“Thanks so much, Doc.” Mr. Tatum stuck out his hand, and Travis smiled. “Sorry to come tearin’ to your house so late. Hope I didn’t wake your pa.”
“Don’t worry about it. My father will be glad to hear of your wife and child’s safety.”
After final farewells, they made their way out of the house and into the cool night air. Annie went down the steps first, Travis following.
Overhead, stars winked in the inky sky. Silence wrapped around them, uncertain as the wind.
“You did a fine job in there. It wasn’t an easy task.” He found a smile and added it to the words.
She wrapped her arms around herself, gazing up at him. Sweet Texas thunder, he’d forgotten how the depth of her eyes could snatch his breath.
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
His brothers had always teased him about his penchant for Byron’s poetry. Yet if he’d scrounged his brain a million years, he’d not have found better words to describe the woman before him.
“I was terrified. I’ve never dealt with something so complicated on my own.”
“You’re a midwife?” That she was seemed painfully obvious. Yet he had to say something. He couldn’t let her get on that horse and ride away. Not so soon.
She nodded. “I trained while living in Galveston. I’ve only been in Hartville three days.”
“You’re staying at your father’s ranch?”
“Yes. Robbie and I both.” She lowered her gaze. “Robbie is my son. Of course, you probably know that.”
His knowledge of her life in the past thirteen years was about as limited as table scraps at a Hart family dinner. He knew of her marriage to Stuart Lawrence. Of Stuart’s death in battle. Her son’s birth. Her move to Galveston. He’d even heard rumors that she’d gotten remarried to a Galveston lawyer. From the moment he’d first heard the news, he’d despised the man, whoever he was.
“I’ve never met your son.”
She smiled, slow and soft. “He’s my greatest joy. The only true family I have except Josie and Father.”
So she hadn’t remarried after all. Relief billowed over him.
“And you. You’re a doctor now. Dr. William Travis Hart.”
He liked the way she said his name. Probably too much for his own good.
“I went to school in Louisiana after the war. Since then, I’ve been practicing right here in Hartville.”
A shaky laugh drifted from her lips. “Who would’ve thought it? A couple of kids who bandaged up stray animals out of pity. Look at us now.”
“I’ll never forget that cat.”
“Kitten. Yellow-and-white-striped.”
“You snuck out to the barn and slept in the hay all night, just so she wouldn’t be alone.”
“And awoke to find you beside me, with cocoa and biscuits.”
“I thought you might have caught cold during the night.” Though that wasn’t the only reason he’d returned to check on his “patient.” No, the main one had been to see her, twelve years old, long braids trailing down her back, forehead scrunched in concentration as she cared for the wounded kitten. He’d been sixteen. Always poring over medical books. Annoying his brothers by diagnosing their every bump and graze.
They’d been the perfect match. Until Stuart Lawrence had entered the picture, annihilating their secret hopes. For good, he thought then.
Now Travis Hart, the analytical, calm practitioner, didn’t know what to think, feel, say.
As he lost himself in Annie’s eyes, rational thought began to matter less and less.
Chapter Three
Had she not succumbed to the sleep of exhaustion, Annie’s eyes would have been hard-pressed to close in slumber after the previous night’s events.
Travis Hart had grown from an attractive youth to an even handsomer gentleman. He possessed the family’s good looks in spades, and he wore them well. Wide shoulders, wavy hair black as a raven’s wing. His eyes still held those mesmerizing flecks of gold, his smile still curved into the slightest hint of a dimple.
Enough. In her thoughts, she was behaving every inch the seventeen-year-old. Betraying her husband’s memory in death, as she had betrayed her marriage during his life. Though Stuart had not often been kind to others, he’d cared for her as much as he was able. Cared for her in a way some might prize a new riding horse or a set of fine china. Yet there had been those moments before his departure to the front. Moments when he’d treated her far better than she deserved. In those moments … she’d failed miserably.
And Travis Hart was not hers, nor would he ever be. She didn’t deserve his love. Did not deserve even to be thinking of him in such a way as this. He would be her colleague and nothing more. They had worked well together last night and could continue to do so. She would toss aside her romantic fancies and focus on the reasons she had returned to Hartville. Building a life for her son. Mending her relationship with her father. Taking Mrs. Miller’s place and helping the women of the Texas Hill Country birth new life into the world.
She jabbed a final pin into the messy chignon at the nape of her neck and smoothed the front of her tan and black riding outfit. She’d altered the skirt so it resembled a pair of bloomers, though when not atop a horse, it remained discreetly modest. In Galveston, her calls had been made using a buggy. Here, all would be undertaken on horseback.
Robbie bounded into her bedroom, Josie at his heels.
“Ma! There’s a man to see you downstairs.”
“It’s Travis Hart,” Josie supplied, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “The doctoring Hart brother. You feeling all right today, Annie? Maybe he’s here to pay a house call.”
A flush doused Annie’s cheeks. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you. Dr. Hart is probably here to discuss a patient. Wash your face, Robbie.” She ruffled her son’s tousled hair. “You’re as sticky as if you’d bathed in the syrup bottle.” She gave him a push toward her washstand and descended the stairs, supply bag in hand. What business did Travis have with her? Was something amiss at the Tatum household? Her pulse kicked up a notch as she heard voices in the parlor—because she was a midwife concerned for her patient, not because one of the voices was deep, rugged, and decidedly Texan.
Travis stood in front of the fireplace, conversing with her father. Brock Parker lounged in a leather chair, hardly the picture of a ranch owner intent on work.
“Annie.” A smile edged Travis’s mouth.
“Dr. Hart.” She made a slight nod, gripping the handle of her bag.
“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to check on Mrs. Tatum. Seeing as you’re the one who oversaw the delivery and all.”
“Don’t you have more pressing calls in need of your attention?” The last thing her foolish heart needed was to be alone with him again.
He fingered the rim of the Stetson in his hands. Today, he seemed more ranch hand than doctor. Light blue shirt, gray vest, tan trousers, and sturdy boots. “Not right now. I thought it prudent for me to have a look at things, seeing as the delivery was complicated.”
She was going to have to start treating him as her colleague, and she might as well begin today. “Very well, then. I just need to saddle my horse.”
“No need. I brought my buckboard. I thought it might be a nice change.”
“Won’t returning me home take up too much of your time? I don’t have all day to waste tagging along on your calls.” She lifted her chin a notch.
He didn’t even blink. “I’ll bring you back in plenty of time to do whatever it is you need to do.”
She waited for him to precede her out the door, but he gestured for her to go first. “After you.” Another steady smile.
Soon they were driving away from the Parker ranch, heading in the direction of the Tatum residence. The warm May air teased her senses, clean and pure. This was the Texas she had missed, en
dless blue skies, grazing cattle, dusty roads. Memories lived here, as crystal clear as if she’d written them in a diary. Memories that danced between apple-pie sweet and crabapple sour. Memories of two men…
Both didn’t bear thinking about right now.
“I didn’t get the chance to meet Robbie. Mind if I do when we get back?” Travis shifted the reins in his hands.
“I guess not.” What did it matter if he met her son? Hadn’t she wished during her confinement that Travis had been the father? A wicked, evil wish she’d long since banished from her thoughts.
“There’ve been a lot of changes around El Regalo lately. Hays is married. Fell in love with a nice young lady by the name of Emma Longley. Guess he liked the idea of settling down better than flirting after every skirt that comes along.”
She remembered Hays Hart. Josie had always thought him extremely handsome and devastatingly charming.
Annie had eyes only for Travis.
Travis kept his gaze on the road. His Stetson tipped a bit, obscuring his eyes. “Then there’s Chisholm. He recently returned with his new wife, Caro. I’ve never seen him so happy. I think he’d sit and stare at her all day, if he could. I guess love has a way of bringing even the most determined wanderers home.”
Annie fixed her gaze on the pale blue sky, on the hard-packed ground, on anything other than his face. She didn’t want him talking about love, not when their own past lay so raw between them.
So she merely said, her tone rather tart, “The younger Harts are putting the older ones to shame. When Austin and Bowie decide to follow their example, the ranch may very well go to rack and ruin, what with all that love going around, and no one having a mind to work.”
She expected her words to make him angry, but he only chuckled. “My father would see the ranch run, even if everyone else stayed starry-eyed. He loves that place. Loves it more than anything else on this earth, except his children and his wife. Bit by bit, he’s sharing it with us, our part of his legacy.”
They reached the Tatum farmhouse. Travis jumped down and tied the horses to the hitching post. Annie grabbed her bag and moved to descend. Before she could collect herself, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her down. Though she wore both jacket and corset, the warmth of his hands seared her like twin coals.
She headed toward the house.
Love has a way of bringing even the most determined wanderers home.
She’d come home, there was no denying that.
But love would have nothing to do with it.
Either he’d offended her in some way, or Annie Lawrence had changed more than a chameleon. She didn’t chatter. She scarcely smiled. She behaved as if Travis’s very existence was a bane to her.
And here he’d thought their flame of a romance might catch tinder once more.
“Mrs. Tatum seemed to be in fine health.” He had to say something to fill the silence. Some of his brothers—Bowie particularly—might be content to sit like a corpse while in the company of a lady. To Travis it seemed impolite.
“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances of her labor.”
There. Finally some words. She didn’t meet his gaze though, fixating instead on the trees and hills they drove past.
“I still can’t believe that was your first breech delivery. You handled it well.”
“I do what I must.” A reddish-blond strand came loose from her upswept hair and blew in the gentle wind. He stared at it, as transfixed by the fluttering ringlet as a boy watching his first kite take wing.
They reached the Parker ranch and Travis whoaed the horses. Chico and Cyrus had daily practice obeying his low-spoken commands, and the two black Morgans halted immediately.
“I’ll help you with your bag.” He jumped down, and rounded the wagon.
“There’s no—” Annie began.
Josie Parker rounded the corner of the house, heading straight toward them. “Oh, thank goodness you’re back!” Her breath came in the short, ragged pants indicative of hyperventilation.
“Is something wrong?” Annie scrambled out of the buckboard.
“It’s…” She bent double, heaving for breath. “Robbie. Accident. Quick. By the big oak tree.”
It was wartime all over again. Someone was bleeding to death, would die if Travis didn’t get there quick enough. After grabbing his bag, he ran at a speed that would’ve made his cowboy brothers proud, Annie just behind him.
A cluster of ranch hands circled the tree. Travis shoved them aside.
A small boy—Robbie—lay on the grass, his left arm bent at an awkward angle. Travis dropped to his knees.
“Hey there, young man. Took a spill, I see?” His breath whooshed out in relief as he surveyed the injury. No compound fracture. Just a simple break. But it would need to be set.
“Ma.” Robbie reached his dirt-covered right hand toward his mother, who knelt on his other side. Annie grasped her son’s fingers, clutching tightly, her other palm stroking his tangled hair. “It hurts, Ma.”
“I know, darling. But I’m going to stay right here with you the whole time. You’re going to be all right.” Annie’s tone resonated with total calm.
“I’ll need two boards for a splint.” Josie and one of the ranch hands scattered to do his bidding. Travis turned to Annie. “We’re going to have to set this. You understand?” He tried to convey with his eyes what he didn’t want to verbalize. Setting a broken bone could be painful, even for a grown man.
Annie nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”
Josie and the adolescent ranch hand returned with two straight, thin pieces of board.
He found the bandage strips, then placed his hand on Robbie’s forehead. “Listen to me, son. I’m going to fix your arm, but I’ll need you to help me out here. You’ll need to keep very still, and be real brave, just like a soldier.”
Robbie sniffled. “I’ll try.”
“Good. You’re doing fine already.” He pulled a linen-wrapped dowel from his bag, handed it to Annie. She placed it in Robbie’s mouth.
“Ready?” He met Annie’s eyes. She nodded, her face chalk-white.
In a swift movement, he maneuvered the bone back into position. Robbie screamed.
One of the ranch hands helped Travis splint the limb, wrapping it firmly with bandage strips. Annie held her son’s hand the whole while, humming softly. Though the music didn’t seem to calm Robbie, it loosened the tension tugging at Travis’s nerves while he worked.
“There now. The worst part is all over. We’ll carry you inside, get you all nice and comfortable, and then you’ll get a treat for being such a brave patient.”
With the ranch hand’s help, Travis carried Robbie into the house. Annie preceded them, and when they entered the only lower-floor bedroom, they found the quilt cast aside and the sheets turned down. As gently as he could, Travis laid Robbie atop the bed. He reassessed the splint, making sure all remained secure. Josie entered the room and handed Travis his bag.
“I’ve seen generals put up more of a ruckus than you, Robbie Lawrence. You’re a fine man already.” He pulled two peppermint sticks from a special compartment and passed them to the boy. “They might not be a medal of bravery, but they sure taste a lot better.”
“Thanks.” Robbie smiled weakly. “Did you doctor soldiers, sir?”
Travis returned the smile. “I sure did. I knew a lot of soldiers, young man. When I come to check on you tomorrow, I’ll tell you about some of them.” He handed a bottle of laudanum to Annie. “I don’t have to tell you how to dispense this properly. You know what to do.”
She nodded. As her fingers closed over the bottle, he noticed the tremble passing through her hands.
“Give him some right now. It will help him rest more comfortably. I’m going outside to make sure my horses are all right.” He exited the room. For a moment, he stood outside the door, listening to Annie’s gentle words as she tucked the blankets around her little boy.
He’d wanted to meet Robbie, though not
under these circumstances. Still, a rush of affection for the boy welled through him. Annie’s son. Just like her, too, with the same finely chiseled features and messy reddish-blond hair. The fear in her eyes as she’d knelt by her boy’s side had made him want to swallow her in his arms and hold her close until her worry ceased….
It was all foolish thinking. She shouldn’t be becoming so much a part of his thoughts, after so short a reacquaintance. The “if only’s” crowded into his mind. If only he had never gone to war. If only she had never married Stuart. If only her heart might turn toward his once again. If only. If only. For now “if only’s” were all they were.
And all they would most likely become.
Chapter Four
This is what comes of women gadding around the countryside, when they should be at home. You’ve been gone from this part of the country a long time, daughter. Pity your intelligence hasn’t improved in the interim.”
Annie lowered her head, not wanting her father to glimpse the tears needling her eyes. Wasn’t witnessing her son’s pain enough rebuke? Must he rub it in, salt on an already burning wound?
“A cat mothers its kittens better than you do your son. Who ever thought you were a fit person to bring infants into the world, I haven’t a clue.” Her father had returned home just minutes after Robbie was settled and had commenced with a verbal flailing ever since.
Her chin lifted ever so slightly. Brock Parker stood in front of the parlor mantel, his bulky frame and angry eyes menacing. Suddenly she was seventeen all over again, begging to be allowed to live her own life…
“You will do as I say.” Her father’s voice was harder than granite, and just as unyielding. The same tone he’d used time and again for every decision Annie tried to have an opinion on. “You’re only a woman, with no intelligence worth mentioning.” A phrase uttered countless times, reducing her to nothing more than an automaton.
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