Chapter 25 #2
She’d give the man a half hour. If he still dilly-dallied, she’d call Charlie over to the porch to sit on the steps and snap beans.
“Wait here.” She gritted her teeth and headed inside.
She wouldn’t allow Arthur to rattle her.
He was a genius at disrupting her calm with pinpricks aimed at every potential wound she possessed.
How had she ever thought she should consider a life with him?
Gray clouds rolled overhead as she passed out the back door and down the hill to the springhouse to fetch the cider jug. Pin pricks of moisture dotted her skin. Arthur needed to finish his visit and be on his way before he had the excuse of rain to keep him here.
What were Ben’s future plans? Since his arrival, he’d stubbornly insisted he’d stay until she no longer needed his help.
But that was before the kiss two weeks ago and his words—you’re the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Surely, he knew the rest of their lives meant the Texas frontier.
My goodness, she was getting so far ahead of herself that she’d left the train station in the dust without the train. There was no guarantee Ben would propose. She pushed the thoughts aside as she ducked her head and entered the cool dark of the springhouse.
Upon her return to the porch, Arthur rose. “Thank you, Cora.” His gloved fingers brushed against her pinky as she handed him the glass. “None for yourself?”
“I’m not thirsty.” She smoothed her hands against her skirt. “I thought I’d—”
“Surely, you’ll grant me the pleasure of your company for a few minutes.” He motioned toward the second rocker. “For the sake of our friendship.”
Didn’t she have dusting to do? But what kind of hostess would she be if she ignored her guest? He’d traveled here based on her open invitation. He’d sat with her as her father died. She could at least be civil.
He settled into his chair once more, and she perched on the edge of the other rocker. Charlie glared across the yard, where he positioned himself and the mare at the very edge of the stable. Plumes of dust flew from Sandy’s hide as he worked the curry comb back and forth.
As Arthur sipped his cider, he talked about his patients in Dallas, then about the land his father had given him, north of Weatherford, land that had once belonged to his cousins, where he hoped to start his own ranch.
She drew her silk fan out of her pocket and waved it back and forth in front of her face as she listened and commented, now and then. If this conversation lasted much longer, her chemise would be plastered to her back with sweat.
Charlie tromped up to the end of the porch. “I’m finished.” Smudges of dirt marred his cheeks and his once-white shirt.
Arthur reached into his trouser pocket. “I’ll give you a dime if you feed and water my gelding.”
Charlie tipped his head to the side as if weighing the size of the dime. “I got work to do.”
Arthur laid the coin beside his hat on the table. “As soon as my horse is taken care of, I can be on my way.”
Charlie’s glance flickered between the money, the man, and Cora. “I’ll do it.” He huffed and headed for the roan.
She stared after him, half tempted to jump off the porch and go help.
Arthur leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure Mr. McKenzie is a fine fellow in many respects.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him.” Cora swatted a fly.
“It’s my duty as your physician and friend to advise you.” Arthur puffed out his chest.
“My decision to accept Mr. McKenzie’s courtship isn’t a medical issue.”
“If you end up with your dreams and heart crushed…like your mother’s…it’s every bit the concern of your doctor and true friend.”
Her eyebrows edged upward. True? “I’m not my mother. And Mr. McKenzie, despite a supposed similarity, is not my father.”
“So is that what he’s convinced you of?”
“He hasn’t convinced me of anything.” She stood. “Have you finished your cider yet?”
He held up his half-empty glass, the contents of which he seemed to be consuming at tortoise speed. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to deceive you. He’s likely deceiving himself.”
She jutted her hand to her hip. Couldn’t this man get out of her head? “I know it must be difficult for you to understand, Dr. LeBeau—”
“Arthur. We’re still friends, I presume.”
She had so few friends. But was this man really one? “I’ve determined to give Mr. McKenzie the opportunity to prove himself. I decided to show him grace.”
He studied her a moment and exhaled a sober sigh. “You’re willing to risk your security and happiness on McKenzie’s ability to abstain?”
Flashes of memory stole her breath. Her father with head down on the table, too drunk to sit up.
Or worse, sprawled on the floor passed out, or using their hound dog as a pillow.
Her stomach clenched. That was not Ben. She shoved the images aside.
“I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to go.
” She snatched his hat from the table and handed it to him. The dime toppled to the floor.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.” He cleared his throat and picked up the coin.
She pressed her nails into her palms. “It’s getting late. And I’m sure you want to get home before it storms.”
He stood. The upward twitch of his lips did little to soften the flint sparks in his eyes. “I’ll go see the boy at the stables and give him his money.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
He tapped his hat to his head. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Even if I’m in Dallas, send a note by the stage driver, and I’ll be at your service as soon as I can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” That day would never come.
He shifted toward the steps, then pivoted, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel. “I also plan to speak with Mr. Keely, the druggist.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“To ask him to let me know if Mr. McKenzie purchases any laudanum.”
“I have no intention of spying on Ben.” Her voice wobbled. “Besides, he…Mr. McKenzie…no longer has need of the medicine.”
Arthur hooked his thumb in his watch pocket. “Are you afraid of what we might find?”
“No.” She rubbed her arms. “I trust Ben.” She picked up the book and the tea and shoved them toward him. “Good day, Dr. LeBeau.”
She was done letting that man prick her heart. But what if he was right…and laudanum had not lost its grip on Ben?