Bluebonnet Belle (7 page)

Her eyes narrowed. Disrobe? Why, the knave!

“You're not only a blabbermouth, you're disgusting!”

Already halfway out the door, he stopped and turned. “I beg your pardon, miss?”

“Disrobe?”

Wait until Grandpa heard what his precious Dr. Fuller had just suggested! Why, he would have him thrown out of the community! Dignity didn't hold with the likes of crude, ungodly men.

“Before I can examine you, you'll have to take off your clothes.”

She stiffened. “I did not come in here to take off my clothes.”

“If you have a female complaint, I'll have to—”

“Female complaint?” She stopped. Oh, yes, a
female complaint
. She couldn't have a simple ache or pain, no, it had to be a “female complaint.”

“Yes, I do have a complaint and I am female, but the last thing I would do is disrobe for
you
.”

Calmly closing the door, Gray returned to his desk and sat down. “Let's start over. Exactly what is your ‘personal' problem?”

Planting both hands on the edge of his desk, she leaned close, glaring at him as she clearly enunciated each word. “What I do with my life, or what I take up as a profession, is absolutely
none of your business!
”

Leaning back in his chair to keep space between them, Gray frowned.

“And I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Dr. Fuller.”

It was his turn to look over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't speaking to someone else.

There were still only two of them in the room.

“It's bad enough,” April continued, “that I have to contend with your
archaic
views on the female population, but now you've really done it.” Her tone dropped menacingly. “You've dragged Grandpa into this, and I cannot emphasize strongly enough that it is not
your
place to be telling Grandpa what I do, just because
we
do not see eye to eye on certain subjects!”

Pulling herself up to her full height, she felt weak with relief. This hadn't been as bad as she'd expected.

Readjusting her hat, she expelled a deep breath. “I believe I've made myself clear.”

That said, she headed for the door and slammed it soundly behind her.

Gray's framed medical certificate fell to the floor, the glass shattering.

 

The doctor stared at the rubble, mystified. Getting slowly to his feet, he walked to the outer office in time to see the hem of her skirt whipping out the front door.

He opened the door and watched her flounce down the sidewalk and enter Ludwig's Pharmacy, slamming that door, as well.

What was that all about?

Stepping onto the sidewalk Gray peered at the closed door of the pharmacy, muttering under his breath.

More to the point, who was her grandpa?

The woman was an infuriating mystery, one he wasn't sure he wanted to unravel. She had a temper; the shattered glass of his medical certificate was proof. But she was angry because he'd told her
grandpa
what she was doing with Lydia. The question puzzled Gray. Who was her grandpa?

He narrowed it down to three possibilities, with Riley Ogden at the top of the list. Could she be the “April” his friend talked about? It was more than possible, since Riley described her as stubborn, but beautiful. And if she was April, Gray couldn't argue with either description.

 

“A man, Beulah. That's what he is! A pigheaded, obstinate
man!
Doesn't that say it all?”

April was still fuming over Gray Fuller. The fact that she hadn't let him get away with it didn't help. The nerve of that man to expound about “modern medicine” at Lydia's rallies, when so many doctors still inflicted their obsolete opinions on women! The fact galled her.

“A most good-looking man,” Beulah mused. “But not good enough for you to nearly break the glass out of Papa's front door.”

“Handsome? I don't think so.”

“Better have your eyes checked.”

“Not all women are blinded by meaningless appearances,” April reminded her. “There are some of us who judge a man for his character, which, if you recall, Dr. Fuller is sadly lacking.”

“Dr. Fuller really gets under your skin, doesn't he?” Beulah carefully counted out fifteen pills before taking a knife and scooping them into a bottle. “I don't see what all the fuss is about. From what I can tell, the women in Dignity don't take every word the doctor says as gospel. They seem open enough for alternative help to their problems. Mrs. Pinkham is garnering her share of their attention when it comes to health issues. Our laudanum sales have dropped off since she started selling her compound.”

“Mrs. Pinkham cares about women,” April said. “That's why she's so believable.”

“Believable? Well, I didn't say that.” Beulah set aside a bottle. “I just hope she knows what she's doing. I am, after all, taking my life into my own hands for you, you know. If Papa finds out I'm handing out Lydia Pinkham's Vegetable Compound to customers, I'll be lying in your grandpa's parlor, surrounded by baskets of stinking gladioli.”

Turning around, April sobered. “How is your father feeling? I haven't seen him in the pharmacy this week.”

“Papa has a frightful cold, and I made him stay home.”

“I'm sorry. I'll have Datha bake him one of her chocolate cakes. That should have him feeling better in no time.”

“He'd love that,” Beulah agreed.

April's eyes lit with interest as she edged closer to the counter. “Has anyone said how the compound is working?”

“I haven't had any complaints, but the women I've handed it to don't know that's what they're taking. They think it's a tonic. So…” her friend leaned closer “…are you going to stop?”

“Selling the compound?”

“Isn't that what your grandfather told you to do? Stop working for Mrs. Pinkham immediately?”

April frowned, hating the thought. “Yes…that's what he said.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I guess.”

“April,” Beulah said warningly, “are you going to quit selling it or not?”

“Selling it, yes. Helping Mrs. Pinkham, no. I'm going to see if there isn't something I can do to promote the compound without blatantly going against Grandpa's wishes.” She couldn't give up her cause. Grandpa might not believe in the tonic, but she
did
, and she had to help some way.

“Oh, brother,” Beulah groaned. “Knowing you, this means trouble.”

“I
can't
stop helping her now, not when Lydia is on the brink of success. Dan and Henry are at this very moment in Austin, trying to expand the market.”

“When are they coming home?”

“In a couple of days,” April said with a sigh. “I miss him.”

“Dan?”

She swatted her friend playfully. “You have no reverence at all for love.”

“For love I do. It's infatuation I have no patience for. And I, simple-minded cretin that I am, can clearly see that what you feel for Henry is nothing more than infatuation, pure and simple.”

“No, it isn't. I care deeply for him. Besides, isn't it ‘infatuation' you have for Dr. Fuller?”

Beulah ignored the question. “You've clearly lost your mind. You know what kind of man Henry T. Long is? He'll steal a woman's heart, then run off like a rabbit. It escapes me why, all of a sudden, you think that you're in love with him. You've known the knave since childhood, and until six months ago hadn't given him a serious thought. What happened?”

“I've recognized how charming, how utterly caring, he really is.”

“He'll break your heart, then wonder why you're angry with him.”

“He's wonderful, and I think he's on the verge of asking me to marry him.”

“Deliver us all.” Beulah pulled her apron off. “First you were worried about your grandpa finding out about the Pinkham compound. Now he knows, and his heart withstood the shock. But wait until he hears that you're actually entertaining the idea of marrying Henry Long—not that I think Henry will ever ask you to marry him, mind you. Henry isn't husband material. Never has been and never will be.”

“Henry respects women,” April said defensively.

“I know Henry likes women.
All
women, April, my dense but lovable friend. Open your eyes and be
healed!
”

“Henry enjoys the fairer sex, yes, but I know he's falling in love with me. Grandpa will just have to adjust to the fact, and he will, once he gets to know Henry, really know him.”

“April Truitt,” Beulah chided as she picked up her dust cloth. “If you believe that, and Lydia's compound cures insanity, you, dearest, should drink a full bottle of the stuff.”

T
he marketplace was bustling with activity this morning. April and Beulah got there early, filling their shopping baskets as they sorted through fruits and vegetables.

“Better take advantage of the eggplant, April and Porky. It's the last of my garden,” Mr. Portland said, adding several more of the plump vegetables to the display on the wooden tables outside the market.

“What a shame,” April said, choosing one, sniffing, then holding it for her friend to smell. The aroma of warm sunshine and green vines still clung to the shiny purple skin. “I'll take three, two of the peppers, four tomatoes and—”

The rumble of a heavy wagon interrupted her. Turning to investigate the racket, April saw an ox-drawn wagon lumbering into town. A hired wagon—coming from Houston, no doubt. The weary, dust-covered animals plodded down the street, heads low as they strained to pull the load. Leading the entourage was a shiny black carriage with fringe around the top, drawn by two beautiful black mares high-stepping prettily.

Beulah, holding a large melon in the palm of her right hand, paused to look at the strange cavalcade. “What is that?”

April studied the fashionably attired young woman sitting beside the carriage driver. A middle-aged woman, so completely overshadowed she almost went unnoticed, sat behind them. The first woman, more beautiful than any April had seen in a magazine, smiled and waved at a passerby, while twirling a black satin-and-lace parasol.

“Mercy,” Beulah breathed. “Whoever it is, I hope she doesn't stay long.”

“Perhaps she's a street vendor.” April's gaze traveled the length of the bizarre entourage. “Or a circus performer.” The wagon creaked beneath the heavy cargo.

Squinting, Beulah shaded her eyes against the sun. “She doesn't look like any merchandiser I've ever seen.”

The sound of a door slamming caught their attention. They glanced across the street to see Gray Fuller hurrying down the outside staircase leading from the living quarters above his office.

“Ooh,” Beulah mused. “Must be someone he knows.” The two friends stood elbow to elbow to watch.

The woman spied the doctor and stood up to wave. “Oh, Gray! Yoo-hoo! Gray, darling!”

“Gray,” the girls mouthed to each other as the parade came to a halt in front of the doctor's office.

Dr. Fuller paused on the bottom step, scrutinizing the wagons. “What is all this?” Stepping off the sidewalk, he approached the buggy.

April watched as the driver assisted the raven-haired beauty down from the carriage. Snapping her parasol closed, the woman rose on tiptoe and kissed Gray flush on the mouth.

April looked at Beulah again, and they both raised their eyebrows.

 

“Hello, darling.” Francesca brushed Gray's lips with her fingertip. “Surprised?”

“Very. I wasn't expecting you.”

“Of course you weren't, darling. It wouldn't be a surprise otherwise.”

Walking around the overburdened rigs, he frowned. “Francesca—you should have wired. You shouldn't be here at all…”

“If you insist on living here in this…this town, then I have no choice but to come to you.” She smiled up at him. “Don't I deserve a more appropriate welcome? I am your fiancée. I am entitled to a kiss—”

“Was,” Gray corrected. “Was my fiancée. The engagement is over. Done. Ended.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don't be absurd, darling. You can't break an engagement just like that.”

Gray opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. “I can't?”

“Of course not,” Francesca said firmly. “It just isn't done among people like us. Stop this foolishness and act like you're glad to see me.”

He took her arm and steered her toward the door. “I'd like to speak to you inside.”

She glanced toward the wagon and the waiting men. “Wait here. I'll be back in a few moments.”

Gray eyed the heavily loaded wagon. “What is all that?”

“My clothing and personal effects. I've come to stay for a few days.”

He stared, mesmerized, at the wagon. “Clothes? All those trunks?” He counted eight—enough for an army. A well-dressed army.

Francesca smiled. “But of course. Just because you're so rural doesn't mean I have to be.”

Louis must own his own private mint if he could afford to keep his daughter in such style. One thing Gray knew—she was beyond the reach of a country doctor. He'd have trouble paying for the contents of
one
of those trunks.

Francesca perused the steep outside stairway. She paused. “Do you live up there? I thought you had a house.”

“No, I told you that I live above my office. The living quarters are quite comfortable and convenient.”

“Well…” She waved a lace handkerchief dismissively. “No matter. I'll return on the Saturday train and order new furnishings. I'll have your office looking so lovely you'll think it's a mansion.”

Gray felt himself losing patience with her, something he did often lately. “I don't want new furniture,” he said obstinately.

“Of course you do. Don't be stubborn, darling.” Francesca smiled up at him. “Since when does a man know what will best suit an office? Besides, this will be my gift to you. Call it a wedding present.”

Gray felt walls closing around him. No, make that a chain and collar around his neck. Apparently she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

She turned and walked toward his office door, and he followed. If she planned to change one thing, he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions.

 

April eyed the wagonload of trunks and boxes. “What on earth does she have in there?”

“Clothes, I'd guess,” Beulah said. “She looks like the kind who'd travel with enough garments to outfit a mercantile.”

“If you're right, she must have a small fortune tied up in them,” April surmised. What a waste, spending money like that on clothing when it could be used for God's work among the needy.

“What do you think brought her to Dignity?” Beulah asked.

“A train.” April turned away, pretending to examine a pyramid of potatoes. “And I couldn't care less.”

“Of course you care. We all do, because, unless I miss my guess, she's after Dr. Gray Fuller, and no woman in this town can compete with her.”

“You don't know that,” April chided. “Maybe they're cousins.”

“You don't kiss a cousin the way she kissed him. Or at least I don't.” Her friend paused, a reflective look on her face. “But then I don't have a cousin who looks like Gray Fuller.”

“Have you seen the McIntoshes today?” April asked. “They look wonderful.” The shiny red apples were far more tempting than the silly goings-on with Gray Fuller.

“And did you see that dress? Fifty dollars, if it cost a cent. And that hat.”

“Look at that,” April exclaimed. “String beans so late in the season!”

Beulah absently dropped a couple of apples into her basket. “Did you see the way she took charge of him? Mark my words, she's set her cap for our good doctor.”

“Our doctor? Really, what difference does it make what the doctor does or with whom?” April stuffed a melon into her receptacle.

But she did happen to glance across the street to where heavy trunks were now lining the sidewalk. A crowd was gathering to watch the activity.

“Do you suppose they're betrothed?” Beulah mused. “Do you think…”

“It is really none of our concern.”

“You may not be interested,” her chum said, “but I, for one, am curious.”

“You and every other single woman in town,” April said dryly, then smiled as she turned to the waiting clerk. “I'll take a head of lettuce, also.”

What Dr. Fuller and his fancy friend, who obviously had more money than common sense, did was of no interest to her.

She suddenly frowned.

But if that were true, why did she have a feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach?

 

Francesca paused in the doorway to his office. Gray stood behind her, turning to glance at the carriage and wagon parked in front of his office. He saw the look Mrs. Perkins gave him; it withered him in his tracks. Her expression plainly said that she didn't know what was going on, but most God-fearing folks would disapprove.

“Darling, there is no need to discuss it further—”

“Dr. Fuller!” A breathless young boy nearly fell inside the door. “You've got to come quick! My Pa, he's cut his foot real bad!”

Gray grabbed his medical bag and started after the youngster.

“Gray…darling?” Francesca frowned.

“We'll discuss this later. Right now I have a patient.” He heard her murmur something in French.

 

When Gray returned from stitching up George Dalton's foot, which the man had accidentally sliced open while cutting wood, he found the wagon and carriage parked in front of the hotel. He paused in midstep, not all that surprised that Francesca had shown up out of the blue. She hadn't packed all those trunks on the spur of the moment he realized; this little trip had been in the works longer than overnight. She had understood when he'd told her the engagement was off; she'd just refused to accept it. He wondered how she could survive in Dignity with only one maid to dance attendance, the middle-aged woman she'd brought with her.

He made his way through the tangle of trunks and boxes and into the lobby. Francesca stood in front of the desk, badgering the bald-headed clerk cowering behind it.

“What is this you say? There is no room for my trunks? All my lovely dresses and hats? What do you suggest I do with them?”

The clerk looked as if he had a few suggestions if only he could bring himself to voice them. “Ma'am, I suggested…tried to suggest—”

Gray stepped over a hatbox to interrupt. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, Dr. Fuller,” the man gasped. “This woman, er…this lady—”

“Has way too many trunks to fit in one of your rooms.”

“That's it.” The man visibly wilted. “I tried to tell her, but…”

“She wouldn't listen.”

He nodded. Sweat glistened on the shiny dome of his head. “Never heard a word.”

Francesca shot Gray a look from beneath lowered brows. “You're the one who insisted on living in this horrible place. Now you must decide what to do.”

“Must?” Gray started to rebel, then realized it would do no good. He glowered at her, then turned to Clarence Coghill, the hotel clerk. “Any suggestions?”

Clarence nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing in agitation. “Yes, sir, Doc. There's an empty room behind the millinery shop. She can store the trunks there.”

“Impossible,” Francesca protested. “I must have my clothes with me.”

“Then I suggest you load them in the wagon and take them back to Dallas,” Gray murmured.

She stiffened visibly. “I will do no such thing. I must have my personal belongings with me.”

“I'm sure Louis would prefer you return.”

Her mood changed in a twinkling, her eyes sparkling with malice. “You're wrong, darling. My coming here was his idea. After all, he has invested in your career. He sent me to keep an eye on you.”

Gray bit back words of anger. “You're here to keep an eye on me? Why?”

“To persuade you to give up this quixotic venture. I'll stay until you accompany me back to Dallas.”

“Then you're going to be here for a while.” He led the way outside, where the men from the wagon and the carriage driver lounged, oblivious to the stares of passersby. “All right, let's get these trunks loaded in the wagon.”

“Loaded?” The burly man with the long black beard glared up at him. “We just got them unloaded.”

“They have to be moved.” Gray watched as a tall, amply built elderly woman threaded her way through the stacked trunks and boxes.

“Inconsiderate,” he heard her mutter as she passed. “Vanity of vanities.”

Even strangers were amazed at the amount of stuff Francesca thought necessary for her comfort. Gray helped load the trunks, helped unload them, gave directions to the livery stable and then plodded back to the hotel. He didn't care if Francesca had a room or not. She could sleep on the settee in the hotel lobby for all he cared, but he did owe Louis. Back at the hotel, he made arrangements for a room for Francesca and another for Nelly Hoover, the maid cum chaperone.

Francesca pouted prettily. “Gray, what would I do without you?”

“You'd manage,” he said dryly.

“And now we will eat dinner here at the hotel,
oui?
”

“No. I've neglected my patients long enough.”