Courting the Doctor's Daughter

by Janet Dean

  Miss Graves whirled to face Luke. “You are a doctor?”

  She didn’t look happy about the news.

  Mary sagged against the table. This scoundrel, the man whose remedy she’d fought, was a physician? She’d supposed her father’s reason for allowing Luke Jacobs to remain in the surgery had been to remove her burden of holding Homer. Never dreaming Luke Jacobs had earned the right.

  Her stomach clenched. Worse, this meant his remedy probably had value. If so, he possessed skills of a pharmacist, and he’d attended medical school. Achievements she admired.

  But why had he kept his identity a secret? What more did he hide?

  “Where did you go to school, Doctor?” her father asked.

  “Harvard.”

  “Ah, Boston. Your accent told me you’re from out East. Harvard is a fine school, one of the best. Did you graduate at the top of your class?”

  “Yes, not that it matters. I didn’t find practicing medicine gratifying. About a year ago, I turned my practice over to my partner and holed up in my lab, searching for cures.”

  “I tried your medicine. Got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.”

  A smile crossed Luke’s face, lighting up his eyes and softening the edges of his chiseled features. “Glad to hear it, sir.”

  The man was serious about his work. But that didn’t mean he didn’t pose a threat to Ben. Still, she breathed easier, knowing he wasn’t a drifter.

  Dr. Lawrence put his mug on the table. “I liked what I saw today. The gentle way you talked to the boy and his mother, the way you soothed Homer’s fear. All signs of a good doctor.” He glanced at Mary. “My daughter’s nagging me to get help with my practice so I’m sure she’ll have no objections. If you’re willing, the job is yours.”

  Mary stifled the gasp rising to her throat. Just like that? Her father would take this man’s word, without seeing his credentials?

  “I suppose I could remain in town awhile. As long as you understand it won’t be permanent.”

  Her father smiled. “God may have another plan for your life, young man. But for now, that’s good enough for me. The pay isn’t much, but you’re welcome to use the apartment above my carriage house cost-free. And I have an empty stall for your horse.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. If it’s all right, I’d like to give your address to my housekeeper back home so she’ll know where I can be reached.”

  A housekeeper implied wealth. Why was a doctor peddling medicine, staying in a cheap room instead of a fancy hotel? Why would he take this job? Too much about Luke Jacobs didn’t make sense.

  “Mary, will you write down the address?”

  She hesitated, unwilling to comply, but what could she do? Luke’s gaze turned on her. Doubtless her eyes conveyed her feelings. He gave an almost imperceptive nod. She scribbled on a slip of paper and thrust the address at Luke.

  His eyes bore into her like augers. “Thanks.”

  “I have a motive for my generosity,” her father said. “You’ll be close at hand for late-night house calls.”

  Luke chuckled, but Mary saw nothing funny about her father’s offer.

  The two men shook hands. “Come to church on Sunday. Ten o’clock. It’s a good way to get acquainted, let the town see the new doc—at least those patients who attend First Christian.”

  Luke smiled, flashing that dimple. “Sounds good. I’m afraid my church attendance has been sporadic since I left New York.”

  Luke Jacobs had been thrust into her world. The prospect flooded through her, filling her with foreboding and…worse, oh, far worse, with anticipation. Her gaze darted to Luke. She found him looking at her, his eyes dark, penetrating as if he’d read her mind. He shot her a grin. Inside her chest, her heart tripped then tumbled. Mary sped out of the surgery, barely able to take it in.

  Luke Jacobs would be working with her father.

  With her.

  In this office.

  Every day.

  She wanted to scream no, yet how could she protest when she’d badgered her father to slow down?

  Mary’s stomach lurched. Luke Jacobs couldn’t be God’s answer to her prayer.

  He was exactly the wrong man.

  Josiah Kelly scuttled in, bent over, grimacing in pain. Mary took one look at his face and ushered him toward the surgery. As she passed the backroom, she glimpsed her father and Luke deep in conversation. The muscles in her neck stiffened. Even three days after entering the practice Luke’s presence in the office shook her. Her father looked up. “Be right there.”

  Bent and gnarled, Mr. Kelly took a seat, cradling his dishrag-wrapped right hand like a newborn babe. “Burnt it trying to make myself some lunch,” he said, nodding and sending his wispy gray hair flapping. “Never cooked a day in my life until Betsy up and died on me. Now look what happened. She could’ve been more considerate.”

  Knowing the pain of a burn and the risk of it festering, Mary’s heart went out to Mr. Kelly. Still, she pitied Betsy, who’d endured over forty years with this cantankerous man who now blamed her for dying, like she’d done it out of spite.

  Maybe Betsy had. Marriage didn’t guarantee anyone’s happiness. “My father will be right with you, Mr. Kelly.”

  “He’d better be.” The old gentleman let out a hiss. “This thing stings worse’n a nest of hornets. How am I going to cook? My daughter lives miles away. Ain’t nobody in this town who cares about an old man.”

  “Once the ladies at church hear about your injury,” Mary said, “you’ll have more casseroles than you can eat.”

  Mr. Kelly eased back in the chair, now looking more content to wait. “Reckon so.”

  Preparing for Mr. Kelly’s treatment, Mary filled a pan with water, added bicarbonate of soda and laid out scissors, gauze and a jar of ointment. Grouchy patients aside, Mary loved working in this office. In between appointments, she tried to make sense of her father’s accounts, an impossible task. Her mother had handled that part of the practice, taking pleasure in entering precise figures in long columns.

  But for Mary, the human body and its ability to heal both fascinated and challenged her. Perhaps someday, one or all three of her sons would aspire to become doctors. But if that didn’t appeal to them, then she hoped they’d find another way to contribute to this world.

  Luke entered the surgery. Alone. The room appeared to shrink, barely holding enough air for her to breathe. Where was her father?

  “I’m Dr. Jacobs, sir. Dr. Lawrence asked me to take a look at you while he’s having lunch.”

  Mr. Kelly reared back, hugging his hand to his thin chest. “I ain’t letting no stranger near this here burn.”

  “I assure you that I’ll be gentle.”

  Luke’s promise cut no ice with Mr. Kelly, who glared up at him. Luke looked to Mary, probably hoping for her support, but she couldn’t give it. Mr. Kelly might be a crabby old codger, but he was in pain and deserved coddling.

  “Let me,” Mary said, stepping between Mr. Kelly and Luke. She removed the dishrag from the patient’s hand, revealing crimson, swollen skin, but thankfully no blistering or oozing.

  Mary gently cleaned the burn with soap and cool water; then she soaked a gauze pad in the solution and laid it over his hand. With Luke watching her every move, Mary’s stomach churned. If her belly had been filled with milk, it would be butter by now.

  Satisfied she’d done all she could, Mary applied ointment. Keeping the burn away from the air would ease his pain. Mary laid a pad over the area and then wrapped the hand several times with strips of gauze and tied the ends. Luke reached to help, but Mr. Kelly shot him a warning glare.

  Finished, Mary washed her hands then placed an unopened jar of salve, a roll of gauze and a list of instructions in a bag. “Change the dressing once a day. Come back next Tuesday at one o’clock. Come sooner if the area shows any sign of infection, like pus.”

  The lines of pain on Mr. Kelly’s face had eased, but from the scowl he wore, his mood hadn’t i
mproved. “How do you expect me to do this by myself—and with one hand, to boot?”

  She should’ve realized Mr. Kelly couldn’t change the dressing alone. Luke’s presence had her tied up in as many knots as she’d tied in the bandage. “I’ll stop on my way home from the office,” she said, handing the patient the bag of supplies.

  “What I need is a wife.” Mr. Kelly laid the sack in his lap and settled back in his chair, like he planned to stay a while. “Every man needs someone to look after him, make his meals and clean his house. Even the Good Book says so.”

  Mary searched the scriptures in her mind but couldn’t come up with that chapter and verse.

  “Says so right there in Genesis,” Mr. Kelly said. “Adam needed a helpmate so God made him Eve.” He harrumphed. “You’d think Widow Martin would be glad for the job, but she turned me down flat. Can you imagine—her with a piddling thirty-five acres to her name?”

  Perhaps like Mary, Dolly Martin preferred living with fewer material possessions than being tethered to a man. Mary would put her future in medicine. Treatments could be measured, weighed and relied upon. Unlike a man.

  Mr. Kelly pointed his bandaged hand at Luke. “Are you married, young man?”

  Luke’s brows rose to his hairline. “No.”

  “Well then, grab Mary here. She’s easy on the eyes, a good cook and knows her way around this office. Married to her, you’ll fit right in, have a good place to live and a fine nurse if’n you get sick. She comes with kids, but a couple of wads of cotton in your ears should take care of the noise. Works wonders when my old dog gets to snoring.”

  Mary wished the floor would open up and swallow her, drop her all the way to China. Farther if that were possible.

  Luke’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I’m not planning on staying in town long, Mr. Kelly.”

  “What’s the sense of moving on? God plants your feet somewheres, better keep ’em right there. I’ve kept mine here for nigh on fifty-eight years and been as content as a pig in mud till Betsy died. I’ve got to get me a wife.” He leaned toward Luke. “If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. A wife is a comfort, like a wool coat on a blustery day.”

  “I’m not looking for a wife, sir. Or, staying long enough to need a winter coat.”

  “I don’t know why I waste my counsel on the young.” With his good hand, Mr. Kelly plucked money from his pocket and shoved the bills at Mary. “Don’t give him a dime of this. You did all the work.” Shaking his head, he pulled himself to his feet with his good hand, and then shuffled out of the room.

  Luke grinned. “I can imagine Mr. Kelly’s proposal to the Widow Martin. Can’t see what she’d get out of the deal.”

  Laughter bubbled inside Mary and she giggled. “Ah, let’s see. She’d get years of cooking, cleaning and—”

  “Being compared to a coat.” Luke chuckled and soon they both howled with mirth.

  They stood mere inches apart. Close enough to—

  As Luke’s gaze lowered to Mary’s mouth, the laughter died in her throat. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “I can’t imagine why Mr. Kelly said all that,” she said, gazing into the dark, smoldering pools of Luke’s eyes.

  “He appreciates a good thing when he sees it.” He lifted a hand toward Mary’s face but then let it drop to his side. “You’re a special woman, Mary Graves, and not for the reasons Mr. Kelly cited.”

  “What then?” The question left her lips before she could stop them.

  His dimple winked. “Where to begin? You’re intelligent, capable, hardworking, loyal…”

  They were alone in the small room, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock and the beating of her heart, pumping so hard he must surely hear it. She looked into the warmth of his cocoa eyes. They tugged her closer, forging a connection that coiled between them.

  Then she remembered this man couldn’t be trusted. Might even be a member of Ben’s family. If so, he had the power to remove that little boy from those who loved him. That would be cruel to Ben and break all of their hearts.

  She shoved past Luke, heading to the front. A few minutes at the books ought to wipe out those dark, mesmerizing eyes.

  But a half hour scrutinizing her father’s accounts didn’t remove Luke Jacobs from her mind. The man had taken root in her brain. She slapped the pages of the book closed and resolved to never let the man near Ben…nor into her heart.

  Luke slapped the reins on the horse’s rump. The buggy traveled in the wrong direction—New York at Luke’s back, Noblesville up ahead. He and Doc had finished the third house call of the day. Weariness settled over him but also a strong sense of satisfaction.

  Early this morning, they’d delivered a dark-haired baby girl, used oil of eucalyptus for a tot’s croup and set a broken leg, ensuring the farmer would regain full use of his limb. Out here in farm country, Luke had quickly grasped the importance of the seasons. If all went well, the injured man could return to work in time for spring planting.

  Luke had worked in the practice five days. Yesterday afternoon Carrie Foley had brought Ben to the office. His asthma had flared following a game of tag. Luke saw no sign of epilepsy. But asthma was serious enough. They’d given him a dose of an herbal concoction, easing his symptoms, and then Mary had taken Ben home to rest. Her absence in the office left him relieved and oddly disappointed too.

  Watch it, Jacobs. You’re getting too close.

  “I can’t tell you what it means to me to have your help, Luke,” Doc said. “I’m starting to lick this awful fatigue.”

  Pleased the weariness had disappeared from Henry’s eyes, Luke smiled over at him. “I’m glad.” He didn’t want to belabor the point, but he had to. “You realize I’m leaving.”

  “I’d hate to see you go.”

  “Well, I’ll stay another week or two.” Long enough to get to know Ben and ensure his asthma got under control. Even if his daughter wanted him gone, he’d stay until Doc could find his replacement. Then Luke could go on his way, free of ties. The way he’d always done.

  So why did the prospect of leaving make him feel as if he’d been doused in a bucket of icy water?

  Surprisingly, working in this small town gave him gratification that practicing in New York didn’t. These people relied on a strong body to eke out a living from the land. Their ailments weren’t fragments of overactive imaginations, boredom with luxury-filled lives or tension from filling each day with frenzied, meaningless activities.

  He bit back a sigh. That wasn’t true. He’d seen a few folks here suffering from those very things. The difference lay with him. A difference he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to examine. Even so, the truth came to him. He was getting close to people. Had found the satisfaction he’d only had working in his lab until now.

  He could almost envision a life he’d never had, a life with a wife, a family. But the one woman he found interesting made no secret of her hostility toward him.

  Though, when he and Mary found themselves alone, the air fairly sparked with tension. Why not admit it, with attraction. If anything, the pull between them had increased Mary’s determination to keep her distance. He gave a glance at Doc. Maybe her father understood the burr under his daughter’s saddle.

  Before he could find the words, Doc turned to him. “However long you’re staying, I’m lucky to have you. You’re a skilled doctor.” He cleared his throat. “Though, I’ve had, ah, a few complaints about your bedside manner.”

  “Why? Because I don’t hold their hands when I give them a diagnosis? Or don’t take time to learn the names of the family pets?”

  “All you have to do is drop that distant manner of yours, and show our patients you care.”

  “If I get too involved with these people, I’ll lose my objectivity.”

  “Are you saying I have?”

  Luke shook his head. “No, you’re an excellent doctor. You never make emotional judgments. The problem’s with me.” Luke knew his tone and attitude needed an adjustment, but he couldn’t apolo
gize for who he was—a man who didn’t warm up to people easily.

  “I’m here, if you want a listening ear,” Doc said.

  Luke nodded but remained silent.

  “You have the mind of a doctor, the hands of a doctor. Once you connect with our patients, you’ll have the heart of a doctor. Then I’ll be able to turn the practice over to you.”

  “That’s generous of you, but my life is back East.” Luke clucked to the horse.

  “So you’ve said.”

  Luke ignored the underlying message Doc’s words conveyed. That he, Luke Jacobs, didn’t make the decisions about his life. That God did. He hoped Doc was right and God controlled this world. But from the pain and suffering he’d seen, Satan had his way far more than he should.

  Turning the buggy onto Tenth Street, he drove south. As they passed homes, then stores along the way, people waved to them. Everyone in town held Doc in high esteem and now they included him in that too. A few called Luke by name. He fought the sense of belonging.

  “If you gave yourself half a chance, you might find something here to keep you.” Doc chuckled. “I have eyes, you know. You might be the man to make my daughter happy.”

  Luke bit back a laugh. He and Mary might be drawn to one another. But Mary Graves didn’t want a husband any more than he wanted a wife. Still, if he did, this woman was, as Mr. Kelly said, easy on the eyes. She cared intensely about those she loved—

  He put away the thought. Mary Graves couldn’t abide him. “From where I stand, making your daughter happy is a mighty tall order.”

  “Contrary to your opinion, Mary’s a loving, caring woman.”

  Luke had seen that side of her. “I didn’t get off to a good start with her, and I can’t say her attitude toward me has improved.”

  Doc glanced over at him. “Mary doesn’t cotton to peddlers.”

  “I’ve seen that reaction before but none as vehement as hers.”

  “It’s not entirely about your remedy. Not even about you.” Dr. Lawrence shifted his gaze to the road ahead. “Five years ago, Mary’s mother befriended an indigent traveling the country selling his wares. The man got sick. Scarlet fever. Susannah put him up in the same rooms you’re living in and nursed him back to health…only to catch the disease herself.” Doc paused, ran a hand across his mouth like he didn’t want to speak. “He survived and traipsed off without so much as a thank-you, but Susannah didn’t make it.”