Victoria Bylin - Kansas Courtship

“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.”

“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.

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.