“I apologize. From what you’ve told me, he’s managed to stick with the milder version. Laudanum. And now that he’smade it beyond the first couple of months, the odds are, he’ll soldier through many more weeks, even months, or a year before a setback.”
“Ben is not…” She stood. “I’d rather not discuss this anymore.”
“Certainly.” He rose to his feet. “Please forgive me for overstepping, Miss Scott. I wouldn’t mention it if I didn’t feel that you’ve taken him under your wing like that pup in the back yard. You have a generous heart, and you loved your brother. You want to do right by his good friend.” He tugged on his lapels. “I…I don’t want to see you hurt. From the little I know of your life, I understand you’ve suffered much loss.” His voice dipped to a gentle rumble, like a creek flowing over rocks.
She gripped her hands together. Sweat stuck her chemise to her armpits. “But isn’t it possible Ben…Mr. McKenzie is cured? Haven’t there been cases where a man has given up laudanum for the rest of his life?”
Air leaked out of his lungs. “Yes. There have been such cases. Though rare, it’s possible. But are you willing to take that risk?”
“What risk?” She jabbed a hand to her hip. “The man is helping me get my ranch in order. Nothing more.” She snatched up the empty saucers and the tea. “If you’ll excuse me.” She marched into the house. If the man had come here to run down Ben, he could go home. And what did he know of her feelings toward Ben? She didn’t even have a clue herself.
She clanked the plates onto the work table. Arthur LeBeau was no friend of Ben’s. But he was right about one thing. Ben wasn’t cured. Not if he was whispering about laudanum in his sleep. Nausea rolled through her. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t become attached. And what had she done?
Footsteps halted at the threshold. She stiffened.
“Forgive me, Miss Scott. I didn’t intend to upset you.”
“I’m fine.” She turned and folded her hands in front of her, fighting the urge to cross her arms. “It’s just that Mr. McKenzie was Jeb’s friend. My brother loved him like a brother. I want him to succeed in his battle. If you truly want to help, perhaps you can tell me if there’s any remedy that would bolster his recovery.”
He stood with one hand behind his back, the other resting against the jamb. “If I knew of any such cure, my bank account would be full, for many would need it. But I’ll offer some advice. Of the cases I’ve known, the cravings win out when the patient hits a rough spot. The strong can endure it when life is going well, but when setbacks or calamity come, old habits rear their head with a vengeance.” He cocked his eyebrows. “My other advice? Your will cannot conquer it for him. Victory or defeat rests with him. But I reckon you already know that. From…past family experience.”
She flinched. She knew it all too well. Her mind, her heart, and her youth bore the scars.
He cleared his throat and glanced down at his boots. “My father is no angel either. Only, instead of the bottle, his vice is his obsession with controlling the lives of his family members. If he and I got along, I’d have opened up my medical practice in Columbus near his plantation instead of Dallas.”
She gnawed the inside of her cheek. “I…I’m sorry about your father.”
He shrugged. “He’s a small part of my life.” His gaze fixed upon her. “But you are the one I’m concerned about. That is why I’ve expressed myself so pointedly.”
“I thank you for your concern, but there is no need?—”
“I’ve thought of you much since our last meeting.” He drew his hand from behind his back. In his fingers, he held a thin book with an embossed red cover. “I brought this as a token of myaffection. Proof that you have taken possession of my thoughts, even when I am far away.”
Her throat tightened. “Dr. LeBeau?—”
“Arthur. Please. It would give me great pleasure if you’d consent to call me by my given name out of friendship. That’s all I ask for now. That and the right to call on you.” He stepped a few feet into the room and held the book out to her. “I saw this copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets in a Dallas mercantile. I was walking along thinking of you, and there it was in the window. I’ve had my own copy of years. I’d like to share the beauty of poetry with you.”
Romantic. But did she want a peek into the interior of this man’s heart? Her brow furrowed. Not a door she wanted to open. At least not yet. “I appreciate the gesture, Dr. LeBeau.”
“Arthur.” His eyes glistened as he extended his hand to her, without coming closer.
She stared at the book. “You said friendship.” She picked up the tea brick from the table and hugged it to her chest as if it might ward off further intrusion.
“Friendship.” He smiled, as smooth as honey dripping from a spoon. “I’ll leave the sonnets in your parlor on my way out. A gift in waiting, so to speak.” He withdrew his hand. “And if I could humbly beg an open invitation to come calling? Perhaps next time, I could bring my chess set. Do you play chess, Miss Scott? May I call you Cora?”
She tightened her hold on the tea. Next time, she was going to have Charlie at the house with them. “I play chess.” It sounded innocent enough, but this was the man who adorned his desk with a statue of a gladiator wrestling the lion. Which one was he?
Either way, he was nothing like her father.
CHAPTER 20
The wind ripped Ben’s newly boiled and rinsed shirt from Cora’s hand and slung it toward the dirt. She snatched it in midair and pinned it to the clothesline. If the breeze picked up anymore, she’d have to hang the clothes inside the hallway to save them from a coating of sand.
Charlie ran around the corner from the garden with Jack at his heels. “Ben’s home. He’s coming through the gate.” The boy charged past.
Ben. Home.Her pulse strummed. Thank God, he’d made it back safely. How many cattle had he been able to round up? He’d be at dinner, telling stories of his trip…if he wasn’t too busy reading his newly arrived perfumed letter from Pennsylvania. She’d had Charlie take it to the stables before she threw it in the woodpile.
She glowered as she flipped strands of hair from her face. The chignon at the back of her neck hung loose. She should have braided her hair this morning. Puffing her cheeks out, she yanked the ribbon off. A couple of hairpins tumbled to the ground. She’d bother with them later. Smoothing a hand over her wayward hair, she left it to fall free over her shoulders.Throwing her shoulders back, she strolled to the front of the house. Ben McKenzie should have a chance to see what he was missing.
