Kansas Courtship

“I’d have said prejudiced.”

“Maybe,” Emmeline replied. “Mostly he blames himself for what happened after the storm. Doc did his best, but he couldn’t keep up and people died. If Zeb had found a new doctor sooner, lives might have been saved.”

Nora understood guilt. She felt responsible every time she lost a patient until she remembered only God had the power to give and take life. She thought of Zeb Garrison’s eyes, the same color as the broken glass on the floor, and she wondered if his bitterness ran deeper. “Did he lose someone special in the tornado?”

“No,” Emmeline said. “But he lost someone in Boston.”

A wife? Was he a widower? Nora’s heart clenched for him. “Please, give him my condolences.”

“Oh, no!” Emmeline corrected herself. “It’s nothing like that.”

Then what is it? Nora wanted to know more, but she couldn’t ask without being guilty of gossip.

The brunette shook her head. “I’m talking too much. It’s just that I like Zeb. He can be difficult, but deep down he’s a good man.”

Nora gave a wry smile. “Considering the deal we negotiated, I’d say he’s a bit of a scoundrel.”

Emmeline grinned. “He is, but in a good way.”

A good scoundrel? Nora had seen the two sides of the man for herself. His prejudice toward women annoyed her, but he cared deeply about High Plains. Beneath his arrogant gaze, she’d seen suffering. Instead of disliking him, she found herself worrying about him. Not wise, she told herself. She had a practice to build and people who needed her, including a girl who couldn’t speak. She didn’t have time to worry about a man who was determined to dislike her. She decided to change the subject.

“I’ll write to Dr. Zeiss tonight,” she said to Emmeline.

“I’d be grateful. We’ll pay you, of course.”

As much as Nora needed patients, she couldn’t charge the Logans. She had an interest in psychiatry, but she didn’t have the expertise to consider Bess a patient. Helping the girl was an act of friendship. “Bess’s situation is unique,” she said. “There’s no charge.”

“But—”

“I insist.” Nora never took money from her friends. “When can I visit with her?”

“Anytime,” Emmeline answered. “She helps Rebecca at the boardinghouse. You’re staying there, aren’t you?”

Nora recalled Mr. Garrison’s original plan for room and board. “It’s my new home.”

“Then you’ll see a lot of her. I’m glad you’re here, Dr. Mitchell.” Emmeline held out her hand. “Welcome to High Plains.”

Nora gripped Emmeline’s hand in both of hers. “I’m Nora, remember?”

“How about Dr. Nora? I like how that sounds.”

“So do I.” She beamed a smile.

As the brunette headed for the door, Nora followed her outside to the boardwalk. The ping of hammers pulled her attention to the half-finished building across the street. Judging by the size and location, she was looking at the new town hall, a building Mr. Crandall had described during the trip.

Two men stood on scaffolding about six feet apart, each holding the end of a board and nailing it in place. A third man stood below them, shouting instructions over the racket. She recognized Zeb Garrison and felt the low beat of anger in her pulse. She could tolerate his rudeness. It came with being a woman in a man’s world. But how could he justify running her out of town? High Plains desperately needed a doctor. With the construction, men were sure to have accidents. Emmeline Logan had recently married. God willing, she and her husband would start a family of their own. And Bess…who would help her speak again?

The more Nora thought about Bess and Emmeline, the hotter her blood ran. Instead of treating her like a quack, Zeb Garrison should have been helping her find a suitable office. He deserved an earful, but she couldn’t escape the memory of her father’s voice.

Before you speak your mind, daughter, count to ten. If that doesn’t settle you down, count to a hundred.

The harder she tried to calm herself, the angrier she became. Emmeline saw the good in him, but Nora saw the arrogance. “Help me, Lord,” she murmured. “I don’t want to turn the other cheek. I want to tell that arrogant, self-righteous scoundrel what I think of him.” She wanted to fight. She wanted—

Before she could finish the thought, he turned and caught her staring. He smirked. Furious, Nora started to count. “Ten, nine…Forget it!”

With her temper flaring, she headed across the street to give Zeb Garrison a piece of her mind.

Chapter Five

Zeb saw Dr. Mitchell coming straight at him and felt the uncomfortable urge to run away. He enjoyed a good fight as much as any man, but he didn’t want to argue with her. A few moments ago, Will had taken him to task.

You showed her Doc’s place? Are you stupid?

No, just hopping mad. She’d tricked him by using her initial, then she’d had the audacity to be poised and pretty about it. Why couldn’t she have had warts on her chin…warts with hairs growing out of them? Warts so ugly he wouldn’t keep smelling lavender and recalling her hand on his arm and the kindness in her blue eyes.

He’d argued with Will for two minutes and ended up feeling like an oaf.

We need a doctor, Zeb. I don’t care if he—she—whatever—is wearing skirts. I’ve got a family now. So does Pete.

Where am I supposed to put her? She can’t work in my parlor!

So find someplace else. We help each other in High Plains. Have you forgotten that? It’s called Christian charity.

Will was right. The town needed Dr. Mitchell until he could find a replacement. And whether he liked it or not, he owed her amends for his surliness.

Tom Briggs, his foreman, called down from the scaffolding. “More lumber tomorrow, boss?”

“Plan on it.”

“Good.” Tom’s hammer pinged on a nail. “We’re about out.”

The demand for lumber kept Garrison Mill running from dawn to dusk and Zeb looking at ledgers well past midnight. Folks chipped in what money they could spare, but Zeb cheerfully absorbed most of the costs. He could afford it and others couldn’t. With good weather and a little luck, the town hall would be finished and High Plains would celebrate a full recovery with a summer jubilee. If he had to work like a mule to make it happen, so be it. He didn’t have time to eat or sleep, much less deal with Dr. Mitchell, but she was coming at him like a summer storm.

“Mr. Garrison!” she called. “I need a word with you.”

He did not want to have this conversation in front of a work crew, but he couldn’t avoid her without looking cowardly. “Get back to work,” he said to the man. The hammering resumed, but in a slower cadence.

As she hurried in his direction, he heard the rustle of her skirts and the scuff of her shoes, sounds that should have been drowned out by hammering, but Tom and the other man had stopped working. Zeb felt their eyes on his back, turned to glare at them and realized he’d been wrong. The men weren’t looking at him. They were gawking at Dr. Mitchell.

Briggs, a married man, went back to work. The other fellow looked like a starving man at Sunday supper.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“Thank you for speaking with me.” Panting for breath, she put her hand on her chest in an Abigail-like gesture.

He hadn’t judged her as prone to vapors. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I came to thank you for setting me straight.”