“I’ll come too. I know how to tie a calf...”
Ben closed his eyes as the boy talked on. The need to make a dangerous promise or break a heart had been averted. For now. The cymbals started in his head again. Every bone in his body ached. He’d been stupid to say no to the medicine. But Cora and Charlie needed a whole man, not one shackled to a bottle.
CHAPTER 8
Cora smoothed her hands over her violet linen skirt, swiping away dust from the ten-mile ride. Two days in town in a row. She’d never get her garden finished at this rate. But Ben needed a doctor despite his insistence otherwise. The sooner he got well, the better.
Charlie was already too attached. What in the world was she going to do? It didn’t matter that Ben had been best friends with Jeb. She’d not subject Charlie or herself to the long-term pain of caring about someone who didn’t have the fortitude to break free of their self-imposed chains. Her mother would have saved herself decades of pain and heartache if she’d kept walking the first time a young Ambrose Scott had tipped his hat to her.
Swiping at a fly, Cora frowned at the narrow green building down the block that housed the druggist. A lot of good that visit had done her. As she pivoted away and tapped a finger to a loose hairpin, a gig rattled past driven by an elderly man. The lady beside him hid behind her wide-open parasol as if the sun might cause her to melt. Three cowboys wearing chaps, thick boots, and wide-brimmed hats rode past on the other side, exuding clouds of dust. One nodded. She quickly averted her gazeand turned toward the plain gray building with two shingles.Harrison, Attorney-at-Law, andDr. Tucker.
She shuddered as she knocked. The last time she’d stepped foot in this building, it was to watch her father draw his last breath.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Ruddy, answered the door. Her rosy cheeks outshone her dull red hair which hung in a loose chignon. “Why, good morning, Miss Scott. What brings you into town? I heard you and the boy moved back out to the ranch.”
“Yes, we did.” Cora winced. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be subjected to a lecture on the foolhardiness of that venture. “I’m wondering if Dr. Tucker returned from San Antonio.”
“Afraid not. Do you know what he did?” Mrs. Ruddy beamed and stepped wide for her to enter the small waiting room with its rag rug and spindle-backed chairs.
“I have no idea.” But she was about to hear every detail, no doubt. Mrs. Ruddy kept tabs on everyone and wasn’t prone to keep too quiet about them either. Unfortunately, she probably hadn’t spared any details about Cora’s father. The lady’s mouth outran her good heart on a regular basis. Cora entered and removed her straw hat with its royal-blue ribbon tied around the band.
Mrs. Ruddy laid a hand across her bosom. “Dr. Tucker up and got himself married. Found some pretty little plantation princess half his age. Her pa’s going to set them both up fine somewhere over by the coast. We won’t see the likes of Doc Tucker again. Already sent for his medical books.”
Cora frowned. “Yesterday, when I was in town, the druggist said the doc was around.”
“Mr. Gregory must have been referring to Dr. LeBeau.” She winked. “He graciously offered to continue coming here one week a month until the town finds another doctor. Much better-looking than Dr. Tucker and still a bachelor. Of course, you already know that.”
“The doctor who attended to my father.” Mrs. Ruddy sounded like an advertisement for a mail-order groom. But Dr. Arthur LeBeau did leave an impression.
The man’s calm, matter-of-fact bedside manner had been a solace when he sat beside her delivering the news about her father. He’d fallen from his horse in a drunken stupor and was in a deep coma, unlikely to wake up. Dr. LeBeau had taken her hand in his to comfort her. Only, she’d sat there like a stone wall, feeling little but relief. Was it wrong to not feel grief?
“Yes, you poor girl. I’d forgotten Dr. Tucker had already left on his trip by then. If Dr. LeBeau couldn’t save your father, no one could.”
Her father had been beyond saving for years. “May I see the doctor?”
“Is something ailing you, dear?” Mrs. Ruddy patted her arm. Freckles dotted her cheeks beneath the crinkles which lined her eyes. “Have a seat. You look a little pale. You couldn’t be in better hands. ”
“It’s not me?—”
The office door clicked open. “Miss Scott.” Dr. LeBeau stepped into the hallway. Over six feet tall, he resembled Ben McKenzie in height, but that was where the similarities ended. He held his long, slender fingers toward her. Instead of briefly clasping her hand, he bent at the waist and brushed his lips across her gloved knuckles.
She squirmed and drew her hand free as soon as it was polite.
A smile played across his thin lips. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” His murky blue eyes studied her. Dark, slicked-back hair, and an even darker mustache and goatee, outlined his light-complexioned face with its angular features.
The man made her feel as if they were at a cotillion. “Perhaps we might speak in your office?” She wouldn’t shame Ben by giving Mrs. Ruddy fodder for gossip.
“Certainly.” He waved her toward a short-back chair in front of a worn oak desk. He closed the door behind them as she gathered her skirts into the seat.
Sunlight filtered in through sheer green curtains and cast rays onto three books encased by bronze bookends on the far corner of the desk. A lion and man wrestling?
“I figured if I was going to be in Weatherford one week a month, I might as well bring a few of my own furnishings.” Dr. LeBeau settled in behind the desk. “It’s a scene from the Coliseum in Rome. A gladiator fighting a lion. The question is, ‘Who will win?’”
She shook her head. “The lion looks mighty ferocious.” Teeth bared and aimed at the bare gladiator’s armored forearm.
“I vote for the man.” LeBeau steepled his fingers. “He has intellect and strength.”
“Doesn’t the lion have that too?”
