Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

“He,” Rob paused and gave her a rascal’s smile, “is a man, too.”

  Mercy approached the table hesitantly. Robert didn’t move an inch. Ever since the first time he’d seen her, she’d been jumpy—and understandably so. But over the last few months, he’d made a subtle attempt to show her understanding and make her feel safe.

  Manufacturing excuses to be around her was fairly easy. He was passing by the Stein spread while making house calls, he needed to confer with whichever brother happened to be out in the field that day, the Stein mailbox at the mercantile was full … In the churchyard, he’d make sure to compliment her on a dessert she’d sent home with one of his brothers or praise her for having accompanied the choir on the piano. Delivering the babe would be difficult enough—hopefully, he could get her accustomed to his presence so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed when the time came.

  “You have two plans,” she said.

  “I can see why you’d think so since they both have doors and a veranda. The one to the left is the downstairs. The one to the right is the upstairs. The upstairs veranda can be enclosed later to form another bedchamber.”

  “I see.” She leaned a little close. “This is the kitchen?”

  “Aye.” He glanced at how her kitchen was arranged. “I imagine it would be set up similar to yours.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Grossmuter and I often regretted not having a mudroom. Everything gets tracked in.” She pointed toward a room. “What is this here?”

  “Duncan’s shop. We don’t need a separate dining room—the kitchen will suffice. He can do his—“ Rob watched as she shook her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do not mistake me. Being a cobbler is an honorable profession, but the leather—much of it together in the same place smells bad. Between the smell and the hammer pounding on it, it would not be pleasant in the house.”

  “Good point.” He tapped a pencil on the edge of the blueprint.

  “A workshop just a stone’s throw from the house would work. That would free up space for your house to have a mudroom. You could divide that space and make it useful. The pantry you show here, beneath the stairs—it will not work well because you and your brothers are all tall. What if you have a mudroom, washroom, and pantry here?”

  “An indoor washroom?” Robert chortled. “That’s very progressive. I like it! Is this a good spot to place the stove?”

  She made a few more suggestions, then went over to the stove and stirred a pot. “When will you build the house?”

  “Within the next month or so. I’ll telegraph a company in Knoxville, Tennessee. They’ll mill and cut the lumber, then send it by the railroad.”

  She dropped the spoon. “You are mail-ordering a house?”

  “Aye, that I am. It will save considerable time and labor here, and the cost of the kit is actually quite thrifty by comparison.”

  “A kit.”

  Amused at how she echoed the word, Rob chuckled. “Indeed. The notion takes a little getting used to.” He slipped a different page to the top of the stack. “This is the exterior view. When I order it, I’ll tell them not to send all the spindles and such.”

  “Gingerbread.” She returned to the table and said, “Grossmuter called all of the lacy scrollwork and wooden fancies gingerbread.”

  “Now there’s a grand description.” He shrugged. “But I couldn’t care less about how it looks on the outside. ’Tis the inside that counts.”

  “This is too much, but a little would give charm to the house.” Mercy tapped the fanlike piece spanning from the peak of the roof to the eaves on either side. “Can you keep some of it?”

  “What do you recommend?” Rob felt a spark of hope. For the first time since the tragedy, Mercy seemed to be coming out of her shell. He’d hoped the sketches might be a good tool for drawing her into a conversation. With a few leading questions, he enticed her into discussing the plan in infinite detail.

  After a while, she went back to the stove. “In a month, the wheat harvest should be done, and the corn harvest won’t quite be ready. That was good planning. The farmers will be able to help you.”

  “Speaking of help …” Rob scribbled a note to himself in the corner of the page before rolling it up. “I’d like to hire you to cook for the men who come work.”

  She shook her head. “Not one penny have you or your brothers accepted for the care or the help you have given.”

  “And you’ve not accepted a single penny for all the delicious meals you’ve sent to us.” He crooked a brow. “Have you ever eaten at the diner?”

  “Once.”

  “And only once.” He nodded. “That says it all. Indeed, my brothers and I all agree—our cooking is no better than the diner’s. We’ve come out far ahead on the bargain. And since we’re on the subject of food, I’m trying to find a way to invite myself to lunch. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  “Ham and beans. And you are always welcome at our table.”

  “That’s so wonderful to hear!” As Mrs. Kunstler scurried in from the wide open door where she had obviously been eavesdropping, Robert noted that Mercy startled at her interruption. Mrs. Kuntsler looked from Mercy to Rob and back again before continuing, “Things work out, don’t they? And now my Otto won’t be worried about hurting your feelings as he courts Ismelda.”

  Color rushed to Mercy’s face, then bled away just as rapidly. She shook her head.

  Rob took the spoon from her, set it down, and pushed her into a chair. Keeping a hand on Mercy’s shoulder, he looked at Otto’s mother. “Mrs. Kunstler, you misconstrued matters.”

  “What was I supposed to think?” Her gaze kept darting from Mercy to him. “You’re alone, together, in the house. Decency—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to question Miss Stein’s reputation or impugn my integrity.” He stared at her.

  “I—um—it, well, of course I didn’t.” A nervous smile twitched across the woman’s face.

  Rob directed his attention toward Mercy. “I’ll get you some water.”

  “Oh, I’ll do that.” Mrs. Kunstler pumped water and hastily shoved the glass into his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

  “Drink.” He pressed the glass to Mercy’s mouth. Beneath the hand he kept on her shoulder, he could feel how she shook. Mercy reached up and took the glass from him. For a fleeting second, Rob considered asking if Mercy wished for him to leave. Just as quickly, he dismissed the notion. Distraught as she was, she might still swoon.

  He curled his hand around hers and lifted the glass to her mouth again. At the same time, something odd occurred to him. In the three months he’d been in America, he’d been astonished by the Texans’ hospitality. Not only did women always offer refreshments and extend an offer for a meal, but they went so far as to take a gift or food whenever they went calling on someone else.

  But Otto’s mother came empty-handed.

  “Mrs. Kunstler, since Miss Stein isn’t feeling her best, I’m sure you’ll understand—”

  “I—we are still neighbors.” The woman started wringing her hands. Rob took in how fine beads of perspiration dotted her face and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. For her, the situation had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t consider that even a fraction as important as Mercy’s heartbreak.

  “We are still neighbors,” Mercy said in a bleak tone. “Your son was here yesterday. He still plans to borrow Grossvater’s reaper and claims one of Freckle’s pups. But me?” Her voice caught. “He said he cannot bear to look at me.”

  “He scarcely sleeps, remembering how he killed that man.”

  Mercy took another sip of the water. “ ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’ That is the verse from Genesis you recited to me the day Otto asked me to marry him.” Mercy set the glass on the table with exacting care. “God does not change, but man does. Otto still needs a helpmate, yet he no longer wants me.” Her head came up and she squared her shoulders. “Was there any ot
her reason you came today?”

  Mrs. Kunstler slumped against the table. “We thought it best for you to know before you saw them together. Please, Mercy, be kind to them.”

  “You speak to me about kindness?” Mercy shook her head. “You are the one who went about town telling everyone how that awful man shamed me.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to think badly of my Otto if you were with child! I did it for you, too.”

  Ruthlessly wiping away her tears, Mercy whispered in a raw tone, “Do not tell me this. You did not do it on my behalf. This is the first time since it happened that you have come here. You did not seek to help or comfort me. Today you have not come to ease my burden. What you ask is for me to make things easier on your son. It wasn’t necessary.” Mercy rose. “He is the man I was to have married, and the love I held for him would keep me from wounding him in any way.”

  Aching silence filled the house. Robert cupped Mercy’s elbow. “Go lie down, lass. You need to rest.”

  “I need to churn butter.” She sidled toward the stove, moved the pot off the heat, and then wiped her hands on her apron. “You will both go now.”

  He and Mrs. Kunstler went outside. Stopping by her mare, Robert glowered at Otto’s mother. “Am I to understand that you’ve not sought her out to give her a woman’s advice?”

  “The situation is strained. I’m not the right woman to—”

  “No,” he agreed abruptly. “No, you’re not.”

  “You don’t see—”

  “I see all too clearly. I’ll help you onto your horse. You don’t belong here.” Once Mrs. Kunstler left, Rob stared back at the house. Three months. It’s been three months. All this time, I thought she was being comforted and counseled by a woman who could show sensitivity. What kind of doctor am I? I’ve failed a seventeen-year-old lass who’s been facing this all on her own. No more.

  Chapter 7

  Her palms were moist. Mercy traded the house plans from one hand to the other so she could slip her hands on the edge of her apron to dry them. Duncan arrived this morning, declaring the doctor needed the plans. Of course, he did that immediately after promising Peter that they’d go fishing once the weeding was done.

  Though early in the day, the June heat had begun to build. The door to the doctor’s office was open. Mercy stood at the threshold and decided she ought to knock—after all, the doctor didn’t just work here, he and his brothers lived here, as well.

  “Hey, Rob!” Christopher Gregor appeared in the hall and shouted up the staircase as he yanked Mercy inside. “The plans are here!”

  Of all the brothers, Christopher was the one who never ceased to startle her. His actions were invariably swift and often unexpected. Mercy barely kept from screaming.

  Chris grinned at her, completely unaware of how he’d practically sent her into a panic. “Rob said you think we ought to keep some of the embellishments on the house. You’d better be ready for a fight, because I’m holding out to eliminate every last one.”

  “It’s your house.” She managed to scoot away from him.

  “That’s what I’m telling them. I’ll do most of the construction. I used to do a lot of the mine construction back home.”

  “Oh.”

  “Good morning, Miss Stein.” The doctor descended the stairs.

  “I gave your brother the plans.” She started to turn toward the door to make a quick escape.

  “Actually, while you’re here, I’d appreciate some help.”

  “No fair askin’ the lass. It’s your own fault.” Chris folded his arms across his chest and growled at Mercy, “He slept through breakfast.”

  “I didn’t mean anything about food,” the doctor snapped.

  Chris leaned toward her. “Pay no heed to his surly attitude. He gets that way often enough. One night with a few paltry interruptions, and he gets cranky.”

  “So you need some breakfast?”

  “No, I dinna need you minding my belly.” The doctor scowled at his brother. “Go make yourself useful.”

  “Nae. ’Tis too much fun staying here for the moment.”

  “This is a touchy subject,” the doctor began.

  The whole matter seemed far too dubious. Mercy murmured, “Then perhaps you ought to have someone else assist you.”

  “I seriously doubt anyone else could help.” The doctor heaved a sigh. “Come out to the back.”

  “You go on ahead. I’m not fool enough to chance it,” Christopher announced.

  “Coward,” the doc muttered.

  Mercy tagged along and tried to ignore the smell of scorched oatmeal as she passed by the stove. She had no idea what she was getting roped into, but the brotherly banter struck her as amusing. Once she reached the back steps, she gave the doctor a confused look.

  Features strained, he whispered, “So you dinna know what to do, then, either?”

  She blinked. “About what?”

  The doctor cringed at the normal volume she’d spoken in and whispered even more softly, “That.” He pointed to a huge pasteboard box.

  Mercy leaned forward, looked inside, and started to giggle.

  “Now then”—the doctor’s brows puckered—“ ’tisna all that funny.”

  “Just yesterday, you told me you were going to get a house kit. I didn’t think you meant this kind.” She went down on her knees by the box where a cat was nursing a litter of kittens—but in contrast to all the other marmalade-colored babies, one was black and white.

  Doc leaned down and clamped his hands on her upper arms as she reached for the baby skunk. He murmured, “I wasna askin’ you to get rid of the beast—just for some advice. I read about them, and I dinna think it’s wise for you to be so close.”

  “He’s a spotted skunk. If he’s ready to do mischief, he’ll stand on his hands.” She didn’t pick up the kit. Instead, she rubbed each of the tiny kittens in the litter. “They’re all about the same age and size—about six weeks.”

  “So how do we reunite him with his mother? And how do we get rid of them all?”

  Mercy sat back on her heels. “Spotted skunks don’t stay any one place for long. They roam. The mother could be anywhere—in a rotten log or an abandoned burrow. She probably came to the house because you’ve set food out for the cat.”

  “So she could return tonight and reclaim her kit?”

  “It is possible but not probable. When mothers and their babies are set apart, they don’t come back together again.” She turned to look at the doctor. “What you read told you how stinky a skunk is, but they are shy creatures. They only protect themselves if they feel threatened.”

  “Why do you think three grown men are whispering and tiptoeing around?”

  Mercy smothered a smile. “He isn’t old enough to be completely weaned.” She paused a moment and decided to tease him. “Spotty. You should name him Spotty.”

  “There’s no need to name something when it’s not staying.”

  “Hey, Rob,” Christopher’s subtle-as-an-ox whisper drifted out to them. “I’ve never been happier that you’re the doctor.”

  “Why?”

  “I just read something.” Chris stuck his head out the door. “You can operate and take out the stink glands. Yep. You’re the doc.” Just as quickly, Chris disappeared again.

  “There’s no need to be hasty,” the doctor said.

  Mercy grimaced. “Actually, after four weeks, they start to practice spraying. By six or eight weeks—”

  “We’re not keeping it around that long!”

  “If the mother took him out at night, he’s about six weeks.”

  Looking thoroughly disgruntled, the doctor announced, “His mother will come get him tonight.”

  Suddenly the humor of the situation evaporated. Mercy averted her gaze. “Just because you want something does not make it happen.”

  Dr. Gregor sat on the wooden plank veranda beside her. “ ’Tis a harsh truth you just spoke.”

  Mercy tried to rise, but he stopped her. “Dinna
run, lass. You needn’t speak a word a-tall. I plan to do a bit of talking.” For good measure, he scooped a kitten from the box and tucked it into her hands.

  “I have chores to do at home.”

  “A woman’s work is ne’er done. Or so my ma always said, God rest her soul.” The corners of his bright blue eyes crinkled. “I canna be certain whether she’s finally resting in heaven, or if she’s still bustling about with a broom, trying to make the streets of gold gleam brighter.”

  The image coaxed a twitch of a smile from her.

  “I oughtn’t cast stones. My brothers taunt me about my tidy ways.”

  “Your patients would develop infections if you were slovenly.”

  He inclined his head as an acknowledgment. “Aye. But I also remind them cleanliness is next to godliness.” He glanced over his shoulder, then whispered, “Betwixt thee and me, ’tisna always the case. Times when my soul’s been the most troubled, I’ve tried to busy my hands so as to keep from thinking or praying.”

  Her breath caught.

  “My da—he passed on to Jesus just a day before we reached America.”

  “I–I’m sorry.”

  “I still grieve for him, but ’tis only my selfishness that causes me to. He was ailing for a long while, and now he’s whole once again and in heaven. A mining accident took his arm several years back—’twas the guilt money they settled on him that paid for my medical training. He claimed God took a bad situation and used it for good.”

  Anger flashed through her. He’d better not tell me it’s all for the good that I’m with child and Otto has abandoned me.

  Unaware of her reaction, the doctor kept talking. “But ’twasna until his last hour that Da pointed out something that was right before me for years. I cared for Da—leastways, for the needs of his ailing body. But Duncan—he’s a man with a knack for wrapping quiet comfort like a blanket about others whose hearts and souls are aching. Chris—well, he manages to scowl others into behaving so peace is maintained.”

  Mercy concentrated on tracing the soft stripes in the kitten’s fur. The doctor was right: the Gregor men were vastly different in their strengths and personalities.