Courting the Doctor's Daughter. Janet Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ his humorous tone, Mary heard his approval and basked in its warmth. She laid a soft palm on her father’s cheek. “Like you, Daddy. Just like you.”

      “Goes to show, the Good Lord knew what He was doing when He brought you to us.”

      Moisture filled her eyes. Her father always made her feel special, loved. She’d expected all men to be like Henry Lawrence.

      How wrong she’d been.

      She craved the happiness her father had shared with her mother, happiness she’d never found with her husband.

      At night with the boys tucked in bed, she ached with loneliness, reliving all those endless evenings she’d spent waiting for Sam, dreading his shuffling steps, his hands fumbling at the door, his blurry eyes resting on, yet not seeing, her. Even with him in the house lying beside her, he was lost to her. Alcohol took her place as his companion, as the love of his life. She couldn’t compete with a mistress that enabled him to forget the suffering of his childhood.

      What had she become? A woman focused on regrets, instead of counting her blessings—her father and her sons. They were the only men she needed in her life.

      What if she lost Ben? A shiver snaked down her spine. She met her father’s gaze. “I’m afraid of what Luke Jacobs could do to all of our lives.”

      “I’m sorry. I know that peddler has you upset, but I suspect you’re overreacting.” He gave her a smile. “The Good Lord will work it out. Give Him time.”

      Obviously, her father didn’t grasp the enormity of the situation. “Given enough time, Ben could be riding on the seat of that peddler’s wagon—on his way out of town.”

      Her father frowned. “Guess I’ll have another talk with that fellow. See what I make of him.”

      Henry Lawrence wouldn’t let anyone harm her or the boys. A load of worry shifted from her shoulders to his. With a lighter step, she scrubbed the surgery and then headed to her father’s quarters to prepare lunch.

      After they’d eaten, Mary set about cleaning her father’s rooms. Michael and Philip had joined their grandfather out back, once again raking leaves but this time burning them in a barrel. Mary kept Ben inside, away from smoke, a trigger for his asthma. Nearby her new son stacked the wooden blocks she’d loved as a child. Her parents saved everything she’d ever touched, no matter how insignificant. She soaked up that realization like a thirsty sponge. She owed them everything, God even more. She hadn’t come close to paying the debt.

      When she became a doctor, she’d keep her father’s legacy alive in this town, long after he couldn’t care for his patients.

      True, going to school and studying, taking care of her sons wouldn’t be easy, but she could and would manage it all, as soon as her father had help in the practice. She’d prayed for God to send a doctor. Surely one of the two remaining applicants would be His answer.

      Finished with the cleaning, she strolled into the office and peered out the back window. The boys and her father had made progress but still had work to do. She might as well catch up with the accounts. Her work at home could wait another day.

      She sat at her desk and delved into the sorry state of her father’s books. He rarely collected cash. Now Luke Jacobs picked her father’s pockets. As she recorded the payment of a bushel of apples, her hand shook and ink splotched the page. If only that man would leave town.

      Right then, outside the window, Luke Jacobs strode past. Slowly, trying not to alert Ben, she rose and inched closer. At the sign alongside the path leading to her father’s office, he paused, reading Henry Lawrence, M.D. Then he glanced toward the entrance. Mary caught her breath, held it, her body unbending as steel, ready to spring into action to shield Ben. A second later, he moved on.

      Mary sagged against the frame. Could he be looking for her home? Hoping to find Ben? Or merely searching for another place to sell his remedy?

      Either way, Mary had a sinking feeling that he’d be back.

      Chapter Six

      Luke left the Whitehall Café, his stomach full and his mind grappling with a sense of responsibility toward Ben. As he strolled along the sidewalk, lost in thought, he wondered if he could find a way to see his boy without giving away his fatherhood. Would Miss Graves allow him within a mile of Ben?

      Not likely. The woman had it in for him. She might be attractive, but she appeared tauter than an over-wound clock. Luke suspected more than his interest in Ben had her in an uproar. His medicine would probably do her good. But he didn’t want to get involved with her problems, whatever they might be. He had enough of his own.

      This morning at the livery, John Lemming had turned down his request for a job. Mr. Hudson had done the same at the general store. His housekeeper had wired back that she had no place to go and wanted to remain in the house without pay. That didn’t sit well with Luke. He planned to take the train back to New York. No point in hanging on to his rig. He’d sell it and send his housekeeper the money. Once the local doctor recommended his remedy—

      A whinny, then a blood-curdling scream sliced through the air. Luke whirled toward the sound. A child, half lying in the street, half cradled in a woman’s lap. Screaming, she waved her hands over the child’s head. A dark stain spread across her skirt. Off to the side, a horse stomped. Bystanders stopped, frozen in place.

      Luke broke into a run, dodging wagons and buggies, mentally preparing the next steps before he reached the child. He crouched at the mother’s side. “What happened?”

      Wide-eyed with shock, she didn’t appear to see him. “The horse,” the woman said, tears running down her face. “Something spooked the horse. He kicked.” She rocked back and forth, holding her son in her arms. “Oh, Lord, my boy! My sweet boy!”

      “Ma’am, let me.” His gaze met hers, firm enough for her to release the grasp she had on her son. A circle of people crowded around them. “Get the doctor. And get me some rags.”

      “I’ll git Doc Lawrence!” A passerby sped off.

      Luke guessed the injured boy to be seven or eight. He checked his pulse. Steady and strong. Good. He lifted one eyelid. The pupil dilated. He checked the other. A concussion.

      “Oh, God, save my son!” the mother cried.

      Luke eased the boy’s head to the side. The horse’s hoof had laid open a section of scalp, and a lump formed on his skull. Thankfully, the horse caught the child from the back, not at the temple.

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