.

Karl grabbed her, wheeled to the side to shield her as much as possible from the street, and held her impossibly close. His huge body protected her from the maelstrom that passed by.

As soon as it went by, she stared up into his fathomless blue eyes. “You can watch me run to help,” she told him, “or you can run with me.”

He put her down and grasped her hand. In that moment, suddenly, her heart fell into place. Karl trusted her. He respected her. When it came to a matter of physical danger, he had shielded her; but now he was her partner.

They cut across the field. By the time they reached the barn, Piet had the door wide open. A buckboard jounced up with Mr. Toomel driving, and Todd Valmer sat in the back with not one but both foals. Their dam had apparently followed them all the way to town without so much as a halter on. She neighed in distress. Todd rasped only one word that said it all: “Wolves.”

Hearing the ruckus, Dan and Clicky showed up. Clicky, Ozzie, and Lloyd hurriedly lit every lamp they could find while Piet and Dan slammed the barn door while keeping the dam outside. Toomel, Valmer, Enoch, and Karl gently removed the injured foals from the wagon. Piet came back in for a lasso. “I’ll take their mama over to the livery.”

“Don’t,” Enoch said. “She’ll be anxious here, but if you take her away she’ll panic and be liable to hurt herself and anything or anyone in her way.” While he spoke, Enoch knelt on the ground and began to assess the foals.

Taylor opened the cases and pulled out the drawers with the most essential instruments. She handed three to Karl and took two for herself, and knelt just off to the side. Instead of getting into the thick of things, she started threading suturing needles and poking them into her bodice. “What do you have?”

“Month old. Fast runners.” Enoch started out with age. When his patients’ family or owners were around, it was always smart to begin with a couple of positive statements. Calling them fast runners when they’d both been downed warned her that what came next would be grave. “Both have flesh at their necks torn. One has flank damage. The other’s hindquarter is laid bare.”