Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1

by Misty M. Beller

  This was her chance. Claire's heart raced as she stepped toward the older woman. "Aunt Pearl?"

  The tray paused and the lady sent an impatient glance. "Can ya walk an' talk? Got a hungry group."

  And that was all the pause Claire got. She scrambled to catch up, ducking through the cloth as it swayed in Pearl's wake. "Aunt Pearl, I was wondering if you'd be interested in hiring me for a few hours a day. I can help cook or serve, either one. I'm capable in the kitchen." Claire worked to breathe and walk as she lengthened her stride to stay in hearing range of the woman.

  She almost plowed into her when Aunt Pearl stopped at a table and lowered her tray to the wooden surface. Aunt Pearl shot Claire a glance but didn't answer as she handed out the plates to the six men eating family style at the long table. She responded with a nod to the thankful words from the diners, then picked up the empty tray and headed back toward the kitchen with undivided focus. "I'd be glad to have you. Need a server more'n I need those toes I lost to frostbite in '62. Can ye start now?"

  "Now?” Feet already aching, Claire double-stepped to keep up. "I, um… I guess." Her mind raced to catch up with the offer. "I need to tell Gram I'll be gone for a few hours. Is that okay?"

  Aunt Pearl stopped then and turned to face Claire squarely, her faded brown eyes locking with Claire's. "Do what you need to. We work hard here, but I pay a decent wage. A dollar fifty for workin' lunch and dinner, same as Lilly. I won't babysit ya, but you tell me if you've a problem an' I'll make it right. Sound fair?"

  Claire let out a breath. "Perfectly. I'll be back soon, ready to work."

  ~ ~ ~

  Bryan paused on the front porch of the café and pulled off his cap to run a hand through his hair. No billow of dust or soot today. Staying clean from mine dust was one more benefit to days like this, when he rode into the mountains for house calls to the ranchers. He pulled open the solid wood door. A downside, though, was the late hour he usually returned. Would Aunt Pearl have anything but scraps left? Certainly nothing sweet by this time. A sigh escaped him. Third night this week he'd been too late for Mrs. Malmgren's pies.

  The dining area held only a few stragglers. Martin Daly, owner of The Alice mine, sat with Harris, one of his superintendents. The blacksmith and his wife hunkered at a small table by the wall.

  Aunt Pearl swept through the back curtain, rag in hand. She waved when she saw him, and veered to a nearby table to scoop up a coffee pot. "Have a seat, Doc. It's chicken an' dumplin's tonight. We'll get a plate out directly."

  He settled into a chair near the back wall, so she wouldn't have to walk as far. Pearl poured dark brew into his tin mug. "You let me know if this t'ain't warm enough. Got a slice of vinegar pie left, too, I think."

  He managed a thankful smile at those words, even though his weary muscles objected.

  She bustled back toward the kitchen and stuck her head around the curtain, spoke a few muffled words to the kitchen staff, and then proceeded to wipe down one of the longer tables.

  Bryan draped his arms on his table and allowed his head to drop so his forehead rested on the wooden edge. The pull in his neck muscles stretched out kinks that had built from hours of riding Cloud up the mountain trails. He should have gone back to his room off the clinic and not bothered Aunt Pearl for dinner this late. Alex and Miriam had said he could stop by their new little house any time for a meal. But they were still newlyweds, even though they'd been married six months. It never failed at some point during the meal, they'd look at each other with lop-sided, sappy-eyed smiles. No better way to make a fellow feel like he didn't belong. Yep, once a week was plenty to bother them for dinner.

  Normally the quiet in the clinic at night didn't trouble him. Most times it was his solace. But tonight the thought had been unbearable.

  So…here he sat, one of the last lonely souls at Aunt Pearl's. He should take the time to filter through his recent patients. Make a mental list of those he needed to follow up on. Wonder how Mrs. Malmgren's burned hand was healing? An image of her snappy granddaughter flashed through his mind. She'd said her last name was Sullivan, so was she Irish? In the light from the lantern, her hair had glistened a russet auburn, a bit more brown than his. But those dark eyes. Those weren't Irish. They were bewitching.

  Footsteps sounded and Bryan lifted his head. That pair of captivating dark eyes stood beside his table, holding a plate piled high, a pert set to her full lips.

  He blinked. Was this a dream? Had he summoned her with his thoughts?

  "Your dinner, Doctor?" She set the plate on the table where he leaned, and Bryan jerked back, his eyes tracking the plate as she slid it in front of him. The aroma of this food sure made it seem like he was awake, but why was she bringing it to him at the café?

  He raised his gaze back to those enchanting eyes. "What are you doing here?"

  Her brows rose. "Serving you dinner. Did I leave out something you need? Perhaps a little sugar to soften you up?" The challenge in her stare was unmistakable.

  He dropped his gaze to the food. Maybe his question had come out a bit more direct than it should have, but he was too tired to prance around what he meant. She didn't have to be such a snob about it, though. "Food's fine."

  As he fingered his fork, her presence still loomed beside the table like an evening shadow. Should he say something else? Ah, yes. Glancing up, he forced himself not to focus on those sparking eyes. "How's Mrs. Malmgren's burn?"

  A look flashed across her face, but he couldn't catch its meaning. "Fine."

  So she wanted to play that game, did she? Why couldn't they just have a civil conversation? He focused on his food and loaded a dumpling on his fork. "Bring her to the clinic tomorrow so Alex can check it. If there's infection, we need to catch it early."

  The shadow over him stiffened, but he kept his focus on his plate. After a few seconds, the silhouette slid away, and fading footsteps sounded her departure. Bryan couldn't stop himself from watching the woman stalk back toward the kitchen. Why couldn't he keep a gracious tongue when she was around? He'd have to do something to make it up to her. But what?

  ~ ~ ~

  Claire whipped the cloth aside and stomped to the bucket of wash water in the dry sink. Who did that sham doctor think he was? As if she couldn't see if there was a problem with Gram's hand. And would it have hurt him to keep a civil tone? He minced words like he was paid extra for rudeness.

  She sank her hands into the water and found the wash rag. God, I’m trying to be kind here, but something about him rubs me wrong. Help me show him Your love even when he's rude.

  Her pulse slowed as she rubbed the cloth over a soiled plate and allowed God's grace to sink over her. With Your strength, Lord.

  Chapter Four

  With her new job, it was two days before Claire found an opportunity to walk with Gram to the clinic to have her hand checked. The wound didn't seem to have healed much. So she'd made time this afternoon, preparing the cherry tarts when they'd baked the bread that morning. When they returned from the clinic, they'd only need to stoke the fire and put the tarts in the oven.

  The fire. She'd been doing better with it these last two days. The flashbacks no longer came as long as she looked away from the flame.

  Gram pushed open the clinic door, and Claire followed her through, then scanned the little waiting room. Not very different from Papa's back home. She soaked in the familiar smells. Antiseptic. Something tangy like an herb.

  "We'll sit until the Doc's ready for us." Gram used her cane to feel the way to a nearby waiting chair. She must have come here a lot to be so familiar with the layout of the room. And how did she know the doctor wasn't ready?

  Gram seemed clear on what she was doing, though, so Claire lowered herself in the chair beside her. The room was cleaner than she'd expected for a little mountain clinic, and pretty green calico curtains draped the front window.

  A male voice murmured in another room, then grew louder as a door opened in the hallway. "Send your husband for one of us whe
n the time comes."

  That voice. Claire strained to hear. Could the brothers sound so similar?

  "Thank you, Doc Bryan. I hope it's soon."

  No. The woman's words struck like a bell clanging in Claire's ears. Wasn't the other brother supposed to man the clinic? Why was this ill-mannered doctor here today of all days?

  She couldn't look at him. Even as Gram shuffled beside her and rose to her feet. The sound of the front door opening, then closing, echoed through the room.

  "Mrs. Malmgren." The doctor's voice held more warmth than usual. Maybe he was in his "doctoring" mode and wouldn't be as rude. "Good to see you again."

  Holding in a sigh, Claire pushed to her feet and turned to slip Gram's hand onto her arm.

  The doctor gave her a cursory nod. "Miss Sullivan." Then he spun and strode down the hallway. Did he expect them to follow? Claire gritted her teeth.

  Inside the little exam room, the well-known smells grew even stronger. Claire inhaled a breath. Gram patted her arm. "Smell familiar?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the doctor glance at her. Claire ignored him and leaned close to answer Gram. "I wonder how Papa's doing? Mama said she would help him while I'm gone."

  A smile found its way to Gram's face. "My daughter's a saint."

  The weight of Doc Bryan's gaze seemed to grow stronger. Why was he staring? Concerned now that he knew she had a little experience with medicine? Maybe he was worried she'd see right through his quackery. She turned to meet his gaze squarely, her eyes narrowing. Let him worry.

  His expression changed, and he turned to Gram. "Please, have a seat Mrs. Malmgren. Did you come in for a check on your hand?"

  "Yep. Claire's been tellin' me fer two days now we should come have ye look at it. Hard to find the time."

  The doctor glanced at Claire when Gram said her name. A quick flick of the eyes, but they held the same expression as when he’d stared a few moments ago. A little curious. But mostly…intense.

  His touch was slow and gentle as he unwrapped the bandage. The first sight of burned flesh gripped Claire's stomach, bringing up memories she had to fight down. She tore her gaze away and focused on the doctor instead. He was muscular for a physician with broad shoulders and strong forearms revealed by his rolled sleeves. The sun streaming through the window brought out the red hues in his auburn hair.

  The features on his face were bold and masculine, everything proportioned perfectly as if sculpted by an artist. No wonder Gram liked the man. Of course, Gram hadn't been able to see him for at least a year now. Could she possibly like him based on his personality? Not likely.

  Doc Bryan frowned as he peered at Gram's injury, vertical lines gathering across the brow that had been smooth moments before. "It still hurts a good bit, doesn't it?" His voice became gentle and had that lilting quality she'd heard the first time he'd addressed Gram right after her injury.

  "I can bear it." Gram's mouth pinched so much it almost disappeared.

  Bryan glanced up at Claire again, and this time his gaze lingered. Searching her face as if looking for something. "It's not healing as well as I'd like. Could be her age. Could be the effects of the disease that caused her eyesight loss."

  Claire nibbled her lip. That's what she'd thought, but hearing it spoken... "What can you do?"

  He focused again on the hand. "Keep putting the salve on it twice a day. I'll send an herbal to help fight infection. Bring her back in three to four days, or if you see the redness spread or the blisters burst."

  Swallowing, Claire nodded. With the extent of Gram's injury, a simple salve seemed so inadequate. Was that really all they could do?

  ~ ~ ~

  Bryan closed the ledger where they kept their case notes and slid it back on the desk. The memory of Claire Sullivan's face when he'd discussed her grandmother's care played over and over in his mind. Was he doing enough to fight infection? The garlic tincture would help, as would the black walnut salve and the saleratus he'd mixed in. They needed to keep the blisters from bursting and give it time to heal. For some reason, Mrs. Malmgren's body had been slow to recover from all of her wounds these last few months. Was it just old age? Or something else he hadn't discovered? Maybe he should tell Alex to give her a full examination next time she came in.

  Alex. Bryan lurched to his feet. He'd promised to head straight over to Alex and Miriam's house as soon as the last patient left. His brother had cornered him this morning and almost demanded Bryan come for dinner that night.

  Good thing it was only a short walk to the little house next door to the clinic. Bryan breathed in the cooling air outside as he made the trek. The sun was just starting to set behind the mountains to the west. Normally, the fiery colors of a Montana sunset infused him with inspiration and hope. But he couldn't summon those emotions tonight.

  Tomorrow he'd start his rounds in the mines again. So many of the miners suffered from chronic illnesses—most of them lung and breathing conditions. They couldn't leave work to attend the clinic, but at least he could go to them.

  Ascending the two stairs to the stoop in front of Alex's house, Bryan tapped an alert on the wooden door, then nudged it open. "Anyone home?"

  "Bryan, come in." Miriam looked up from pouring coffee at the little dining table.

  Alex sat in his chair beside her, several papers in hand. "It's about time. I'd just about decided to come and send the patients away so you could eat."

  A tickle of remorse climbed in Bryan's chest. "Sorry. Got caught up in paperwork."

  One side of Alex's mouth pulled. "The log book that interesting, huh?"

  Bryan fought the burn creeping up his neck. Time to move the conversation away from him. "Smells good, Miri." He slid into his usual chair around the four-person table.

  Miriam lowered herself across from him and glanced sideways at her husband as she bowed her head.

  "Father." Alex's voice filled the room. "Thank You for the food, and especially for the people at this table. I pray You'll give us strength and wisdom as we share Your love with those around us."

  Bryan couldn't help but examine the way his brother spoke to the Lord. Earnestly. With reverence, sure, but as though he really believed God would give them strength and wisdom. Just because he asked.

  At Alex's "amen," they loaded plates, and Bryan waited for the usual question to issue from his kid brother's mouth.

  Alex filled his plate with shepherd's pie, then glanced at Bryan as he waited for the boiled apples to be passed around. "Who all came into the clinic today?"

  Less than thirty seconds for the question to come. That had to be a record. If Alex couldn't stand to be away from his patients for one day a week, he should give up his day off.

  Bryan took his time answering. He sent Miriam a polite smile when she handed the apples to him. After scooping a healthy portion on his own plate, he set the apples in front of Alex, careful to avoid the annoyed gaze shooting darts from Alex's eyes. Bryan bit back a smile. His younger brother was too feisty for his own good.

  "Bryan." It was practically a growl.

  He glanced up. "Yes?"

  "Stop it."

  The grin wouldn't stay. Bryan smirked at his brother, took one more bite of shepherd's pie, then leaned back in his chair. "It was a quiet day. Mrs. O'Leary came in for a check this morning. The baby seems to be growing nicely, not undersized like the last two."

  Alex nodded. "Must be a girl then. Of her four, only the boys came out little."

  "A new fellow came in with an abscessed tooth, a lackey from the smelter came in with a bad burn. Speaking of burns, Mrs. Malmgren's granddaughter brought her in for a check on that hand. Healing's slow, so I changed the salve and told her to rewrap it twice a day now." He'd worked hard to hold his voice steady for that last part.

  A frown took over Alex's face. "Mrs. Malmgren's granddaughter is here? I hadn't heard."

  "That's great," Miriam piped up. "I'll have to stop by and introduce myself."

  Bryan tried to keep a sour
look off his face. "You'll have to go to the café. Seems she's already taken a job there, although I thought her purpose in coming was to take care of her grandmother."

  Miriam's forehead scrunched. "Aunt Pearl's?"

  "Yep." At least she'd decided to serve meals there instead of the dozen or so saloons that also sold food. That was the only good thing he could say about the lady. Other than her gorgeous dark eyes that sparkled when she tried to hold in her anger.

  His mouth pulled as another thought struck him. Was she such a hothead with everyone? Or was it only him that brought it out?

  ~ ~ ~

  Claire forced the trip to the clinic from her mind as she loaded steaming plates onto her serving tray in the large café kitchen. Lilly stood at the work table with her back to Claire, slicing vegetables for the goulash. Dahlia, her one-year-old daughter, munched the cooked goulash in a chair. Neither spoke, which seemed to be the way of things in this kitchen. But something about the way Lilly wouldn't make eye contact suggested pain. Not rudeness like it had seemed that first day.

  Raising the loaded tray to her shoulder, Claire turned and dipped her head to catch the child's eye. "Is that good, Dahlia?"

  The little girl didn't speak, just bobbed her head once and stared down at her lap. Was the child that shy? Or did she take her cues from her mother? What was their story? Heartbreaking, most likely, if their skittishness were a side effect. Of course, maybe that was normal upbringing where Lilly grew up. Claire had pulled enough from the woman to know she was born in Guatemala from an English father and a native mother. No wonder she was so beautiful, with long black hair and refined features. But if Guatemalans were as prejudice as Americans tended to be, it wasn't hard to imagine how growing up in that household could be challenging.

  With a last smile at Dahlia's bowed head, Claire shuffled toward the curtained doorway, straining to listen for footsteps amidst the hum of voices. Aha. She stepped aside as the fabric jerked and Aunt Pearl barreled through. Claire nibbled her lip against a smile. It'd taken three near-collisions for her to learn to stop and listen before venturing through that curtain.