Laurie Kingery - The Doctor Takes a Wife

“Are you sure you’ve danced with every other female in town, from the oldest to the youngest?” Sarah asked archly.

He raised a brow, and in that moment she knew she’d made a mistake.

“Ah, so you were watching,” he said, grinning.

“I most certainly was not,” Sarah insisted. “I never sat down myself, except when the musicians took a break. I only just realized that you hadn’t made good your threat to claim a dance.”

“’Threat?’” he echoed. “I believe I only requested a dance, as proof of your goodwill. And I was waiting for a waltz, Miss Matthews.”

“Oh? Why?” she asked. Was this girl asking the daring questions really her?

Again, the raised brow. “If you have to ask that, Miss Sarah Matthews, then it’s no wonder the South lost the war.”

makes her home in central Ohio, where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for the Harlequin Historical line and other publishers, she is the author of eighteen previous books and the 1994 winner of a Readers’ Choice Award in the Short Historical category. She has also been nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by RT Book Reviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, participate on Facebook and Shoutlife and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

But God has not given us a spirit of fear,

but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

—II Timothy 1:7

To the wonderful people of San Saba County, Texas, and in memory of the real settlement of Simpson Creek, and as always, to Tom

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

“You look very lovely today, Miss Matthews,” said the voice in an accent that was as far from the usual drawl Sarah heard around her as Maine was from Texas. She stiffened, schooling herself to assume a polite expression as she looked up into the blue eyes of Dr. Nolan Walker.

A lady, she reminded herself sternly, did not make a scene in public, and most certainly not while standing in the receiving line at the wedding of her sister. Even if the speaker was a Yankee outsider who had no business being here.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied in a carefully neutral voice, and did not quite meet his gaze. “May I present Lord Edward Brookfield, Viscount Greyshaw, the groom’s eldest brother, come all the way from En gland?” She watched out of the corner of her eye as the Yankee doctor shook hands with the English nobleman next to her.

The men exchanged greetings.

“And may I also present—” she began, intent on passing the Yankee on down the line away from her.

Nolan interrupted her. “Miss Matthews, I was wondering if we might sit together while enjoying the refreshments?” He nodded toward the punch bowl and the magnificent quadruple-tiered wedding cake that Sarah considered the crowning achievement of her baking career. “I…I’d really like to get to know you better.” He had dropped the “g” on “wondering,” while “together” and “better” came out “togethah” and “bettah,” and yet his accent was wholly unlike a Southern drawl.

The utter effrontery of the man! Hadn’t she already made it clear back in October, when he’d come to town to meet her that she Was Not Interested in being courted by a Yankee and a liar? He’d written her a handful of letters telling all about himself, except for the one fact that made him Unacceptable—that he was Yankee. She’d only found out when he’d come to meet her on Founders’ Day—right before the Comanche attack.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said crisply. “I’ll be busy helping to serve the cake and the punch. Now—”

“Perhaps a dance, then? I understand there’ll be dancing later.”

She glared at him. “Out of the question,” she snapped. “Now, if I may be permitted to continue, you’re acquainted with Miss Caroline Wallace, aren’t you, the bride’s best friend?” She gestured to the bridesmaid standing next to her.

She didn’t miss the surprised look Lord Greyshaw gave her, nor the sympathetic one he bestowed on the Yankee. Perhaps there would be a chance later, after the wedding, to explain to Nick’s eldest brother why a properly brought up young lady of the South did not encourage familiarity with pushy northern interlopers?

Mercifully, the doctor now allowed himself to be handed on down the line. The next person to approach was Mrs. Detwiler, an elderly widow, resplendent today in deep purple bombazine. Sarah hoped the woman had not heard what had passed between her and the Yankee doctor, for Mrs. Detwiler was sure to have an opinion on it, likely one contrary to Sarah’s.

But luck was with Sarah—the older lady had indeed missed hearing the Yankee’s words and Sarah’s tart replies.

“You girls all looked lovely up at the altar,” she proclaimed. “Was it dear Milly’s idea to have her attendants decked out in different fall hues? She certainly picked colors that looked good on each of you.”

Sarah smiled and glanced down at the gold Gros de Naples fabric she wore, knowing it complimented her blond coloring just as the mossy green cloth complimented Caroline Wallace’s brunette hair and as the rust color played up Prissy Gilmore’s strawberry-blond tresses. “Yes, and she sewed them all, too, as well as her bridal dress,” Sarah said, gazing at Milly who was at this moment sharing a happy smile with Nicholas Brookfield, her English groom.

“My, her fingers must have been busy!”

Mrs. Detwiler didn’t know the half of it, Sarah thought. Milly had not only had all that sewing to do, but had also determinedly learned how to cook under Sarah’s tutelage. While she wasn’t yet the confident cook and baker that her sister was, Sarah thought it wasn’t likely Nick and the rest of the men would starve with Milly minding the ranch kitchen once Sarah moved in to town. Now that Milly was a bride, Sarah had wanted her sister to be free to manage her house, and she had wanted to try her own wings, too. So when Prissy had begged Sarah to teach her cooking and the other housewifely arts, Sarah found a way to kill one bird with two stones and had agreed to move in with her.

“I declare, it’s the wedding of the decade for Simpson Creek,” Mrs. Detwiler gushed.