couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look at them. His thoughtfulness in choosing to go after the intimate items first surprised her. She’d half expected him to hold up her undergarments and let loose with a derisive laugh the way her scoundrel of a brother would have, but the stranger had behaved like a true gentleman.
The puzzling man set her carpetbag at his feet and folded her spare cotton work dress, treating the worn black bombazine with the care one would give a fine silk.
Becky realized she was staring, shook herself and immediately regretted it. Due to the man’s firm hold moments before, her injured ribs were screaming in protest. Even so, she had to get her books before another wagon passed by.
With halting steps, she covered the few feet to where one of them lay. She wrapped an arm around her belly and, as carefully as possible, squatted and picked up her well-worn Bible. She rose and found herself facing her self-appointed helper. Seen from his uninjured left side, he wasn’t frightening at all. Quite the contrary. He wasn’t merely handsome. He was downright striking. With his wavy caramel-colored hair, perfectly formed nose and strong jaw, he could be a model for the drawings in one of those fashion magazines Callie favored.
What captivated Becky were his expressive eyes, which held a mixture of concern and something else. Pity, no doubt. She was plain on her best days. With the sickly looking bruises, she was downright pathetic.
He set her bag at her feet, dusted off her dictionary and handed it to her. “Here you go, miss.”
She took her treasured book—the first thing she’d grabbed before making her escape—and hugged the dilapidated volume to her. If anything had happened to it, Becky would have wept then and there. She could get a new Bible, but she could never replace her mother’s dictionary. “Thank you, sir.”
“You shouldn’t go chasing after a mongrel like that. You put yourself in danger.”
Although he’d chided her, the warmth now lighting his captivating eyes eased the sting.
“Good day.” He tipped his hat and returned to the older woman waiting for him on the walkway.
The dog. Becky had forgotten about him.
Callie rushed up to her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I think.” She stared at the back of the man who’d come to her aid. “Did you see what happened?”
“Oh, yes. It was quite romantic, the way he raced across the street to save you. And then he collected your things in an impressive show of chivalry.”
Romantic wasn’t the word she’d choose. Embarrassing, perhaps. Even a little scary, albeit deliciously so. Her roguish-looking rescuer evidently had a softer side. “Not that. What happened to the dog?”
Callie shook her head and smiled. “You’re such a caring person, Becky. You would risk your life for a mutt.”
Mongrel. Mutt. The words rankled. Every creature was special, even the lowliest of them. “I don’t like seeing an animal get hurt.”
“Well, you can relax. The dog dodged the wagon wheels and ran off unharmed.”
Callie took Becky’s arm and led her to the wooden walkway where Jessie waited, her forehead creased with concern. “Are you all right? I saw you wince, and you’re moving slowly.”
“I’ll be fine.” She would be, once she figured out how to overcome any objections Mr. O’Brien might have—and what to do if he proved to be impossible to work for.
* * *
Dr. Wright perched on the corner of the large desk in his private office, his left leg swinging like a pendulum. The steady swipe of his heel brushing the oak panel as he stared into space made James O’Brien want to cry out in protest. In his experience, when a doctor took his time searching for the right words, the news wasn’t good. “Just tell me. How bad is it?”
The compassion in the young doctor’s eyes when he focused on James gave him his answer. “My examination today confirmed the suspicions I had when you were in last week.”
“So it’s spread. Is there nothing that can be done to stop it?”
Dr. Wright ceased his motion. “I’m sorry, James. Cancer’s an ugly disease, but we’ll do everything we can to make your mother as comfortable as possible. Thankfully, we have morphine these days.”
“How long—” James’s voice cracked. “How long does she have?”
“I can’t say for sure. My best estimate is six months, more or less.”
“I see.” If Mutti put up a good fight, she might be around for another harvest. He couldn’t imagine one without her. She enjoyed preparing the meals for the extra workers they hired every September. Not that she’d be up to cooking this year, even if she hung on that long. He’d have to find someone else to feed the hired hands.
The thought of another woman in Mutti’s kitchen jerked James back to the present. “I’ve done some thinking since that visit, and I’ve changed my mind.”
Dr. Wright quirked an eyebrow. “About?”
“About your idea of finding a young woman from the East to care for Mutti. I know I gave you the funds for the ticket, but I’ve decided to find a nurse myself and reduce my cash outlay. Since you couldn’t think of anyone available around here, I’m going to expand my search. I’ll go to San Francisco, if necessary.”
Kate wouldn’t leave her comfortable life in the famed city. Not that he could blame her, since she had a young daughter. But his sister, with her many society connections, might know about a matronly woman with nursing experience. An elderly widow would do nicely. He wanted nothing to do with having a young unmarried woman living in his house.
The doctor’s forehead furrowed. “I understand your hesitation, but when you left my office last week I was certain you’d given me consent to seek someone for you.”
“I did, but that’s only because I was taken by surprise when you told me how rapidly the disease is progressing. When Mutti brightened at your offer to locate a young lady to help her, I couldn’t say no. But I’ve realized how hasty I was and have come up with a more prudent plan.”
James gave a single nod, firm and forceful. He’d put a stop to things, and now he could proceed with his plan to locate a nurse himself.
Dr. Wright stood, leaned against a tall bookcase filled with medical books and raked a hand through his hair. “It seems we have a problem.”
His serious tone didn’t bode well. “What do you mean?”
“As a physician, I’m used to taking immediate action. Before you’d even reached Diamond Springs that day, I’d stopped in at the Wells Fargo office. I sent a telegram to the minister of my church back in Chicago, asking if he knew of a young woman willing to come West and received a reply within the hour. A positive one. I’ve been looking forward to surprising you with the good news. I knew you could use some.”
Apprehension swirled in James’s gut. He would do anything for Mutti, but he couldn’t allow a young lady to live in his home. No good could come of such an arrangement. Not that she’d even agree to stay if she did come. She’d probably take one look at him and change her mind. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
After the accident, he’d come to his senses. He’d planned to ask for Sophie Wannamaker’s hand, but he’d realized that a lowly man like him didn’t deserve a woman of society like her.
He could still hear the shouts of those asking who’d tumbled down the snow-covered bank following the explosion—along with the clipped response. That Irishman, O’Brien.
No one had mentioned the fact that he was an engineer. He was just seen as another immigrant, even though he’d been born in the States and spoke with no hint of the musical lilt his dearly departed father had.
While