Kansas Courtship

“Fine,” she argued with a smile. “You can grumble, then. But there’s nothing you can do to chase me back to New York.”

“Is that a dare, Miss—” He cocked one brow. “I mean, Dr. Mitchell?”

“No,” she said. “It’s a fact. I’ve been tested by male arrogance every day for three years. Compared to some of the men I’ve dealt with, you’ve been a tea party.”

Zeb had been called a lot of names in his life, but tea party wasn’t one of them. He didn’t care for the comparison, either. He’d been harsh because he wanted her to leave. “Life here isn’t a party, Doc. If Dr. Dempsey hadn’t passed on, you’d be leaving with the Crandalls.”

“But I’m not, am I?”

“You should be.” His voice rose with irritation. “You tricked me by using your initial instead of your real name.”

“You tricked yourself,” she said mildly. “You jumped to a conclusion.”

“A logical one.”

“A biased one,” she countered.

“You knew I’d think you were male.”

“You’re right.” She wrinkled her nose like a little girl. “I apologize.”

She looked downright cute. Zeb wanted to kiss her. The thought made him crazy. What was he thinking? She was an uppity know-it-all woman like Frannie. She had too much education and too much ambition. The next woman he kissed would be his future wife, either Winnie or Abigail, whichever one annoyed him the least. Dr. Mitchell annoyed him the most. “You’re hired for one month. Make it work or get out.”

“I’ll make it work.” She meant it. He heard the fight in her voice.

Zeb headed for the door. He couldn’t get back to the mill quick enough.

“Mr. Garrison!”

He stopped and faced her. “What is it?”

She looked into his eyes, staring hard as if she expected him to read her thoughts. Oddly, he could. She’d traveled a thousand miles and had arrived to a disaster. He hadn’t offered her a meal, even a cup of water. He’d been a jerk and they both knew it.

She spoke in a gentle tone that shamed him more than sarcasm. “Tell me, Mr. Garrison. Are you always this mean?”

“You bet I am.” Determined to have the last word, he walked out the door, leaving Dr. Mitchell adrift in the sea of broken glass.

Chapter Four

Nora hugged her waist and shivered, but not from a chill.

She shouldn’t have touched Zeb Garrison’s arm, but she’d seen the trauma in his eyes when he’d spoken of the tornado. When he turned to the window, she’d felt compelled to comfort him. She didn’t know about tornadoes, but she understood suffering. She wanted to dislike Mr. Garrison for his arrogance, but that moment had peeled back his bitter facade and revealed a genuine concern for High Plains.

“Not that genuine,” she said out loud.

She hadn’t been fooled by his acceptance of her offer. He’d agreed to the one-month trial out of desperation, and because he didn’t think she could find a suitable office. Like most men, he’d underestimated her.

So far, she hadn’t seen anything that couldn’t be fixed. The cracked windows could be tolerated, and she could scrub away the dirt. The broken apothecary jars could be swept into a bin, and she could wax the floor herself. Nora glanced at the ceiling. He’d told her the roof had a hole, but he hadn’t said how big it was. Considering his eagerness to get rid of her, he’d probably exaggerated the damage. If necessary, she’d put on pants, climb a ladder and cover it with a tarp until she could hire someone to replace the shingles.

When that would be, she didn’t know. She had just enough money to get back to New York and didn’t want to use her emergency fund. Even if she found a different office, she couldn’t afford the rent. The salary she’d negotiated would pay her living expenses, but money would be tight until she had patients. Everything depended on the condition of the roof.

Something rattled on the second floor. She looked up and saw a huge watermark. Her heart sank, but she refused to give up hope. The size of the stain didn’t have to match the size of the hole. Rainwater could have puddled and spread. She had to make this office work. If she didn’t succeed in High Plains, she’d end up back in New York married to Albert Bowers.

She walked to the stairs and started to climb. As the risers creaked, she heard the chirp of birds. The twittering reminded her of a truth she’d almost forgotten. The Lord had His eye on the sparrow. He knew every hair on her head. Surely He’d provide for her.

Hope welled in her chest, but so did fear. Had she been crazy to think the Lord had led her to this place? Had she been too prideful to listen to her father? Fear dragged her down the road that started with her brother’s death. She’d been so sure God had called her to heal. She’d fought to go to medical college. She’d prayed. She’d worked. Most of all, she’d trusted.

Alone in this dirty building, she felt her faith withering like a drought-stricken vine.

The chirping intensified into a symphony of sorts. Nora whispered a prayer. “I need Your help, Lord.”

Peering up the stairs, she made a decision. If she could cover the hole with a tarpaulin, she’d stay. If it was beyond repair, she’d consider going back with the Crandalls.

She climbed the stairs slowly, gripping the railing because she didn’t trust the steps. She reached the first landing and looked up into darkness. A good sign, she decided. If the roof had been gaping, there’d be light. She climbed the second flight. It ended at a closed door that explained the darkness.

With a prayer on her lips, she opened the door and saw a shaft of light. A hundred birds took flight, funneling upward through a hole the size of a bathtub. The fluttering wings stole her breath, her dreams, and she burst into tears. She couldn’t do it. She could scrub and clean, but she couldn’t fix the roof.

She slid to her knees and wept. Zeb Garrison had won. Unless something happened, she’d be leaving High Plains with the Crandalls. With her face buried in her hands, she cried out in groans beyond words.

Why, Lord? Why did you bring me here?

Something birdlike touched her shoulder. Startled, she looked up and saw a girl with white-blond hair. She guessed her to be fifteen years old, a girl on the cusp of womanhood. The child didn’t speak, but her blue eyes shimmered with intelligence. In that silent exchange, Nora received more compassion than she’d experienced in months. Her tears didn’t shame her. This child understood and wanted to help her. Then the danger of their situation struck home, and Nora gasped. There were on the upper level of a storm-damaged building, standing on a floor that had been compromised further by water from a leaky roof. They needed to leave straightaway before one—or both—of them fell right through the floor. Nora took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay calm and not spook the girl.

Nora wiped her eyes. “Hi. I’m Dr. Nora.”

The girl nodded but didn’t speak. Perhaps she was deaf. Nora’s feet were tingling from a lack of blood, so she slid to a sitting position. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer.

“Can you hear me, or do you read lips?” Nora tried again.

The girl opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. She looked down at the floor then looked up at the sound of a bird chirping on the roof. Well, that answered that question.

“That’s good,” Nora said, encouraging her. “You can hear pretty sounds, like music and birds.”

The girl smiled at that, then tipped her head, as if to ask a question. Why are you here?

Instead of answering, Nora did a cursory assessment. The girl could hear, and seemed to want to speak. If she’d been born mute, the instinct to open her mouth to reply to a question wouldn’t be there. Her neck showed no sign of injury, an indication her vocal cords hadn’t been damaged. Without an apparent physical cause, Nora suspected her muteness had hysterical origins, perhaps related to the tornado. The pieces clicked into place. This was the girl the Crandalls had told her about.

“You’re Bess,” Nora said. “Bess Carter.” The girl—Bess—nodded.

“Are you in town with your sister?” The Crandalls had said that Bess’s sister Emmeline had married town cofounder Will Logan, and that they all lived on the Circle-L ranch, outside of town.

“I’d like to meet her.”

The girl shrugged as if to say okay, then pushed to her feet. Nora stood, too. “I’ll follow you.” And do her best to make sure Bess wasn’t injured on her way out of the rickety building.

As the girl led the way down the stairs, Nora took in her appearance. She was so slight the risers didn’t creak. Blonde and pale, she had a serenity that reminded Nora of a painting she’d seen at medical college. The artist had depicted angels guarding a surgery from above. Bess had the same expression.