"What you think of me doesn't matter."
"Of course it does. People dislike those who don't respect or value them."
That remark seemed to interest her. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"I am. Now answer my question."
"You would have to believe I have the intelligence to know just as much about medicine as any man."
"And if I did?"
"You would have to demonstrate that by trusting me."
"How?"
"By working with me as you would my father. Not by operating, of course. I don't think I would like surgery. I prefer diagnosing a problem and devising a cure to make the patient feel better."
"And if you can't?"
"I defer to my father."
"Even when he's drunk?"
"Even then he knows more than I do. More than you, too, I expect."
His impulse was to dispute that, but he decided to wait. He couldn't deny that experience could teach a man things a book never could.
"Okay, I accept your conditions." He stood and extended his hand. "Let's shake on it."
Startled, she regarded his hand like a snake that might bite her. He let it fall to his side. "How do women seal a bargain?" he asked.
"Mostly they hug each other."
He didn't know what impulse seized him, but before he knew it, he'd stepped forward, put his arms around Felicity, and drawn her to him.
Chapter Six
Everything in Felicity's world seemed to come to an abrupt halt. Her brain stopped thinking. Her body stopped feeling. Her heart stopped beating. Her lungs stopped breathing. Her vision blurred. She couldn't be sure the world hadn't suddenly stopped spinning. Just as abruptly, everything swung into motion, moving so fast she felt she couldn't breathe, that she might faint at any moment.
And Holt's face above her came into absolutely clear focus.
She tried to speak, but she couldn't utter a sound. Her throat felt dry, paralyzed, her wits in equally dire straits. She tried to form words, but messages from her body destroyed her thoughts before they could be completed.
She felt betrayed by herself. There were suddenly two of her, each of radically different minds. And the part of her that liked Holt's arms around her was more powerful than the part that wanted to order him never to touch her again.
She'd been attracted to several men during the last ten years. But not even her teenage crushes had affected her like this. Before, her mind and body had been in the same place. If she'd been reluctant, her body had been cool and calm. If she'd been anxious or unsure, her body had felt the same way.
She didn't know when her arms moved to encircle his waist. She didn't know why she leaned toward him. She couldn't explain the feeling that began to stir deep in her belly. It all happened by itself, as if she were a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings.
"I think I like your way of sealing a bargain better than ours," Holt said.
"I wouldn't recommend it. You'd have a hard time explaining why you were hugging a man."
Holt chuckled. "Or kissing him on the cheek. Women do that most of the time, don't they?"
"Yes." The word escaped before she could capture it and force it back down her throat.
"Another good idea." He brushed her cheek lightly with his lips. "Your turn."
She couldn't move.
"You have to agree, or it's no bargain."
She couldn't command her body to move at all.
"Okay, I'll bend down."
Holt lowered his head. When she remained stock-still, he moved his cheek against her motionless lips. She knew a man's cheek didn't feel like a woman's. She'd kissed her father hundreds of times, but it had never felt like this. The contact sent shivers though her entire body. The reaction had nothing to do with the roughness of Holt's beard. It had everything do with his nearness.
Felicity had allowed very few men to kiss her, even to brush her lips, but not even the most fervent kiss had affected her as powerfully as Holt brushing his cheek against her lips. It wasn't that her lips felt different. It was that the rest of her was experiencing feelings unique in her experience. She'd been excited before, but not like this. She'd felt lightheaded but never dizzy. There'd even been brief moments when she'd been unsure of what she wanted to say, but she'd never been rendered speechless, her mind left blank.
No, it wasn't a blank. It seemed that hundreds of words whirled about in her head, some in phrases, some unconnected, all of them incapable of expressing what she was feeling.
What was she feeling?
Panic. Things felt so strange, she was frightened. Excited. Hopeful. Anything that affected her so strongly must be good. But she was confused. She had no idea what to do about what she was feeling.
"I don't think brushing my cheek against your lips counts as sealing the bargain," Holt said. "I believe it's necessary for you to do something."
His voice wasn't quite as clear and steady as it had been moments earlier. She wondered if her nearness was affecting him as forcefully as his was affecting her.
She managed to say, "A verbal agreement is all that's really necessary between adults."
"But wouldn't you agree this signifies a deeper commitment than a few words?"
"Yes." She couldn't recall any spoken word that had rattled her right down to her foundation.
"Agreeing to work together is an important decision. It has to be based on a strong commitment to fair play and cooperation. Don't you agree?"
She nodded.
"Then you'd better kiss my cheek, or I'm not going to have much faith that you'll uphold your part of the bargain."
There didn't seem to be any way she could get out of it now. He'd made it an issue of trust. She might not want to work with him, but she did want to protect her father.
It couldn't be so hard. All she had to do was lean forward a few inches and brush his cheek with her lips. She had done it to babies and children hundreds of times. She'd even done it to women she didn't know and would never meet again. Surely it wouldn't be difficult to kiss this man.
Kiss. She shouldn't have used that word. That wasn't what she was doing. She was merely sealing a bargain with a relatively harmless gesture.
Gathering her courage, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against Holt's cheek.
"That's not a kiss," he said.
She was so worked up, she spoke without thinking. "That's what you did to me."
"I can fix that," Holt said in a voice that sounded less like him than ever.
Before she could protest that she hadn't meant it like that, he pulled her to him and planted a lingering kiss on her left cheek. It wasn't a light buss. It wasn't tentative or carefully polite. She could feel the pressure of his lips against her cheek, hear the slight smacking sound as he completed the kiss. It was a real kiss.
"Your turn," he said.
She felt her strength draining away. She knew that if she didn't do something now, this very moment, she'd soon be incapable of doing anything at all. Summoning all her willpower, Felicity leaned forward and planted an audible kiss on Holt's cheek.
"Good. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
He still didn't sound like himself, but he didn't look as if he'd been shaken right down to his toes. He even grinned as though he thought the situation was amusing.
"It's not a matter of being hard," she said, calling upon the last of her mental and emotional reserves. "After all, kissing someone's cheek requires only a minimal amount of physical energy."
"There are kisses that require a lot more than that."
She refused to allow that thought to stir her imagination. He was trying to provoke her. "I'm not used to kissing strange men, even to seal important bargains."
"I'm not strange. You've known me for nearly a day."
"It's more common to know a man for years, not hours, before allowing him to kiss you, and then only under certain circumstances."
"You'd have a lot more fun if your rules were
n't quite so strict."
"Do men in Vermont go around kissing women they've known only a few hours?"
Holt surprised her by laughing. "New England men are awful. It's considered bad form to kiss your bride before the wedding, even to hold hands. I know some husbands and wives who've never kissed at all."
"What made you different?"
"I came South. Maybe it was the warmer climate, maybe it was the cavalier tradition, but men in Virginia are quite fond of kissing. I decided I liked their traditions better than my own."
"If you change too much, you won't fit in when you go back."
Then she remembered he wasn't going back.
He released her, stepped away a few paces. She had ventured into sensitive territory. His teasing smile had been replaced by a neutral expression. But the tension in his eyes and the set of his mouth indicated that Holt's feelings were anything but neutral.
"There are parts of growing up that most of us want to forget," Holt said. "That's always easier in a new place."
"But becoming an adult changes everything. You're able to look past childhood memories and put them in perspective."
"Have you looked past yours?"
"All except my mother dying."
His silence made it clear he wasn't going to share his experience with her.
"I guess I'd better check on my patient. It's getting late."
"I made up a bed for you in the next room," Felicity said. "You can leave the connecting door open. That way Dad can wander in during the might to check him and not wake you."
"He doesn't have to do that."
"Dad doesn't sleep well. It will give him something to do when he's up."
"Does he wake up a lot?"
"Not as much as he used to."
"Andersonville?"
"The moans and cries of the prisoners used to keep him awake. Sometimes he thinks he still hears them."
"Every doctor who lived through the war has endured the same thing."
"Maybe," Felicity snapped, "but not all doctors are equally able to forget it." How dare he minimize her father's suffering? Not everybody was insensitive.
"I wasn't trying to belittle your father's feelings," Holt said. "I was just trying to say I understood."
"Sorry. It's just that I know how much my father has suffered. I can't bear to have anybody make light of it."
"Our differences aren't in the suffering. It's in the way each of us chooses to deal with it."
"Not everybody is as strong as you," she said, wondering how she could feel even a small bit of attraction to such an inflexible man. And she was attracted to him. That kiss on the cheek had demolished any foolish attempt to deny it. "My father's getting better. One day he'll be able to handle things just as well as you, though not with as much indifference."
She didn't like the look Holt sent her. Okay, she shouldn't have said that, but he didn't understand that her father had a sensitive soul. He'd become a doctor because he wanted to help people. In some ways he was like a child, suffering along with his patients. It wasn't that he wanted to. He couldn't help himself. She was the one who could put things out of her mind, who could do her work without becoming overly emotional. She should have become the doctor instead of her father.
"You'd better go before you goad me into saying something else I'd rather not," she said. "You're an outstanding surgeon, but I find it difficult to swallow your perfection."
Holt's smile was crooked, apparently self-mocking. "I'm far from perfect. You'll find that out very soon."
"I don't plan to know you that well."
He actually smiled. "My imperfections are right on the surface. Now, before I expose all of them tonight, I'd better check on my patient. See you in the morning, and don't forget our bargain."
How could she forget? She wouldn't have a moment's peace until he was out of her house and gone from Galveston. Professionally, he was a threat to her father. Emotionally, he was a threat to her.
"What did you say to Holt?" her father asked as he entered the kitchen.
"You seem to have made him so mad he wants to leave."
"Leave?" Her reactions to that word were wildly contradictory, but she didn't have time to sort them out. "We made a bargain."
"What kind of bargain?"
"He wanted to know what he had to do to gain my trust."
"What did you tell him?"
"That he had to believe you were a good doctor who didn't treat patients when you were drunk."
"What else?"
"He has to believe I could work with you just as effectively as he can."
"You don't know half of what he knows."
"How do you know?" she said, hurt by her father's rush to defend a man who was still a virtual stranger. "All we know is that he can cut people open without batting an eye."
"He's had some excellent training. I don't say you couldn't have learned just as much if you'd had the opportunity, but you didn't."
"He agreed to everything I said."
Her father looked surprised; then a slow grin spread across his face.
"What are you grinning about?" she asked.
"If he agreed to those outrageous demands, then he must really like you. If you'll just stop fighting with him at every turn, I might finally have a son-in-law."
But Felicity knew better. Holt had agreed because he intended to prove her wrong. Despite all his good points, he was not the man to give her the kind of love she'd waited so long for.
* * *
Holt forced himself to concentrate on Durwin, making sure the man was as comfortable as possible. The laudanum appeared to be holding. It was important that the patient remain quiet until his wounds began to heal. He seemed to be a very healthy young man, but it would be a long time before Durwin Sealy drove a buggy again.
Satisfied, Holt moved to the adjacent room. It was obvious at a glance that the room had been decorated by a woman. Flowers seemed to be everywhere, on the wallpaper, on the curtains, the bedspread, even the slipcover of a wing chair. The room had clearly been set aside for female relatives. Felicity would probably be delighted to know she'd managed to make him uncomfortable. It was obvious she didn't hold him in high regard. That was okay. He wasn't exactly enamored of her. Every time he felt the attraction between them start to grow, she ruined it by bridling at virtually every word that came out of his mouth.
He opened his suitcase and began to lay out his clothes. Without thinking, he looked around for a chest of drawers. What he found was a wardrobe. He'd heard about them, but he'd never seen one. Everyone in Vermont used chests of drawers. He opened the double doors to find an empty cavity on the left side. Viewing the empty hangers, he decided that something must have been meant to hang here.
The other side offered a wide selection of drawers from shallow to deep. He didn't realize the significance of what he was doing until he'd filled a second drawer. He didn't need to unpack more than a few items if he intended to stay only a day or two. A single change of clothes would be sufficient.
He continued filling the drawers with the contents of his suitcase.
Did this mean he wanted to stay? Was he filling the drawers with his clothes because of his concern for Durwin, his concern for Dr. Moore's patients, or his attraction to the man's daughter?
If he was staying because of any attraction to Felicity, he'd been out in the Texas sun too long. He was in Galveston to find Vivian, wasn't he?
He looked at the hangers and one of his coats. He wondered if it would look better hung up instead of folded carefully. Why not try it? The South had lost the war, but no one could dispute that Southerners knew a lot about clothes.
Holt was coming home from his third time dining out in a week. It seemed the people of Galveston used any excuse to throw a party. Or maybe with his jaundiced New England view of useless frivolity, he was overcritical of the way they enjoyed spending their evenings. They ate too much, drank too much, and flirted too much.
The night was balmy,
the heavens brilliant with stars. He could just make out the faint sound of waves beating upon the shore. The slightly rank odor of the harbor competed with the smell of some tiny white flowers that reminded him of the sweetness of honeysuckle. He'd decided to walk the several blocks to Dr. Moore's house. He'd allowed himself to be talked into drinking half a glass of wine with his dinner. He'd flatly refused the many offers of brandy. Even though the wine didn't appear to have had any effect on him, he felt guilty for letting himself be coerced into doing something he'd never done before. And all because he didn't want people to stop inviting him out, thereby inhibiting his search for Vivian.
His capitulation left a bad taste in his mouth. Reason told him a half glass of wine wasn't a problem. Reason also told him any possible effect had already worn off. His wits were in more danger of being dulled by the rich food and smoke-filled atmosphere than a few swallows of wine.
But he felt like a hypocrite. He'd told Felicity he never touched spirits. He'd made a self-righteous son-of-a-bitch of himself over her father's one glass of whiskey, declaring with pious authority that a doctor who took his calling seriously never allowed the sins of the flesh to keep him from being ready to do his duty at all times. He didn't know what had caused him to act like such a narrow-minded, unbending zealot. No one could live up to the standards he'd set forth, not even himself.
And he'd proved it this evening because he was afraid he'd lose his chance to keep looking for Vivian.
Mrs. Prentiss's daughter, Charlotte, had been more than true to her word that she would see he was invited out practically every evening. She had introduced him as the man who'd saved Durwin Sealy's life and the doctor who'd taken care of her brother during the war. But no matter how many people he met, no one knew of a Vivian Calvert. They really wanted only to hear about the war. So he told them stories, borrowing from others when he ran out of his own, determined to continue being invited out until he found someone who could tell him how to find Vivian.
He paused on the road before Dr. Moore's house when he saw light coming through a window. He'd hoped to find the house dark. Durwin was making so much progress, Holt had told his mother she could take him home in a day or two. That would bring Holt to a point of decision. What would he do then? He didn't have any excuse for staying with Dr. Moore, but he didn't really want to leave. The man might be too sensitive--he hadn't been able to grapple with what life had handed him--but when he didn't drink, he was an excellent doctor. Holt no longer felt the calling to medicine he'd once believed he had, but working with Dr. Moore fascinated him. The man knew an incredible amount and loved to share what he knew. But being around the doctor, seeing his love for medicine and devotion to his patients, made Holt painfully aware of his own emptiness, his own lack of direction. The need to find his own path in life tugged at Holt to move on.
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