Jolt, Page 8

Dickson caught her arm again. "Now hold on, there's no reason to be afraid. I don't hold any grudges against your people." He grinned again. "Especially when they're as fine as you."

  Lalita's brows knit together as she tried without success to pull away again. "My people?" Her volume was rising. "What are you talking about?"

  "Seth, I don't believe the lady appreciates your attention." Lalita looked to the door, so relieved to see Tate striding toward them.

  Seth let loose of her arm and backed up a step. "Now, Doc, you said she wasn't your woman, and I don't mind if she's a bit addled."

  Lalita's jaw dropped. "I am not addled, you over-bearing asshat!"

  Tate's eyes grew wide as he tried to move her toward the door. "Lita, this is a church."

  Dickson just grinned as he followed them out of the building and down the steps. "She's got spunk. That comes from the Injuns."

  Tate spun on the bottom step, fire in his eyes. "Dickson, you've said enough today."

  Lalita took hold of his sleeve and pulled him down to the ground, trying to keep him moving toward the buggy. The minister, who was talking to a couple along their route was blissfully unaware of the volatile situation just a few feet away.

  "Come on, Doc." Dickson followed, seemingly unable to stop talking. "My wife's been gone longer than yours. Most men here won't give this girl the time of day, being a squaw, but I don't—"

  Lalita saw it coming but couldn't stop it. Tate turned and swung. Dickson dodged but took his own swing. Tate ducked as the minister finally clued in to what was happening on his church lawn and moved to break it up. For his trouble, he got a fist in the jaw.

  And Lalita really, really wished it hadn't been Tate's.

  Chapter 13

  Lalita fixed another towel with ice, but instead of taking it to Max in the exam room, she took it to Tate, who was sitting in the parlor. She stood in front of him, and he held out his hand while she wrapped the towel around his knuckles. She noticed the red spot that still lingered on the back of his other hand.

  She sat beside him. "I think I'm bad for your health."

  Tate shook his head. "I shouldn't have let him goad me."

  "He totally deserved the punch you intended to give him. What an ass—"

  "Lita, please watch your language. Nellie's in the house somewhere, and she doesn't need to witness any more bad behavior."

  She sat quiet a moment. "You're too tough on yourself."

  "I've worked hard to become a respected doctor here, Lita. That didn't happen by brawling on the church lawn."

  "Of course not, and those who know you will not give it a second thought."

  He gave her a side-long glance with eye-brows raised.

  "I didn't say they wouldn't discuss it. This is a small town. The fact that you punched the preacher will be all over it by mid-afternoon, but I'm betting most folks will give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you must have had a very good reason for throwing a punch on the church lawn not ten minutes past the service."

  Tate didn't look reassured. " 'The benefit of the doubt' is something I've found lacking in the general population."

  She took hold of his hand on the pretense of adjusting the ice-filled towel. "Well, anyway, I appreciate what you did, and the fact that you may suffer for it gives it even more meaning."

  She caressed his fingers with her own, and Tate stared at their hands before slowly pulling away and rising. "I should check on Max."

  Lalita looked up at him, her disappointment evident. "Yeah, I suppose you should." She jumped up and hurried past him. "I'll see what I can find in the kitchen to have for lunch."

  Tate called after her down the hall. "Mrs. Kettler makes extra on Saturdays, so there should be something in the icebox."

  He watched her walk away, her bustle swinging with her obvious irritation. He closed his eyes, his right hand clenched around the ends of the towel. His attraction to Lalita was hard enough to keep under control without having to deal with her forward ways. Every time she caressed him with those tender touches, he couldn't think straight. Except it was me that touched her in church.

  He walked across the hall to the examination room. As much as he'd like to blame his behavior on Lalita, he knew that Seth Dickson's use of the word 'squaw' had touched on a personal bugbear that always sparked his temper. Always will.

  He examined Max's leg while Max told him how he'd spent the morning with his brother. "We played a few games of checkers; then he read to me from a new book, Treasure Island." He waved a hand toward the side table. "He left it for me to read on my own."

  "Ah, that's a good one." Tate pulled his split pant leg back over his wrapped leg.

  "So how does it look, Doc?"

  "Good. The swelling has gone down considerably, so I should be able to cast it in a day or two, and you can go home."

  Max almost looked disappointed. Now that Tate had dealt with his father on a more personal level, he thought he might know why. He patted his shoulder. "I imagine you're sick of this bed. Would you like to join us in the dining room for a meal?"

  Max grinned from ear to ear.

  ***

  Treasure Island had been the topic of conversation over the dinner table, with Lalita throwing in insights not only about the book, but Robert Louis Stevenson himself. Tate was impressed with her literary knowledge and amazed that her Missouri university had such in-depth information about the author.

  After everyone had finished their meal and eaten a piece of Mrs. Kettler's lemon cake, Lalita offered to read, so they all trooped into the examination room, and Tate brought in chairs from the dining room. Lalita helped Max get situated in the bed once again, which seemed to please him to no end. Sitting and pulling Nellie onto his lap, Tate wondered what Max would think of his own father's interest in his "angel" nurse.

  As Lalita dove into the story, Tate couldn't help smiling. He had never experienced a reading like hers. Full of animation and employing different voices for the characters, she made the experience almost like watching a play. When her voice grew tired, he had tried to take over, although he knew he didn't come close to her talent.

  When he started to grow hoarse, even Max had taken a turn, although he stumbled over the words. Frustrated, he handed the book back to Lalita. "I'll just ruin the story. Can you read any more?"

  She tried, but Tate could hear the wear in her voice and suggested they stop for the day.

  Nellie ran upstairs to find her doll, and Lalita rose to lay the book back on the side table. "Thanks for sharing your book with us today, Max."

  He grinned. "No, thank you for reading. You are… wonderful."

  Tate smiled as he picked up a chair to take back to the dining room. I'm afraid Max is smitten. He walked down the hall feeling almost smitten himself, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel pride in the punches he'd thrown to defend her honor.

  Lalita appeared after him with the other chair and put it in place. He was surprised when she gave him but a small smile and turned to go.

  "Lita, Max isn't the only admirer of your talents. You keep surprising me with your skills."

  She gave him a half smile. "Thanks." She turned to leave again. "I guess I better go wash the dishes."

  Tate was bemused by her short response. "Lita? Did I say something wrong?"

  She stopped a moment before turning back, her expression bordering on peeved. "I'm just trying to figure you out. You seem to run hot and cold. Sometimes I think you really… like me, and sometimes you pull away. You have me baffled, Doc."

  He took a step toward her, trying to formulate an explanation. "I do like you, Lita. You're good with Nellie, good with patients, a talented reader…"

  Her expression didn't change. "Tate, stop talking like an old man. I'm not a kid you need to build self-esteem in. You can't be too much older than me." She stepped close. "I'm talking about attraction. Attraction between a man and a woman."

  He swallowed. "It's not proper… we're alone in the house…
you are still my patient," he stammered.

  "Am I still your patient?" She searched his eyes. "I swear you nearly kissed my hand last night. And we're not alone; Max is just down the hall."

  Tate looked down into her bright eyes. "I admit, you do seem quite a bit better, but I probably need another day… or two to" —she stepped closer still—"observe you."

  "Observe me, how?"

  His eyes slipped to her lips, and he took a step back.

  She followed and reached out to take hold of the ends of his fingers. "I feel fine."

  Being a doctor, Tate noticed things like rapid breathing and sudden sweating. He usually observed it in his patients, however, and not in his own person. "Lita, it's not prop—"

  She pulled his hands around her, and he found himself touching her lower back. She slid hers up his chest and rested them on his shoulders. "I've never been too concerned with what's proper, Tate. I know you want to kiss me. Just do it."

  He couldn't keep himself from leaning toward her. "Aren't you worried about your—"

  "No," Lalita whispered, letting her hands slide to the back of his neck.

  Tate hadn't felt such wanting in years, and though her lips had grown silent, they called to him like a siren. He allowed his head to bend forward, his lips so close to hers, he felt her breath.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  ***

  Lalita knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she was, after all, the whole reason for the minister's visit. Reverend Niemeyer said he had just come from Seth Dickson's place, and now he wanted to hear Tate's side of the morning's "disagreement." She wouldn't miss that for the world.

  Holding the tray of lemonade on one hand, she knocked on Tate's study door. There was a moment of silence before she heard Tate's, "Come in."

  Opening the door with a smile, Lalita brought the tray into the room and slid it onto the desk. "I thought you two might like a bit of refreshment."

  Both men stood as she entered, and the reverend thanked her warmly, although Tate looked a mess. His face was red, and he'd obviously run his hand through his hair a few times, leaving it sticking up in a few places. When the reverend turned his attention back to Tate, she tried to catch his eye, smoothing her hair, but he seemed to be avoiding looking at her.

  "Well," she announced, "I guess the dishes aren't going to wash themselves." She stood a moment, bouncing on her toes before turning with a sigh and heading toward the door.

  She was almost there when the minister turned. "Miss Torres, maybe you should join us, as this seems to involve you."

  She turned and looked to Tate, who looked like he was about to have a heart attack. She smiled at the minister. "I'll just pull in another chair."

  After they were all settled, the reverend asked her to relate what had happened between her and Seth Dickson before Tate had gone back in the church to find her. She detailed his advances and emphasized how grateful she was for Tate's assistance.

  "So am I to understand, Miss Torres, that you would not be open to having Mr. Dickson court you?"

  "Nope. I don't even live here. As soon as I can, I'll be heading back to Kansas City to finish my degree. This has been a really interesting experience, but I'm not sure I could do it for the rest of my life."

  Niemeyer squinted, blinking, "Do what, Miss Torres?"

  "Live here in your quaint, historic, little Manitou Springs."

  The reverend gave her a tight smile. "I imagine it is a might smaller than Kansas City, but we do have something that Kansas City does not have." He turned in his chair, gesturing to the window and the mountain view.

  "You're absolutely right about that Reverend." She looked to Tate while the minister was gazing out the window. "There are a few other things I'd regret leaving as well."

  Tate's chest rose under his white collarless shirt.

  "But," she went on as Niemeyer brought his attention back from the window, "Seth Dickson is not one of them."

  He nodded. "I understand." He looked to Tate. "Doctor, would you be agreeable to meeting with Dickson to work out the animosity between you two?"

  Tate shook his head. "I'd hardly say there's 'animosity.' "

  The reverend rubbed his chin. "It certainly felt like animosity."

  "Again, I apologize, Reverend. Miss Torres, will you please get the man some ice?"

  Niemeyer waved a hand at Lalita as she started to stand. "That won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer." He grew serious. "I can't have this kind of conflict in my congregation. I really think you should talk—"

  "I don't think there's anything to talk about, Reverend. He and I have different ideas about…" His eyes flicked to Lalita and back again. "About certain things. I don't believe that will change with a 'talk.' "

  "I understand you have Max here with a broken leg. Will you be able to deal with Dickson over your fees?"

  Tate nodded tightly. "I believe so."

  The minister paused and seemed to be holding something back. Finally, he gave Lalita a small smile. "If you wouldn't mind, Miss Torres, I have something I'd like to discuss with the doctor of a more personal nature."

  "Oh, certainly." Lalita rose and let herself out. She did not go far, however. She put her ear to the edge of the door.

  "Doctor, surely you realize that you shouldn't have Miss Torres in the house alone with you."

  "We're hardly alone. Nellie's here, and so is Max, or are you implying that I'd act indecently in front of my daughter or a patient?"

  "Of course not, but you must realize how it will look to the community."

  "The community can mind its own business. Miss Torres is a patient."

  "She seemed quite well to me."

  "She still has some memory loss."

  Lalita didn't need to hear more. She moved swiftly to the dining room cabinet and pulled out the silver tea set. Then she dropped it with a loud clang. It was only a moment before Tate's study door was thrown open. Lalita quickly put one hand to the table and the other to her head, her eyes closed tight.

  Tate was at her side in an instant. "Lal—Miss Torres, are you all right?"

  She opened her eyes to see a concerned minister in front of her before clamping them shut again. "You'd been in that room for so long, I wanted to make you some tea. I… I got dizzy." She fluttered her eyes open again.

  The minister gave a slow lift of his chin. "You just left us, Miss Torres. Surely you remember bringing us lemonade."

  Lalita blinked. "Did I?" She looked to Tate. "I guess I'm still having some memory problems, Doc. I hope I didn't damage the tea set."

  His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "No harm done." He put an arm around her, guiding her toward the door. "I think you should lie down."

  She nodded with a hand to her head.

  The minister moved out of the room ahead of them and started down the hall. "I'll let you take care of your patients, doctor. I can see my way out." He pulled his hat from the standing rack and turned back at the door. "I'll be in touch."

  Tate nodded, holding up Lalita, who had slumped against his side, but as soon as the door closed, he looked down at her, his expression a mixture of admiration and unbelief. Even biting her lip, she couldn't stop a smile.

  He slowly released her and stepped away as she straightened. "You would lie to a minister."

  "You needed me to be a patient. I convinced him I still was one."

  He shook his head, his jaw going slack.

  She put her hands on her hips. "Well, what would you have done? Do you want me to stay with someone else when I can only stay a few more days anyway?"

  Tate watched her devilry turn into defiance. Then when he didn't answer, into sadness. He reached out a hand to her cheek. "No, I don't want you to stay somewhere else. I… I enjoy your company."

  With her eyes smiling into his, he stepped toward her and pulled her to his chest. It wasn't allowed—wasn't at all proper for him to be holding her—but nothing in his life had ever felt this right. He had to conced
e, he didn't know what he would have done had the minister pushed his point. Socking him in the jaw by accident was nothing compared to defying his authority over his flock.

  "Why can you only stay a few more days? You haven't found your friend yet."

  She pulled back to look at him. "I have a job I need to get back to, and my classes start in just a few weeks."

  He released her and stepped back, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "Ah, I see. And do you have a plan for getting home?"

  Her eyes registered his withdrawal. "You have a train depot, right? I know I'd have to borrow some money for a ticket, but I promise I'll mail you a check when I get home."

  "As you wish."

  He turned, and Lalita caught his arm. "Tate, it doesn't have to be goodbye—at least not forever. We can write letters… trade visits, and if I can figure out how your phone system hooks up with the rest of the world, we can call."

  Nellie appeared on the stairs, and he knew the rest of this conversation would have to wait. "Of course." He gave Lalita a weary smile. "I think I'll lie down before dinner. If you don't require rest, perhaps you can entertain Nellie for a while."

  Lalita smiled and reached for the little girl's hand. "It would be my pleasure, Doc."

  ***

  Tate spent most of the evening in his study. He needed to think, and he needed to be out of Lalita's presence to do it clearly.

  He could not deny the attraction he felt for her, but he owed it to his daughter to think everything through carefully before he made decisions he might regret.

  He rose from his desk and went to stand at the window, gazing at the bright half moon. Since Augusta died, he'd never been attracted to another woman. He'd never thought about marrying again, and probably wouldn't be thinking about it now, but he felt the press of time. He turned to stare at his bookcase, not seeing it at all. She's leaving.

  He hadn't expected the panic that thought put in his heart, but he also felt panic at the thought of watching her rejected by the society matrons of the town. She's far too spirited. They'll never accept her. And even though, at one time, he had tried to push a woman into society's mold, he would never do it again.