Chapter Twelve
THE DANCE PRACTICEflew by in a whir of waltzes, reels, polkas, and two-steps. Try as he might, Nick only got to dance with Miss Rousseau twice, and those only in passing. Another man reached her first for the waltz practice. Nick opted to sit that one out, choosing instead to shoot looks at the man that he hoped would make him think twice about asking Miss Rousseau to dance. It appeared to work, because the very second the music ended, the man stepped away quickly with barely a word to Miss Rousseau.
But now was his opportunity. He’d planned it all as he glared at the man who’d claimed her for the waltz. He would offer to walk her back to the hotel, and then he’d ask if he could escort her to the dance on Friday. She wouldn’t say no, or so he hoped. Something had passed between them outside the ballroom. He had felt it, even though he couldn’t put a name to it. He was certain she’d felt it too, given the way her eyes had fluttered shut when he’d touched her cheek. Out there, just the two of them in the cold and the town around them feeling very far away, nothing else mattered. Not her father and his line of work, not his wish for Miss Rousseau to see the man for what he was, and not Nick’s need to protect the townsfolk from a snake oil salesman.
Nothing mattered except the two of them, together.
Two weeks ago, when he had first set foot in Creede, Nick would have laughed at himself. He’d come out West to find a place where he could pursue medicine in a meaningful way, not to find love. And yet, while he hesitated to name what he felt toward Miss Rousseau as love just yet, that was exactly what was occupying his mind.
“Perhaps the new doctor can help?” A feminine voice drew his mind back to the present. The practice had ended and most of the men had already left. A handful of ladies remained, including Miss Rousseau, who stood behind a duo of ladies who looked so much alike—despite their opposite hair colors—they had to be sisters.
One of the sisters was batting her eyelashes at him. “Pardon me?” he asked, wishing he’d not gotten lost in his daydreams and had already left with Miss Rousseau on his arm again.
“We’re decorating the ballroom for Christmas,” the girl said, her cheeks turning pink. “And we need someone to hang the wreaths and the pine boughs. Someone like you.”
“Thomasina,” her sister hissed, taking her arm and pulling her away. She whispered something in the girl called Thomasina’s ear, and then the two moved away, with the one who’d spoken looking meaningfully at Miss Rousseau.
“I’m not entirely certain what happened there,” he said. He felt as awkward as he had at the social gatherings he’d attended in Cincinnati in the months before he’d left. It was as if he had lost the ability to maneuver past the flirting of young ladies, and had become less patient with social niceties.
“I highly doubt that.” Miss Rousseau watched him with raised eyebrows and a questioning look.
He shook his head. She saw right through him. “You’re right. I know exactly what was happening, but I believe I’ve lost all ability to engage in such situations.”
“Hmm.” She looked right at him, as if trying to determine whether he spoke the truth.
“Dr. Gatewood!” An older woman with brown hair streaked with gray at the front came bustling toward him. And although she knew his name, Nick hadn’t the slightest idea who she was.
“I’m Mrs. Seffi Morgan,” she said, taking care of that issue without waiting for anyone else to introduce them.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, inclining his head.
“Miss Settles tells me you’ve volunteered to help us hang the decorations.” Mrs. Morgan didn’t wait for Nick to agree. Instead she handed him a wreath trimmed in red ribbon and pointed him toward a ladder. “We’d like to hang those evenly throughout the room. The pine boughs can be placed over the doors. Perhaps Miss Rousseau can help with handing them up to you.”
Nick didn’t miss the sneaky smile the woman gave Miss Rousseau. To her credit, Miss Rousseau blushed slightly, even as one of the sisters, who he presumed was Miss Settles, whispered to the other from behind Mrs. Morgan.
As soon as Mrs. Morgan had herded the sisters to another corner of the room to begin decorating a rather large pine tree, Nick looked to Miss Rousseau. “I believe we’ve received our assignments.”
“You don’t have to do this,” she said as she gathered two more wreaths in her arms. “I imagine you have duties to which you need to attend.”
“I’ve nothing that can’t wait,” he said cheerfully. In truth, getting to spend more time with Miss Rousseau was much more interesting than mailing off the letter he’d written his parents or even visiting JT again.
They worked companionably, Miss Rousseau handing him pine boughs and wreaths, and Nick hanging them from nails he drove very carefully into the walls of the beautiful ballroom. The Tivoli was truly a beautiful place. It rivaled anything they’d had in Cincinnati, with its soaring ceiling and electric lights.
And it was all the more beautiful with the woman standing just below him, shooting him a smile each time she handed him a wreath. They made quick work of the decorations, chatting about the dances he’d attended back home and the various ways she’d seen folks celebrate Christmas in towns all over.
“Do you know what I want most of all?” Miss Rousseau said as he helped her with her coat. “A Christmas tree.” Her eyes sparkled when she turned to look at him. “I helped Thomasina and Lillian decorate the one at Hearth and Home, and it was just as much fun as I thought it might be.”
Nick couldn’t help but grin at her simple wish. Some women might want a house full of servants or the latest fashions in their wardrobe, but all Miss Rousseau wanted was a tree for Christmas.
Outside, Creede bustled with the usual mix of men. Nick held tightly to Miss Rousseau’s arm, leading her safely around a group of men leering from the doors of the Frogs Knees Saloon. Once they’d stepped across the road onto the next block, he knew he needed to pose the question now, or else he might lose his chance.
“Miss Rousseau?”
“Willa,” she said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it. “Please,” she said, her cheeks going a faint pink that he might have mistaken for the cold. “You may call me Willa.”
