Kansas Courtship

Zeb felt bad, but the townspeople would have to understand. No way could he have a female doctor working in his parlor. As for finding another place, he’d already tried and found nothing suitable. He shook his head. “Give up, Miss Mitchell. This isn’t going to work.”

Her eyes filled with cool disdain. “It’s Dr. Mitchell, and I never give up.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“This isn’t it,” she replied. “I have an offer for you. Will you listen?”

“Sure.”

“Hire me for one month. I’ll find an office, but I expect the town to pay for it. As far as room and board, I’ll stay at the boardinghouse. I’d like the cost to be included in our agreement.”

Pete had suggested the same thing. “Sure, why not?” Zeb said generously. She’d never find an office in High Plains. With those terms, she’d be gone in a week, and he could truthfully tell Pete she hadn’t worked out. Tonight he’d write another ad for the Kansas Gazette. The Crandalls could take it with the letters waiting at the mercantile.

Suspicion clouded her eyes. “That was too easy.”

“I’m giving you that chance you wanted.” He planted his boots wide and crossed his arms. If she wanted to act like a man, he’d treat her like one. “Name your price.”

“Twelve dollars a week,” she said boldly. “Plus room and board.”

She’d named a high price, expecting to negotiate. Zeb was glad to oblige. “I’ll pay you five. That includes room and board.”

“That’s insulting.”

“Yep.”

He wanted to rile her, but she didn’t blink. “This town needs a doctor, Mr. Garrison. You can’t afford to turn me down. Make it ten dollars a week, including room and board, and you have a deal.”

She had a point about the town’s need. Dr. Dempsey’s passing left him with a bad choice—a woman doctor or no doctor at all. For a few weeks, he’d have to tolerate her. “Fine, Dr. Mitchell. Ten dollars a week, it is.”

“Then it’s settled.” She came forward with her hand outstretched to shake on the deal. Again she met his gaze, demanding his respect and daring him to deny it.

Looking down at the beige glove, he saw the lace covering her fingers and the silky ribbon tied at her wrist. This wasn’t a man-to-man agreement. If he shook her hand, he’d notice the shape of her fingers, the warmth of her palm inside the lace. He didn’t want to touch her, but she’d win if he didn’t accept the gesture.

Annoyed, he gripped her fingers, but didn’t squeeze the way he would have shaken a man’s hand. Her bones felt too delicate for a show of strength. Neither could he ignore the scent of lavender.

Dr. Mitchell had no qualms about squeezing his hand. Those delicate bones had been deceptive. The woman had an iron grip.

She smiled at him. “You won’t be sorry, Mr. Garrison.”

He already was, but he kept the thought to himself.

Her eyes sparked with determination. “It won’t be easy. I’m well aware of the prejudice I’ll encounter.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Her gaze hardened into blue glass. “You’re not the first man to ruffle my skirts.”

He couldn’t stop himself from looking her up and down. Pretty. Proud. And as stubborn as winter. He’d heard enough of her smart talk. “Let me be frank, Dr. Mitchell. I wouldn’t hire you if I had a choice. In the past year, four men interviewed for the position. Not one of them worked out.”

She raised one brow. “Let me guess. Patent medicines for sale?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t appreciate her tone.

“Did anyone bring leeches?”

He shuddered.

“I’m not surprised.” Her voice leveled into friendly banter. “Medicine is changing fast. Twenty years from now, my skills will be considered primitive, but right now I’m among the most highly trained physicians in America.”

“You’re also female.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Maybe to you. Not to me.” He put his hands on his hips and stared hard.

The lady doctor stared back, reminding him of the woman in the duster. She’d been all female when she’d smiled a greeting, and he’d liked what he’d seen. He liked her now, too. If it wasn’t for her medical degree, he’d have invited her to supper, maybe taken her on a buggy ride along the river.

She tipped her head to the side. “Tell me, Mr. Garrison. What worries you the most about hiring a female physician?”

“Everything.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“All right.” He thought for a second. “Women are tender-hearted. If a man gets his hand cut off at the mill, you’ll faint.”

“No, I won’t,” she said with a casual wave. “I’ve performed autopsies. They’re gruesome but necessary.”

Zeb’s stomach recoiled. He took another approach. “You’re from back East, a big city with streets and shops. Life is harsh in High Plains. I don’t think you can handle it.”

“I did fine with the Crandalls.”

He snorted. “It didn’t even rain. What about winter? A blizzard can last a week. The snow’s so deep—”

“I’m from New York,” she said impatiently. “I know what snow looks like.”

She had no cause to be irritated. He was trying to warn her, to prepare her for hardships unique to Kansas. “Then tell me, Dr. Mitchell. Have you ever seen a tornado?”

Memories came at him in a roar. Knowing she’d see the upset in his eyes, he strode to the broken window and looked at the sky. He relived the wind buffeting the mill, and hail beating on the roof. He recalled running to town and seeing the wreckage. He’d almost died that day. Others had died. He pictured the missing children and felt wretched. He thought of Bess Carter all tongue-tied from what she’d seen.

He heard footsteps on the floor, the swish of skirts. An instant later, Dr. Mitchell laid a gentle hand on his bicep. The touch took his breath as the tornado had done. His muscles clenched beneath her long fingers. Whether from anger or awareness, he couldn’t say.

She spoke in a hush. “I want you to know, Mr. Garrison, I’m sorry for what you’ve lost. The Crandalls told me about Mikey and Missy. They showed me the spot and we prayed—”

“A waste of time.”

“I disagree.” She lowered her hand, but her words hung between them. “God brought me here to serve this town. You can growl all you want—”

“I don’t growl.”