you have a deal.”
She had a point about the town’s need. Dr. Dempsey’s passing left him with a bad choice—a woman doctor or no doctor at all. For a few weeks, he’d have to tolerate her. “Fine, Dr. Mitchell. Ten dollars a week, it is.”
“Then it’s settled.” She came forward with her hand outstretched to shake on the deal. Again she met his gaze, demanding his respect and daring him to deny it.
Looking down at the beige glove, he saw the lace covering her fingers and the silky ribbon tied at her wrist. This wasn’t a man-to-man agreement. If he shook her hand, he’d notice the shape of her fingers, the warmth of her palm inside the lace. He didn’t want to touch her, but she’d win if he didn’t accept the gesture.
Annoyed, he gripped her fingers, but didn’t squeeze the way he would have shaken a man’s hand. Her bones felt too delicate for a show of strength. Neither could he ignore the scent of lavender.
Dr. Mitchell had no qualms about squeezing his hand. Those delicate bones had been deceptive. The woman had an iron grip.
She smiled at him. “You won’t be sorry, Mr. Garrison.”
He already was, but he kept the thought to himself.
Her eyes sparked with determination. “It won’t be easy. I’m well aware of the prejudice I’ll encounter.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.” Her gaze hardened into blue glass. “You’re not the first man to ruffle my skirts.”
He couldn’t stop himself from looking her up and down. Pretty. Proud. And as stubborn as winter. He’d heard enough of her smart talk. “Let me be frank, Dr. Mitchell. I wouldn’t hire you if I had a choice. In the past year, four men interviewed for the position. Not one of them worked out.”
She raised one brow. “Let me guess. Patent medicines for sale?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t appreciate her tone.
“Did anyone bring leeches?”
He shuddered.
“I’m not surprised.” Her voice leveled into friendly banter. “Medicine is changing fast. Twenty years from now, my skills will be considered primitive, but right now I’m among the most highly trained physicians in America.”
“You’re also female.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Maybe to you. Not to me.” He put his hands on his hips and stared hard.
The lady doctor stared back, reminding him of the woman in the duster. She’d been all female when she’d smiled a greeting, and he’d liked what he’d seen. He liked her now, too. If it wasn’t for her medical degree, he’d have invited her to supper, maybe taken her on a buggy ride along the river.
She tipped her head to the side. “Tell me, Mr. Garrison. What worries you the most about hiring a female physician?”
“Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“All right.” He thought for a second. “Women are tender-hearted. If a man gets his hand cut off at the mill, you’ll faint.”
“No, I won’t,” she said with a casual wave. “I’ve performed autopsies. They’re gruesome but necessary.”
Zeb’s stomach recoiled. He took another approach. “You’re from back East, a big city with streets and shops. Life is harsh in High Plains. I don’t think you can handle it.”
“I did fine with the Crandalls.”
He snorted. “It didn’t even rain. What about winter? A blizzard can last a week. The snow’s so deep—”
“I’m from New York,” she said impatiently. “I know what snow looks like.”
She had no cause to be irritated. He was trying to warn her, to prepare her for hardships unique to Kansas. “Then tell me, Dr. Mitchell. Have you ever seen a tornado?”
Memories came at him in a roar. Knowing she’d see the upset in his eyes, he strode to the broken window and looked at the sky. He relived the wind buffeting the mill, and hail beating on the roof. He recalled running to town and seeing the wreckage. He’d almost died that day. Others had died. He pictured the missing children and felt wretched. He thought of Bess Carter all tongue-tied from what she’d seen.
He heard footsteps on the floor, the swish of skirts. An instant later, Dr. Mitchell laid a gentle hand on his bicep. The touch took his breath as the tornado had done. His muscles clenched beneath her long fingers. Whether from anger or awareness, he couldn’t say.
She spoke in a hush. “I want you to know, Mr. Garrison, I’m sorry for what you’ve lost. The Crandalls told me about Mikey and Missy. They showed me the spot and we prayed—”
“A waste of time.”
“I disagree.” She lowered her hand, but her words hung between them. “God brought me here to serve this town. You can growl all you want—”
“I don’t growl.”
“Fine,” she argued with a smile. “You can grumble, then. But there’s nothing you can do to chase me back to New York.”
“Is that a dare, Miss—” He cocked one brow. “I mean, Dr. Mitchell?”
“No,” she said. “It’s a fact. I’ve been tested by male arrogance every day for three years. Compared to some of the men I’ve dealt with, you’ve been a tea party.”
Zeb had been called a lot of names in his life, but tea party wasn’t one of them. He didn’t care for the comparison, either. He’d been harsh because he wanted her to leave. “Life here isn’t a party, Doc. If Dr. Dempsey hadn’t passed on, you’d be leaving with the Crandalls.”
“But I’m not, am I?”
“You should be.” His voice rose with irritation. “You tricked me by using your initial instead of your real name.”
“You tricked yourself,” she said mildly. “You jumped to a conclusion.”
“A logical one.”
“A biased one,” she countered.
“You knew I’d think you were male.”
“You’re right.” She wrinkled her nose like a little girl. “I apologize.”
She looked downright cute. Zeb wanted to kiss her. The thought made him crazy. What was he thinking? She was an uppity know-it-all woman like Frannie. She had too much education and too much ambition. The next woman he kissed would be his future wife, either Winnie or Abigail, whichever one annoyed him the least. Dr. Mitchell annoyed him the most. “You’re hired for one month. Make it work or get out.”
“I’ll make it work.” She meant it. He heard the fight in her voice.
Zeb headed for the door. He couldn’t get back to the mill quick enough.
“Mr. Garrison!”
He stopped and faced her. “What is it?”
She looked into his eyes, staring hard as if she expected him to read her thoughts. Oddly, he could. She’d traveled a thousand miles and had arrived to a disaster. He hadn’t offered her a meal, even a cup of water. He’d been a jerk and they both knew it.
She spoke in a gentle tone that shamed him more than sarcasm. “Tell me, Mr. Garrison. Are you always this mean?”
“You bet I am.” Determined to have the last word, he walked out the door, leaving Dr. Mitchell adrift in the sea of broken glass.
Chapter Four
Nora hugged her waist and