Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2)

by Margaret Madigan

  “What’s a lovely lady like you doing traveling all alone?”

  I gave him a strained smile and hoped Emmett would hurry his business and board the stage. If I had to make this trip, I had a sudden gratitude for the buffer of an escort. My social skills were insufficient for dealing with strange men. Most men, if they even noticed me, which didn’t happen often, overlooked me quickly in search of a prettier face to admire. As I was the only woman in the coach, Mr. McCoy had no choice.

  “Actually, I’m not traveling alone. My companion will be along shortly.”

  “Oh.” Mr. McCoy sat up straighter and peeked out the window, no doubt hoping to spot the more attractive woman who would, undoubtedly, be my companion.

  Instead, Emmett climbed on board and sat next to me. I noticed with a hint of relief—tinged with regret—the wide space between us, preventing our legs from rubbing against one another for the next five hours.

  “Are you comfortable, Lydia?” Emmett asked.

  I glanced up at Mr. McCoy and had to suppress a chuckle at the confusion, and subsequent disappointment, on his face.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Emmett noticed the man across from him and offered his hand. “Good morning. I’m Emmett Wilder.”

  “Wallace McCoy.”

  “Good to meet you, Mr. McCoy. What brings you to Palmer?”

  Mr. McCoy’s face brightened. “Business. I’m a salesman. I represent a company in Chicago that sells ranching supplies. I’ve been traveling the west, most recently here in Nevada, calling on ranchers to tell them about our products.”

  The driver stuck his head in the door and asked, “Everyone settled?”

  We all made noises of affirmation.

  “All right then,” the driver said. He shut the door and climbed up to his seat, and the coach swayed as the shotgun rider climbed on board as well.

  We heard the driver call hyah to the horses, and began our journey to Carson City.

  Emmett leaned forward so he and Mr. McCoy could engage in conversation over the sound of the wheels bouncing the rutted road, the noisy harness equipment jangling, and the thunder of hooves pounding the packed earth.

  I tuned out the men and their conversation. I had no interest in hearing about sales or whatever equipment or products Mr. McCoy sold. Being excluded provided me, in this case, an easy excuse to watch the landscape pass by, to read my book, or to doze away the hours between Palmer and Carson City.

  Wallace McCoy was well suited to be a salesman given his enjoyment of conversation. The man could talk the ears off an elephant, and sell sand in the desert. Made me feel like an introvert, despite having done fairly well as a salesman myself.

  More than halfway through our trip I heard a thud next to me. McCoy glanced over at Lydia. “Looks like we bored the poor little lady into a stupor.”

  I followed his gaze. Lydia had nodded off to sleep, dropping her book to the floor in the process. I leaned down to pick it up, and couldn’t help noticing her ankle—slender, delicate—and even in stockings, I was tempted to trace the curve of her calf as it disappeared up under her skirts.

  McCoy clearing his throat broke the spell, and when I sat up and caught his eye, he twitched his brow at me in a way that suggested he understood completely.

  I closed the book and set it on the seat between Lydia and I. I didn’t like the thought of McCoy thinking about Lydia.

  “She your girl?” McCoy asked.

  “What? No. We just met.”

  “She claimed you were her companion. I just assumed.”

  The look in his eyes went from polite to slightly more wolfish.

  “I’m escorting her back east, to her brother.”

  McCoy tilted his head, considering Lydia’s sleeping form. “She’s not the prettiest thing, is she? But I suppose I’ve seen worse.”

  I frowned, then turned to study her profile as she slept. Was she the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on? No. But I found her smooth milky skin, high cheekbones, and easy blush charming. Her spectacles had slipped midway down her nose, and her thick dark lashes brushed her skin as she slept. A few loose tendrils of hair had escaped her bonnet and flew in the gentle breeze that blew in through the cracks around the coach door. I was beginning to see that those loose curls were normal for her, and it surprised me to realize I wondered what her hair would look like as I pulled the pins out one by one and let it fall down her back.

  McCoy’s chuckled. “Looks like you disagree with me.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

  He jerked his chin in Lydia’s direction “You find her attractive. You ask me, she’s plain at best, but to each his own.”

  Some part of me needed to defend her honor, though I had no idea why. I’d just met the woman and I had to admit, she came across as uptight and prickly. But I already had a sense that she had a low opinion of herself, likely undeserved. She was actually quite lovely, if people just took a moment to look past the high-neck dress, spectacles, and, most of all, her defenses.

  I just shrugged, crossed my legs, and shifted my attention to the scenery outside the window. “You’re right, McCoy. To each his own.”

  I spent the rest of the trip annoyed at McCoy for hitting a sore spot I didn’t even know I had, irritated at Lydia because I suspected I did find her attractive, despite not having even noticed another woman more than by superficial acknowledgement for the last year, and disgusted with myself for letting it all get under my skin. I reminded myself for about the hundredth time that my only interest in Lydia was getting her to Omaha in order to be released from my debt. Nothing more.

  Lydia woke not too long after my conversation with McCoy, but didn’t seem at all put out that she’d fallen asleep. She just picked up her book and read for the rest of the trip. I found it interesting that she could sit in the company of two other people for five hours and not say a word. In my experience, that took some confidence. Most people couldn’t abide that much silence, and felt obligated to fill it with words. But then again, perhaps she expected that McCoy and I could do the job ourselves, excusing her from participation. I wondered if without me in the coach, she’d converse with McCoy; or if McCoy weren’t our fellow passenger, if she’d have spoken to me.

  I checked my watch as we pulled into Carson City. At shortly after noon, if we hurried, we could make the train at one, rather than spend a night in town and wait for tomorrow.

  McCoy stretched and yawned as the coach pulled to a stop in front of the livery. He offered his hand, “It was good to meet you, Wilder. Good luck.” He grinned and winked as he disembarked.

  When I turned to Lydia, she had a quizzical look on her face. “Don’t mind him,” I said. “As it turns out, we’ve arrived earlier than I expected. If we hurry, we can make today’s train.”

  I didn’t want to give her time to disagree. The shorter this trip, the better, as far as I was concerned.

  I climbed out of the coach, and took Lydia’s hand to help her down. Her fingers were slim and delicate, just like her ankle. I groaned to myself. Damn McCoy. From now until the end of my association with Lydia, I’d be evaluating her. Every time I touched her, or looked in her eyes, or she spoke, I’d be considering my attraction to her.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Wilder?” she asked.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m fine, thank you. The train station is a short walk, and I’m sure I can exchange our tickets for today rather than tomorrow.”

  I picked up our bags where the coach driver had dropped them from the roof, and headed down the street for the train station, assuming Lydia would follow.

  Exchanging the tickets turned out to be an easy enough task, which left us only a short time to wait inside the station before the train pulled in.

  I collected my bag and Lydia’s suitcase and headed for a bench near the window, but Lydia threw the handles of her satchel over her shoulder and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.
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br />   “Outside,” she said, the paused. “Aren’t there benches outside?”

  “Yes, but it’s warmer in here.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll be sitting in a train for two days. I’d like to take some fresh air before being cooped up with a lot of other people.”

  Before I could point out that she couldn’t bank the fresh air against the stuffiness of the train, or that the windows on the train opened to allow fresh air in, she walked out the door. If nothing else, she was certainly a decisive woman.

  I followed her back outside into the crisp noontime air. I found Lydia on a bench near the end of the building on the Main Street side where the afternoon rays of the November sunshine were angled just a bit under the station awning, taking the bite out of the cool shadows.

  I took a seat next to her, dropping our bags on the deck next to my feet.

  “See?” she said, a sweet smile on her lips. “It’s not so bad out here.”

  “It’s still cold.”

  “It’s invigorating.”

  “Hmmph,” was all I could manage. I wasn’t about to get into a philosophical discussion about the cold, though granted Nevada cold wasn’t the same—or as cold as—Midwest cold, or back-East cold.

  I wondered if being contrary helped her deal with leaving her students behind. I felt the need to offer her some kind of comfort, but any of the words I thought of sounded hollow. The rumble and whistle of the train coming into the station saved me from saying something stupid, but one glance at Lydia’s careful study of her hands in her lap made me wish I’d figured out the right thing to say.

  Emmett and I had selected seats at the back of one of the passenger cars, and settled in for the long trip. The children still haunted my thoughts, and they reminded me of the ranch and my friends. I wanted to put miles between me and everything in Palmer, but thinking about all those things would only be like dragging Palmer along behind us. In my experience a clean break was always best. If only I could shut off my thoughts, as well.

  I pulled out my book and started reading first thing when we sat down. It didn’t matter that I read and reread the same paragraph, the same page, so many times I lost count. The important thing was that most people, when they see another person reading, will leave them alone. That’s all I wanted, and since it would be rude to ask Emmett to leave me alone, I did the next best thing by reading.

  He took the hint. I knew he wanted to talk. I knew it would make the time pass faster for him, but I couldn’t do it. He sat with me as the train pulled out of the station and the conductor came around to collect our tickets, and then he mumbled an excuse about wanting to stretch his legs, and left. I assumed he wandered through the cars until he found someone to chat with.

  After he left, I relaxed some, but I still didn’t want to think so I forced myself to focus on the book. Reading had always been my favorite escape. After all, every book offered a new world for me to explore and disappear into.

  Some time later, a gentle hand on my shoulder shook me awake. “Lydia?”

  Emmett’s worried blue gaze fixed on me. “What time is it?” I asked. Dusk glowed outside the window. “How long did I sleep?”

  He smiled, the humor of it reaching his eyes. “Most of the afternoon, I imagine. I’ve been talking with some folks in the other car and when they decided it was time for supper, I came back to find you sound asleep.”

  “Train travel makes me sleepy,” I said.

  “It’s ironic, isn’t it? You’re not expending any energy, just sitting, and yet the rhythm of the train lulls most folks to sleep eventually.”

  “Are you hungry? We haven’t eaten all day, but I packed some food for us in my satchel.”

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  I unpacked a loaf of bread, some cold chicken, and some apples we’d picked and stored from the ranch’s orchard, and we settled into our supper.

  I watched him eat. Our interactions had been cautious, even awkward. I was bad enough at conversation when I knew someone, but with a stranger like Emmett, I was completely out of my element. So I just watched him. As a former doctor, his education had been apparent, but he carried himself with the confidence and ease of affluence—both financial and social. I wondered how he’d ended up as a traveling salesman.

  My curiosity won out over my social awkwardness. “So Mr. Wilder, how did you end up doing what you do? Why would you give up being a doctor for life on the road? It can’t be easy.”

  He’d been concentrating on his apple, studying it after each bite. It couldn’t be that interesting. When I spoke, it startled him, and he looked up at me with a pained and puzzled look in his eyes. Maybe it had been a bad idea to ask about his past. I had a difficult time with judging appropriateness.

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “One that wouldn’t interest you.”

  I figured in for a penny, in for a pound. I’d already started, I may as well forge ahead. “We have a long trip ahead of us, so a long story will be perfect. And I’m interested in everything, Mr. Wilder. I’m curious by nature.”

  He lifted a brow in what I could only interpret as an acerbic gesture. “I’m sure you are,” he mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear.

  He shifted in his seat, facing me more directly. “Let’s just say this: my past isn’t something I like to discuss, and since our association is going to be short I prefer not to sully whatever meager impression I’ve managed to make on you thus far.”

  “You’ve made a most honorable impression on me so far. I can’t imagine that you’ve anything in your past that’s so ghastly as to change that impression.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You hardly know me.”

  “Which is why I asked. So that I may get to know you.”

  He stared at me hard, and I felt as if I’d won a point in an ongoing score. He bit his apple and took the time to chew and swallow. I watched him, and he watched me. I imagined him sizing me up, trying to decide how much to tell me, if anything at all. I’d have him at my side for a couple more days, and then he’d be gone, so why not bask in his attention while I could? I had no illusions that his attention was anything other than a man fulfilling his duty. But he seemed not to mind my company, so I allowed myself to indulge in enjoying him.

  I was no more immune to an attractive man than any other woman, they just never paid me any mind. At the moment, I had one all to myself. Of course, Emmett was both handsome and intelligent. The perfect—and perfectly lethal—combination, at least where my fragile heart was concerned.

  “All you really need to know is that I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’m doing my best to put them behind me. What about you? What would make you leave a home where you have people who clearly love you, and go running to your brother solely because he asked?”

  Well, he’d neatly side-stepped my questions and turned things back on me. Mentally, I awarded him a point in our little game. I glanced at him to find him leaned back in his seat, arms stretched out over the backs of the seats. He looked pleased with himself, fully aware that we were doing a verbal dance around each other.

  “You’re not the only one with mistakes in your past.”

  He chuckled. “That, I seriously doubt. Little Miss Proper?” He shook his head, rejecting my pronouncement. “No. Not possible.”

  His blue eyes twinkled with amusement, and my cheeks heated with a pleasurable blush. I couldn’t help myself. I appreciated his attention. I enjoyed talking to him and, to my surprise, he made me feel playful—something I’d never, ever felt with a man.

  “Oh, don’t be so sure, Mr. Wilder. You hardly know me.” I echoed his response, teasing him—perhaps even flirting with him, though I’d never actually flirted so I had no way to gauge my success.

  His smile froze, and he swallowed, but it looked more like trying to avoid choking. From the way he looked at me, I thought I’d done something wrong. His hungry expression made no sense to me.

  I dropped my gaze to my hands in my
lap. I’d allowed myself to get carried away in the moment and humiliated myself. “I’m sorry, that was impertinent of me.”

  He made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. It wouldn’t do for him to choke on his apple, or his disgust.

  “Impertinent?” He said. “That was downright sassy.”

  From his expression, I had to assume he thought sassy was good, because he grinned at me like a fool.

  I looked down at my lap again, then glanced at him again from under my lashes. “Is sassy good?”

  “Yes, it’s good. It’s nice to see you relax some.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding, and smiled at him. “I’m not generally sassy. You’re right when you call me proper. I am. I don’t know how to be anything else. Proper was always the best way to be invisible.”

  His brows came together. “Why would you ever want to be invisible?”

  His voice suggested incredulity, whereas I would have thought the answer was obvious: invisibility meant safety.

  “That isn’t a fair question,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it requires me to discuss my past, and I thought we’d come to a mutual—if unspoken—agreement that the past is off limits as a topic of conversation.”

  “Now I’m intrigued.”

  I nearly snorted at the idea. “Trust me, Mr. Wilder, I’m the least intriguing person you’ll ever meet.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment, Lydia.” His voice had taken on a husky quality and I wondered if he’d injured his throat when he choked on the apple.

  “Well, it’s the truth. I’m plain and boring, and I’ve lived a plain and boring life.”

  “You’re not plain and boring, you just hide behind plain and boring. I saw you with those children. You came alive with them.”

  “That’s easy. I adore them. Children are honest. I know what to expect from them.”

  “Well, they clearly love you.”

  I couldn’t help smiling in the face of his compliment. “It’s the adults I have trouble with. But I’m working on it. At least I’m trying.”