Cassandra Austin (3 page)

It wouldn’t do him any good to sit and think about Doreena all day. He would put a note on his door and run his errands. The task was done almost as quickly as the decision was made, and in a moment he was bounding down the steps.

He stopped and inhaled deeply. The air smelled fresher than what he was used to, clean and sweet with just a touch of wood smoke. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, in the confusion of the welcoming committee and the fear for his first patient.

His first patient. He had to put her and her granddaughter out of his mind. He headed down the dirt street, determined to enjoy his first full day in the West, which was proving to be less wild than the novels had described. It was just as well, he supposed. He didn’t really want to be treating gunshot wounds on steely eyed gunmen.

It was the independence and the opportunities he had come for, a chance to live free from the constraints of a society that didn’t quite include him,
yet wanted to govern his every move. This pretty little town was the perfect place for him.

Clyde’s business district started only a block and a half from his house—and ended three blocks beyond that, where a bridge crossed a little creek. A hard-packed path served as a sidewalk. A few small trees had been planted to separate the path from the street a few feet away.

Adam walked the entire length of Washington Street, then crossed it and started back. He discovered several grocery stores, some in unlikely combination with other things like shoes or livestock feed. One was combined with a drugstore, and Adam stepped inside.

After arranging with Mr. McIntosh to supply him with medicine once his own supply ran low, he purchased a few canned goods and staples, mindful of the fact that he would have to carry them home.

“Is there a carpenter in town?” he asked as McIntosh tallied his purchases.

“Yep,” he said. “J. H. Huff down the street. He can build about anything you can imagine.”

Adam billed the groceries to his account at the bank and, with the gunnysack the grocer had provided filled with survival food, he crossed the street.

Adam found the carpenter’s shop by the smell of sawdust. A carpenter was hard at work smoothing the surface of a long pine board. Something about the way several more pieces of wood were laid out on the floor amid the shavings caught Adam’s attention.
He set his sack on the floor and watched the man work for a minute, putting off calling attention to himself until he had solved the puzzle.

It hit him all at once. It was to be a coffin, probably for Adam’s first patient. He should feel regret or even irritation at the granddaughter for not allowing him to try to save her. Instead all he felt was deep sympathy for Jane.

Huff broke into his thoughts. “Howdy, sonny. What can I do you for?”

Adam was momentarily startled by the odd syntax. “I wondered if you could build some shelves for me?”

“Start this afternoon. You want wall or free?”

That, too, took a second to decipher. “Wall, I mean fastened to the wall.”

“Ya live…?” The man was still holding the plane as if he intended to apply it to the wood again in a second. Perhaps his cryptic speech was intended to save time.

“Little place just past the boardinghouse.”

Huff nodded, pointing a corner of the plane toward him for an instant. “New doctor.”

Adam nodded.

“Afternoon.” He returned to his work.

It was only midmorning, so Adam took that as a reminder rather than a salutation. He hoisted the gunnysack over his shoulder, leaving the rasp of the plane behind him.

On his way home he met a few townspeople who
nodded or murmured greetings, but nobody seemed interested in stopping to talk. What, he wondered, was he going to do with himself the rest of the morning?

As he passed the boardinghouse he hit on an idea. He could visit Jane. He could offer his condolences and, if she wasn’t too distraught, he could ask about a seat at the table for dinner. He expected to be starving by then. Why that particular errand could lighten his steps, he wasn’t sure. Boredom, probably.

He left his sack inside his front door, edited his sign to read Next Door instead of In Town, and hurried to the boardinghouse. Inside, he straightened his collar and tie and ran his fingers through his hair. That too seemed an odd reaction, but he passed it off as wanting to look respectable considering the errand.

The house was quiet. A house of mourning, he reminded himself. He walked softly to the dining room and stopped in surprise. The table was exactly as he had left it an hour or more before. Dirty plates, half-full coffee cups, the uneaten ham, all lay drying on the table.

He had assumed the Cartlands would clean up. Obviously they had assumed otherwise. They had left it for Jane. He guessed that Jane had been up all night, out early making arrangements for a funeral and was now trying to get a little rest. This
was not the sight that should greet her when she awoke.

Adam shrugged out of his suit coat and swung it over the back of a chair. He had pulled kitchen duty for larger groups than this. He expertly stacked plates and saucers and headed for the kitchen.

And met his second surprise. The mess in the kitchen defied imagination. The Cartlands hadn’t replaced a single lid on any of the canisters and tins they had opened, let alone started a pan to soak. There was even a broken egg lying on the floor just where it had been dropped. With a sigh he attacked the mess, reminding himself that he had nothing else to do.

An hour later the kitchen looked like Jane’s again. He had found where most things belonged or at least made a guess and left the rest stacked on the nowclean table. He rolled down his sleeves and looked around, satisfied with his work. He gathered the collar and buttons and his tie from the chair where he had discarded them earlier, and returned to the dining room.

Clean dishes now filled the glass-fronted cabinet, and the hardwood table shone from the oil and lemon polish he had found. He had even swept the floor. There was nothing left to do, which should make him happy. Cleaning was not his favorite activity.

But he didn’t want to go back to his empty house. He had been imagining Doreena in the boardinghouse
kitchen, and he had trouble picturing her in the smaller house.

Well, part of the time he had imagined Doreena. The rest of the time he had pictured Jane finding a spot on one of her dishes. Or worse, finding him in her kitchen up to his elbows in dishwater, with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Collarless with his shirt open and his coat off. She was liable to be scandalized. Or embarrassed. Neither was his intent.

He slipped the collar and tie into a pocket of his coat and slung it over his shoulder just as he heard a door close down the hall. Light, feminine footsteps approached the dining room. He was about to confront either Jane or one of the Cartland sisters. He considered making a run for the back door, but ran his fingers through his damp hair instead.

Jane entered the room, her purposeful steps faltering when she saw him.

“I seem to make a habit of startling you,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah…” He debated telling her.

“Is it getting hot out?” she asked.

“Warm,” he said. “I came to offer my condolences.”

“Thanks.” She nodded and turned away, going through the kitchen door. Adam sighed to himself. She really didn’t like him. And, he told himself firmly, it really didn’t matter.

He followed her into the kitchen. “Perhaps this
isn’t a good time,” he said to her back as she lifted a bowl off a cupboard shelf, “but I was wondering if there would be room for me at dinner.”

“Sorry,” she said, continuing her work. “The pastor and his wife are coming to dinner, and that fills the table, I’m afraid.”

Adam thought of several other things he might say, but they all seemed trite in the face of her obvious grief. He was turning to go when the door opened and Tim Martin entered.

“I’m off to catch the train,” the salesman said.

The glance Jane threw in Adam’s direction before she turned to her boarder held a combination of irritation and guilt. She had known Martin was leaving but had denied his request for dinner anyway.

“Have a safe trip, Tim,” she said pleasantly. “Can I expect you back in a couple of months?”

“Of course, and I’ll recommend you to everyone I see that’s headed your way. Sorry about your grandmother, dear. It was nice meeting you, Doctor.”

Martin shook hands with Adam, turned and kissed Jane’s cheek, then left them alone again.

Adam watched Jane avoid his eyes. Finally she muttered, “I forgot he was leaving today.”

Adam nodded, not believing her at all.

“Dinner will be the same time as last night.” She turned back to her work.

“Miss Sparks, if you don’t want me to eat here, I can—”

“No,” she said quickly, facing him. “Please, I don’t want an empty chair if I can help it.”

He grinned at her. “That’s wonderfully flattering.”

“I’m not good at flattery.”

She turned away, and he watched her stiff shoulders for a moment, wondering why he didn’t just leave. “We missed you this morning,” he said finally.

She shrugged.

“I mean, we
really
missed you this morning.”

She faced him, her eyes narrowed in question. He quirked a smile at her.’ “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

Jane watched him walk out of the room and listened for the front door to close. She tried to brush the image of that little-boy grin out of her mind. What exactly had he meant by missing her at breakfast? She might have thought he was suggesting the meal had been inadequate, but she knew better. Nedra had already told her it had been fine.

Jane also knew better than to think it was her company he had missed. She had been nothing but rude to him since she’d met him. And even if she had been sweet and gracious, he had Doreena.

She set the flour-coated teacup aside and sank into the chair. She had come in with every intention of baking pies for dinner. She had gotten as far as measuring
two cups of flour. Or was it three? She would have to pour it back and start again.

Why did Dr. Adam Hart get her so rattled?

She wanted to laugh at herself. Besides the fact that his face was so handsome he made her knees weak and his body was the very model of masculine health? Maybe because he thought she had let her grandmother die.

She would like to tell him all her reasons, and she would, if she felt more certain of them. Right now she didn’t. Right now she thought he was rightshe should have let him try anything to save Grams.

And that was what bothered her about Dr. Hart. She associated him with the pain and the loss and the guilt. And she always would.

She forced herself back to her feet and thoughts of Dr. Hart out of her mind. She had dinner to prepare. And it would be one of her best. She would make up for missing breakfast. She poured the flour back into the canister and measured out six cups. Salt, then lard followed. She reached for her pastry cutter in its usual place, but it wasn’t there. She tried two other drawers before she found it. Evidently the Cartlands had used it for the biscuits and had forgotten where it went The minor irritation was easily forgotten.

T
hey buried Grams the next morning.

As he stood at the chilly cemetery with the others, Adam found himself watching Jane. She seemed in complete control but the tight jaw and rigid spine testified to what it cost her. Even from where he stood he could see the dark shadows under her eyes.

Following the service, everyone went to the boardinghouse. Adam was sure the entire town and half the countryside were crowded into Jane’s parlor and dining room. He found a place against a wall of the parlor and watched the proceedings with interest. It seemed more like a party than a funeral except that voices were kept appropriately subdued.

Three gentlemen nearby introduced themselves. “Gonna miss that old gal,” one said.

“Shame somebody so lively should come down with dropsy,” commented a second.

“It was pneumonia,” Adam said.

The man nodded. “Once she was down in bed, I
figured that’d happen. Her granddaughter took her to Kansas City a month or so ago. Old lady was against it. Waste of money. But she was slowing down and her feet were always swollen, and the girl needed to know why.”

“Don’t dropsy mean a bad heart?” asked another. “Such a shame. The pneumonia was really a blessing.”

The three men left in search of food, leaving Adam to stare after them. Jane hadn’t mentioned a heart condition, though she had said something about it being hopeless. He should have questioned her.

But the pneumonia had been so obvious he hadn’t considered other illnesses at all. What kind of a doctor would make a mistake like that? A young one, he supposed. Still, it bothered him. A lot. He felt he owed Jane an apology for any additional anguish he might have caused her.

He had some thought of seeking her out for that purpose when a middle-aged woman stepped up beside him. “You must be the new doctor.”

“That’s right. Adam Hart.” He extended his hand.

“I’m Rose Finley,” she said, taking the hand and not letting it go. “I saw you get off the train, but you’re even better looking up close.”

Adam laughed self-consciously. “That’s kind of you,” he said, finally extricating his hand.

“But you’re so young,” she added.

His own thoughts exactly. “Yes, ma’am. Only time’s going to cure that.”

“Oh, and clever, too. Is your wife here?”

“I’m not married.”

“You poor thing,” she said. She looked anything but sympathetic.

“Would you excuse me?” He made his way around her and added over his shoulder, “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Finley.”

There was a steady flow of people in and out of the parlor, some carrying plates of food, others holding coffee cups. The hall and the dining room were nearly as crowded. The chairs that normally circled the table had been placed against the wall, along with at least a dozen others. The table was spread with the largest assortment of food Adam had ever seen in one place.

He searched the room for Jane and found her lifting a stack of plates out of the china cupboard. She set the plates on a corner of the table. Before Adam could make his way toward her, she turned and spoke to a woman who had approached her carrying a silver coffee server.

He watched Jane take it and thank the woman, then turn toward the kitchen. Evidently the woman had been reporting that the server was empty. Jane had gone to the kitchen to fill it from the pot that was too heavy for the Cartland sisters to lift.

George Pinter hampered Adam’s progress toward
the kitchen. “Quite a spread, huh?” the little man asked with a smile.

“I hope she didn’t cook all of this.”

“You mean Jane? No, most of the women here brought something. Might as well grab a plate and dig in.”

Adam cast another look toward the open kitchen door before he followed Pinter to the table. “Is this what all funerals are like out here?” he asked.

“Somewhat. But everybody was fond of Grams. It’s a tragedy.” He shook his head and repeated, “A real tragedy.”

Adam expected him to add in the next breath that it was a blessing.

Pinter found two empty chairs and motioned for Adam to join him. From across the room, Adam watched Jane pour coffee into outstretched cups, accept dirty dishes and clean up one or two minor spills. “Isn’t she supposed to be the primary mourner here?” he asked.

“Jane? I suppose. But she probably wouldn’t accept help if anyone offered.”

“Has
anyone offered?”

George shrugged. “Did you try this apple strudel? I’ll bet anything it’s Jane’s.”

Adam shook his head. “Save this seat.” With a purposeful stride, his dirty plate held out in front of him, he made it to the kitchen without being stopped for more than a greeting. He set his plate on the
table and blocked Jane’s way as she headed out with another server of coffee.

“Go sit down,” he said.

“What? People are waiting for more coffee.”

“They can get their own coffee.” At her shocked expression he put his hand next to hers on the silver handle. “Or you can let me pour it. Fill a plate and go sit by Mr. Pinter.”

She made no move to relinquish the server and Adam wondered what was going through her mind. “This is crazy, you know,” he said softly. “Your grandmother dies and you’re expected to throw a party for the whole town? We should all be waiting on you.”

She almost smiled, but her grip on the coffee server tightened. “That’s a little hard to picture. Look, Doctor, I know you mean well, but this is what I do.”

Adam eased his hand away, and she brushed past him. He made his way slowly back to his chair.

“What was that about?” Pinter asked as Adam sat down.

“I offered to help. You were right”

Pinter laughed and the sound grated against Adam’s ears, as had all the other laughter he had heard this morning. “Don’t take it so hard, son. Your mama’d be proud you offered.”

Adam swallowed laughter of his own. He knew some woman had given birth to him, but it had been years since he had thought about it. The notion that
she might have a moment of pride on his account seemed ludicrous. “That wasn’t the point,” he muttered.

A few minutes later the first of the guests decided to leave. Adam kept his seat and watched them approach Jane. A few remembered to offer their condolences along with their thanks for the lunch. Scattered dishes on the table left with their owners. The pace of the departures increased until he was the only one remaining.

Jane walked slowly back to the dining room after seeing the last of the guests out. She knew Dr. Hart was still sitting in there. She would have noticed if he had left with the rest. It was too much to hope that he had gone out the back door while she wasn’t looking.

No, she was right. There he was. At least he had the manners to come to his feet when she entered the room. Could that possibly mean he was finally ready to leave?

That hope died with his words. “You look exhausted.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” She decided to tackle the table first, starting with the empty platters.

“Yeah, but it’s free.”

“That’s about what it’s worth.” She didn’t want to find the doctor amusing. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man engaged to a beautiful, wealthy woman. If he would just go away she wouldn’t have
to think about him—at least not as much. “Don’t you have patients to see?”

“Apparently not. This may be the healthiest town in the country.” He was using a large empty platter as a tray and filling it with cups that were lying around the room.

She watched him a moment, marveling at his efficient movements. Actually, marveling at more than that until she remembered she wanted to send him away. “How will you know if you have patients if you aren’t home when they come?”

“There’s a note on the door that says I’m here.” He carried the platter of dishes into her kitchen.

She quickly followed him. “Are you mad at me for not letting you pour coffee? Is that why you’re hanging around?”

“No.” His back was to her and it took her a moment to tear her eyes away from the wide expanse of shoulders and notice what he was doing. He pumped water into her dishpan and placed it on her stove. Flicking a drop of water on his finger he tested the temperature of the stovetop.

When he started to remove his suit coat, she found her voice. “What are you doing?”

He paused for only an instant, then the coat came off, reminding her of the other time she had seen him in his shirtsleeves. A suspicion tickled the back of her mind but he spoke, distracting her. “I was going to wash, but I could dry if you’d rather.”

“Do I look so bad that you think I need help?”

He was removing his tie, and it demanded her full attention. Long, clever fingers worked a collar button loose. Then another. In a moment the collar and tie were stuffed into a pocket of the coat he had kept over his arm, and his throat was exposed.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, and she found herself reaching for the coat as he handed it to her. He rolled up his sleeves as he talked. “I was wrong about your grandmother.”

Jane blinked. “Apparently not.”

“I mean, I was right about the pneumonia. But I didn’t know about the dropsy.”

“I told you…” She watched him shake his head and realized that she hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it was my fault. I should have asked more questions.”

How many men could admit their mistakes so easily, or were willing to accept blame that was partially hers? How many men had eyes that shade of blue?

Jane shook her head. Dr. Hart was a distraction she didn’t need. “You’re forgiven,” she said, “and you don’t have to help with the dishes to make amends.”

He grinned at that, that charming little-boy grin that made her want to smile. “Let me be honest,” he said, as if he were about to share a secret. “I’ve never lived alone before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever
been
alone before. That house gives me the creeps.”

He turned away, opened a cabinet door and withdrew a tray. “I bet there are dishes in the parlor.”

Jane followed him with slow steps, stunned by the turn of events. His steps, on the other hand, were purposeful, and he outdistanced her in a moment. She stood in her messy dining room, staring at the empty doorway to the hall.

And caressing Dr. Hart’s suit coat. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she put it over the back of a chair. He was determined to stay and help her clean up. It was foolish to argue about it. First, because she didn’t think he would give in, and second, because she
was
exhausted.

She would concentrate on his “secret” and put her grandmother’s death out of her mind for a little while. She was still standing two steps inside the dining room when he returned with the tray of dishes.

“You need a dog,” she said as she followed him into the kitchen. He turned and grinned at her. He looked exactly like a little boy who had just been offered a puppy. “How old are you?” she asked.

He laughed. It was a very pleasant laugh, and she decided she needed that even more than she needed his help.

He found a place for the tray and turned back to her. “Think of how much trouble I’d be in if I asked you that”

“All right. I’ll assume you’re older than you look,
and you can assume I’m younger than I look. How’s that?”

“You really think I look so young?”

His grin was the kind that took over his whole face. It was incredibly charming. And incredibly dangerous. “Let me wash,” she said. “You can dry if you want to.”

“You’re avoiding the question, but I suppose that’s an answer. Maybe that’s why I don’t have any patients. They think I’m too young.”

She moved the pan of warmed water to the counter, glad that she could turn her back on him. She had a tendency to want to gaze at him and not get her work done. “You don’t have any patients yet because folks aren’t used to going for help. They tend to take care of themselves.”

Until they’re desperate,
she would have added, but she didn’t want any reminder of his visits to Grams. It was there, of course, always between them, but unspoken was preferable to spoken.

He was silent for a few minutes, giving her a chance to get some glasses washed in peace. “In other words,” he said, opening the drawer that contained her tea towels, “I can expect to see only severe cases at first.”

There it was, too close to spoken. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yes,” she managed to answer.

She was grateful that he said no more about it. She washed and he dried, carrying trays full of her
dishes to the cabinet in the dining room and bringing back more dirty dishes with each trip. “That’s the last in there,” he said finally. “Why don’t you do something with the food while I clean up the table?”

He found the furniture polish and was gone before she could agree or disagree. But why would she have disagreed? They were making their way through the mess much more quickly than she could have on her own. And he was surprisingly efficient help.

Oddly enough, she had wanted to disagree. It was her boardinghouse, and she prided herself on being self-sufficient. She hated to admit she needed help. She hated even more to admit she enjoyed his company. She had no time for a man in her life, even if she wanted one, which she most certainly did not. Besides, he had Doreena.

He returned to the kitchen, put the polish away and grabbed a fresh tea towel. “So what happens if I get a dog and he bothers the neighbors?”

His eager tone made her laugh out loud, surprising herself. “Since I’m your only close neighbor, I suppose that would be me. Let’s see.” She was washing the large platters now. She could hear the gentle clatter as he carefully stacked them on the table.

“As a matter of fact, your dog could cause me a lot of trouble. He could pull my laundry off the line, chew up my favorite tablecloth, dig up my flowers, accost my guests—”

“No,” he interrupted. “No accosting. I’d train him better than that.”

“So what about my flowers and my clothes?”

“Puppies are puppies.” There was that grin again, so infectious she couldn’t help smiling.

“And my favorite tablecloth?”

“I’d buy you a new one. If I ever get any patients.” She watched him slowly turn serious. “Probably not a good idea,” he said.