Kansas Courtship (7 page)

Cassandra grabbed it and squealed. “It’s so new!”

“It’s from June.” She’d bought it the day she’d left New York.

“Thank you.” The girl clutched it to her chest. “If I
do
go back, I want to fit in.”

“You fit here, too,” Nora said diplomatically.

Cassandra ignored her. “Who are you visiting today?”

“Your brother.”

“I’ll walk with you.” She indicated a path to the river. “Let’s go this way. It’s pretty.”

Nora appreciated the company
and
the shortcut. The mill road had ruts, dust and the danger of heavy wagons. The river filled her with peace.

As they ambled past the schoolhouse, Cassandra glanced at the color plate in the magazine. They talked about fashion, then the conversation turned to Nora’s search for an office. Cassandra said she’d ask Percival to help. Nora appreciated the offer, but she doubted Mr. Walker’s integrity. Not so subtly, he’d quizzed her about her father’s profession—he owned a brickworks—then he’d suggested investments. If her father took his advice, she suspected Mr. Walker would earn a sizable fee.

He’d impressed her as self-centered, but she’d been wrong about people before. Her father had been quick to set her straight.
Don’t judge too quickly, Nora. People aren’t always what they seem.

Walking with Cassandra, she wondered if that observation fit Zeb Garrison and decided it didn’t. He was exactly what he seemed to be.

Charming and rude.

Generous but narrow-minded.

Kind to others but arrogant to her. She still hadn’t decided what she’d say to him today. The Bible told her to love her enemies. She wanted to honor her faith, but Mr. Garrison and his prejudice tested her goodwill.

With the
Godey’s
book tucked against her chest, Cassandra plucked a sunflower from the grass. “I was wondering. Have you ever been to a ball?”

“Just one.” She’d been seventeen and Albert Bowers had asked her to dance. He’d smelled like liniment.

“I’ve been to three.” Cassandra stared across the river as if she’d already gone back to Boston. “Zeb was engaged to Frannie, and I—”

“Who’s Frannie?”

Her brows shot up. “I shouldn’t have mentioned her. Zeb refuses to say her name.”

Nora still had questions, but she also had an answer. A woman named Frannie had left her mark on Zeb Garrison’s heart. Whether he’d been a cad and she’d left, or Frannie had left and he’d become bitter, she didn’t know.

Cassandra rolled the stem of the sunflower between her fingers. It twirled like a dancer. “If it weren’t for Frannie, we’d still be in Boston. We’d have a town house, and I’d be going to balls.”

Nora didn’t want to pry, but she needed information. The more she knew about Zeb Garrison, the better she could cope with his bias against female doctors. “What did Frannie do?”

“She jilted him.”

Nora didn’t like being called a spinster, but being left at the altar would have hurt more. “That must have been awful.”

Cassandra shuddered. “Frannie showed up at the church just minutes before the wedding. She asked me to get Zeb.”

Nora cringed for him. “I can’t imagine.”

“He talked to her, then he came down the aisle by himself, said something to the minister and told everyone to go home, that there wouldn’t be a wedding. I’ve never seen him so…so hurt.”

Clearly more than Zeb Garrison’s pride had been wounded that day. Frannie had broken his heart.

Cassandra tossed the sunflower to the ground. “He disappeared for three days. He didn’t tell anyone where he went, not
even me. A week later, he and Will headed West. They scouted out land for this town, and now here I am.”

“It’s quite a change.” A good one, Nora thought. She loved Kansas, but she understood Cassandra’s homesickness. Empty meadows and dirt roads were a world away from city shops.

The girl turned wistful. “That first ball—it was wonderful. Even Zeb had a good time.”

Nora pictured him dancing to the beat of an orchestra, dressed in black as he matched steps with a woman in fine silk. He had an inborn grace, an aristocratic air that explained his arrogance. She thought of the mill and the capital needed to start such a venture. “You must have been well-to-do.”

Cassandra laughed. “Not at all. We grew up poor in a town outside of Boston. My father worked in the mill and so did Zeb.”

“It’s a big step to go from working in a mill to owning one.” Nora respected his effort. “How did it happen?”

“Zeb owes everything to Jon Gridley. Have you heard of him?”

When Nora shook her head, Cassandra told how her brother had apprenticed with a famous millwright and inherited the man’s wealth and his love of engineering. Cassandra finished with a sigh. “Don’t ask Zeb about the mill. He’ll bore you to tears.”

Nora didn’t think he’d be boring at all. It took a keen mind to design a mill and a bold man to build one in Kansas. Nora loved the open spaces, but she wasn’t blind to the risks of weather and Indian attacks. On her list of Zeb Garrison’s traits, she had to add courageous. Crazy, too. But no crazier than she’d been for making the same journey.

Cassandra peered at Nora through her thick lashes. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you come to High Plains?”

“To practice medicine.” The oft-repeated words tripped off her tongue.

“Why here?” The brunette waved her arm to indicate the lush meadow. “Why not stay in New York?”

“There’s bias against female physicians—a lot of it,” she replied. “When I saw your brother’s advertisement, I jumped at the chance to start a practice of my own. I’m hoping the need will outweigh the prejudice.”

“I hope so, too.” Cassandra grinned. “But get ready. Zeb’s going to fight you.”

“I’ll have to fight back,” Nora said easily. “It won’t be the first time.”

As they rounded a bend in the path, she saw a low waterfall. The river spilled over the edge and raced through scattered boulders worn smooth by time. Below the falls stood Garrison Mill. The tall building had wood siding, a pitched roof, small windows and large doors for loading. A wagon stood ready in the yard. Near it she saw a saddled bay gelding. The creak and spill of the waterwheel mixed high tones with low ones, reminding her of Zeb Garrison’s quarrelsome ways.

Nora wouldn’t be haughty today. She wouldn’t be proud, and she certainly wouldn’t wink at him. She’d come in peace. To prove it, she’d acknowledge she’d been a bit harsh at their last meeting, then she’d ask him about the mill and how it worked. If she respected
his
work, perhaps he’d respect
hers
in return.

Building a mill was a monumental task, one akin to a woman becoming a doctor. Perhaps she and Zeb Garrison had more in common than she thought. Would that help her cause or hurt it? Nora didn’t know, but she intended to find out.

“D
id you just wink at me?” Pete said to Zeb.

“No!”

Zeb ground the heel of his hand into his eye and rubbed hard. “It’s been twitching all morning.”

The men were standing on the cutting floor. Pete had just delivered a saw blade he’d repaired, and they’d been talking about the town hall when Zeb’s eye went bad.

The tic was driving him crazy. He’d stretched his eye wide. He’d squeezed it shut. He’d rubbed until it hurt, but he couldn’t make the twitching stop. He’d been at the mill over an hour now. He’d greased the waterwheel, checked the gearing and inspected the logs delivered yesterday by the Thompson brothers. He’d been about to check the saws when Pete arrived with the blade. As the men attached it, Zeb’s crew, including Clint Fuller for the day, had shown up for work and gotten busy.

The mill was going full bore, so he motioned Pete to follow him into the yard. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they escaped the noise and dust, Zeb tried again to stretch his eye. If it would quit twitching, he could work on the
drawings for the dam and trace box. High Plains had enjoyed a fairly wet summer, but the river dropped a little each day. Zeb had to plan for all kinds of weather. A drought would leave the mill helpless unless he upgraded the design.

As they stepped into the sunlight, his eye twitched again.

When they reached the wagon, Pete looked at him thoughtfully. “My grandmother had that happen.”

“How’d she get it to stop?”

“She didn’t.” The blacksmith wiped sawdust off his nose. “She dropped dead on the spot. The doc called it apoplexy.”

“Great,” Zeb muttered.

Pete kept a straight face, but his eyes twinkled. “You could ask Dr. Mitchell to look at it.”

“No way,” he answered. “I’m not getting within fifty feet of her.”

Pete shrugged. “I like her.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t like anyone from back East,” he pointed out.

“I’ve got cause.” His eye twitched again. “She’s filling Cassandra’s head with nonsense.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s nonsense.”

Pete laughed out loud.

“It’s not funny.” Zeb put his hands on his hips. “Cassandra wouldn’t tell me what the woman said, but they met and now she’s acting like the high-and-mighty Dr. Mitchell.” He still couldn’t believe his sister had winked at him. The thought made his eyelid twitch again. Maybe Cassandra had the same problem, but he didn’t think so.

Pete rubbed at a clod of dirt on the wagon wheel. “Seems to me the Lord sent a fine woman to take care of this town.”

Zeb had another opinion. “He sent a hoyden.” Dr. Nora
Mitchell was bold and rude. He couldn’t call her tomboyish, but she had that air.

Both men heard feminine laughter and looked toward the river. Zeb saw his sister, dressed in pink and white, coming up the path with Dr. Mitchell. Cassandra looked like strawberries and cream. Dr. Mitchell had on a coppery gown that reminded him of oak. Of all the trees he’d milled over the years, he liked oak the best. It was strong, beautiful and forgiving. Some woods were too brittle for a mechanical saw, but oak could take the pressure.

Pete turned back to Zeb. “Looks like the hoyden’s headed this way.”

To Zeb’s consternation, his eye twitched again. As he rubbed it with his knuckle, Cassandra and Dr. Mitchell reached Pete’s wagon. The blacksmith doffed his wide-brimmed hat. “It’s good to see you, Cassandra. Doc, how’s it going?”

The redhead smiled. “Very well, thank you.”

Pete looked at Zeb, daring him to greet the women. To keep his eye from going berserk, he squinted at them. “What brings you ladies here?” He addressed Cassandra, but he was more curious about Dr. Mitchell.

His sister held up a
Godey’s Lady’s Book.
“Look what Dr. Nora gave me!”

Just what Cassandra didn’t need, more fancy ideas about clothes. He didn’t care for the silly poetry, either. It reminded him of Frannie. Still squinting, he glared at Dr. Mitchell. She looked mildly pained and he wondered why.

Pete interrupted. “Rebecca likes the recipes. Maybe she could borrow it next.”

Dr. Mitchell looked pleased. “I’d be glad to share it. I’ve got older issues, too.”

Cassandra looked at Zeb with a smirk. When had his little sister turned haughty? A few years ago, she’d been as sweet as
a kitten. But then he’d taken her to Boston and she’d gotten prissy. Zeb had only himself to blame for her uppity ways. Annoyed, he frowned at her. “What brings you to the mill?”

“Dr. Nora was coming to see you, so I showed her the way.” She turned to Pete. “Could you give me a ride back to town?”

“Sure.”

When the blacksmith offered his hand to help Cassandra into the wagon, Zeb realized his friend’s intention. He planned to leave him alone with Dr. Mitchell and his twitchy eye. With his luck, the eye would wink and she’d think he was playing her game. No way could he be alone with her. He needed his sister to stick around. “Cassandra, wait.”

She looked over her shoulder with a gleam in her eye. She had revenge in mind for this morning’s spat. She
knew
he didn’t like Dr. Mitchell and was forcing him to put up with her.

“What is it, Zeb?” she said too sweetly.

He couldn’t ask her to stay. That would be cowardly. He settled for a thin excuse. “Are you going back to the school or heading home?”

“
First
I’m having lunch with Percy.”

“I know that.”

“Then I’ll be home,” she added. “But later.”

“Not too late,” Zeb ordered.

Pete chuckled. “Don’t worry, Zeb. They’re
lunching
at the boardinghouse. Rebecca will keep an eye on them.”

Cassandra flashed a grin. “
And
I want to read the
Godey’s
book tonight. Thank you again, Nora.”

Dr. Mitchell gave a stiff smile. “You’re welcome.”

Pete handed Cassandra up to the seat, climbed up next to her and snapped the reins. As the horses lumbered out of the yard, Zeb stared at his sister’s back. Only three years separated them in age—he was twenty-five, she was twenty-two—but he felt
a lifetime older. Heartache did that to a man. So did hard work. He felt Dr. Mitchell’s gaze on his cheek. His eye didn’t twitch, but his tongue was ready to give her a lashing. First she’d given Cassandra advice and now the
Godey’s
book. How much could a man take?

Being careful to squint, he faced her. “Tell me, Dr. Mitchell. What kind of
advice
are you giving my sister?”

Her eyes—sky blue and sparkling—opened wide. “None really.”

“Cassandra told me otherwise.”

“She’s a confused girl, Mr. Garrison.” Dr. Mitchell looked troubled herself. “She heard something I said to Emmeline. I was speaking in regard to Bess, but your sister took it to heart.”

“What did you say?”

She squared her shoulders. “That a woman needs the courage of her convictions.”

What did
that
mean? The courage to jilt a fiancé and go to Paris? The courage to go to medical college and cut up cadavers? Or did it mean the courage to come West and start a new life? The courage to stare down a thunderstorm after surviving a tornado? Zeb’s thoughts turned into a jumble. Wordless, he stared at her.

Dr. Mitchell wrinkled her nose in remorse, the way she’d wrinkled it in Doc’s office. “I came today for a fresh start. I showed poor judgment at our last encounter.”

“You hoodwinked me with that simpering-female act, so excuse me if I don’t believe you now.” He opened his eyes extra wide. Hopefully she’d take it as forceful, not an effort to control the tic.

“I won’t apologize for staying, but—”

His eye twitched anyway. Not just a tic either. He gave her a full, unplanned and unmistakable wink.

Dr. Mitchell gasped. “You winked at me!”

Zeb held in a oath. “I didn’t—”

“I’m so sorry!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I know I started it. I should
never
have winked at you. It was brazen and rude.”

Zeb liked her apology. He liked the high color of her cheeks and he liked having the upper hand. He also liked her honesty. Because of it, she deserved the truth. “I didn’t wink at you, Doc. My eye’s been twitching all morning.”

“I see.” She regained her composure in an instant and lowered her hands. “I know the cause.”

If she looked into his eyes, he’d have to look into hers. Zeb did
not
want to cross that line, but neither did he want to end up dead like Pete’s grandmother. He tried to sound casual. “So what is it? Apoplexy?”

Her pretty face crinkled with laughter. The musical tones tripped over him and filled his heart with a lightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. The pleasure of it warmed him like sunshine on a cold day, but then he realized he was laughing with
Dr.
Nora Mitchell.

He pulled his mouth into a frown. “It’s not apoplexy, is it?”

“That depends.” With an impersonal expression, she studied his eye from two feet away. Zeb looked at fresh-cut trees the same way and realized she was seeing a human eye, not necessarily
his
eye. He had to respect her objectivity. She was all doctor as she raised her chin. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Do you read a lot, Mr. Garrison?”

“All the time.” He studied books on engineering, records for the mill.

“And coffee.” She shifted her gaze from looking solely at
his eye to reading his expression. “I suspect you drink it strong and in large quantities.”

As much as Zeb wanted her to be wrong, she’d gotten his attention. “That’s right.”

“What you have, Mr. Garrison, is a condition called blepharospasm. It’s caused by fatigue, some beverages and eyestrain. Adequate sleep should stop the twitching. I’d also recommend turning up the lamp when you read.”

Old men needed extra light. The next thing he knew, she’d be telling him to get spectacles. “Thanks,” he said coldly. “I’ll do fine without it.”

“Whatever you say.”

He wanted to annoy her. Instead, he saw joy in her eyes, and though she was trying to hide her elation, her lips tipped into a smile. She looked ready to dance and sing and wave a flag. He couldn’t stand it. “Why do you look so happy?”

“You, Mr. Garrison, are my first patient in High Plains.”

Of all the confounded ironies…Zeb wanted to be mad, but his eye felt better already, maybe because he’d smiled for the first time in a week. He thought of a few other “maybes,” like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she stayed. The thought lingered until he kicked it into next week. Not only did he distrust this woman as a doctor, she reminded him of Frannie. Any fool could see she’d come to High Plains because she couldn’t find work anywhere else. If opportunity knocked, she’d be gone tomorrow.

Never mind his twitching eye and that “maybe” in his head. He’d be wise to keep this woman—all women—at arm’s length. When it came to finding a wife, Abigail would be a far better choice because he’d never share his whole heart with her. Women, Zeb knew, were self-serving. He’d spent hours listening to Frannie prattle about her paintings, but when he’d talked about
his
work, she’d yawned. He had no respect for ambitious women.

He glared at Dr. Mitchell. “So I’m your first patient. I guess the joke’s on me.”

“I hope not,” she said. “I really do want to apologize for my conduct at the town hall.”

She’d come to make peace, but Zeb didn’t want a truce. He wanted to find a doctor who didn’t wear a dress. He’d already sent a new advertisement to the
Kansas Gazette
with instructions to make the print extra large.

Dr. Mitchell looked at him expectantly. Good manners called for him to apologize in return. Business was business, so he made his voice brusque. “Anything else, Dr. Mitchell?”

“Yes, there is.”

“What is it?”

She looked at him from below the brim of her hat. “You owe me for the medical advice.”

He had to hand it to her. The woman had guts. “I suppose I do.” Zeb reached into his pocket to extract a coin. Doc had charged six bits for advice. He figured Dr. Mitchell’s services were worth less, maybe two bits.

As he withdrew the coin, she held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t want your money.”

His eyes narrowed. “What
do
you want?”

“A tour of the mill.”

Zeb’s brows pulled together. Most women had no interest in shafts and pivots. “Are you serious?”

She peered through the delivery door. “I like knowing how things work.”

So did he.

“Will you show me?” she asked again.

He could turn a tree into lumber and wheat into flour, but as long as he lived, he’d never understand females. Caught by surprise, he shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

When she smiled her thanks, he knew
why not.
Dr. Nora Mitchell was one hundred percent female and he couldn’t forget it. Even with her hair tamed under a brown felt hat, she looked pretty today. He’d show her the mill and how it worked, but that’s all. No friendly talk. No walk along the river. No asking her to supper or letting her look at his eye again. To explain how the mill worked, he had to start with the river, the source of power for all the moving parts. He indicated the path to the waterfall with a jerk of his chin. “Let’s go.”

When she passed him, he smelled lavender. To keep from inhaling more deeply, he held his breath and started counting to ten. When he reached seven, he took a test sniff. Space between them muted the fragrance, but it left a trail in the air. Following it, he noticed the medical bag dangling from her hand.

“Here,” he said, indicating his office. “You can leave that thing here.”

Expecting her to let go, he reached for the case.

“Oh!” She looked up, but didn’t release the bag. Their eyes collided, then their shoulders bumped and the bag hit his knee. Irked, he stepped back. “Fine, take it. But it’s a hike to the waterfall.”

“I’ll leave it,” she said hurriedly. “I’m not accustomed to…courtesy.”

“I’m not accustomed to denying it,” he countered.

“Here.” She offered him the bag. “I’d be glad to leave it.”