Cassandra Austin - Heart And Home

Jane blinked. “Apparently not.”

“I mean, I was right about the pneumonia. But I didn’t know about the dropsy.”

“I told you…” She watched him shake his head and realized that she hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it was my fault. I should have asked more questions.”

How many men could admit their mistakes so easily, or were willing to accept blame that was partially hers? How many men had eyes that shade of blue?

Jane shook her head. Dr. Hart was a distraction she didn’t need. “You’re forgiven,” she said, “and you don’t have to help with the dishes to make amends.”

He grinned at that, that charming little-boy grin that made her want to smile. “Let me be honest,” he said, as if he were about to share a secret. “I’ve never lived alone before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been alone before. That house gives me the creeps.”

He turned away, opened a cabinet door and withdrew a tray. “I bet there are dishes in the parlor.”

Jane followed him with slow steps, stunned by the turn of events. His steps, on the other hand, were purposeful, and he outdistanced her in a moment. She stood in her messy dining room, staring at the empty doorway to the hall.

And caressing Dr. Hart’s suit coat. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she put it over the back of a chair. He was determined to stay and help her clean up. It was foolish to argue about it. First, because she didn’t think he would give in, and second, because she was exhausted.

She would concentrate on his “secret” and put her grandmother’s death out of her mind for a little while. She was still standing two steps inside the dining room when he returned with the tray of dishes.

“You need a dog,” she said as she followed him into the kitchen. He turned and grinned at her. He looked exactly like a little boy who had just been offered a puppy. “How old are you?” she asked.

He laughed. It was a very pleasant laugh, and she decided she needed that even more than she needed his help.

He found a place for the tray and turned back to her. “Think of how much trouble I’d be in if I asked you that”

“All right. I’ll assume you’re older than you look, and you can assume I’m younger than I look. How’s that?”

“You really think I look so young?”

His grin was the kind that took over his whole face. It was incredibly charming. And incredibly dangerous. “Let me wash,” she said. “You can dry if you want to.”

“You’re avoiding the question, but I suppose that’s an answer. Maybe that’s why I don’t have any patients. They think I’m too young.”

She moved the pan of warmed water to the counter, glad that she could turn her back on him. She had a tendency to want to gaze at him and not get her work done. “You don’t have any patients yet because folks aren’t used to going for help. They tend to take care of themselves.”

Until they’re desperate, she would have added, but she didn’t want any reminder of his visits to Grams. It was there, of course, always between them, but unspoken was preferable to spoken.

He was silent for a few minutes, giving her a chance to get some glasses washed in peace. “In other words,” he said, opening the drawer that contained her tea towels, “I can expect to see only severe cases at first.”

There it was, too close to spoken. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yes,” she managed to answer.

She was grateful that he said no more about it. She washed and he dried, carrying trays full of her dishes to the cabinet in the dining room and bringing back more dirty dishes with each trip. “That’s the last in there,” he said finally. “Why don’t you do something with the food while I clean up the table?”

He found the furniture polish and was gone before she could agree or disagree. But why would she have disagreed? They were making their way through the mess much more quickly than she could have on her own. And he was surprisingly efficient help.

Oddly enough, she had wanted to disagree. It was her boardinghouse, and she prided herself on being self-sufficient. She hated to admit she needed help. She hated even more to admit she enjoyed his company. She had no time for a man in her life, even if she wanted one, which she most certainly did not. Besides, he had Doreena.

He returned to the kitchen, put the polish away and grabbed a fresh tea towel. “So what happens if I get a dog and he bothers the neighbors?”

His eager tone made her laugh out loud, surprising herself. “Since I’m your only close neighbor, I suppose that would be me. Let’s see.” She was washing the large platters now. She could hear the gentle clatter as he carefully stacked them on the table.

“As a matter of fact, your dog could cause me a lot of trouble. He could pull my laundry off the line, chew up my favorite tablecloth, dig up my flowers, accost my guests—”

“No,” he interrupted. “No accosting. I’d train him better than that.”

“So what about my flowers and my clothes?”

“Puppies are puppies.” There was that grin again, so infectious she couldn’t help smiling.

“And my favorite tablecloth?”

“I’d buy you a new one. If I ever get any patients.” She watched him slowly turn serious. “Probably not a good idea,” he said.

“I was teasing, Adam.” She had a sudden notion that perhaps he had never had a chance to be a little boy. She would bet his childhood hadn’t included a puppy.

“How’s this?” she suggested. “If you treat a farmer or his family and he offers you a pig as payment, ask if he’s got any puppies instead.”

Adam looked stunned. “Offers a pig as payment? You are joking, aren’t you?”

She laughed and turned back to the dishes.

“Pigs,” he muttered. He lifted the stack of platters and, just before he took it to the dining room, added, “If I get paid with a pig, I’m paying for my dinners with it.”

Jane fought the urge to giggle. The situation was too bizarre. Here she was laughing with a man whom she swore she didn’t like, letting him help her with dishes, of all things. Well, she did like him; she couldn’t help that. He would be as impossible to dislike as that puppy they were talking about.

She heard voices in the dining room and realized the clatter of dishes had kept her from hearing the front door. Grabbing a towel to dry her hands, she went out to investigate.

“He’s in the wagon,” a woman was saying.

“You go make sure he doesn’t move,” Adam told her. “I’ll be right out.”

The woman, a farm wife Jane knew only vaguely, hurried to do as Adam said.

Adam turned to her, tossing the tea towel over her shoulder. “Sorry I can’t help you finish.”

Jane shook her head, but he had already turned away. A need to watch him with a patient other than Grams sent her after him. She stood on her porch as he leaned over the wagon. The sideboards hid the patient from Jane’s view, but a small foot extending out the back made her realize it was the woman’s son, not husband that she had brought to town.

Adam spoke softly, the encouraging tones reaching Jane’s ears if not the words. The woman nodded and took his place at the back of the wagon while he ran into his house. Jane walked down her steps and joined the woman.

“What happened, Mrs. Tallon?” she asked, the name coming to her when she saw the six-year-old boy’s face. “How did Billy get hurt?”

“Oh, Miss Sparks,” the woman said, reaching out to her. “He fell trying to build a tree house. I told him to wait ‘til his father could help him.”

“Aunt Jane!” the boy cried. His mother moved quickly to keep him still. “Doc says my leg’s busted.”