Lisa Bingham - Accidental Courtship

“I insist, Dr. Havisham. A nice cup of cocoa will warm you up before you have to brave the cold again.”

Miss Havisham hesitated, but finally took it, wrapping her hands tightly around the mug.

Too late, Jonah realized that Dr. Havisham, for all her bravado, didn’t have a coat—and the dress she wore offered no real protection against the elements.

“Have a seat over there near the stove.”

He gestured to the worn, overstuffed chair that Creakle had ordered all the way from Boston nearly a half dozen years ago. It was old and scarred and had begun to conform to the shape of Creakle’s backside, but, other than Jonah’s rocker, it was the only comfortable chair in the house.

“Oh, I couldn’t. I—”

“Miss... Dr. Havisham,” he said, a trifle impatiently. “I’ve been on my feet all day, and good manners forbid me from sitting until you do.”

She looked instantly ashamed. “Oh, of course.”

Dr. Havisham brushed by him in a wave of something that smelled like...orange blossoms? Then she sank into the chair in a flutter of skirts. Funny how he hadn’t noticed until now that her dress was a good six inches too short. And the bust was a little too large. Had she borrowed it to replace the wet and torn suit she’d worn while tending to the wounded? Although the simple brown garment was serviceable enough, especially with the overwhelming apron, it couldn’t have offered her much warmth.

The thought made Jonah feel unaccountably...guilty.

“Would you like a blanket to put around your shoulders?”

She stiffened—as if the very idea was a mark of weakness, or worse, a sign that she’d strayed into the realms of impropriety.

“No. Thank you.”

He gestured to the food Creakle had left on the table. “Did Stumpy bring you a plate like I requested? Creakle’s left me more than I could eat.”

“I’m fine. But you should have your dinner, Mr. Ramsey. You must be starving.”

Her pronouncement was firm, but he saw the way her eyes skipped from him, to the plate, then back again. Ever so subtly, she moistened her lips.

Which told Jonah that Stumpy, cantankerous man that he was, probably hadn’t roused out of his bed long enough to send her anything.

“Please. I insist you have your dinner, Mr. Ramsey. We can talk while you eat.”

Jonah didn’t bother to ask her again. Instead, he grabbed another plate from the cupboard, then two knives and forks. After dividing the generous portions in half, he handed her the food and a set of utensils.

“Dig in,” he said curtly. “Or we don’t talk.”

She opened her mouth—and he was sure she meant to argue—but she finally offered a soft, “Thank you.”

Taking his own meal, Jonah settled into the rocker, wincing slightly.

“Do you want to say grace, or shall I?” he asked.

“Oh, I...uh—”

Obviously, she thought he was a complete heathen because his suggestion startled her. So Jonah bowed his head, closed his eyes and offered, “For this and all we are about to receive, we are truly grateful. Amen.”

“Amen.”

For the first time that night, Jonah was able to sink back into the rocking chair and allow the tension to flow from his tired muscles. But something about his expression must have alerted the doctor, because she eyed him with concern, and her close scrutiny had the power to set his teeth on edge. He’d seen that look often enough in the last ten years. It smacked of pity—and if there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was pity. But he managed to avoid her gaze by concentrating on tearing his biscuit in half and piling it with ham and cheese.

“Were you injured today?” she asked gently.

The woman was observant. He had to give her that at least.

“No.”

“You seem to be favoring your back. Have you pulled a muscle?”

“No, ma’am. It’s merely an aggravation of an old wound.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Honest, Doc.”

“Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

He shook his head.

“Because I’d be happy to take a look at you if you’d like.”

“No!” The protest burst from his lips with such vehemence that he quickly added, “I’m more than capable of applying liniment all on my own.”

Her eyes grew dark, causing a curious twisting sensation in his chest, but he pushed the reaction aside. He’d been to enough doctors and quacks to last a lifetime—and he certainly wasn’t about to add a female surgeon to the mix.

Even so, it was clear that Dr. Havisham was intent on gnawing the issue like a dog with a bone.

“But even if this complaint is one you’ve experienced before, you may have truly injured yourself today.”

He knew the last thing he needed was this woman pulling up his shirt to poke and prod at the scars on his back. Hadn’t he already seen what the sight did to the gentler sex?

Becca hadn’t been able to stomach the sight, even when the wounds had healed to pinkish scars. Jonah would be hanged before he’d allow another woman to get close enough to see them ever again.

“No. Thank you, Dr. Havisham,” he said with a firmness that bordered on rudeness. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe you should tell me why you’re here.”

She didn’t immediately speak. Instead, she regarded him with narrowed eyes. Brown, brown eyes.

“You are a very stubborn man, Mr. Ramsey. I might be able to help you. My schooling included a course in the latest advances in surgery and—”

He sighed. “I think we already went through your many qualifications during your interview with Batchwell and Bottoms.”

“As you well know, I left that discussion without managing to impress upon either gentleman the full extent of my education.”

He knew she was reliving each harsh word that had been uttered in the mining office. Although Phineas Bottoms had seen fit to listen in placid silence, Ezra Batchwell had not been so reticent. He’d accused Dr. Havisham of fraud, dismissed her competence and had even questioned her sanity. Then he’d vowed to ruin her if she didn’t leave the valley as soon as humanly possible.

Although Jonah would have been the first to admit that the mine was no place for a woman, he thought that Batchwell had been a little harsh. As one of the fairer sex, she should have been offered a gentler dismissal.

“Dr. Havisham, why are you here in Aspen Valley?” he asked, dodging her question with one of his own. “What on earth possessed you to sign up for employment at a silver mine?”

She met his gaze with a directness he wasn’t accustomed to receiving from a woman.

“Why should I confide in you, Mr. Ramsey? I asked you the same question mere hours ago and you refused to answer.”

There was a note of challenge in those melodic tones, and old memories threatened to swamp him. He was transported to another life...the company of another woman. But all that was gone now. In the space of a heartbeat, the thunder of cannon and men’s screams, he’d been stripped of that future—as well as his ability to ever feel so deeply about another woman again.

Jerking his gaze away, Ramsey offered, “Like most of the men here, I came in search of a new start. And you, Dr. Havisham?”

She poked the edge of her biscuit with her fork. “I wanted to go where I could do some good.”

“But why here? You admitted to the owners that most of your actual doctoring was at a women’s hospital.” When she didn’t explain, he added, “To put it bluntly, you’ve spent the last few years of your career as a baby doctor. Why would you come to the only community that would have no need of such services?”

She made a show of cutting a piece of meat, and loading her fork. Then she slipped the food into her mouth and chewed with great thoroughness before saying, “There was nothing in the advertisement that stated women weren’t allowed to apply.”