Ginny Aiken (14 page)

Letty struggled with the thought of taking so much from the man who’d kissed her and then walked away. Perhaps she could find a decent horse—not a fancy one, just a sound animal—whose price her depleted account might cover, especially if her patients kept paying her with food.

Then Letty noticed her friend’s pleased expression. She wondered how much of that pleasure came from Mrs. Stone’s matchmaking bent.

Hours later Letty waved the Richards children farewell and climbed into the Stones’ rig. She sank back, remembering Elsa’s joy at the sight of her new son.

Pastor Stone got the horse going. “A precious feeling, no?”

“Incomparable.”

“You’re an able physician, young lady. The Lord has blessed Hartville with your presence.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The trip home was serene, each of the vehicle’s occupants busy with his or her own thoughts, Letty’s on the new arrival.

Once home, Letty knew she had to face Eric again. If only he didn’t own the buggy she’d twice been offered. If only she had the means to obtain transportation without his help. She could utter “if onlys” forever and nothing would change. She needed a horse and buggy, and Eric could give her both.

She ran upstairs, poured cold water into her washbowl, and splashed her face. She unraveled her braid, brushed out the dark locks, plaited them, and anchored the coiled rope to her crown once again. She hoped she looked efficient and professional, nothing like the soft woman Eric kissed the other night. She was a physician, not an aging debutante.

Although the day was warm for her ulster, she put it back on, hoping to look sturdier. “Honestly, Letitia,” she chided herself, “you really must stop indulging in such silliness. There’s no room for spinsterish conduct in the life of a doctor. You’re the one with the problem. Eric has probably forgotten the absurd incident.”

Hoping to escape her uncomfortable thoughts, she concentrated on the beauty of the early spring day as she walked up
Willow Lane. Although the air bore a nip, a great deal of snow had melted and the rich scent of soil filled the air.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Morgan,” called the widow who lived next to the manse.

“Hello, Mrs. Whitley. How’s your newest granddaughter?”

“Beautiful. Just beautiful!”

“I’m so glad. Enjoy her.”

“And you enjoy the lovely day.”

Letty nodded.

As she continued down Main Street, she realized the citizens of Hartville knew she’d saved the Richards baby. They all sang her praises, lifting her mood.

At the door to Mueller’s Bakery, Elsa’s mother pressed a bag of caraway-studded rye bread into her hands. “Thank you, and the Lord bless you,” the woman said.

By the time Letty reached the
Hartville Day
, she only felt relief. She didn’t know how to handle the outpouring of gratitude. As she opened the door, she saw a new crop of articles on the wall outside. She wondered if Eric had further denounced the bordellos, and debated taking the time to read the editorials. The sight of Randy’s mother bearing down on her convinced her to do her reading some other time.

Inside, a familiar, disturbing baritone greeted her. “It’s today’s heroine, Dr. Morgan herself.”

Letty tried but found no sarcasm or scorn in his tone, only admiration.

The ulster had been a wasted effort, an uncomfortable, hot, wasted effort. And she still had to ask him a favor. She squared her shoulders. “I need to speak to you, Mr. Wagner. In private.”

His expression clouded. Letty suspected he regretted their intimacy in the wintry moonlight. Perhaps she could reassure him such an episode wouldn’t happen again.

“Follow me.”

As they stepped into the office, Letty prayed for strength. “About—”

“How—”

Both stopped, each offering the other the opportunity to speak. Eric insisted Letty go first.

She started again. “About the other night—”

“No. That’s best forgotten.”

Cocking her head to the side, Letty studied the color on his cheeks. An odd . . .
something
flickered in his eyes. Could it be pain?

Of course not. He didn’t want to discuss what had embarrassed him. Besides, why would an eligible widower feel pain at the thought of kissing a spinster doctor?

“Very well,” she said. Perhaps his way was best. “That wasn’t the main reason for my visit.”

Eric’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “What is the other reason?”

Unwilling to face him, she opened her reticule and withdrew a handkerchief. She twisted the linen square without mercy as she related her trip to the Richards’s farm. “And so,” she summed up, “I’ve come to realize that you were quite correct. I need transportation, and I’m ready to accept your offer of the unused buggy.”

A smile lifted his mustache. Eric Wagner was absolutely reprehensible. He looked quite pleased at her discomfiture and positively wallowed in smugness.

He picked up the coat on the back of his chair. “Shall we, Dr. Morgan?”

“Right now?”

“Why waste time?”

Letty prayed for strength. “Indeed, Mr. Wagner.”

Later, Eric’s insistence on buying her a horse shattered the truce. “I said I would buy you the horse.”

“I remember quite clearly what you said, and I also remember how I responded.
I
will buy my horse.
You
will lend me your unused buggy.”

Eric fumed. The stubborn, contrary woman could make him forget his manners, proper behavior, and maybe even his principles faster than anyone he knew. Why did she continue to refuse his help? He threw down the gauntlet. “We shall see, Dr. Morgan.”

They went to acquire her transportation in silence. After a bit, Eric’s jaw hurt from biting down for so long. He should have been used to it by now; he’d been doing it since the church social. Since then, it had also become impossible for him to concentrate. Nothing he’d written made much sense, nor did any of it carry the conviction for which his editorials were known.

At the most awkward moments he would remember their kiss under a too-bright moon, and he would long for another taste of joy. But that kiss had been a foray into insanity, so he’d avoided her, hoping to prevent a recurrence.

This time she’d sought his help, and help her he would. He
would
buy her the horse, he
would
give her the buggy, and she’d absolutely need additional help if she chose to fight further over the issue. Not that he understood why it mattered so much.

Exaggerated politeness accompanied them as they approached the nearby ranch. So many “pleases,” “thank yous,” and “excuse mes” were exchanged that Eric wondered if he’d ever put his manners to use again without thinking of Letty.

At the ranch, Letty objected to each horse he suggested as she mentally calculated the cost.

“There,” she finally said, pointing.

“For goodness’ sake, Letitia Morgan. You’ll be the death of me yet. That poor nag has no life left. She’s earned the right to rest in her old age. You can’t buy her and put her back to work.”

The thrust of Letty’s chin said otherwise, and Eric scrambled for a better solution. He consulted his fellow rancher, Albert
Schwartz, who eventually barked out a laugh. “That’s fine, Eric, mighty, mighty fine.”

Eric escorted Letty back to the buggy and had her wait for him there. He grinned in response to her leery expression and followed Albert to gather their purchase and affix it to the rear of the rig.

On the way to his spread, he ducked all her questions. At the barn, he handed the reins to Andy Dobbins, his ranch manager. After instructing the man to cool down the animals, Eric reached for Letty’s hand to help her exit the rig, cursing his need to touch her again. He craved the warmth of the fingers he laced through his almost as much as her moonlight-sweetened lips.

Letty’s sturdy boots had scarcely touched the damp earth when she yanked her hand back and rammed both fists on her hips.

“Eric Wagner, what is the meaning of that?” She glared at the two horses tied to the back of the carriage.

“I went to buy a horse,” he said, “and you went to buy a horse. Two horses were bought. Both are yours, Prince as well as that broken-down nag.”

Letty’s jaw sagged. She looked at the horses and then back at him. “But—I . . . that is, I can’t—”

“It’s too late. The animals are yours. Come.” He again took her hand, this time to make sure she’d follow. “Let me show you the buggy so we can have you home before night falls.”

As they headed for the barn, his unsettled feelings gave him pause. He’d won the skirmish over the horses, but feared he was losing the war against his emotions. Still in the battle, he led her into the vast structure.

The dusty buggy leaned against a wall in the far corner of the building. To their near left, a mound of hay exuded its earthy fragrance. Mewling came from within the dried, golden grasses.

Letty went in search of the kittens. Eric watched, his heart full of longing for the woman who’d stormed his town and his farm and laid siege on his heart.

Patting the hay with gentle hands, Letty looked for the babies she’d heard. She crooned to the mama cat and extended a slender finger to the little ones. Marmie, no longer fat but orange as ever, puffed up at first, ready to defend her brood, but resumed washing her offspring when she saw that Letty posed no threat. Only then did Letty scoop up one of the kittens.

“Look, Eric,” she whispered.

Eric looked, but not at the kitten. His gaze traced the curve of her slender neck. The touching vulnerability of the translucent skin and the curling wisps of hair lured him closer.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. When she leaned toward the felines, the burnished glisten of sunset seeping through the loft window caught on hair that glowed mink brown with russet highlights. Dust motes danced in the muted shards of light, but Eric’s attention remained on Letty.

The kitten in her hand gave another cry, and she brought it to her cheek in the same loving way Eric had seen her cradle the chick in her kitchen. He shook his head at the sudden flare of uncomfortable emotion. How low could a man stoop? Jealous of a newborn cat.

Letty bent toward the mama, and Eric felt the play of shoulders beneath his hands. Her warmth seeped through his fingers, reaching deep despite the chill of the oncoming night. He had been cold for a very long time.

He leaned closer; still he couldn’t resist. He filled his senses with the fragrance of violets, a scent that had come to mean only one thing: Letitia.

8

Eric knelt and brought Letty back against his chest. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he murmured approval. With a new mother’s care, Marmie caught one of her babies in her mouth and went in search of greater privacy.

Letty let the pleasure of Eric’s embrace seep through her, bringing to life the memory of their shared kiss. She didn’t dare move. If she so much as breathed, Eric might pull away as he had before.

Hope and anticipation filled her; melting wonder threatened her strength. She turned and saw a glow in his dark eyes. She could scarcely believe that she, Letitia Morgan, had lit the spark that burned in him.

He then kissed her lips.

Forgotten for the moment were all worries about propriety, about arguments, about the reasons why this moment shouldn’t happen. In the soft shadows of evening, Letty only felt.

A cow lowed off to their right. A horse snuffled to their left. The hay prickled her skin through the fabric of her blouse where the coat had swung aside. Where her skirt rode up her ankles, the cold evening air seeped through her cotton stockings, shocking her sensitized skin.

She wished—

“Heidi,” hollered Andy, “you stubborn goat. Come here!”

Eric went still. For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t draw breath. His eyes, though open, seemed unseeing. Then he stood and wiped his face. His gaze touched on Letty, and the pain in his eyes stole her breath.

She reached out a tentative hand. “Eric . . .”

He shook his head and turned, giving her the opportunity to compose herself. But composure and his back were the last things Letty wanted from him right then. Twice he’d kissed her to distraction and then doused his ardor, leaving her with questions enough to fill a book.