Mail Order Bride: Winter (Bride For All Seasons 4)

“Me?”

Color rose in a wash from sturdy neck to clean-shaven cheeks. “Well, yeah, I figured you would be. But I wanted to thank you for comin’ to the funeral a couple days ago.”

Hannah knew an instant flash of shame. And, just like that, she heard Abigail’s knowing voice in her head, sing-songing a repetition of Thursday night’s conversation. She had said that most males prefer the company of someone playful and malleable (had she really used that word?), and a promise to scoop up the doctor as if he were a chunk of horehound candy just waiting to be sucked dry.

Her head was spinning with facts and alternatives.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to treat the doctor just a tad more nicely. They had their disagreements in the past, but she needed to be supportive. Especially now, when he was so obviously grieving a double loss.

“Oh. Well. Uh. That’s all right, Gabe, no thanks are necessary. I was only doing my—”

“If you tell me again that you’re just a kind-hearted woman, doin’ your duty,” he interrupted on a sudden burst of temper, “I’ll explode.”

Out of nowhere, from somewhere in her middle, a muffled spurt of laughter bubbled up, surprising both. Immediately Hannah clapped both hands over her mouth, attempting to stifle her amusement. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I know you didn’t mean that to be humorous. But it was—”

“Humorous. Ahuh.” He managed a reluctant grin.

Hannah straightened to resume her serious, practical face. “At any rate, I had planned on attending the funeral, Gabe. I don’t know the family, but with such a tragedy it seemed only right to pay my respects.”

“I was glad to see so many people took time to show up for the service. There just ain’t never anything right about losin’ anyone so young, let alone her baby.” Restless, he turned away again to prowl the shop, investigating this, peering into that, picking up and putting down. “Sometimes, life isn’t fair.”

“For most of us. What now?”

“As far as me, y’ mean? Well, I wouldn’t mind snatchin’ a bite to eat, myself. You wanna come along? I hear the Drinkwater sets a pretty good table.”

“No debates?”

“None, whatsoever.”

“I think you like baiting me.”

“We have different views on different topics, and that’s okay. I would still love to get a bite to each with you.”

The Drinkwater? Pretty posh surroundings, as measured against other chophouses in this town. Expensive, too. In a way, she regretted having to decline the invitation.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Gabe, I can’t leave. Mr. Crane won’t return before two, so I’m minding the shop.” Although she wanted to ask about the propriety of such a request, and the possibility of his asking Abigail instead, the words just wouldn’t come easily.

N

o matter, though. As if he were reading her mind, he muttered something about how disheartening it was that all his fine dining partners were working women, and too busy to partake of his company. Deflated, Hannah picked up her pencil and began to make busy motions.

“I’m sorry. But I really need this job. And you know how much I love it. How about another time?”

“Well, then, reckon I’ll wander on over to the mercantile and see if I can persuade Ben to come eat with me. Drat and double drat all these fellers just gotten hitched, anyhow. No time a’tall for an ole bachelor like me; too busy with their wives. You sure you can’t just lock the door here and leave, Hannah?” he finished up hopefully.

“Yes, I’m sure. No, I can’t.”

With a sigh, the doctor started for the door. “So be it. Another day, maybe. Oh. I almost forgot.”

Pausing, he slipped one hand into an inside pocket of his suit coat—a new suit, Hannah now realized, freshly steamed and pressed. He looked so put together, so handsome. She tried not to stare at him.

Smiling, he reached across the disordered desk to extend a small rectangular package, wrapped in tissue, embellished with pink ribbon and bow.

Her eyes widened. “For me?”

“Yeah, of course for you,” he grinned with perfect white teeth.

Gabriel gave a heartfelt groan and shoved taut fingers through his hair, further disheveling the curls that never obeyed a comb or brush, anyway. “I was just tryin’ to make amends for my boorish behavior on Thanksgivin’ night. I felt bad for telling you to go away. I never treat company in that way.”