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

“Well, no. O’ course not. Holy Moley, I went to the Gazette, and the place was as dark as pitch. Then over to Mrs. McKnight’s, but she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you.”

“Well. Yeah. Reckon so. Oh, thanks, Abby—you are one in a thousand!” He looked up to accept the steaming cup of strong black tea their hostess offered before slipping away again. Probably to greet other customers.

“And you were seeking me for what reason? To talk about who should run for sheriff.”

“Y’know, Hannah,” shifting position, he grinned, “Didja get your letter written?”

“My letter. Oh, yes. That. Written, signed, and sent, thank you for asking.”

“Ahuh. Good. Didja fill the poor guy in on all your little faults, so’s he’ll know what to expect?”

“No, I listed none. There’s no point scaring off a prospective groom before we can even get acquainted, is there? But I’m sure you’ll enlighten me—and him, should he ever, through God’s good grace, appear in Turnabout—as to the many flaws you see in my character.”

He sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and surveyed her with as much intensity as if she were some fine and rare oil painting put up for auction and he was planning to offer a bid. “Sure, I could do that. But another time, maybe. You will keep me posted as to what kinda reply you get, right? Like to find out first hand what this fellah is like.”

“By all means.” The acid in her tone might have etched silver. “I can think of no one with a better right.”

“Huh. Good to know.” Another grin, but not quite as breezy this time. He paused to drink half his tea in a few gulps before proceeding. “Been wantin’ to talk to you, Hannah. The rest of the town’ll find out soon enough, but I wanted you to be first to know. Well, second, I guess, after my informin’ Letty. I’m leavin’ tomorrow.”

The cup in her hand suddenly clinked loudly against its saucer. “You’re what?”

“Yep. Booked a seat on the early stage out in the mornin’.” With his hat flung down somewhere, his hair stood upright and disheveled around both ears, like that of some lusty, full-sized leprechaun just aiming to make mischief.

“But this—you—have you even—”

“Ha.” He cocked his head slightly to one side, eyes bright and gleaming as those of a busy parrot. “Do I detect the least bit of surprise in your voice? Chagrin? Regret?”

“Regret? For what?” she asked. “For the patients you’re leaving in the lurch?”

“Because you’re going to miss me terribly. You’ll see.”

“Yes, I will. I don’t want you to leave. Who am I going to argue with? My life will be boring.”

“Are you saying I brighten your day?”

“You make it more interesting, that’s for sure.”

“I knew it.”

“What?”

“You’re crazy about me.”

“You drive me crazy,” she said.

“I ain’t buying it.”

She laughed. “You are very full of yourself.”

“No, not at all. Just confident. Because I feel a spark between us.”

The thought of him leaving made her stomach flutter. She didn’t want to lose him. And he was the best doctor around. But he was right. There was a spark between them. She could feel it deep down inside her.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said, more desperately than she wanted to sound. “We need you here.”

“I’m not leaving permanently. Turnabout is currently livin’ through a period of medical history—nobody sick, ailin’, or about to expire. B’sides, I’ve given a heads’-up to Letitia. She ain’t near ready to take on full-fledged doctorin’, o’ course, but she’s got the basics down. She can handle anything minor that comes along.”

She started working herself up into fine feather, plucking words out of the air and throwing them together like the most proficient circus juggling act. “Please don’t leave us. You really have a nerve, to simply prance off in such—”