From the nervous look the girl shot his way, Nick immediately understood she didn’t want her father knowing they’d already met. He’d play along. “Miss Rousseau. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She didn’t respond until her father wrinkled his brow at her. “Likewise,” she finally said, grinding out the word as if it tasted bitter.
Nick gave her a friendly smile, which seemed to make her frown grow even deeper. It made him want to laugh, but he bit down on that urge. Around them, people walked away from the church. Nick wondered if Dr. Rousseau would set up shop on a Sunday. It would be unseemly, to shout to a crowd in that manner on the Lord’s Day, but he wouldn’t put such a thing past a man like this.
“Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Gatewood? Perhaps you’d like a bottle of my Miracle Elixir? Or have you come to apologize for interrupting my business?” Dr. Rousseau regarded him with sharp eyes, despite the easy smile he still wore. This man was no fool, that was for certain.
“I have no interest in your supposed medicines, and I will not apologize for speaking the truth. I’ve only come to introduce myself and to let you know that I have no intention of allowing you to continue to trick the good people of this town. Your claims are outrageous, and I won’t stand to see people taken in by them.” Nick stood tall, keeping his gaze fixed on Dr. Rousseau although every inch of him was aware that Miss Rousseau’s eyes were on him.
“I’m here only to provide help to those who need it,” Dr. Rousseau said, raising his free hand as if he were gesturing at the people who stood about the church lawn. “I have no nefarious intentions, as you seem to have implied.”
“Papa’s medicines have done people good, everywhere from Kansas to Santa Fe,” his daughter added.
Against his better judgment, Nick let himself look at her. Her brown eyes were calculating, as if she were trying to understand what might lie beneath the words he’d spoken, and yet he felt the strangest desire to cup her cheek in his hand and make those eyes soften. He cleared his throat in an effort to get his mind off Miss Rousseau and back onto the conversation.
“Willa.” Her father laid his hand on her arm, and she pushed her lips together in seeming frustration.
Willa. It was a pretty name, one that reminded Nick of the willow trees that grew by the lake near his parents’ home. Graceful and eye-catching, their long, draping branches danced in the summer breezes. Nick wondered if Miss Rousseau could dance. He imagined her sweeping across a ballroom floor, skirts flying out as she laughed.
Nick dug his gloved fingers into his palms. What was wrong with him? He was here to speak to Dr. Rousseau, not to daydream about the man’s daughter. “I believe you like to tell yourself you’re helping,” he said to Dr. Rousseau. “I imagine that’s how you sleep at night. But rest assured, I won’t sleep until I see you driving away from Creede.”
The man’s smile faltered for a moment, and he turned sideways to cough. Miss Rousseau glared at Nick as she laid a hand against her father’s back. He recovered quickly enough, but his usual countenance was subdued. “That’s quite an impassioned speech, Dr. Gatewood. Might I ask how you’ll accomplish that goal?”
“I’m a man of science, and that’s what I’ll use to ensure the people here understand exactly what you’re selling them.” And with that, Nick tipped his hat. “Dr. Rousseau, Miss Rousseau, I bid you good day.”
The doctor had resumed his amused expression while Miss Rousseau attempted to say everything that appeared to be on her mind with only her eyes. Nick chuckled to himself as he walked away.
He’d just ensured she’d pay him a visit soon with whatever “proof” she had of her father’s miraculous medicines. And Nick found himself quite looking forward to that day.
Chapter Seven
WILLA STOOD UNCERTAINLYoutside the tea shop on Tuesday afternoon. The Settles sisters had kindly invited her to Tuesday Tea, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door. What if none of the other ladies were friendly? What if she was too new in town, and they all looked at her as if she didn’t belong? What if she’d chosen the wrong things to wear? What if there was some tradition she didn’t know about and messed up? What if, what if, what if . . .
She closed her eyes and tried to will herself to open the door. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To meet other ladies, to create friendships, to pretend—just for once—that she’d found a place to belong. Despite the fact that it would all be taken away from her too soon, Willa craved the companionship of other women so badly she would have befriended a hen or a cow if they had one.
She opened her eyes, and the tea shop still stood there in front of her, beckoning her inside from the cold. Well, she supposed, if she made a fool of herself, she could rely on the fact that Papa would roll the wagons out of town before Christmas and she’d never have to see these women again. That was, perhaps, the only benefit of this life.
