Be My Texas Valentine (31 page)

Sweet Talk

DEWANNA PACE

To:
Gary Williams, Sandy Williams, Markel Rose,
Rose Williams, and Roy Pace.
Our better halves.

Smch-smch-smch.

Thanks for always saying what you mean
and meaning what you say.

We love you, too.

Chapter 1

Late January 1888

Screams of heavy labor stopped, followed by a baby’s first cry and a shout of joy from the farmer waiting outside of the log cabin where Dr. Noah Powell worked.
Echoes of happiness
, he thought, wondering if the sounds would ever be part of his own life.

“Give me a minute,” Noah told the farmer. “I’ll clean up your wife and son, then you can see them.”

He worked fast but thoroughly, making sure mother and child were presentable and resting. “You can come in now,” he said, opening the door to the man whose weathered face beamed as bright as the first streaks of dawn lining the horizon.

The farmer grabbed his hand and pumped it so hard that Noah felt his lips could have spouted water. “You might want to save some of that, Crenshaw. That boy of yours is going to demand a lot of your stamina just taking care of him. You won’t be getting much sleep till your wife’s on her feet again.”

“Sorry, Doc, I’m just so ... so ... it’s a boy, you say?”

“A son,” Noah repeated, knowing what the once childless man was really asking. The couple’s first two had been stillborns. He was pleased to reassure the man. “Strong and healthy as an ox.”

Crenshaw raced past the doctor to gather his wife in his arms, telling her how much he loved her and would till his dying day.

Noah did the one thing he always did at such moments meant for privacy. He turned, gathered his medicine bag, and headed for home and the quiet nothingness that awaited him there.

Sometimes he wished this Panhandle bunch of Texans weren’t so bent on populating the prairie, allowing him time to do something about his own particular woes. But the people who lived in and around Longhorn City, Texas, were folks who loved to the fullest, and Noah preferred to live wherever love thrived with a strong voice.

An hour later, exhaustion made stowing away his horse and tack at the livery stable seem longer than usual. The walk down Main Street to his office felt like an endless trek. Silence met him as he opened the door and set down his bag by the medicine cabinet, lit the lamp, and took a look into the birdcage that hung in one corner of the room he used as both parlor and waiting room. “You asleep, little buddy?”

No answer.

“Maybe you’re hungry.” Noah made his way through the rooms that had become home and office since his return to Longhorn City four years ago. In the kitchen, he caught a brief glance of himself in the glass that covered the doors of the china hutch.

He hadn’t combed his hair in two days and it spiked like porcupine quills dipped in tar. Dark whiskers shadowed the lower half of his normally well-shaved jaw. He reached up to rub his chin and wondered if he ought to hang a closed sign on his door for a couple of days and catch up with himself. Eyes that were normally the color of a clear Texas sky stared back tired and intent, searching for sight of the Noah Powell who might have once allowed himself to ignore his better judgment.

He didn’t see him there.

This Noah had penance to pay.

Noah turned from his rough image and was glad to see that his housekeeper had replenished the tin of sunflower seeds kept for the bird. He broke open an egg and drained the contents into a bowl, taking the shell, seeds, and fresh water with him.

Wind from an open window fluttered curtains, causing a frightened squawk to come from the parlor. Noah loved to sleep with fresh air, and he would need it if he just went straight to sleep. Which he should since others would learn of his return and expect him to open for business come full daylight. Better to wash up later.

“Turn around, little buddy,” he urged his pet, entering the parlor and putting the offerings in trays stationed along the perches in the cage. Noah held his finger up to the tiny blue rump dappled with rainbow-colored feathers. “Tell Doc what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

The lovebird’s peach-colored face rose from behind one wing, where it had been hiding, and a dark brown eye peered at Noah, waiting. A few moments passed and the bird still refused to turn completely around.

“I know you feel bad, fellow, but I brought your favorite this morning.”

The bird finally gave Noah a better look. Someone else might just see colorful feathers, but the doctor noticed a few of them had started molting. Amigo’s eyes looked dull, without their usual shine. His tiny head didn’t bob in its customary manner but tilted slightly as if it hurt to be upright.

Something was wrong and Noah didn’t have to be the town doctor to figure out part of the problem. Amigo had started pecking at himself in the mirror hung on one of the perches for entertainment, and the bird had quit making any happy, chattering noises. Instead, he squawked and gave high-pitched squeals.

The traveling peddler who had sold Noah his pet a few months ago warned that Amigo would demand lots of attention and would become grumpy, maybe even sick, when he didn’t get it. Noah had thought the man was simply trying to make twice the sale. Now after getting to know Amigo, he realized the peddler knew his business. Amigo needed company.

Something Noah could relate to and understand. But taking care of folks didn’t give him much time for socializing and even less time with Amigo. Maybe he should find the bird a better home or a mate. He wasn’t being fair, but he’d grown to care for his pet and didn’t like the prospect of having to give him up. Noah had bought the littlest member of the parrot family hoping he might teach it to talk and give him some company, but so far Amigo remained mum. At least he was someone Noah could talk to without feeling he was just talking to himself.

The peddler had mentioned that not all lovebirds learned to speak but some did. Maybe the man’s route would bring him back to town soon and a lady friend could be found. One that talked and might encourage Amigo to do the same.

“Is that what you need, buddy? A lady friend?” Noah laughed when the bird hopped up onto his extended finger. “You are a boy, aren’t you?”

He wished he’d asked a lot more about the species, but he’d been in a hurry the day he’d bought him and hadn’t taken the time. His knowledge of animals was limited to barnyard beasts, not the exotic fare brought up from Galveston. He slowly withdrew his hand from the birdcage and stroked Amigo’s head. The peddler had said that it took a few months before the gender could be determined, and even then, it might not reveal itself unless another bird was nearby. “Maybe you need a little
hero
to call your own,” Noah pondered aloud, “not a heroine.”

A loud rap on the door caused Amigo to squawk and fly off to the top of the secretary that housed ledgers and medical books.

“Doc Powell, you back? My wife, she’s about to ... foal.”

Noah recognized the man’s voice. He’d already delivered four babies for the expectant father. He’d be adding a couple more this go-round. “Come on in, Mr. Boatright. I’ll just grab my bag and head over to the livery to get my horse.” Noah looked longingly down the hall at his bedroom and imagined his long, lank body stretched out in the comfort of the four-poster bed, but that would have to wait.

When he left home, it was usually due to an emergency. When he returned, he didn’t have to expend any effort looking for keys because he always left the door unlocked. It just made sense to do so and simplified his comings and goings.

The bald rancher rushed into the parlor, his face flushed and his eyes as wide as flapjacks. Disturbed by the interruption, Amigo’s squawking became louder.

“Go back inside, buddy.” Noah shooed the bird toward the cage, but Amigo refused to obey and continued to shriek. Noah didn’t try to make him stop. He didn’t believe in silencing anyone.

“I left my boy at the livery.” A frown plowed across the rancher’s brow. “You take his horse and he’ll ride yours.” Boatright grabbed the bag from Noah’s hand, urging him to hurry. “Y’all can swap out when she’s all birthed out.”

Boatright had reason to be worried. The twins weren’t due till next month and the pregnancy had come too soon after the last one. Noah wrote a brief note, folded it, and put an inkwell on it so his housekeeper would find the message when she cleaned up for him, as she did every other day. “Sorry,” he apologized, “had to leave instructions for Mrs. Lassiter, in case this takes a while.”

Concern etched the man’s face. “You expecting my wife to have trouble?”

Amigo flew to Noah’s shoulder and Noah crooned to the bird softly. He had to reassure Boatright, too, even though he couldn’t promise there wouldn’t be problems with birthing twins. “The
while
I’m talking about has to do with my pet. He’s feeling a little puny and I want Mrs. Lassiter to look out for him while I’m gone.”

“Give me your word that my wife will make it through. My babies, too.” The rancher’s concern deepened into challenge. “It’s no comfort knowing you can’t fix what’s yours, Doc, when I’m trusting you with mine. You can handle this, can’t ya?”

Noah moved toward the cage, giving a soft whistle, which was the signal for Amigo to return to his home. Instead the lovebird flew away and roosted on the top of the medicine cabinet. “Guess you’ll have to find your own way back then, little buddy.”

Realizing Boatright was still waiting for reassurance, Noah gathered the mask of unerring judgment he’d worn since returning to Texas. Four years ago he had erred in making a choice and lost someone dear to him—a patient whose death would never allow him to hold the truth back from anyone ever again.

He finally looked the man squarely in the eyes and vowed, “I promise to do the best I can. But if she needs more than my skills, I guarantee you, I’ll ask for help.”

“From Thurgood?” Surprise etched the rancher’s face.

“Especially from him.”

“But he’s retired and I thought you two weren’t talking to each other.”

“None of that’s changed,” Noah admitted, motioning for them to head for the horses at the hitching post, “but my father’s forgotten more than I’ll ever know about bringing babies into this world. He’s still got plenty enough sand in him to save your woman if I can’t.”

Chapter 2

Dances were never JoEmma Brown’s cup of coffee, least of all the one planned for Valentine’s Day. The bunch of women sitting in her parlor and betting about which beau would take them to the one planned in Belle Whitaker’s barn was even less appealing than the thought of having to attend it herself.

The only reason she would consider going would be if Noah Powell wasn’t off somewhere saving the world and had the time to show up at Belle’s. Not that she would have a chance to speak with him. Every unmarried woman in the territory would swarm him like bees on bluebonnets. She’d never get her wheelchair within ten feet of the doctor. So why go, when talking with Noah was the only reason she could think of worth spending time in a crowded place of constantly moving people?

“May I help you, JoEmma?” Angelina trilled sweetly from the parlor.

Her approaching footsteps warned JoEmma that her older sister had left Belle and the rest of their guests and was headed her way. Within seconds Angelina’s blond head poked around the doorway that separated the parlor from the dining room, where JoEmma worked at the table. With her back to the other women now, her sister’s perfectly arched brows knit angrily together over her leaf green eyes.

“What’s taking you so long?” she whispered. One look at JoEmma’s overalls filled Angelina’s tone with exasperation. “Couldn’t you have at least changed clothes, for heaven’s sake? It’s a tea party in there, not a barn raising. I told Hannah before she left to go clean Dr. Powell’s place to set out the paisley dress for you. It will bring out the green in your eyes.”

The color of her eyes depended on what mood JoEmma was in, and today, the amber hues of her hazel-colored eyes would show more prominently than the green hues. They always did when she was tired. Besides, she didn’t care to try to outshine the other women dressed in all their laces and tea gowns today or any other day, for that matter. She had given up years ago trying to match petticoat to ribbon with her sister, and didn’t particularly care for being compared as a younger, slightly larger version of Angelina. Sharing the same hair color was about all they had in common. She didn’t mind dressing up when she left the house, but JoEmma preferred comfortable clothing while she worked.

“Hannah laid it out and I would have put it on,” she reminded her sister, not wanting to place any blame on Mrs. Lassiter, “but I haven’t had
time
to change yet. You wanted me to get all of these done, didn’t you? Doesn’t Belle want to take them with her?”

Completing the last name on the red heart-shaped paper, JoEmma blew on the ink, helping the words dry before placing the heart into the glass bowl with the others. She grabbed the red ribbon she had stitched with lace and created a large, full bow around the bowl. “Here, you take it to them.” She offered her sister the hearts. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“You don’t have time to change now,” Angelina insisted, accepting the container. “They’re going to think you’re being unsociable.”

JoEmma looked at her sister wanting to tell her that she should have spoken up earlier about needing the hearts. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to spend all night and this morning getting them done. Calligraphy took time.

Instead, JoEmma kept silent. Angie was the picture of health and didn’t have to deal with a heart weakened from scarlet fever. Didn’t have to work in stages. Still, JoEmma relented, no one, not even her sister, who understood how difficult it was for her to do things, should have to make excuses for her.