Mail Order Bride: Fall (Bride For All Seasons 3)

“You plannin’ to be the one settin’ her up in that business, Mr. Barclay?” said the doctor in a cool tone, as he rounded the corner of the house to join them.

Immediately Reese hauled himself upright to his considerable height and reached out for a handshake. “H’lo, Doc. Takin’ some time off, are you?”

“Hard to take care of sick people when there ain’t no sick people about,” he grumped. “Is this a private party, or can anybody pull up a chair?”

“We have no extra chair, I’m afraid,” Molly explained prettily, “but there is a bench you may use. And, yes, by all means, pull it up.”

“Whatdya got here, cookies?” Gabriel, taking Molly at her word, asked with interest as he looked over the table. “Oh, my, I am a fan of cookies. Uh—anything more substantial lurkin’ about?”

Letitia, for the whom the sun had begun to shine brightly once again, and all was fair and right in the world with Reese’s return, laughed. “Has anyone ever called you incorrigible, Doctor?”

“Why, yes, they have, on a number of occasions. And not in a very flatterin’ way, neither. More shame on ’em.” His heavy brows lowered, he aimed the words directly at his assistant, who merely smiled and lifted one shoulder in surrender. “So, are you?”

“Is who, what?”

“Does Mr. Barclay here plan on settin’ Miss Burton up in business?”

Caught unaware, Reese spread both hands wide in a “Huh?” gesture. “Dunno what my plans are, goin’ forward.” Then, carrying the skirmish into what seemed an unfriendly camp, he suggested that the doctor himself might be willing to talk feasibility and practicality when it came to helping an enterprising entrepreneur get started.

“Huh.” He took a cookie while, carefully avoiding Hannah’s disdainful glance, he considered the proposition. “Maybe.”

“At any rate, it’s barely noon,” she pointed out. “We hadn’t even begun to consider preparing dinner yet. Besides, you surely are aware that Ben and Camellia are still away. Are we supposed to make free of their kitchen and supplies during their absence?”

Gabriel leaned forward to tick off an answer on each finger. “One: the time of day doesn’t have a blessed thing to do with the state of your stomach, if you haven’t eaten since last night.”

“If you have no sick people to care for, why haven’t you—”

“Two:” he swept on past her objection, a trifle testy, “of course I’m aware that Ben and Camellia are away; you figure me to be some lickspittle moron?”

“Truthfully, I didn’t figure you to be an average kind of moron, let alone a—”

“And, three: I assumed you’d prob’ly been makin’ free of their kitchen and supplies all along, since you’re watchin’ the place for ’em while they’re gone.”

The others had sat quietly in place, watching with some amusement this volley back and forth between the two combatants, as if it were a tennis match. Finally, since a ball had finally been lobbed into the far court, and left there, it seemed that hostilities had settled for the moment.

“Heard anything about anyone lookin’ to hire, roundabouts?” Reese put in, for a change of subject.

“Not much. We seem to have almost a full work force in town.” The doctor chewed contemplatively on another cookie and washed it down with lukewarm tea. “But I’ll keep an ear out.”

For a few minutes they discussed Turnabout’s mild sense of economic prosperity, and the types of businesses currently flourishing. Bath house, bakery, and hotel doing well; a newly opened insurance office, not so much. Likewise Norton’s Livery continued on its upward path, as did the gunsmith shop, several saloons, and the laundry, set up by a stout, staunch enterprising lady who had emigrated from some European country. But a flower shop, aptly named “Blooms” showed signs of malaise, and was, unfortunately, expected to go belly-up soon.

At this point, Gabriel had had enough. Grandly pulling out a pocket watch to consult, he showed the current hour to everyone around the table. “All right, lookahere. Past noon, and I’m plainly starvin’ to death, and no one seems to care. Ain’t one of you fine ladies gonna take pity on a dyin’ man?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” sniffed Hannah, pushing back her chair into the green sod before either male could make a move to assist. “Some men are worse than toddlers, I do declare. Come along, then, through the back door, and we’ll see what we can scrape together in Camellia’s kitchen.”

“Now that is right Christian of you, Miss Burton. I surely do appreciate your—”

“And kindly stop dawdling,” Hannah, already swishing her skirts upon the porch steps, adjured irritably.

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, indeed, ma’am.” Gabe stood, looked around at the others once more mere spectators to a scene from which they had been excluded, and struck a pose. “Ours is not to reason why,” he declaimed resplendently. “Ours is but to do and die.”

“Gabriel!”

“Ahuh. Comin’!” He paused long enough for a wink. “Just think how badly I’d be treated if the lady didn’t at least tolerate me!” And hastened away, leaving behind him a spurt of laughter.

Once inside the cool, muted room, where Hannah, apron in place, was already bustling from pantry to cupboard and back again, the doctor stopped in the doorway. “And just why in tarnation am I here?”

“Because,” she told him succinctly, “for once in your life you can help prepare a meal you always manage to cadge from us.”