Kansas Courtship. Victoria Bylin

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      “Thank you.”

      Gripping her medical bag, Nora paced down the street, avoiding the broken boardwalk as she took in buildings with boarded-up windows. Some of the structures were brand new. Others were a mix of wood weathered by time and fresh lumber. At the end of the street she saw a whitewashed church with glass windows and a perfect roof. A cross topped a bell tower and pointed at the sky. The sight of it gave Nora hope. She refused to be shaken by anything—not tornadoes and not Zebulun Garrison. Before she left New York, she’d prayed for God’s will to be done in her life. Surely the Lord wouldn’t let her down.

      As for Mr. Garrison, he’d met his match. When he arrived at the boardinghouse, she wouldn’t be wearing a duster. She’d look her best and be armed with her medical degree, a quick wit and her good intentions. She’d been asked to come for an interview, and she intended to hold him to his word. If he thought he could disrespect her, she’d be glad to set him straight.

      Chapter Two

      Zeb handed Abigail off to her mother, who ran the mercantile along with Abigail’s father, and left the store. Ever since he’d let it slip that he wanted a wife, he’d felt like a rabbit in a hunt. Abigail had been the most obvious, but he’d received supper invitations from half a dozen families with daughters, including Winnie Morrow and her mother. Either Winnie or Abigail would do for a wife. He just had to choose one over the other.

      As he crossed the street, he saw Mr. Crandall driving to the boardinghouse. In the wagon sat a trunk that had to belong to Dr. Nora Mitchell. A woman! Of all the fool things…If Doc Dempsey hadn’t died last week, Zeb wouldn’t even speak to her. As things stood, the town desperately needed a physician. At Doc’s funeral, Zeb had taken comfort in knowing Dr. Mitchell was on his way.

      Her way, he corrected himself.

      Stifling an oath, he headed for the livery to tell Pete Benjamin the news. Of all the people in High Plains, the blacksmith surely understood the need for a physician most personally. A year ago, Pete’s first wife, Sarah, had died in childbirth, and the baby had been lost with her. Dr. Dempsey, a gentleman in his eighties, had done his best, but his methods were old-fashioned at best and lethal at worst.

      At the funeral, the first in High Plains, Zeb had set his mind on finding a skilled physician. He’d received a dozen letters and had interviewed four men. He didn’t think the choices could get any worse, but he’d been wrong. No way would he hire a woman. Zeb dreaded giving the bad news to Pete. The livery owner had remarried and found happiness with Rebecca Gunderson, the boardinghouse cook. One of these days he’d be a father again.

      Pete knew the need for a good physician most personally, but Zeb had strong feelings, too. As long as he lived, he’d be haunted by the aftermath of the tornado. How many people had suffered because Doc Dempsey couldn’t keep up? Some had died instantly. Others had lingered for days with festering wounds. Doc had done his best, but he’d lacked the skill and stamina to treat all the injured. On that horrible day, Zeb had renewed his vow to find a skilled physician for High Plains.

      As he neared the livery, he gritted his teeth against a flare of temper. Not only had Dr. Mitchell lied about her gender, she’d left him with egg on his face. Just last week, he’d bragged to Will Logan that he’d found the perfect man for the job. Dr. Mitchell had impeccable credentials, including a letter of reference from Dr. Gunter Zeiss, a name Zeb recognized from his cavalier days in Boston. Dr. Zeiss, a famous German neurologist, had praised Dr. Mitchell as a skilled diagnostician and a brilliant clinician. He’d described his “colleague” as talented, dedicated and a true humanitarian.

      In Zeb’s opinion, Dr. Zeiss had more brains than common sense. No way could a woman handle the rigors of doctoring.

      As he neared the livery stable, he backhanded the sweat off his brow. The day, already warm, turned insufferable as he neared the forge. Heat spilled in waves off the brick table where Pete was pounding a glowing piece of iron. Between caring for horses and making everything from plow blades to door latches, the blacksmith was the busiest man in town.

      The men had known each other for years. Zeb saw no need for small talk as he peered into the gloom. “I’ve got bad news.”

      Pete kept hammering. “What happened?”

      “Dr. Mitchell arrived.”

      “You don’t sound happy about it.”

      “I’m not.”

      The blacksmith grunted. “Another dud?” He looked as glum as Zeb felt about the situation.

      “Remember when that letter arrived? You said nothing could be worse than the last fellow, and I said you were wrong. It could be worse.”

      “I asked how, and you said the new doctor could be a woman.”

      “That’s right.”

      Pete kept hammering. “Are you telling me—”

      “I sure am,” Zeb said with disgust. “Dr. N. Mitchell isn’t Norman or Ned. Her name’s Nora.”

      “Well, I’ll be,” Pete murmured.

      “I’m sending her back. She can leave with the Crandalls.”

      Pete’s hammer pinged in a steady rhythm. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

      “It’s the only answer.” Zeb took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat off his neck.

      The blacksmith kept working. “With Doc’s passing, maybe you should give the woman a chance. You said yourself she’s qualified.”

      “I said he was qualified. This isn’t a job for a woman and you know it.”

      Pete held up the piece of metal, inspected it with a sharp eye then put it back in the fire. “Seems to me a female doctor’s better than no doctor at all.”

      Not in Zeb’s opinion. “You know as well as I do she won’t last. Either she’ll get fed up and go back to New York, or she’ll get married and quit the medicine business. No woman is cut out for that kind of work.”

      “I don’t know,” Pete said. “Rebecca’s talking about opening an inn. I’d be a fool to try and stop her.”

      “That’s different.” Zeb frowned at the object in Pete’s hand. “She’ll be cooking and cleaning like she always does. It’s woman’s work.”

      Pete huffed at him. “I wouldn’t say woman’s work with that tone if you want to keep enjoying my wife’s good cooking. Rebecca works as hard as I do.”

      “I’m sure she does,” Zeb drawled. “But it’s not the same as what you do.”

      “Maybe.” Pete sounded wry. “She’ll also be keeping the books, ordering supplies, hiring folks and bossing everyone around.”

      “So?”

      “Isn’t that what you do?” Pete argued. “Especially the ‘bossing’ part?”

      Zeb faked a scowl. “Are you picking a fight?”

      “No.” Pete’s voice СКАЧАТЬ