Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson
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Название: Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Автор: Christine Johnson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
isbn: 9781474080378
isbn:
“Closed,” said the lad at the desk. “Everyone’s gone to the church supper.”
Everyone likely meant the Evans family. Had the entire town conspired against him? Jesse put up his collar against the cool evening breeze and stepped back out on the porch. Darkness had set in. A few buildings had a light or two, and the hotel burned a lamp outside the door, but to make his way along the boardwalks without stumbling, he needed to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
With the hotel dining room closed, that left the boardinghouse or no supper at all. His stomach growled. Jesse could go without. He had often enough during the war, but hunger had a way of eating at the mind as well as the body. He loped down the steps and nearly ran into a woman hurrying toward the hotel with her head down.
“Oh!” She started and jumped backward, losing her footing.
Jesse grabbed the petite woman’s shoulders to steady her, and knew at once that all the matchmaking efforts in the world couldn’t have planned this better. Once again he’d ended up holding on to Louise Smythe.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, stepping out of his grasp. “But I need to get help.”
She rushed up the steps and flew across the wooden porch. Before he’d turned around, she burst through the doorway and entered the lobby.
Jesse shook his head. She was likely looking for Mrs. Evans. She wouldn’t find her here. Though getting entangled with Louise once more was not at all in his plans, she seemed unusually agitated. Perhaps this wasn’t just a momentary crisis, like where to find a clean blanket. Maybe the girl who had fallen earlier needed a doctor.
So he climbed the stairs and entered the lobby.
“But I need help,” Louise was pleading.
The lad of perhaps fourteen or fifteen shook his head. “Mr. Evans said I wasn’t to leave my post for any reason.”
Louise blew out her breath and rubbed her forehead, eyes closed. “I need someone to fetch a doctor.”
Just as he’d thought.
Jesse stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
Louise lifted her gaze. Concern melted into relief. “Thank you. It’s Priscilla. She has a fever.”
Jesse racked his memory for what Mrs. Evans had said and, surprisingly, came up with the peculiar town name. “Where in Saugatuck can I find the doctor?”
He must have pronounced it reasonably well, for Louise didn’t give him an odd look.
“Mrs. Calloway will know.” Louise paced before him. “I will run over there and ask. She can send her husband to fetch the doctor.”
“They might be at the church supper too.”
“Not with guests at the boardinghouse.” Louise pushed past him, all business once again.
Yet Jesse could only see delays. He looked to the lad. “Do you know where to find the doctor?”
Louise paused at the door.
The lad hesitated. “Aye, but I’m not supposed to leave the hotel.”
“How about if I take over for you here, and you run to get the doctor?”
Jesse could see the tension release from Louise’s shoulders.
“A perfect solution. Will you, Charlie?” She gave Jesse a grateful look before stepping toward the registration desk. “It would save a lot of time and could save Priscilla’s life.”
Charlie looked uncertain. “But Mr. Evans—”
Louise had regained her confidence. “If Mr. Evans gives you any trouble, you tell him to talk to me.”
Instead of continuing to resist, Charlie grabbed his jacket and was out the door before Jesse could say anything.
Louise then turned to him. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. That was an excellent idea.”
He warmed in her smile of gratitude. It had been a while since a woman looked at him with such appreciation. It felt good. It felt almost normal. Maybe the nightmares wouldn’t return tonight.
“Glad to help. But please call me Jesse. We are going to work together, after all.”
The familiarity made her blush. “I thought I only needed to take attendance and monitor from the back of the room.” She brushed a hand over her hair, though it was perfectly in place, still pulled back in that dour bun. What he wouldn’t give to see it loose. But a widow, especially one like Louise Smythe, would never wear her hair down.
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