Bluebonnet Belle

by Lori Copeland

  April fought the insane desire to snub him and enlighten him at the same time. “Thank you, Henry. I didn’t know you were back. I take it your trip was successful?”

  “Extremely so, my love. Lydia is pleased with the progress.” He smiled. “I also just picked up a large account right here in town.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, but it’s a nice one.” Taking her arm, he steered her away from the damp, foul winds coming off the water, insisting they spend a private moment having tea at the hotel before he returned to work.

  “How have you been, love?” he asked as he gave their order, then settled back in his chair to gaze at her.

  They were seated at a window table, overlooking the square. April should have felt elated; Henry was back, and the silly misunderstanding about Grace could readily be cleared up. But the heaviness in her chest was like a millstone.

  Taking her hand between his, he smiled at her. “You grow prettier with each passing day.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “An hour ago. I believe we made some real progress.”

  “That’s nice.” Distractedly, she cast about for a casual way to bring up the subject of weddings.

  “Did I mention three apothecaries have agreed to carry the elixir and highly recommend it?”

  “Yes, in your…brief letter. That should go a long way toward convincing others to carry it, as well.”

  Tea was brought, and a plate of tiny sugar cookies.

  “Did you hear Sylvia Smitts and Ben Logan have set a date for their wedding?” she asked.

  “No, I hadn’t,” Henry said, munching on a cookie.

  April toyed with her spoon. “They’re planning a spring event. Isn’t that romantic?”

  “I suppose so. Did Lydia tell you we needed more pamphlets?”

  “Yes. We’re having some made up this week.” April casually took a sip of tea. “Priscilla and Jeremy have set a date for their wedding, too.”

  “Have they?” He chose another cookie. “I think we should have a larger printing this time.”

  “I’ll tell Lydia. Priscilla and Jeremy have decided to get married in June. Priscilla wants a garden wedding.”

  “Uh-huh. Where’s our waitress? The tea is cold.”

  Henry signaled for service as April tried to think of a way to catch him in his duplicity—if that was what he was practicing.

  “Henry?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Isn’t it wonderful when two people care deeply for one another, and marry?”

  He smiled at her, his eyes cajoling. “Of course, love. Now, drink your tea before it gets cold.”

  She wasn’t letting him off the hook that easy. “Henry—”

  “You look very lovely today, my dear. Is that a new dress you’re wearing?”

  “No, Henry, it’s old,” April whispered miserably, realizing he wasn’t taking the bait.

  “Henry!” Dan Pinkham crossed the dining room floor, apparently in a big hurry.

  Getting to his feet, Henry frowned. “Dan?”

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Mother wants to talk to you….” Glancing at April, Dan said apologetically, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” Henry told him. Kissing April’s hand, he smiled. “We weren’t discussing anything important, were we, love?”

  Later that afternoon, April pushed the door open to Gray’s clinic. She was relieved to see the waiting room empty.

  Calling, “Dr. Fuller?” she waited.

  “In here.”

  Closing the outer door, she followed his voice to the office. “Hello,” she said, holding something behind her.

  “Miss Truitt?” He dropped an instrument in a drawer. “Slumming this afternoon?”

  “No.” She gave him a singularly sweet smile. “I have something for you.”

  “I’m in no mood for games.” He frowned. “What is it?”

  “This.” She held out the pillbox hat. “Funny how you keep misplacing it. Datha found it in our trash this morning. Wonder why?”

  “Because I put it there.” Slamming the drawer, he muttered, “That thing is like a homing pigeon.”

  Laughing, she tossed Francesca’s gift onto a chair in the corner.

  “Did you stop by just to annoy me?”

  “Yes. You’re on to me, aren’t you?”

  Why had she stopped by? The hat was a pretense. Datha could have brought it to him.

  “Too bad, because, unfortunately, I have you figured out.”

  “I doubt that.” Perching on the edge of his desk, she watched him work. “A man never has a woman figured out—don’t you know that yet?”

  “Where’s Riley today? I stopped by the mortuary this morning, and he was gone.”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but he’s walking. Two miles after breakfast every morning.”

  Gray looked surprised. “That’s good news.”

  “Yes.” April ran a gloved finger lightly along the edge of his desk, frowning when it came up dusty. “I say this with great trepidation, but maybe modern medicine isn’t so bad, after all.”

  He gazed at her, grinning. “This from the Pinkham camp?”

  “No, this from a woman who is open to new ideas, as you should be.”

  Moving to the window, she heaved a long, pent-up sigh. She was here because she needed a shoulder to cry on, and his was the broadest, most available one in town.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “You just blew my curtains out the window.”

  “I’m restless, that’s all. Now that I can’t sell the compound, I don’t have enough to keep me busy.”

  Gray leaned back in his chair. “I saw Henry this afternoon.”

  She turned from the window, to find him observing her. “Did you?”

  “His toe was giving him trouble again.”

  “Yes—we had tea earlier.” She glanced out the window again, watching the fading light cast shadows through the town.

  “Is something bothering you? I know you don’t find my company that stimulating, but you seem a little distracted this afternoon.”

  Rubbing her arms, she softly said, “I tried to get him to propose to me.”

  There was a short silence. “Who? Henry?”

  “He wouldn’t do it.”

  Why was she telling him this? It certainly wasn’t Gray’s “bedside manner” that prompted her to confide in him. She longed to tell him about the woman in Burgess who claimed to be engaged to Henry, but feared he would only laugh at her.

  “And that concerns you?”

  His dry humor made her laugh. At the moment she wanted so badly to tell him about Henry’s infidelity, but how could she when he wasn’t taking her seriously? She couldn’t talk to Grandpa, and Beulah’s perception of Henry was slanted. What was she to do?

  “He says he doesn’t want to get married until he is financially able.”

  “Sounds reasonable. What’s the big hurry?”

  “I want to make certain he’s not playing me for a fool,” she murmured, her fingertips resting against her lips as she watched a young couple strolling across the street.

  The doctor’s tone was somber, more evasive now. “Do you have reason to suspect he’s playing you for a fool?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why worry about it?”

  April turned again from the window, embarrassed that she had bothered him with her problems. Francesca would not appreciate another woman crying on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve taken up too much of your time.”

  She grabbed her bag and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Take better care of the hat.”

  Waving goodbye, she walked out to the waiting room.

  “Miss Truitt!”

  She turned to find him standing in the doorway of the examining room.

  “Yes?”

  “Next time
you find my hat?”

  Her brows lifted.

  “Lose it for me. All right?”

  She grinned. “You lose it—properly for once.”

  She turned to leave, then suddenly turned back. “Dr. Fuller?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for listening to my blathering.”

  A smile formed on his lips. “I’m always here, Miss Truitt.”

  “That’s very gracious of you,” she admitted. Their eyes met, and she sensed he knew that she was troubled.

  “If you change your mind and want to talk, I’ll be in the office late tonight.”

  Gray stared at the closed door, wishing he’d had enough courage to press April for more information. He had a fairly good idea what was wrong. Something had happened to make her doubt Henry, otherwise she wouldn’t have come in here to talk. He knew that irresponsible rogue couldn’t avoid discovery for long.

  Gray pulled out a chair and sat down, remembering how vulnerable she had looked. He didn’t want her hurt.

  Lord, help me to help her. She’s young and impressionable, and men like Henry should be— He wanted to say shot, but didn’t. He should not prey on innocent women.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Holiday festivities came and went and winter got down to business. Gray thought he’d seen the last of Francesca until spring, but during a mild spell in late January she arrived, looking half-frozen from the journey, but bearing gold-embossed party invitations. He listened as she prattled on about some plan—a party, the largest Dignity had ever seen. When he protested, she shook her head and accused him of not wanting to reimburse “dear papa” for the time and money he had invested in Gray’s career.

  “A party—to express your gratitude to your patients, darling. Why do you fight me when it’s only your welfare I’m concerned about?”

  “The last thing I want is a party.”

  “But you will see, chéri—the town will bless you.” That said, she motioned for the two men to unload the overburdened wagon.

  Gray stood back, bit his lip and silently vowed he would never borrow another cent the rest of his life.

  Francesca was reluctant to invite “everyone in town”—she wanted the riffraff excluded. But Gray said everyone or no one.

  She agreed, though testily, and he reserved the town hall for the event. A winter festival, he called it, and she corrected him: a reception. It was a reception.

  “Didn’t I tell you it would be wonderful?” she enthused as they watched the decorations go up.

  Gray looked at the ceiling of the large room, which was draped with bolts of blue and orange fabric, with large paper flowers fastening the ends in each corner. “It’s a little…colorful.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s perfect.”

  Perfectly gaudy. But Gray wasn’t looking for a fight.

  More paper flowers filled large urns sitting in corners and dotted throughout the room.

  A long table groaned under the weight of finger sandwiches, tea cookies, fruit in large crystal bowls and a lavish ice sculpture in the form of an elegant swan. Francesca had brought along a staff of servants to help serve.

  “It’s just as I envisioned it,” she exclaimed, her blue velvet skirt billowing as she turned, viewing the room with delight. Seldom had Gray seen her so adamant about a project.

  “When the guests arrive, you and I will greet them at the door. Then Samuel will take their coats, and Suzanne will serve them. The music will have begun before anyone arrives. There will be dancing, conversation and very little business talk.” She smiled. “I know how you hate business talk.”

  They moved through the hall, overseeing the frenzied preparations for tonight’s events.

  “I still think it’s too elaborate,” Gray told her.

  “You worry too much. I want it to be special.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “I want them to know who I am.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Why, I’m going to be your fiancée once again,” Francesca said, her gaze daring him to dispute her.

  “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble and expense. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I won’t, you’ll see. They’ll be talking about this party for years to come.”

  Gray didn’t doubt that.

  The first guests arrived promptly at seven o’clock. Gray introduced each one to Francesca, and she gingerly shook hands. Murmuring a greeting, they timidly entered the lavishly decorated room, eyes wide with curiosity.

  Beulah and Raymond came in and chatted for a few minutes before moving to the refreshment table.

  April arrived with Riley closer to seven-thirty.

  “Francesca, April Truitt and Riley Ogden, her grandfather. Riley regularly beats me at checkers.”

  “I am so pleased to meet you,” Francesca said.

  “And we’re pleased to meet such a lovely friend of Dr. Fuller’s. He’s been a godsend to our town.” Riley took her hand.

  “I’m sure he has,” Francesca said, “though we do miss him terribly in Dallas.”

  Gray noticed Henry was absent again. Was the pompous idiot spending his evening with his other woman, leaving April to make excuses for him?

  Murmuring a soft greeting, April brushed past him, trailing the scent of lily of the valley as she entered the gaily decorated hall. He had a strong urge to follow her, but refrained from doing so.

  Disgusted with himself for what he was thinking, Gray knew he should have never allowed Francesca to hold this party. She didn’t understand the citizens of Dignity and would end up insulting the very people whose trust he’d tried so hard to gain.

  People were slow to mingle. The four musicians played violin and viola, classical music Francesca favored but few in Dignity enjoyed.

  The guests were reluctant to dance. Instead, they stood in small groups, awkwardly holding the china plates Francesca had transported from Dallas, and staring at the strange sandwiches the white-coated hired help kept offering. When an hour had passed, and still no one was dancing, Francesca became more and more frustrated.

  “What is wrong with them?” she hissed to Gray. “Why aren’t they dancing?”

  “Perhaps this isn’t their kind of music,” he suggested, recalling the livelier tunes played at summer picnics and get-togethers.

  “How could that be? Well, never mind. We’ll show them how to waltz properly.”

  Leading him on to the dance floor, she looked around, smiling, her eyes encouraging others to follow.

  “Have you ever seen such a flop?” Beulah whispered as she and April stood on the sidelines. Ray Grimes was off getting punch.

  “I feel rather sorry for her,” April admitted as she enviously watched how gracefully Gray guided Francesca around the floor. “Do you think he’ll formally announce their engagement tonight?” She noted the way the Frenchwoman looked up into his face, as if they were the only two people in the room.

  April realized he didn’t look quite as enthralled. Still, she envied the woman. If Henry ever looked at her that way, she’d be the happiest female on earth. Or would she? Was it Henry she wanted? Or the handsome doctor who appeared to be enamored with Miss DuBois? Something told April that Gray wasn’t as happy and devoted as he wanted everyone to think.

  “What is wrong with these ungrateful ninnies?” Francesca huffed. “They stand around in their dowdy dresses and their shiny suits and stare as if they’ve never seen a waltz before. Have they no manners? These are the people you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

  She was working herself up into a frenzy again. Gray saw the signs and hoped to avoid a scene. Had she listened, she would know Dignity was a simple town with simple ways.

  “Just because they’re not dancing doesn’t mean they’re not having a good time. Relax, they can see you’re upset.”

  “But they’re not even trying to mingle, or to talk, or to enjoy the fine things I’ve brought for them to enjoy.”

  “You talk as if they’re
impoverished children. They don’t need to be plied with gifts for you to win their favor.”

  “Nonsense, gifts can achieve anything one wants. I’d hoped to show them the social niceties that aren’t available in this boorish town—”

  “Show them, or show me?”

  “Honestly, Gray. You’re so defensive. After all, there’s precious little here for you, if you’d only admit it. Tell me you don’t miss the opera, the symphony, the plays. There’s nothing—” her gaze swept the room pitilessly “—of…social value here.”

  Clell Miller picked that time to strip off his coat, unbutton his shirt, cup his hand beneath his armpit and pump his arm, resulting in an obscene noise that sent Missy Parker into peals of mirth.

  Francesca looked faint as the room erupted in laughter. Clell’s mother swatted him, even though he was full grown.

  “Some may be lacking in social graces, but they’re warm and giving people,” Gray said. “And they need me.”

  “Hah! Anyone would do. These people aren’t discriminating.”

  “No, they need me,” he insisted, knowing that he needed Dignity, and its people, as much as they needed his doctoring skills.

  All in all, the party fell far short of Francesca’s expectations.

  The crowning blow came when Clarence Cole burst into his rendition of a song he had written, “Rooster in the Henhouses, Hidey Ho,” while clicking spoons against his leg in a well-meaning, albeit disastrous, attempt to liven up the party.

  Francesca’s sour look turned rancid when Clarence asked the string quartet to jump in anytime they felt like it.

  She pouted the rest of the evening, leaving the social amenities to Gray. Around nine o’clock the guests started filing out of the hall.

  Gray stood at the door, saying good-night. They were gracious but unable to stop sending curious glances at Francesca, who cloistered herself away in a remote corner.

  Gray was embarrassed for her—and by her—but he kept his temper in check. What he’d really like to do was walk away from her. All he wanted was to be the best doctor he knew how in order to help the people of Dignity.