Tate's smile grew. Then he looked down at her hand. "Nothing broken."
He stared so long, she wondered what he was thinking. "Doc?"
Max groaned behind them, and Tate let go of her hand to move to his side. "I think Max could use some new ice. Lalita could you—"
He stopped abruptly mid-sentence as Lalita gave him a pinch on the butt as she headed for the kitchen. "I'm on it, Doc."
Chapter 12
Tate should have been dragging the next day, but for some reason he had a spring in his step. He attributed it to a cooler morning, even though his mind kept returning to the middle of the night with Lita's hand in his and her lips pressing so lightly to his skin. He shook his head as he climbed into his buggy, trying to dislodge the memories, but they refused to give up their purchase. It's been over a year since Augusta died. You're just feeling…
The problem was, Tate didn't know what he was feeling. He had no right to feel anything at all toward the confusing female under his roof and in his care, even though he knew he had very nearly kissed her hand. He tried to deny it, but her sweet kiss had buoyed his spirit through his early morning calls, despite his inner admonitions.
As Maisy trotted briskly toward home, he wondered that he could be attracted to someone else so out of touch with societal standards. Someone who seemed as if she came from a far off country. Wasn't once enough for you?
He had to concede that Lalita was more complicated than that. She wasn't socially reserved as his late wife had been. On the contrary, she had an out-going, exuberant nature that charged forward rather than hang back. And her assistance with Mrs. Pilson had shown him that she was tougher and had more endurance than most women.
He chuckled, however, recalling her near-fainting expression in the buggy the next day. It wasn't the blood of childbirth that nearly took her down for the count but the corset. His hands tingled, reliving their slide up her back to loosen the ties. Though she seemed to be a somewhat unconventional woman, she was obviously a woman.
He slipped one of the portrait prints he'd picked up from the photographer out of his breast pocket and looked at it again. His gaze traveled up her figure to her lovely face, her Indian heritage giving her just a touch of an exotic look. He found her beautiful, but he knew others would not. Some would only see a race of people they hate whether from personal loss or the fear stirred up by newspapers, dime novels, and wild west shows. He knew all too well about the fear that caused ordinary good people to do the unthinkable.
His eyes drifted to his hand on her shoulder, and he felt so many things at once, he couldn't begin to sort it all out. He stuck it back in his pocket. I must warn her not to show it to anyone.
As he approached his home, he saw the Dickson wagon parked out front. Pulling into the carriage house, he left Maisy and the buggy in Harold's hands and strode to his back door. He was met by Seth Dickson coming out. "Doc, Max seems improved." He stuck out his hand, and Tate shook it. "Thank you."
"Yes, the swelling reduced somewhat overnight, and he seems more himself." He continued toward the house with Seth by his side. "I had a few calls to make this morning, but I left him in the capable hands of Mrs. Kettler and—"
"And the prettiest little squaw I've ever seen." The man was grinning. "I was wondering if you got yourself a new woman, but Max says she's just your new nurse. If I were a younger man…"
Tate stopped before reaching the back steps. There were so many things wrong in that sentence, Tate hardly knew where to begin. He lowered his voice and started at the beginning. "Mr. Dickson, the term 'squaw' is not welcome in my house."
Dickson looked offended, but Tate pressed on, a mix of emotions wringing anger out of him faster than it should. "Second, Miss Torres isn't just a woman, she's a lady, and as such, should be treated as one." He remembered the pinch he'd received on his posterior by her hand, but he had explained the inappropriateness of that at the time—never mind her non-repentant grin.
"And third, while she has been an able and willing assistant the last few days, she is, herself, still my patient."
Dickson's expression transformed into surprised recognition. "Is she the one they brought down off the mountain? Martin Hill said by the time they brought her to you, she was as soaked as a drowned rat."
Tate sighed. The grapevine of a small town… "She was."
Dickson smiled again. "She don't look like a drowned rat now. She's mighty—" The back door opened, and Lalita appeared with a water bucket in hand.
"Mighty helpful," Tate threw in, taking the bucket full of water from her hand.
She smiled. "Why thanks, Doc. I gave Max a bit of a sponge bath." She gave a nod. "Good day, Mr. Dickson."
She turned and closed the door behind her as Tate moved to pour the water on a rosebush. When he turned back, Dickson was still staring at the door. "Mr. Dickson," he said, setting the bucket on the steps, "please do remember that you are not a younger man."
***
Lalita paced the parlor, waiting for Tate to finish up his conversation with Mr. Dickson. She thought Max was a sweet young man, but his father gave her the creeps.
Just seeing Tate had sent butterflies winging through her belly. She had relived his hand holding hers so many times she had lost count. She was sure if Max hadn't woke up, Tate would have kissed her the same way she had kissed him. Her mind had been a torrent of activity since waking, wondering if he'd be open to at least visit the modern world outside Manitou Springs. Maybe once he sees all the medical advances, he'll realize how silly it is to not take advantage of them.
She knew she was getting ahead of herself— He just held my hand, for Pete's sake —but she couldn't help hoping that he wanted to kiss her the way she wanted to kiss him.
When he finally came into the house, she heard him discussing something with Mrs. Kettler in the kitchen. Rats! Mrs. K.! He'll never be real with me as long as she's here. She sat on the upholstered tapestry settee, nervously chewing a nail.
Nellie stopped, looking puzzled. "What?"
"I don't know, but I'm seriously having video game withdrawal. It has to be something good. Come up here, and let's brainstorm." She patted the spot beside her.
Nellie approached the settee but didn't climb up next to her. "Mrs. Kettler says I'm not allowed on the good furniture, and I don't know how to brainstorm." She put a hand to her head. "Does it hurt?"
Lalita laughed. "Well, not usually!" She pulled her up beside her. "Let me take care of Mrs. K. Now, all brainstorming means is to throw out ideas, no matter how silly or impossible they sound. For instance, my idea is bicycling."
"Papa has a bicycle, I think, but he hasn't ridden it for a long time."
Lalita's eyes popped wide. "So that's a possibility then."
Nellie's lips quirked to the side. "I never saw Mama riding. There may not be any dresses that are split."
Lalita mulled that over, really wanting to get out and get some exercise, but knowing that she could never ride in what she currently had on without hiking it up above her knees. Then she remembered something. "Nellie, didn't I see a sewing machine in your mama's room?"
Nellie's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
Tate entered the room, and Lalita put a finger to her lips.
He stopped, smiling down at them with his fists on his hips. "So what are you two up to?"
His eyes lingered on Lalita's, and she felt that flutter again, sure that she was turning red.
Nellie jumped up and stood on his feet, taking hold of his wrists. "Papa, Lalita and I have been brain… twisting."
Lalita laughed at Tate's bewildered expression. "Not braintwisting. Brainstorming."
His puzzlement only deepened.
"You know, throwing around a lot of suggestions, no matter how nonsensical, to break through old, overused ideas into something fresh."
"Brainsto
rming." He chuckled, taking Nellie's hands as she leaned back as far as she could. "Where do you come up with these things?"
"She probably brainstorms them, Papa!"
Tate laughed again, and Lalita couldn't help seeing the fun right before her. She stood up. "Nellie, do a little brainstorming right now. What could you do starting right where you're at on your papa's shoes and holding his hands that would be fun."
"We could dance," Nellie proclaimed, looking back at Lalita over her shoulder.
"Have you done that before?"
"Lots of times."
Lalita made a sound like a buzzer. "Wrong answer. Think again."
Nellie closed her eyes tight. "Papa could pull me up into the air and catch me."
"Has he done that before?"
Nellie stood still a moment before she opened her eyes and frowned. "Yes."
Lalita made the buzzer sound again. "Keep thinking."
Tate was fascinated with this concept of "brainstorming" and reluctantly amazed that another of Lalita's odd phrases had actually turned out to be more than mere nonsense. He looked down at Nellie's determined face, wondering how long he'd have to stand there, when to his surprise, she walked up his legs and flipped, releasing his hands as she did so.
Mrs. Kettler gave a gasp in the doorway.
Nellie jumped up and down. "I did it! That was new, wasn't it, Papa!"
Tate smiled down at her. "It certainly was, Miss Nell, but—"
She bounced over to Lalita. "Did you see me?"
Lalita grinned. "I sure did! That was awesome!"
Mrs. Kettler harrumphed from her side of the room. "Hardly ladylike behavior, Nellie. I'm sure your papa would agree that you are not to do that again. Little girls need to keep their feet—"
"Little girls need something more fun to do than pick-up-sticks. She's only five." Lalita stepped toward her. "She'll have lots and lots of years to be stuffed into the confines of your society. For heaven's sake, let her have some fun while she can."
Mrs. Kettler looked to Tate, her chin lifted in expectation. Lalita gave him a look that was much the same, and he realized that both women were expecting him to join their position. He licked his lips. He hadn't really decided how he felt about it himself yet. His initial reaction was to side with Mrs. Kettler, who had a narrow and strict set of rules for lady-like behavior, but he knew those same rules had vexed his late wife to the point of despondency.
He looked down to his daughter's shining eyes. "Miss Nell, I think your new idea was a marvel to behold," —he glanced up to see Lalita's satisified smile— "however, we can only do it right here when it's just you and me and Miss Torres. Showing your bloomers would not be suitable for company." He shot a look at Mrs. Kettler, who nodded curtly and turned to leave the room.
"Breakfast is ready, Dr. Cavanaugh," she threw back over her shoulder.
He smiled at Lalita. "After you."
She gave him a lop-sided smirk as she moved ahead of him toward the door. "You know," she said looking back over her shoulder, "you missed your calling. You should have been a diplomat."
He pulled Nellie along toward the dining room with a thin smile, knowing that any diplomacy skills he might now employ had been forged in the fires of grief and self castigation.
***
Tate was in a quandary. This being Sunday, he would normally take Nellie to church, but he had two patients in the house of different genders, both single. Propriety would state that they should not be alone in the same house, despite the fact that one of them was immobile.
Lalita, however, had recovered much of her memory, so perhaps she was moving out of the patient category, but that created other problems. If she was no longer a patient then he shouldn't be alone with her either. He leaned back in his desk chair in the study. But where else would she go?
Mrs. Kettler had offered her services as chaperone, but Tate couldn't stand the idea of having her hanging about all evening and all night as well. He locked his hands behind his head. We don't need a chaperone. He remembered how close he had come to kissing her hand and blew out an ill-tempered breath as his forearms came to his desk.
His thoughts were interrupted by Lalita's appearance at the door. "Doc, Mrs. Kettler just asked me if I'd like to accompany her family to church, but… I'd rather go with you and Nellie. If you're going, that is."
Tate couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face at the suggestion that she would prefer his company. He rose, stumbling over his words. "I was just wondering… well, there's the issue of Max, you see, and I couldn't figure out—"
"I'd be glad to stay with him while you go," she volunteered.
He came around the desk. "There are certain difficulties with that. I should probably stay here."
The disappointment on her face warmed him more than it should.
She had just turned to leave his study, however, when there were unexpected voices in the house. He passed Lalita in the dining room and moved on into the front hall to find Mrs. Kettler admitting William Dickson.
Tate walked down the hall and threw out his hand to Max's older brother. "William, how goes the saddle business?"
"Pretty busy, I guess."
"Did you come to see Max?"
"Pa thought I should come sit with him this morning so you all could go to church."
William looked a bit nervously past Tate's shoulder, and Tate glanced behind him to see Lalita there. He smiled. Do they all have eyes for her? "Thank you, William, I'd appreciate that very much. Max is feeling better, so you two can sing a few hymns before you pull out the checkerboard."
William let out a smirk as Tate threw an arm around his shoulder and opened the door to the exam room.
***
Lalita inhaled the fresh mountain air, glad that she was riding to church with Tate and Nellie instead of Mrs. Kettler and her family. "What church do you go to?"
"There's not much choice yet. We go to the Congregational Church."
"What's it like? Are there very many people?"
Tate laughed. "It's not big enough to hold very many people."
As she gazed at the mountains, church bells rang out through the valley, and Lalita was entranced. "Oh, Tate, it's beautiful!"
Tate drove toward the bells and soon stopped in front of a small stone structure. The double doors were topped by a pointed arch window, and three tall slim windows featured stained glass to their right. It was a historian's dream.
Tate lifted Nellie out of the buggy, then offered his hand to Lalita. She felt a tingle as he touched her, but when she looked to his face, he looked all too serious. She stepped down. "What's the matter?"
"You don't have gloves. I completely forgot."
"Gloves? Surely not in July!" She looked around at the ladies walking toward the church and saw that Tate was right. Every woman had gloves on.
She looked to Tate anxiously as they moved forward. "Will they still let me in?"
His expression was still stern, and he lowered his voice as they approached the steps. "If they don't, the Reverend and I will be having words."
For the sake of clothes that fit her better, she had opted to wear the corset again, but as soon as she walked into the stuffy building, she regretted it. She adjusted the blue straw hat with its own bouquet of flowers that matched her skirt and shirtwaist, hoping someone would crack a window.
Tate walked them quickly to a pew on the right side and stood as she and Nellie slid in first. She knew that everyone in this tiny congregation was well acquainted with Tate, and she knew they'd be dying of curiosity about the woman sitting on the other side of his daughter in his wife's old clothes. She hoped that no one actually remembered his wife's old clothes. With that thought she was immediately aghast and wondered what had possessed her to leave the house. She looked Tate's direction, but he was looking to the front where a large pipe organ was playing.
"Good to see you again, Miss Torres."
Lalita jumped with the whisper that was so close to her
ear, she felt the heat of it. Turning, she saw Seth Dickson sit back in his seat with a wink. She almost didn't recognize him with his hair slicked down and dressed in his Sunday best, but those piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. Lalita blinked and turned back, glancing again at Tate, who was oblivious to Mr. Dickson's attentions.
After stumbling through several hymns she didn't recognize, the song leader bid them sing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," and she sang out loud and clear, giving Tate a smile when he looked her way.
The sermon, delivered by a dark-haired minister as clean-shaven as Tate, was dry as the Sahara, and with the heat, she started to get drowsy. The corset wouldn't let her slump, but her eyes started to drift closed. All at once she felt a poke to her elbow, and she startled awake just in time to hear "Amen."
She looked out of the corner of her eye to see Tate's arm draped around Nellie, who was leaning against him.
Feigning an itch on her arm, she kept her hand there, just a hair away from his. Like a magnet, his fingers brushed hers before he pulled his hand back and set it to the task of flipping through the hymnal for the final song. She smiled.
Four long verses later, the threesome was moving to the back of the church. The minister had made a hasty departure down the aisle and out, and Lalita guessed that he was probably as eager for some fresh air as the rest of them. Lalita couldn't wait to get out in the breeze, but just as they were about to reach the doors, she felt a hand on her arm pulling her to the side.
Pulled off balance she stumbled sideways, watching Tate and Nellie heading out without her. She looked to the one who waylaid her, already suspecting whose hand was still wrapped around her arm. Seth Dickson grinned down at her, his blue eyes shining.
"I say, Miss Torres, you're looking prettier than a picture this morning."
Lalita swallowed. "Mr. Dickson, if you'll excuse me, my ride is leaving." She pulled her arm from his grip.
He put his bowler on his head. "Aw, the doc won't leave you. You can talk a minute with me."
The crowd had mostly gone out the door, and Lalita turned to follow. "I'm sorry, but—"