Cassandra Austin (4 page)

“I was teasing, Adam.” She had a sudden notion that perhaps he had never had a chance to be a little boy. She would bet his childhood hadn’t included a puppy.

“How’s this?” she suggested. “If you treat a farmer or his family and he offers you a pig as payment, ask if he’s got any puppies instead.”

Adam looked stunned. “Offers a pig as payment? You are joking, aren’t you?”

She laughed and turned back to the dishes.

“Pigs,” he muttered. He lifted the stack of platters and, just before he took it to the dining room, added, “If I get paid with a pig, I’m paying for my dinners with it.”

Jane fought the urge to giggle. The situation was too bizarre. Here she was laughing with a man whom she swore she didn’t like, letting him help her with dishes, of all things. Well, she
did
like him; she couldn’t help that. He would be as impossible to dislike as that puppy they were talking about.

She heard voices in the dining room and realized
the clatter of dishes had kept her from hearing the front door. Grabbing a towel to dry her hands, she went out to investigate.

“He’s in the wagon,” a woman was saying.

“You go make sure he doesn’t move,” Adam told her. “I’ll be right out.”

The woman, a farm wife Jane knew only vaguely, hurried to do as Adam said.

Adam turned to her, tossing the tea towel over her shoulder. “Sorry I can’t help you finish.”

Jane shook her head, but he had already turned away. A need to watch him with a patient other than Grams sent her after him. She stood on her porch as he leaned over the wagon. The sideboards hid the patient from Jane’s view, but a small foot extending out the back made her realize it was the woman’s son, not husband that she had brought to town.

Adam spoke softly, the encouraging tones reaching Jane’s ears if not the words. The woman nodded and took his place at the back of the wagon while he ran into his house. Jane walked down her steps and joined the woman.

“What happened, Mrs. Tallon?” she asked, the name coming to her when she saw the six-year-old boy’s face. “How did Billy get hurt?”

“Oh, Miss Sparks,” the woman said, reaching out to her. “He fell trying to build a tree house. I told him to wait ‘til his father could help him.”

“Aunt Jane!” the boy cried. His mother moved
quickly to keep him still. “Doc says my leg’s busted.”

“Well, don’t sound so proud,” his mother scolded.

“It hurt a lot at first,” Billy confided. “But now it don’t hurt less’en I move it.”

Adam joined them with splints and his medical bag. Jane stepped out of his way but watched over his shoulder as he cut the boy’s trouser leg from the ankle.

“So what do you think, Doc?” she asked. “Can little boys with broken legs still eat cookies?”

Even where she stood she could see Adam grin at Billy. “I don’t know. A diet of spinach and beets is what I usually recommend.”

Billy looked dismayed for a moment, then grinned back. “You’re just funnin’ me.”

Jane took Mrs. Tallon’s hand. “When the doctor gets through tying him back together, bring him over for a cookie before you head home.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” the woman said, “but we can’t. I’ll need to get home and start dinner. I’ll have Billy’s chores to do now, too.”

“Of course. Say, I have all kinds of food left from the funeral dinner. I’d be pleased if you’d take it home to your husband and boys.”

“Funeral dinner? Your grandmother?” Mrs. Tallon put her arm around Jane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Miss Sparks. I hadn’t heard.”

“I understand,” Jane said quickly, not wanting to
dwell on the funeral. “Now that dinner’s taken care of, you have time to bring Billy by for a cookie. I’ll go box up the food.”

Jane hurried back to her kitchen, uncertain why she had a sudden need to get away. The mention of the funeral, probably. She had managed to forget about it for a while. She had needed something like this to bring her back to her senses. She was starting to have too much fun teasing Dr. Adam Hart.

Grams was barely underground, and Jane was already forgetting her advice.
Don’t trust men with anything but business. Don’t depend on them, and don’t let them know your weaknesses.

What Jane knew about her father should have taught her those lessons, anyway. He had used her mother and abandoned them both. What little he’d left her when he died couldn’t begin to make up for the pain he had caused.

Surely all men weren’t like that, Jane had argued, but how would one know?

One can’t,
had been Grams’s answer.

Jane busied herself transferring food into pie plates and bowls she wouldn’t miss before Mrs. Tallon had a chance to return them. She tried to convince herself that her relationship with Adam was still business, the same as her relationship with George or the guests in the boardinghouse.

He was just one of the first men she had dealt with who was close to her age. Her responsibilities kept her from socializing much except with boarders,
who tended to be older. That was the root of the attraction.

And why shouldn’t she have a friend her own age? She was not quite twenty-two and couldn’t remember ever having a friend. That was all Adam was. He had, after all, the beautiful Doreena. His interest in Plain Jane was probably because of their ages as well.

Or more likely because of his stomach.

At any rate, it was pleasant to have a friend, Jane decided, tackling the rest of the dishes once she had started a small pot of coffee. And she was safe from Adam because of Doreena.

Adam couldn’t explain why he wished Jane had stayed. The boy and his mother were both cooperative and calm. He didn’t need or even want her help.

He tried to put her out of his mind as he set the boy’s leg and gave them instructions. “Don’t put any weight on that leg,” he finished. “I’ll come out to take a look at it tomorrow. Let me know immediately if there are any problems.”

“Thanks, Dr. Hart,” Mrs. Tallon said. “I’ll talk to the mister about how to pay you and get it taken care of as soon as possible.”

“Can we go see Aunt Jane now?” Billy asked.

“How am I supposed to get you in there?” his mother responded. “I’ll see if she can send a cookie home with us.”

Suddenly the excuse to be in Jane’s kitchen again was more than Adam could resist. “I’ll carry him in, Mrs. Tallon. You can get the door.”

“I always come see Aunt Jane when we’re in town,” Billy explained. “She likes little boys.”

“I think you like her, too,” Adam said, carefully supporting the injured leg as he lifted the boy into his arms.

“I shouldn’t do it since I hardly know her,” the boy’s mother confided, “but sometimes I let Billy play at Miss Sparks’s house while I do my shopping. She doesn’t seem to mind and Billy’s much happier that way.”

Adam was a little curious as to what the everefficient-and-tidy Miss Sparks thought of having a little boy underfoot. He guessed she let Mrs. Tallon take advantage of her, the same way everyone at the funeral dinner had.

But then, she was the one who’d offered cookies.

Adam carried Billy into the kitchen, spotless now and smelling of fresh coffee. Jane had already positioned a chair with a pillow on it to support the broken leg. When Billy was comfortably seated, Adam stepped back to watch Jane. She gave the boy a hug then knelt down on the floor. “That’s one fancy leg you’ve got now,” she said. “Dr. Hart went to a lot of work to keep you from climbing trees.”

“That’s not why,” the boy said.

Jane smiled at the child as she rose to her feet.
She served coffee to the adults and milk to Billy, and set a plate of oatmeal cookies on the table.

Jane was comfortable with the farm woman and talked easily about weather and crops. She was obviously a special friend to Billy. Adam watched her wink at the boy and slip him another cookie after his mother had said he’d had enough.

“The leg set all right, didn’t it?” Jane asked him as Mrs. Tallon prepared to leave.

“It’ll be fine. I just want to keep an eye on it for the next few days to be sure the splint keeps it immobile and there are no other complications.”

“She can’t keep bringing him into town,” Jane said, wrapping some cookies in a napkin and tucking them into one of the boxes that sat by the door.

“I’ll ride out to the farm,” Adam said. He wondered what was bothering her. Mrs. Tallon had said they hardly knew each other. Was she worried about the boy or did she know something about the farm that he didn’t? Her comment about pigs came back to him.

But her mind was on a different track. “He could stay here,” she said.

“C
an I, Ma? Please,” Billy begged.

Adam was sure his face showed his surprise. It would make it easier for him to check on the boy, of course, but Jane had just lost her grandmother. She hadn’t yet caught up on the sleep she had lost during the woman’s illness. A lively little boy frustrated by a broken leg would not make her life easier. He held his breath and waited to see what Mrs. Tallon would say.

“No,” the mother said finally. “Your father will want to talk to you.”

A new problem occurred to Adam. “No spankings until the leg is healed,” he said.

Mrs. Tallon laughed. “You don’t need to worry about that. But he’ll likely be doing extra chores once he’s healed.”

Adam carried Billy back to the wagon, and Jane and Mrs. Tallon followed with the boxes of food.
After saying their goodbyes, Adam and Jane stood side by side and watched the wagon pull away.

“It was nice of you to offer to keep Billy,” Adam said.

Jane gave him a sad smile. “It would have kept my mind off things,” she said.

“You need to get some rest.”

She shook her head. “I need to start dinner. I need to keep busy.”

Adam watched her walk back to the boardinghouse. Once she was inside, he returned to his own little house. He slumped into a chair and stared at his closed front door.

This house was way too quiet. He needed other voices and activity around him. He wished he were sitting in Jane’s front parlor. Even if no one else was there with him, he would be able to hear the other boarders if they walked across their rooms. He would
know
that he wasn’t alone.

He needed to convince Doreena to join him. He had already sent one brief letter describing his welcome to Clyde. He hadn’t mentioned her refusal to come or his disappointment. He had been afraid he would say something he later regretted.

How could she think he would decide not to stay? Hadn’t she listened to him at all? He could understand if she said she didn’t want to leave her family and live in a comparatively primitive little community. But that wasn’t what she’d said. She had said she was sure
he
would go back.

It didn’t seem right that she should make him choose between the life he wanted and the woman he loved. He would get pen and ink and tell her so.

He was halfway to his feet before it occurred to him that that was precisely what he was asking her to do: choose between the life she knew and her love for him.

He slumped back into the chair. The difference, of course, was that he was the man. Tradition held that a woman left everything behind and started a new life with her husband. Doreena, however, would be leaving behind considerably more than most women. And getting far less.

Besides, he wasn’t her husband yet. She could still refuse. It came down to the same question. Was he willing to give up his dream of practicing medicine on the frontier in order to be with Doreena?

With a sigh, he rose and moved to the desk. She had given him a year. Perhaps he could change her mind.

It took him most of the afternoon to write the letter, in part because he carefully chose each word, but also because of the interruptions. Two separate farm families stopped to meet him. They were in town anyway, they pointed out. Neither needed medical attention, but were merely checking him out, deciding, he supposed, if it would be worth calling on him if the need arose. He hoped he made a favorable impression. The fact that one of the farmers called him son did not seem like a good sign.

Finally the letter was written. He tapped the pen against his chin as he reread it. He had told about Billy Tallon, pointing out that without his help the boy might have been crippled for life. He had mentioned the Cartland sisters, brushing very lightly over their flirting. He hoped he had depicted them as amusing neighbors.

He had skillfully written of the old woman dying of pneumonia and of taking his meals at the boardinghouse next door without ever actually mentioning Jane. Now he wondered why. He hadn’t been afraid Doreena would be jealous. He simply hadn’t been sure how to describe her.

Thinking of his neighbor, he was considering arriving early for dinner when he had another knock at his door. “Come in,” he called as he turned the letter over and placed the cleaned pen on top.

He stood as Rose Finley, the woman who had introduced herself at the funeral dinner, stepped across his threshold. She moved aside to admit a woman Adam guessed was just shy of twenty.

“This is my daughter Rosalie,” Mrs. Finley said, smiling proudly as the girl curtsied. “This, my dear, is Dr. Adam Hart.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rosalie said, with a tilt of her head that reminded him instantly of Nedra Cartland.

“She’s been feeling poorly lately,” Mama Finley continued. “I’ll just wait here while you examine
her in private.” She plopped down in a chair and folded her arms, looking rather pleased.

Adam hesitated a moment before directing the young woman into the adjoining room. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment.

Rosalie stood in the center of the room, making a slow turn as she studied her surroundings. “I’d feel more comfortable if the shades were drawn,” she said.

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but she had already stepped to the window that overlooked the street and was stretching to reach the shade pull. He quickly found a match and lit the lamp.

“Miss Finley—”

“You can call me Rosalie,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she went for the other window shade.

“Rosalie,” Adam began, becoming conscious of just how tightly the girl’s dress fit when she stretched up on tiptoe.

“Yes?” She turned around and eyed him innocently.

Adam would have bet money there was nothing wrong with this woman except an overeager mother. Still…

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating a stool that would bring her nearly eye-to-eye with him. “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s my throat,” she said. “It’s been sore lately.”

Adam brought the lamp forward, positioned it on the table and turned up the wick. “Let’s have a look.”

She opened her mouth, and Adam turned her head until he got a good view of a very healthy throat.

“Your hands are warm,” she said as he drew away.

“Thanks,” he said, pretending not to notice the way she leaned toward him. “Have your eyes been watering? Do you have a runny nose?”

The pert little nose in question wrinkled distastefully. “No.”

“Have you been coughing up any blood or phlegm?”

She shook her head, shuddering. “Don’t you want to listen to my chest?”

Before Adam could catch her hands, she had loosened three buttons on her bodice. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

“But you can do it, anyway,” she said, leaning toward him again.

Adam was torn between the danger of continuing to hold her hands and the danger of letting them loose. Before hechad made up his mind, she whispered, “Do you want to kiss me, Dr. Hart?”

Adam looked down into her eyes, barely six inches from his. “Not if you have a sore throat,” he said softly.

He watched her as she considered her predicament. He expected her to admit that she had been lying, but perhaps she realized that she would then be admitting to throwing herself at him as well. After a moment she leaned away and lowered her eyes. He let her hands slip out of his grasp.

“My advice, Miss Finley,” he said softly, “is to, ah, stop working so hard. Let things take their natural course.”

“But Mama says—”

“I can imagine what Mama says,” he said, moving away from her. “Don’t let her push you into anything.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, gazing down at her lap.

Adam couldn’t suppress a smile. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir.” She slipped off the stool, still not looking at him.

“One more thing, Rosalie.” She glanced up. “Button your dress.”

Two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks. She hastily refastened the buttons as she moved toward the door. Adam reached out and opened it for

her. He followed her into the front room.

Mrs. Finley came to her feet and eyed her daughter expectantly.

“I think she’ll be fine, Mrs. Finley,” Adam said in his most professional voice. “Just go a little easy on her for a while.”

Mrs. Finley looked from him to her daughter and back.

“That’ll be a dollar, Mrs. Finley.”

The woman opened her purse and carefully counted out the coins. With a last quizzical look at Adam, she herded her daughter out the door.

Adam turned back to the examining room and put out the lamp. He opened the shades and stood for a moment looking at the boardinghouse next door. Why should it seem particularly inviting now? The Cartland sisters weren’t any more subtle than Rosalie.

Jane, however, was another matter. He could use a dose of her frankness after this afternoon. He grabbed his coat, tacked the oft-used note on his front door and was climbing her steps in a matter of minutes.

Jane gazed at the zinnias in the center of the table as her boarders and guests ate. When she had arranged the bouquet she’d thought she should take a few back to Grams. It was an odd feeling to realize that for just a moment she had forgotten she was dead. But maybe in a sense Grams was still with her, would always be with her.

Adam’s words had eased some of her guilt over her grandmother’s death, leaving her glad that the pain was over. Her sorrow now was for the loss of her closest friend and confidante. If Naomi said
something outrageous to get Mr. Bickford’s attention, with whom would she laugh with about it later?

At that moment, Adam chuckled over something that George had said. She hadn’t been paying attention. When Tim Martin was there the conversation was always a little livelier, creating a diversion from her own thoughts. Tonight she had let herself drift away.

She turned her attention to the man beside her. He flashed her his boyish grin and whispered, “Welcome back.”

“Sorry,” she murmured. “My mind was elsewhere.”

He nodded in understanding.

The Cartlands and George were arguing the relative merits of horseback versus buggies, and no one noticed the brief exchange. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“I asked about renting a buggy to get out to the Tallon farm tomorrow. It appears I may have to learn to ride horseback.”

Jane smiled. “I’ve heard Mrs. Tallon talk about a creek that can make it impossible for her to get into town. Or to make it home if she gets caught in a rainstorm.”

Adam nodded. “Mrs. Tallon made it in today, so I’m sure a buggy could make it put tomorrow. But that won’t always be true.”

Jane tried to look serious. “You need to learn to
ride, anyway, if you’re going to live in the West. You’ll be a cowboy before you know it.”

“I’ll need to round up all those pigs I plan to raise.”

“Pigs?” Naomi and Nedra spoke almost simultaneously.

“It’s just a joke,” Adam said, making an effort to hide his grin. Jane chewed her lip to keep from laughing outright.

“Well, I would hope so,” Naomi said. “Pigs!”

While Naomi was adjusting to the notion that anyone would make a joke about pigs, Nedra seemed to have already forgotten it. “I’m not sure a gentleman should expect to learn to ride in one lesson,” she said, shifting her worried gaze from Adam to George and back.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure, either,” Adam said, still grinning. When Nedra’s expression turned to alarm, he added, “I’ll ask Mr. Knapp to loan me the oldest, laziest horse he’s got. Besides, if I break anything, I can fix it. I’m a doctor.”

Nedra eyed him dubiously. “One would think that a doctor wouldn’t take these things so lightly.”

“I’m sorry.” He made another effort to be serious. “I’ll be careful, really.”

His eyes were fairly dancing with excitement, Jane noted. “What time tomorrow are you planning on mounting your first horse?” she asked.

“What time?” He had turned his attention back
to his dinner, but paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

Jane nodded. “I thought we should all turn out to watch the show-I mean, show our support.”

Adam laughed along with George. The Cartlands seemed to have missed the joke. Jane wondered if Mr. Bickford was even listening.

Adam laid his fork back on his plate. “I may keep that information to myself. For modesty’s sake, of course.”

“But here’s your chance to meet the whole town, Doc,” George said. “They’ll all turn out to watch a tenderfoot fall off a horse.”

Adam laughed and the Cartlands scowled. Evidently deciding there had been enough merriment, Naomi and Nedra forced the conversation to other topics. Bickford excused himself, reminding Jane of the shirt with the missing button he had left for her in the parlor. The sisters followed him out of the room. George stood and, after assuring Adam that he would make the arrangements with Knapp’s livery, left as well.

Adam had stood when the ladies did, but resumed his seat once they were gone. Jane wasn’t sure if she should begin to clear the table as a hint that dinner was over or stay right where she was. She decided on the latter.

“You’re excited about riding, aren’t you?”

He nodded as a grin took over his face. “I’ve read
about cowboys and bandits since I was a kid. I may have to buy a pair of boots.”

“And a pair of six-guns?”

“I don’t think I’ll go that far.”

Jane watched him for a moment, marveling at how nice it felt to be near him. “What was your childhood like?” she asked abruptly.

“It was all right. What about you?”

Jane shrugged, not wanting to talk about herself. “It was all right, too, I guess. No horses or puppies, though.”

“Me, either,” he said. “But that’s not as important as the future. And my future holds at least one ride on a horse.”

“More than that if you don’t break your neck.”

“Right,” he said. “And I haven’t given up on that puppy yet, either.”

“Or the pigs?”

He laughed. “I had a real paying customer today.”

“Real money?”

“Real money. Rose Finley brought Rosalie by.”