Magic in Her Touch

by Donna Dalton

  “Miss Devlin?”

  She broke off her examination of his hand and looked up. “Yes?”

  Blue eyes quizzed her. “Would you hand me a match, please?”

  Dingles. She’d best keep her mind on their mission, else she risked his inquisition.

  “Certainly, Doctor.” She fished a match from the box and handed it to him.

  He remained silent about her inattentiveness and proceeded with the testing…a reprieve she wasn’t going to squander. A cat crouched beside a mouse hole wouldn’t be as attentive.

  He struck the match head on the countertop and set the resulting flame to the charcoal. The match burned almost to his fingertips, yet the stubborn coal refused to catch. He snuffed out the match and tried another. And another. On the third try, the dampened charcoal flared with a weak flame. Finally.

  Anson extinguished the match with a flick of his hand. “Good. Now, we wait. If there is any arsenic present, a shiny powdery film will form over the charcoal as it burns.”

  They both leaned closer to watch. Soft, even breaths huffed beside her. She kept her gaze rooted on the burning charcoal, and not on the head hovering in her periphery. If she turned even a fraction, their lips would meet. A fiery collision that would most certainly send her fragile control into a death spiral.

  The yellow-blue flame sparked and sputtered and finally died out. Anson straightened and picked up a pair of tongs. He prodded the charcoal. “I see no evidence of arsenic, though I didn’t expect there to be any given that only a select few people have exhibited symptoms of poisoning.”

  “Should we try another sample from the well?”

  He shook his head. “I suspect that will result in the same outcome. Let’s test the creek water next.”

  While they waited for the second piece of charcoal to burn, she made sure to keep a proper space between them. The less her mind was tempted to skip off to the land of fairy tales, the better.

  The flame sputtered and died out. Once again, the burning did not leave a film, shiny or otherwise, on the charcoal. She nodded. “No arsenic present. I had my doubts about the creek water, considering Dancer’s Creek is used just as often as the community well.”

  “Agreed. That leaves one last item to test.”

  They had only collected specimens from the well and the creek. What else was there? She looked up at him. “What is that?”

  His gazed locked with hers. Something flashed across his face. Guilt? Regret? It disappeared before she could be certain.

  “You know I am duty bound to expose any evidence of harmful behavior…wherever it may originate.”

  “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “Good…” He fished an amber bottle from his medical bag. “Because earlier this week, I collected one of your potions from Mr. Gunderson.”

  His distrust squeezed, hard, with little mercy. She managed a nod. “You have to put the interests of the people first. I understand.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you understand. I must look at everyone through the same glasses. It’s not a personal vendetta.”

  Not personal? Why then did she feel as if he was standing on her throat?

  He poured a few drops of her potion onto a piece of charcoal. Two matches later, the charcoal glowed with a reddish-orange flame. It sputtered and danced and after a few minutes, the flame died out. No film coated the charcoal. The weight on her shoulders lightened.

  “Well, that eliminates your potion as the source.”

  Was that relief staining his voice? The presence of arsenic in her potion would be the perfect excuse to send her packing.

  She fingered the teacup. “I have to admit, I was worried my remedies would be the culprit. I’m relieved to know they are not.”

  “As am I.”

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he did want her to be innocent. “So, what’s next?”

  “We keep looking. The source must be out there somewhere. We just have to find it.”

  We. He wanted her included in the search. It wasn’t a declaration of acceptance, but she would take it. Every step, however small, brought her closer to her goals.

  ****

  Fiddle music and gaily dressed people swarmed inside the town meeting hall. Freshly-picked wild flowers and colorful streamers decorated the windows and walls. Platters of finger cakes, pies, and candies crowded a linen-draped table. Weddings were festive occasions in Mineral. Everyone came to celebrate and wish the newlyweds a happy and fruitful life.

  She wanted to be cheerful for Nel, but it had been three days since the testing of the water samples, and they were no closer to finding the source of the arsenic poisoning than when they started. The owner of the Spade Hotel and Restaurant had come into the office seeking relief from the same symptoms as the other afflicted men. How long before others succumbed? The dance floor would be a lot more barren and subdued if they didn’t uncover the source soon.

  Her gaze lit on Nel twirling with her new husband amid the dancers. Lamplight sparkled on the dozens of sequins sewn into the overskirt of the satin wedding gown. The pale blue highlighted her pretty face and set off green eyes, glowing with love and adoration. She’d never seen her friend so happy. Marriage suited her. She could only pray it lasted. Men were fickle creatures. Papa hadn’t stayed around long enough to celebrate her first birthday. Granny Tate said Grandpappy had bolted for the gold fields at the first opportunity and never returned. Happy endings just didn’t happen to people like them, no matter how much they wanted them.

  “Moira? Are you listening to me?”

  Fingers snapping under her nose jolted her back to the present. She shook off her ugly thoughts. She shouldn’t let her mind wander so. There were too many people with the skill to read her thoughts. Literally. The last thing she needed was someone meddling in her life.

  “I’m sorry, Lily. My mind was elsewhere.”

  “I can see that. Your aura is glowing bright yellow. Something is weighing on you. Is it the medical office? Meredith said a new physician came to take over the practice. Dr. Locke, isn’t it? Is he making things difficult for you?”

  Difficult? That was an understatement. In more ways than one. “Yes, his name is Dr. Locke, and he is not causing me any trouble. We’re getting along just fine. Perfectly, in fact.”

  Eyebrows arched as if questioning the veracity of her claim. Younger by two years, Lily Kendrick had the gift of seeing the mystical halo that surrounded people. The aura’s color indicated what a person was feeling. Apparently, her emotions were as marked as an albino deer in a forest.

  “Is there something else about this doctor that has you so disjointed? What does he look like? Is he handsome?” Blue eyes narrowed. “Ho. Ho. That’s it. He makes your heart go pitty-pat.”

  Good grief, the girl was clever. Too clever. Moira flicked her fan, hoping to wave Lily off the scent. “It’s nothing like that. My thoughts have been troubled by work. We can’t seem to figure out what is making some of the townsfolk sick. It’s quite frustrating.” Not a lie. Just not the entire truth.

  Lily patted her arm. “You will figure out what is making them ill. I have faith in you. We all do.”

  If she had one tenth of their faith, her worries would lessen. Finding the source of the arsenic was going to take time. Time she didn’t have. Her one-month grace period was drawing to an end. She could very easily find herself out on the street without answers…without a life.

  On the other side of the dance floor, a slender figure glided into the hall. A stylish top hat crowned his head. A dark evening suit hugged his lean form. He looked the perfect gentleman, right down to his polished brogans. Her pulse began dancing a polka.

  “Who is that?” Lily drawled.

  “Who is who?”

  “That tall, prince of a man who just brightened the hall. I can’t take my eyes off him.”

  Neither could she. “That is Dr. Anson Locke.”

  “Oh my. I can see why you’re taken by him. He has a most u
nusual aura. A brilliant turquoise. I’ve only seen that color on people who are ruled by their hearts.”

  She grunted under her breath. He must have a heart of stone for all the compassion he’d shown her.

  “I might just set my cap for him,” Lily added. “If you’re not of a mind to, that is.”

  Moira shot the girl a quelling elbow. “Stop it, Lily. I know what you’re trying to do.”

  Lily feigned a look of puzzlement that was as genuine as paste gemstones. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. There’s nothing between me and Dr. Locke. And there never will be. We are business colleagues. Nothing more.”

  “You might want to rethink that assessment. He’s coming this way, and he only has eyes for you.”

  Moira fanned her face, flushed now with heat. Lily was just being fanciful. Anson Locke did not have “eyes” or anything else for her. He merely tolerated her presence for the well-being of the townsfolk. Nothing quixotic could, or should, be read into his behavior.

  “Pink,” Lily whispered.

  Moira cut her companion a glance. Eyes of periwinkle blue sparkled and gleamed. Not a good sign. Trouble usually trailed close on the heels of that look. “Pink what?”

  “The closer Dr. Locke gets, the pinker his aura becomes. He is definitely interested in a relationship with you…and not as a colleague.”

  Perhaps. But it would be pointless to raise her hopes. He would never accept her for who she was. And she didn’t want a relationship filled with lies.

  “That’s enough, Lily. No more talk about setting caps or any other such nonsense regarding Dr. Locke.”

  “As you wish.”

  She dipped a nod as the source of her feverishness arrived. He had deposited his hat and overcoat with an attendant. Lamplight burnished his head in a golden halo. He’d been recently barbered. Brown locks curled above his ears, and his jaw glowed from a fresh shaving. Would his skin feel as soft and smooth as it looked?

  She fanned faster. “Good evening, Doctor. May I introduce Lily Kendrick? She’s a fellow orphan from Seaton House. Lily, this is my colleague, Dr. Locke.”

  He inclined his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Kendrick.”

  “My, my. You cut quite the figure in your evening attire, Dr. Locke. You’ll have all the ladies clamoring for a dance.”

  Moira stuffed down a groan. That sugary tone edged with cunning often heralded trouble.

  “You do dance, I hope?” Lily continued.

  Bewilderment creased his brow. “I am schooled in the art of dance.”

  “Wonderful. Moira has been worrying herself sick over discovering what is making folks ill. She needs a distraction. Perhaps you could give her a turn on the dance floor? Take her mind off her worries?”

  He looked as if he’d rather wrestle with a rattlesnake. Moira shook her head. “I’m sure Dr. Locke has more important things to do. He has yet to meet everyone in Mineral. This would be the perfect opportunity to make their acquaintances.”

  Lily dodged her lob. “La. There’s plenty of time to greet everyone. Besides, a person in need comes first, do they not, Doctor?”

  “I suppose they do.” He held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Devlin? For the sake of your good health?”

  She shouldn’t. Being in his arms would only encourage thoughts of a romance that would never happen. Shouldn’t happen. They were as fit for one another as oil and water.

  Despite her doubts, she found her hand settling into his. When he placed his other hand at her back, heat surged through her veins. His touch was every bit as magical as her healing power. She bit down on her bottom lip, using the pain to keep her mind on dancing…a difficult task considering her bones had gone soft as aged butter.

  He whirled her around a slower-moving couple. “You look lovely this evening, Miss Devlin.”

  She glanced down at the mint green dress overlaid with a delicate lace overskirt. Mrs. Lidle had worked wonders with the hand-me-down, turning it into a gown fit for a princess. She felt almost pretty. Almost.

  “Relax. I won’t bite.”

  Maybe he was as empathetic as Lily had said. She forced a chuckle. “Wouldn’t that make for a titillating headline in The Town Herald. Doctor trades scalpel for fangs.”

  His lips curled into a smile that rivaled the lamplight. He had perfect teeth. Even and white as the purest snow. He could charm the deadliest of snakes into submission if he had a mind to.

  He leaned forward, his warm breath teasing her ear. “Fangs are employed only on very special occasions.”

  Her head spun like a toy top. She missed a step, and he drew her closer. His heat scorched through the material of her gown. She managed to recover her footing and leaned out of his embrace. Being so close to him was more dangerous than any poisonous snake.

  She tilted her head back and tumbled into an ocean of blue. A pleasant stirring coiled in her lower belly. “And just what special occasions require the use of fangs, Dr. Locke?”

  His cheery chuckle washed over her. “That, my lovely Miss Devlin, is a well-kept secret.”

  He’d called her lovely. Twice. He was attracted to her. The flames flickering in his eyes said so. As did the soft set to his mouth. Was he thinking about kissing her again? A shiver danced through her. She wanted his kisses more than air in her lungs.

  She closed her eyes. The noise crowding the hall dimmed. The flow of movement around them faded until it was just of the two of them, dancing as one, as if they were soulmates for eternity.

  Chapter Ten

  The music dwindled to a stop. Heat and desire simmered inside her. Moira wriggled out of the arms trapping her and rushed for the door. She needed to get away. Quickly. Before she made a fool of herself and turned all her progress to ruin.

  Once outside, she drew in a deep breath and then another. Stars winked like fireflies in the broad black expanse. The three-quarter moon shimmered and glowed. She leaned against the hitching post and let the air cool her bubbling veins. Her heartbeat slowed. The spinning in her head settled. She sighed. Good. Now she could think.

  As much as she enjoyed being held in his arms, Anson Locke was far too charming to be allowed that close. She had little control around him. Her body craved his touch. Her mind went blank. In such a state, her secret could easily slip out. Not only would he send her packing, the trauma of her betrayal might cause him to crawl back into his shell. He’d only just begun to let go, to enjoy himself again after the death of his wife. She couldn’t send him back into that darkness. She cared about him. More than she was willing to admit.

  She grazed a finger over the wedding placard propped on a nearby easel. Clouds filled her eyes. Nel and Sergeant Reese had so much to look forward to. A home. A family. Someone to love and rely on for the rest of their lives. Things she could only dream of having.

  “Moira, are you all right?”

  She swiped tears from her eyes and turned to find Gabriel Hunt standing behind her, hat in hand. He’d grown since she’d last seen him at the orphanage. He was a head taller than she and sported a faint dusting of hair on his upper lip and chin. He looked quite dashing in his Sunday best. With those tawny eyes and gold mane, he was going to be a most handsome young man. The local mamas had best keep a close eye on their daughters.

  “I’m fine, Gabe. It just got a bit too hot and stuffy inside. I needed a breath of fresh air.”

  “I thought something was wrong. You ran out of the hall like your dress was on fire.”

  She smiled. He always had an outlandish way with words. He’d once compared her to a turkey, hard to sneak up on and harder to pluck. “Nothing’s wrong. I assure you.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” He jabbed a finger at the doorway. “Are you going back inside? I wanted to ask you to dance with me. Maybe a waltz or a polka. Mrs. Campbell taught me how. I won’t step on your toes or whirl you into the wall or anything.”

  She bit back a chuckle. He looked so earnest and sincere, a
n altar boy without the Cossack. “I would love to dance with you, Gabe. But later, all right? I’m still a feeling a bit overcome.”

  “I could get you some punch if you’d like. We can sit out here while you perk up.” He ducked his head and dug a toe into the boardwalk. “Talk some and maybe hold hands?”

  Oh dear. How to let him down without hurting that tender pride? “Gabe…I care for you, but not in that way. You’re like a brother to me. A little brother whom I adore. Do you understand?”

  His mouth crumpled. “It’s that new Doc, isn’t it? I saw the way you looked at him while you were dancing…like he was a big ol’ peppermint stick.”

  Dingles. If Gabe could read her emotions, how long before others saw them too? She’d best get a handle on herself before things got out of hand.

  “There’s nothing between Dr. Locke and me. We’re just colleagues.”

  “Yeah, right.” His skeptical tone said he wasn’t buying it.

  “It’s true. I promise. I don’t want a man in my life right now. Any man. My work as town healer is all I care about.” It was the truth. Mostly. A man would only make her life more complicated than it already was.

  She reached for his arm. “Why don’t you go back inside and find Lily? I’m sure she’d love to dance with you.”

  He looked past her and into the hall. His expression hardened. He dodged her outstretched hand. “I have better things to do besides dumb ol’ dancing.”

  He shoved on his hat and took off down the boardwalk, heels thumping his displeasure. She started after him, calling for him to stop. He ignored her and kept going. At the end of the walkway, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. She sighed and halted her chase. It was probably best to let him work out his anger on his own. Her words would only salt his wounds.

  “Miss Devlin?”

  Anson. Gabe must have seen his perceived rival approaching and fled. Poor fellow. Jealousy could cause as much pain as any physical injury.

  She turned and faced the door. Anson stood just outside the doorway, his slender profile outlined by lamplight. He’d cocked his head, and even through the gloom, his expectant gaze tunneled into her. Her pulse quickened. A big ol’ peppermint stick indeed.