Kansas Courtship (11 page)

T
he man had the gall to slam her own door in her face. Nora had never felt so shaken in her life. Zeb Garrison had been insufferable, but that’s not why her knees had gone weak. She could take being mocked as a doctor. What she couldn’t bear was the terrible emptiness, the fear she’d never know the joys of a husband and a family. He’d assumed those joys were hers for the asking. They weren’t.

She’d had a beau before medical college, but she hadn’t loved him. She’d been kissed, but her toes hadn’t curled even a little. As for Albert Bowers, he made her shudder. When it came to real love, she’d never experienced the sweet yearnings her mother had told her to expect.

Until now.

The thought stopped Nora cold. Zeb Garrison had been intolerable, so why did she feel drawn to him? Common sense told her to keep her distance, but another instinct—a brighter one—made her go to the window and watch as he walked away. The sun reflected off the paisley vest he always wore, obscuring the design with a glaring light. She lost sight of him as he
rounded the corner, but she could still hear the thunder of the slamming door and the roar of his voice. He owed her an apology, but she didn’t expect to receive one.

Carolina came out of the kitchen. “I heard every word. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

The nurse put her hands on her hips. “I know Zeb well. Something’s bothering him.”

“Not
something,
” Nora said. “It’s
someone
and that someone is me.”

“Even so,” Carolina insisted. “It’s not like Zeb to shout.”

Nora thought of the conversation before he’d exploded. She hadn’t meant to step on his toes, but she’d trounced all over them. He’d accused her of arrogance—of playing God—and she’d argued back. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes and she’d alluded to Frannie. That’s when he’d pointed to the painting, and his attack had turned personal. Nora didn’t want to go down that road with Carolina.

“There’s always more to a story,” she said to the nurse. “I
know
he’s working too hard.”

“No doubt,” Carolina replied. “But I’ve known Zeb for years. What’s got him in a twist isn’t hard work.”

“Then what is it?”

The nurse laughed. “He’s finally met his future wife and he doesn’t know it.”

“Carolina!”

“I’m serious.” She hooked her arm around Nora’s waist. “Let’s have tea. I’ll tell you what Zeb told Pete about getting married. It’ll explain a lot, including Mrs. Johnson and her spitefulness.”

Nora had no desire to gossip and hesitated.

Carolina gave her a motherly look. “If my daughter had
lived, she’d be your age. If she were alone in a new place, I’d want someone to look out for her.”

A longing for her own mother welled in Nora’s chest. “Thank you.”

Carolina guided her into the kitchen where she’d already set water to boil. Except for essentials, Nora’s cupboards were bare. No fancy baked goods. No preserves. She’d planned to purchase jam and eggs from the mercantile, but then she’d received the letter from the Ladies Aid Society and had decided to delay an encounter with the Johnsons.

Carolina filled two cups with tea and sat. “You know about the tornado and how it shook us all up.”

“I can see the damage everywhere.” She thought of Bess, the twins and the death of Alex’s brother.

“It changed Zeb more than most.”

“How so?”

“For one thing, he stopped being shy about marriage. He’s a handsome man, if I do say so myself.” She smiled. “He needs a strong woman in his life, someone who’ll take him to task when he acts up.”

“Like he just did.”

“Exactly.” Carolina took a long sip of the steaming brew. “After the storm, he let it slip to Pete that he wanted to get married. Matilda Johnson overheard them, and the next thing Zeb knew, every female in town had set her cap for him. Most dropped out of the fray in a few weeks, but Abigail hasn’t given up. Neither has Winnie Morrow, or I should say, neither has Winnie’s mother. Winnie’s on the timid side. She’s not right for Zeb at all.”

Neither is Abigail.

Nora kept the thought to herself, but Carolina smiled “You’re right. Abigail’s an even worse choice.”

Nora felt strengthened by the tea
and
the talk. “Now I know why Mrs. Johnson resents me. In addition to the prejudice, she sees me as a rival to her daughter.”

“And a worthy one,” the nurse said. “I haven’t seen Zeb in such a state since that Boston woman jilted him.”

“He must have loved her deeply.”

“I believe he did.” Carolina’s voice turned wistful. “My Howard loved me that way, God rest his soul.”

Envy flooded through Nora like a river in a storm. Would she ever have a husband and children of her own? Not once in her life had she let her dreams die, but this dream seemed to lay beyond her reach.

A knock sounded on the front door. Both women stood, but Nora motioned for Carolina to remain seated. “I’ll get it.”

If Zeb had come to apologize, she wanted to meet him halfway. She dared to hope until she opened the door and saw Bess. Nora had been reading up on mutism, and had met with Bess several times at the boardinghouse. Her medical books said criticism and bribes served no purpose, something she’d known instinctively. Instead of coaxing the girl to speak, Nora had taken a different approach. She treated Bess with complete normality. The key to healing, she believed, was making the girl feel safe.

“Hi!” Nora said happily.

Bess waved hello, then handed Nora a note. She took it but looked at Bess instead of opening it. “Carolina and I are having tea. Would you like to join us?”

Bess’s eyes flared with anxiety. Frantic, she pointed at the note.

To calm the girl, Nora unfolded the paper. “I’ll read it right now.” Nora scanned the feminine script. “It’s from Rebecca. Another boy has the measles, and his mother wants me to see him.”

Relieved to be understood, Bess relaxed. Nora ached for the silent girl, but she also felt a spark of triumph. In spite of Zeb Garrison’s dire predictions, she’d just been summoned to see a patient. She put the letter in her pocket, then focused on Bess. “I’ll get my medical bag. Would you walk back with me?”

The girl nodded solemnly.

As Nora guided her into the parlor to wait, she glanced at the painting on the wall and thought again of Zeb. He was wrong about where she belonged. New York had stopped being home when she left for medical college. She belonged in High Plains, where children caught measles and Bess needed wisdom. No matter the cost, she refused to let Zeb Garrison chase her away.

After leaving Nora’s house, Zeb went back to the town hall. He needed to get rid of the fury in his blood, and pounding nails offered a cure. Later he’d think about his fight with Dr. Nora, but right now the wound was too raw. He needed the company of men, especially men who wouldn’t question his foul mood.

As he neared the town hall, he saw Tom Briggs and Edward Gunderson. Every man in High Plains volunteered when they could be spared from their regular work, and Edward, a big Scandinavian who worked with Pete, had helped considerably.

Zeb had worked for an hour when he spotted Winnie Morrow and her mother coming down the street. Winnie had a picnic basket in hand and a stiff smile. Zeb liked Winnie. He liked her more than Abigail because she didn’t talk a lot. She also bored him senseless. After quarreling with Dr. Mitchell, though, boredom appealed to him.

“Zeb!” Mrs. Morrow waved at him.

He waved back, then excused himself from the crew of men. As he climbed down the scaffolding, Tom Briggs grinned. “Looks like you’re getting lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” Zeb muttered.

“I am,” said Edward.

Zeb glanced over his shoulder and saw the man doff his hat to Winnie. She looked pretty in a calico dress with flowers that reminded him of the morning glories growing by the river. The flowers were nice, but they didn’t last more than a few days. Zeb liked trees better. He liked oak in particular and wished again he’d kept his mouth shut with Nora.

Agatha Morrow nudged her daughter forward. Zeb encouraged her with a smile.

She offered the basket. “Mama thought—”

Mrs. Morrow interrupted. “We
both
thought—”

Winnie sighed. “We thought you’d like some refreshments.”

Zeb had behaved badly once today. He refused to do it again. He took the basket and gave Winnie his most charming smile. “Thank you, Winnie. That’s thoughtful of you.”

Zeb opened the cloth and smelled vanilla. Mrs. Morrow nudged her daughter forward. “Winnie baked snickerdoodles. Didn’t you, Winnie?”

Zeb disliked pushy women of any age. He felt sorry for Winnie. “They smell good.”

The girl blushed again, but she wasn’t looking at Zeb. Her gaze had climbed the scaffolding to Edward’s boots. The man was looking down, unsmiling and irritable. Eager to finish with the women, Zeb shouted to the crew. “Break time, men. Miss Morrow’s brought us refreshments.”

Edward reached the basket first, then Briggs. Zeb helped himself, but he didn’t taste a bite as the men praised Winnie. The married ones took cookies and stepped back. Edward staked out the spot in front of her and wouldn’t budge. He looked as calf-eyed as Zeb had once gazed at Frannie. What would that be like? he wondered. To admire a woman without a flash of pain?

He didn’t remember anymore, but he knew one thing for certain. He wouldn’t be courting Winnie. She was too sweet for a scoundrel like him. He also felt Edward’s eyes cutting into him. If the man had feelings for Winnie, Zeb would stay out of his way.

When it came to potential wives, that left Abigail Johnson or a red-haired lady doctor. The thought made Zeb’s head hurt. He had to get away from cookies and the stupid grin on Edward’s face. As graciously as he’d done in Boston, he excused himself with a slight bow to Winnie. Turning, he clapped Edward on the back in manly surrender, then climbed onto the wagon seat.

He needed to go back to the mill, but he felt churned up inside. Instead of heading past the mercantile—he didn’t want to deal with Abigail—he drove between the boardinghouse and the corner building and across a patch of dirt to the livery. When he saw Will’s sorrel, he grinned. Just what he needed…some healthy complaining about women with his two best friends.

Zeb reined in the horse to a stop, hopped down and strode into the overheated building where Pete was forging a plow blade. Will slapped him on the back. “You’ve been making yourself scarce.”

“Just working,” Zeb answered.

“Same here,” Pete added.

The three men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching in silence as Pete shaped the metal with hard strokes. Sweat trickled down Zeb’s back. Will wiped his brow, then stepped back. “How’s the town hall coming?”

“Good,” Zeb replied. “We’ll be ready for the metalwork in no time.” He glanced at Pete. “How are you coming on the hinges?”

The blacksmith turned the metal spike in his hand, inspecting the color. “They’ll be ready.”

Zeb blew out a sigh. “Once the town hall’s done, I can slow things down at the mill.”

Will hummed in agreement. Pete said nothing. Standing between them, Zeb shifted his weight. “You won’t believe what that lady doctor had the nerve to say.”

Both men stared at him.

Will’s lips turned up. “What’d she say?”

“She says I’m working too hard, that I’m pushing the men and something bad could happen because we’re all worn out.”

The blacksmith shrugged. “Sounds like good advice to me.”

“Me, too,” Will added.

“I’ll admit she’s got a point,” Zeb replied. “But what else am I supposed to do? High Plains needs every board I can cut.”

Pete shot a glance from the side. “Is your eye still twitching?”

Zeb ignored the jab. “She’s got no right to tell me how to run the mill.”

When both men laughed, Zeb felt like the butt of the joke. “What’s so funny?”

“You still thinking about getting married?” Will asked.

Zeb scowled. “Sort of.”

“Then get used to being bossed.” The rancher grinned. “Emmeline bosses me all the time, and she doesn’t even know it.”

“Same with Rebecca.” Pete had the stupid-happy look of a man in love.

Zeb recognized it, because he’d had that look with Frannie. Anger gripped him, but then he thought of Nora and the oak-brown dress she’d worn at the mill. An ache started in his belly and spread to his arms. He felt empty inside, the way he’d felt during the tornado. Two months had passed since that day. He still needed a wife, but he didn’t want the grief.

He chortled at his friends. “You’re a couple of henpecked
fools. No way is that happening to me. One thing’s certain…I’m going to pick a woman who
won’t
drive me crazy.”

Pete guffawed.

Will stifled a snicker, but it leaked out in a snort.

Zeb glared at them both. “Take Abigail. She knows her place.”

Will shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Zeb. She’s after your money. If you marry her, you’ll regret it.”

Maybe, but she’d never hurt him. A man had to love a woman to suffer when she left. He didn’t have those feelings for Abigail. A merchant’s daughter, she understood business. He figured she could do the books for him. He hated that chore.

Pete rested the blade on the edge of the forge. “Do you
really
want Matilda Johnson for a mother-in-law? That woman—”

“I know.” Zeb waved a hand in surrender.

“After what she did to Rebecca—” The blacksmith knotted his hand into a fist and hit the forge. “I’ve said enough. If you marry Abigail, you deserve what you get.”

Will shot Zeb a hard look. “I hear the Ladies Aid Society is going after Dr. Mitchell.”

“They are.” Zeb thought of his reason for visiting Nora, then he recalled his sharp words to her. He wanted to crawl into a hole. If his friends learned what he’d said to her, they’d slap him upside the head.

“So,” Will asked. “What are you going to do about it?”

Will meant the Ladies Aid Society, not the apology Zeb owed Nora. “I don’t know.”

“You brought her out here,” Will said with authority. “Seems to me you owe her a little help.”