Kansas Courtship

Zeb liked this kind of talk. “About what?”

“What it’s really like in High Plains. How hard my life would be here.” She bit her lip, then blinked as if fighting tears. Her eyes had a shine and he wondered if he’d made her cry. He hoped not, but the sheen revealed a simple fact. If Doc’s office could drive her to tears, she didn’t belong in High Plains.

He crossed his arms over his vest. “It’s tough here. That’s a fact.”

“It’s such a warm day! Too hot for a woman to be hurrying, don’t you think?” She took a hankie from her pocket and dabbed at her forehead. “I thought I could hire someone to fix the roof, but the hole’s too big.”

“I know.”

“I went upstairs to check for myself. There were birds everywhere.” She indicated the smudges on her skirt. “I ruined my best frock!”

Well, what do you know? Dr. Mitchell had just proven him right about women. Knowing she wouldn’t stay longer than necessary, he could afford to be magnanimous. “I’ll pay for the laundering.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m not worried about the dress.”

“Then what is it?”

The simpering female vanished in a blink. “I came to tell you that you’re a fool, Mr. Garrison. I am not the shallow woman you’ve assumed me to be. Being who you are—a town leader, someone who’s responsible and intelligent—you know High Plains needs a doctor. You should be helping me, not running me out of town! It’s reckless. It’s selfish. It’s—”

“Stop it, Doc.” Belatedly, he saw through her act. The woman was playing him. “You’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Garrison.”

“I do.”

“You owe me an apology.” She stood tall, her head high and her eyes burning with outrage.

Zeb said nothing.

After twenty seconds, she gave up. “Don’t think you’ve won. At the very least, I deserve courtesy. As for your respect, I intend to earn it. When the time comes for you to eat crow, I’ll expect that apology.”

“You won’t get it.”

“It’s not for my benefit,” she said. “It’s for yours. I’m assuming you do have a conscience?”

Zeb had a conscience, all right. It prickled every time someone in High Plains caught a cold. It twitched when he thought of his men working double shifts and ignoring their own families. It burned like fire when he thought of the tornado and how it had stripped High Plains bare. He’d picked this spot to settle. The death and destruction were on his hands. So was rebuilding. How dare this woman judge him? “You don’t belong here, Doc. Go back to New York.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“Absolutely not! I care about people. I care about this town.”

“You think I don’t? I saw people die in the tornado, Miss Mitchell. What happens if you kill someone with your incompetence?”

“I’m not incompetent! I’m a highly trained physician.”

“You’re a woman!”

When the hammering stopped for the second time, Zeb realized he’d shouted at her. By tomorrow, the whole town would know he’d done battle with Dr. Mitchell. No way could he let her win.

She must have felt the same way, because she spoke in a voice loud enough for the work crew to hear. “You’re very observant, Mr. Garrison. I am, in fact, female. I’m also a doctor, and I will not leave High Plains.”

Zeb dropped his voice to a hush. “You’ll break your word, Dr. Mitchell. Mark my words.”

“Not a chance.”

Like Frannie, she made promises too easily. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

When she stepped closer, he smelled her fancy lavender soap, reminding him of Frannie. Women were all alike—two-faced Jezebels with heady ambitions and flapping tongues.

Dr. Mitchell took another step, crowding him because he refused to budge as she lectured him. “You, Mr. Garrison, have misjudged me. I don’t care about smudges on a dress. I don’t mind scrubbing floors. But I will not be disrespected.”

Zeb knew the feeling. The need for respect had driven him to build a mill instead of working for wages. Her breathing deepened and slowed as she fought for control. When she clenched her jaw, he imagined her counting to ten. The trick wouldn’t work. Zeb knew, because he used it himself.

He flashed a grin. “Cat got your tongue, Doc?”

She raked his face with those fiery blue eyes. “You need to know what happened after you left.”

“I don’t care.” He’d lied. He cared about everything in High Plains.

The redhead kept yammering at him. “You should care, Mr. Garrison. A girl came into the building. Bess Carter.”

“She can’t speak.”

“That’s right.” Dr. Mitchell spoke in a rush. “I’m a grown woman. I’m accustomed to adolescent pranks from silly little boys—”

“Wait just a minute!”

“No, sir.” She clipped the words. “I will not wait. That building should be boarded up. What if the roof had collapsed on her? You endangered a child today, a girl who couldn’t call for help. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He was, but he’d never admit it. “Anything else, Dr. Mitchell?”

“Yes,” she said. “With or without your help, I intend to find a place to practice.”

“Good luck.” He smirked at her.

“I won’t quit,” she repeated.

Zeb stared at her with a mix of disbelief and envy. Where had that faith come from? Didn’t she know life took dangerous turns? He flung up his hand to indicate the framework of the town hall. “Are you blind, Doc? A tornado blew this town to pieces. There’s not an inch of space that’s not being used except my parlor.”

“I don’t need your parlor,” she countered.

“Good, because you can’t have it.”

She stood ramrod straight. Zeb had a good six inches on her, but he felt no advantage. This woman had courage, the kind that made a small dog chase a bigger one. Of all the aggravating things, she reminded him of someone he used to know…not Frannie, but a young man who’d called on the foremost millwright in America.

I want to be your apprentice, Mr. Gridley.