That Certain Spark

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “My Trakenhner? You expect me to believe a sixteen-hand Trakenhner came inside?”

  “And into my surgery because you whistled for her. I hope you have a different mare to hitch to my buggy, because that one and I aren’t on good terms.”

  “You cannot have it both ways, Doctor. You, yourself, aim for good results, and your brother says respect from your patients is enough. So why does it matter if you’re on good terms with the mare, as long as she gets you to the right destination?”

  Enoch drew off the cover and cut the knot holding the bandage in place. The whole while, he fought the urge to let out a booming laugh. Most men were so cowed by Taylor’s intellect, accomplishments, and profession, they avoided trading anything more than the briefest essential salutations. Occasionally there was one who found basking in her reflected limelight and benefiting from her wealth much to his liking—but those were invariably arranged dates for charity suppers Taylor attended for the one evening and wisely sensed those men were not for her.

  But this man?

  He’d ascertained that Taylor was loved and wanted her to be sent back where he thought she’d be happy. Now he lay there offering his opinion, telling her what to do with her new home, and calling her out for what he perceived as hypocrisy. Enoch looked from his sister to her patient and back again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This man wasn’t like any she’d met before.

  “You don’t have to look at that. I will.” Van der Vort exerted himself to get into a sitting position.

  “I’ll show you precisely what I did.” Taylor started unrolling the bandage.

  They’re going to have a tug-o’-war here in a minute. Enoch thought he probably ought to be ashamed of himself for finding the whole situation entertaining, but the guilt didn’t stop him from watching.

  “That is unnecessary. I’ll be able to see.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Van der Vort: Are all Texans as stubborn as you are?”

  “Tell me, Miss Bestman: Are all women doctors as bossy as you are?”

  Always one to appreciate a rousing conversation or debate, Taylor burst out laughing. “I propose a deal. I examine your incision and you hitch that feisty mare to the buggy when I pay visits to my patients.”

  “Done.”

  Pronouncing the operative site excellent, Taylor started to bandage it up. Someone knocked downstairs, so Enoch nudged her. “I’ll finish this.”

  With her gone, Van der Vort said in a low tone, “Dimples actually has a sweet temperament.”

  “She does, but don’t ever call her that again.”

  “I was talking about the mare.”

  “I tend to be rather practical. I usually make stew on the day after I do laundry and thought I’d bring some over as a welcome.”

  “I’m very thankful,” Taylor said at the exact moment a mouthwatering aroma hit Enoch.

  “With the storm coming, I had to run and pull everything off my clothesline instead of coming to meet you yesterday,” the woman said. “Hearing that some people marred your reception with a narrow-minded viewpoint distresses me. The Bible says there’s no slave or free, no male or female, and as far as I’m concerned, I actually like you being female. There are times that . . . well, having a woman for a doctor would make me feel more comfortable.”

  Enoch knew he couldn’t walk out right then and embarrass the petite woman standing with his sister, so he eased back up the stairs for a minute. He and Karl had shared a sound laugh over the Dimples matter, and Karl was still letting out an occasional chortle. That would give the women the impression they were still alone.

  Taylor led the woman to the parlor, and Enoch strained to hear her cute Texas drawl. His stomach growled and a wry smile twisted his lips. Instead of searching for a housekeeper, maybe she’d just found him. The women continued to talk for a few more moments. At the point he figured they’d probably gotten beyond whatever “woman talk” they needed, he cleared his throat to warn them of his presence and went down the rest of the stairs.

  “Here’s my brother. Let me introduce you. Mercy Orion, this is my twin brother, Enoch. Enoch, this is Mercy Orion.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss, Mrs. . . .”

  “Mrs. Mercy Orion,” his sister clarified.

  Mrs. Orion nodded her head, and he did the same. “Mrs. Orion.” Hmm. When he’d entered the parlor, he’d thought her dress to be pinkish. Up closer, he determined she was wearing mauve. Women had rules for how long they wore black for mourning before they added gray and mauve, but he’d never paid attention to them. She was a beautiful woman, and he couldn’t help wishing it was her husband she mourned. What a terrible thing to do—selfish, too—yet Enoch couldn’t keep from hoping to turn such a sad misfortune into the ultimate happiness for both of them.

  “Mrs. Orion, you’re wearing mauve,” Taylor probed. “I hope you don’t mind my asking . . . ?”

  “It’s for my dear husband. I lost him at Fort Bend’s JaybirdWoodpecker War.”

  Enoch struggled between feeling compassion for her loss and delight that her grief wasn’t fresh. “My condolences. That was four years ago, wasn’t it?”

  She looked astonished. “Yes, four years in September.”

  “Being a veterinarian, my brother immediately spied the headlines.”

  “Such an odd and frivolous name for something so tragic. It must have been hard for you.” Enoch watched her features carefully.

  “The first years were a blur, I was so heartbroken. But time has helped. I’m blessed to have many happy memories and a very sweet daughter to remember Hamilton by.”

  “A daughter!” The fact that she had a child surprised yet delighted him. “I hope she has your beautiful brown eyes.” And stunning eyes Mrs. Orion did have—wonderful large eyes with a thick, dark fringe of lashes. A man could get lost in those eyes.

  Taylor shouldered up beside him, putting some distance between him and the widow. “Yes, I noticed your remarkable eyes right away, as well. Our mother always referred to them as doe eyes. Enoch, Mrs. Orion made us a delicious stew, and I’m getting hungrier by the minute just smelling it.”

  “So am I.” He patted his stomach. “The aroma could bring a man to his knees.”

  Mrs. Orion laughed. “I don’t know about that, but since it was believed that you were both bachelors and men tend to have a sweet tooth, I figured many of the women probably made you some of their tastiest desserts. With the weather turning cold, I thought something wholesome and hot might be appealing. You probably haven’t had time to finish unpacking or get things squared away, especially with you already having had to do surgery. . . .” She turned her attention from Taylor to him. “And I understand that the doctor . . . well, you, Doctor . . .” Her hands moved in a little flustered gesture.

  “Let me make it easy for you.” Enoch took the stew from Taylor, set it on a nearby table, and motioned for Mrs. Orion to have a seat.

  “Thank you, but no. I already told your sister I have something in the oven.”

  “Far be it from me to make someone else burn anything. I already do enough of that for at least ten people all by myself!”

  She laughed—a soft, husky laugh.

  “My sister is to be called Dr. Bestman. I’ve already invited everyone to call me Doc Enoch. It makes it easier for all involved so there’s no question as to who is Dr. Bestman. Now that you know it, you won’t run into that awkward doctor/doctor confusion again.”

  Mrs. Orion’s carefully folded hands now formed a nervous knot. “I don’t know. . . . It carries with it an altogether different type of awkwardness because it’s too familiar by far.”

  He smiled. “I don’t consider it familiar in the least, but as simple common sense. I wouldn’t take offense, and I don’t expect anyone to invite me to address them by their Christian name—especially not the women. As a lady who’s practicality is proven by the delivery of a hot meal on a late November day, Mrs. Orion, surely you understand the straightforward reason behind it
.”

  Taylor didn’t disappoint him. She latched on to the word. “Practical.” She smiled at Mrs. Orion. “That does settle the matter, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose it shall. I’m sure you need to tend to your patient, and I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “Taylor and I haven’t had a chance to do any marketing and our larder is empty. As you pointed out, my sister’s busy here, but I won’t have the slightest idea what to buy. Would you have some time to help me select a few essentials at the grocer’s?” His sister looked at him like he’d gone out of his mind, but Enoch didn’t care. He’d have Mrs. Orion help him buy thread, needles, and fabric for new slip cushions if that’s what it took to spend more time with her.

  Taylor’s foot nudged his. “I thought you wanted some soup.”

  His sister just didn’t understand. Often they were so close they could almost read each others’ thoughts; yet now of all times, his twin was oblivious. Enoch glowered at her. She gritted her teeth and stared back at him.

  Mrs. Orion cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind making do with the stew today, tomorrow would be more convenient for me. Linette Richardson and I are baking quite a bit today, and we’ve already mixed up most of the dough. I’d be happy to help you, though. Could I meet you over at Mr. Clark’s mercantile tomorrow at nine o’clock? Maybe then you could both come.”

  “Excellent.” He’d find a way to leave his sister at home tomorrow. Enoch walked over and opened the door for Mrs. Orion. As she passed by, he inhaled deeply. She smelled of cinnamon. Cinnamon and vanilla. Other women tried to smell of roses and lilac and honeysuckle and all of those sweet, sticky, smelly sorts of things, but Mercy Orion smelled of home and welcoming and warmth. He was in love. It was love at first sight, and he knew it. He’d met the woman he wanted to marry.

  Enoch turned around, and his sister looked at him with nothing short of frustration. Holding the stew pot again, she shook her head. “It’s an utter waste to buy groceries until we get a cook.”

  “We need all the staples. And oatmeal. I can buy that type of food. Those things don’t go bad, and we can make oatmeal.” I don’t want Sis to ever think I wanted Mercy just so we’d have a cook. Nothing’s further from the truth. “We don’t do too badly with eggs and soup. We could probably get by for awhile.”

  “I don’t want to, and not just for the sake of my stomach.” Taylor glanced at the ceiling. “At least when I have patients, having someone else around would be wise—maybe a morning woman and an afternoon one. Even if there are some troublesome men around, Gooding has a lot of nice ladies.”

  “Yes, it does.” Leaning against the doorframe, he tilted his head toward the woman walking down the street. “And I’m going to make that one my wife.”

  Six

  Oh, good heavens!” Taylor dropped the pot of stew, and it splattered everywhere. “Look what you made me do! We’ve sacrificed almost half of a good pot of stew because you’ve lost your mind. I can’t believe it! I’m starving and so are you, and the only thing you can do is be ridiculous over a woman you’ve only seen for three minutes. Not even three minutes. Enoch, you have gone round the bend!”

  She waggled her finger for emphasis. “Stop and think. In the past, you had all sorts of fun running around with whichever woman suited your fancy. The two of you tired of one another, and you waltzed on to someone else. This is a small town, and you can bet all the men know Mercy Orion’s every move. I guarantee you she has men panting after her, and if this tastes half as good as it smells, men clutching diamond rings line up at her doorstep.”

  She started pacing around the mess. “Help me clean this up, and you’re going to just . . . you just . . . you don’t get a bowl of this at all because you wasted your share by shocking me so deeply that . . . Oh, you made me a blithering idiot!” Taylor glowered at him some more.

  “Take the pot on into the kitchen, Taylor. I’ll clean this up.”

  Taylor picked up the pot. “I’ll help you clean it up,” she said with a definite lack of grace in her tone. “But part of this has to go to my patient. I’ll share anything that’s left with you.”

  “No, I’ll just have a taste of it, then you can have the rest. I’m planning on having hundreds more pots of that in my future.”

  She shook her head and muttered, “Crazy man. Thoroughly crazy man. He’s gone round the bend. Whoever thought my own brother would be the one I’d have to treat for insanity? What am I going to do? I’m in a town that doesn’t want me, and my brother’s going insane. If Mother were here, she’d be telling me to watch out because trouble always comes in threes.”

  Enoch didn’t mind that his sister was muttering to herself. Courting Mrs. Orion was going to be fun.

  After a quick cleanup, the siblings returned to the kitchen, where the remaining stew went into bowls for Van der Vort and Taylor. She took a bite and smiled appreciatively, then asked, “So where were you this morning, that you came back with that big basket of apples?”

  “Out . . .” He shrugged. “Looked around a little bit.”

  “You usually tell me about your cases.”

  “Nothing much to tell.” Was this deception? He couldn’t very well tell her exactly where he’d been. The case had turned out to be a ruse, where two men had urged him to make his sister cease practicing medicine in Gooding. “It wasn’t really a case. People are rather anxious to see how I am around their animals. Since we’re from the city, I get the impression some worry I don’t know much about livestock. Think they figure I’m a dog-and-cat man who could also take care of Aunt Bertha’s prized canary in a pinch. One man—a farmer named Smith—flat-out said he’d voted against bringing me.”

  Taylor handed over the bowl with the rest of her stew. “It’s so hearty I’m already full. For him to be in town when he’d normally be doing his chores . . .”

  Enoch took a huge bite. “He had good cause: a wagonload of what seemed like two hundred kids he drove to school. His opinion was that the town ought to have waited till a Texan applied. Gooding’s been without a vet entirely, so another month or year without shouldn’t have made that big a difference.”

  “Until it’s his cow or pigs or plow horse that’s in trouble.” Affronted on Enoch’s behalf, she started pacing around the table. “Times like this, I’m so tempted to give in to my vengeful spirit. If that Smith doesn’t trust you or have faith in your professional ability, he oughtn’t call you out to help care for them.”

  “He had a pair of decent-looking horses hitched to the wagon. Maybe he has a natural talent with animals and won’t need help. There are plenty of other animals in the area. I’ll be busy enough.”

  “So you strolled around and gave hitching-post consultations?”

  He seesawed his tongue at the corners of his lips to get the last speck of flavor. “Suppose you could say that. It started out with my going over to visit the barn site. Men would pause and visit for a minute or so, just to get a feel for my medical opinion on anything from ticks to torsion.”

  “And whether you’d treat them because they refused to have a woman as their physician?”

  Enoch met her gaze. “A few asked. You know my answer. Give them time, Sis. They’re backward. You can’t take it personally.”

  A brave smile flitted across her face. “Enough about that. Tell me all about the barn.”

  Her attitude about some of the men’s ignorant stance was far better than he could have hoped—but it was all he should have expected. Taylor wasn’t one to moan and fuss, so he went along with the change in topic. “They did a really nice job, Sis. Since you didn’t have a chance to see it yesterday, maybe later today we can go out and take a look at it together. It’s all exactly to my specifications.”

  Taylor smiled at him. “I’m so glad for you, Enoch.” She’d given up the maternity/pediatric practice she’d slaved to achieve in order to come here for his dream, and what was she getting? Not much. In fact, she was getting a whole lot of difficulty. Yet her voice ra
ng with sincere pleasure for him. “So what kind of consultation earned you a basket of apples?”

  “None at all. Clicky dropped them off. Maybe I’m not the only man in town experiencing love at first sight.”

  “Then he’ll need to go to Austin to get his eyes and head examined. I—”

  A loud crash upstairs cut short whatever else she planned to say.

  Seven

  Enoch charged upstairs with Taylor on his heels. With every single step, she rued women’s fashions. He stopped in the doorway of the sickroom, and she slammed into his back.

  “Move,” she ordered, trying to shove him aside. Any number of terrible images flooded her mind. The blacksmith lying on the floor with a concussion . . . or a broken leg . . . or worse still, lying there hemorrhaging . . .

  Enoch moved out of the way, but laughter shook his frame.

  Work-scuffed boots were sticking out from under the bed—each attached to a leg! One she could only see the calf, and the other she saw just past the knee. Disbelief shot through Taylor. “Mr. Van der Vort, get in that bed this instant.”

  “Just a minute” came the muffled reply from beneath the bed.

  “A minute is more than I’m willing to give you.” She marched over and stared down at the feet. How had he gotten those boots on? For that matter, how had he gotten to them—or the jeans—at all? “I took pains to explain the risk of your hemorrhaging.”

  “And I just thought you were the pain.” A head and broad shoulders rose from behind the far side of the bed. It was Mr. Van der Vort, giving her a jaundiced look.

  Taylor’s focus darted to the floor, confirming that those big booted feet remained in place. It’s physically impossible for those legs to be his. Then who’s under the bed? “Enoch, please assist Mr. Van der Vort back into bed.”

  “I’ll be okay.” A foot attached to that voice thumped the floor as proof of the claim. “Well, blast. Maybe not. These are my favorite suspenders.”

  Her patient shot Enoch a look. “Piet—my brother—is stuck. Help him. I can take care of myself.”