The Halsey Brothers Series

by Paty Jager

  She bit back the laugh bubbling in her throat. “No, Mr. Halsey, I didn’t take this profession to prove I was better than a man. I picked the profession to help others.”

  His sun-bronzed face flushed a crimson to rival a breathtaking sunset. “I-I didn’t mean to say—”

  She patted his shoulder. “I understood. I was just teasing.”

  His body relaxed under her hand. His muscled shoulder heated her palm, and she pulled it away.

  “Let’s get this examination done and you back to Donny before he comes looking for you.” She smiled and slipped the stethoscope into her ears. “He’s taken a shine to you. I’ve not seen him like any men since I’ve been here.” She slipped the wooden bell of the stethoscope down the front of Mr. Halsey’s unbuttoned collar.

  He grabbed her hand. “What’s that?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t warn you. I put the bell end of my stethoscope down your shirt to listen to your heart.” She extracted her hand from his and held the bell against his solid chest.

  “What’s that got to do with my eyes?”

  She leaned in closer to listen, and his heart picked up speed. “The state requires a physical for all students.” She listened to the steady glub, glub of his heart longer than necessary. Recognizing her reluctance to remove the bell jarred her into action. She removed the instrument from inside his shirt and backed away. She knew better than to be attracted to a patient. It was one of the reasons the male professors believed a woman couldn’t be a doctor. Her weak constitution would allow her sensibilities to override her duty.

  Rachel placed the instrument on the table and returned with the percussion hammer. “Cross one knee over the other, please.”

  Mr. Halsey complied.

  “I’m going to tap your leg below the knee. This is a test of your reflexes.” She tapped. His foot jumped as well as his body.

  “Hey!” He uncrossed his legs. “What’s that supposed to tell you?”

  The annoyance wrinkling his forehead made her smile. “It shows if your reflexes are sluggish, and that would mean more could be wrong in your head than just your sight.” She shifted to his left. “Other leg crossed, please.”

  She repeated the process. Both sides showed good signs. Rachel put the hammer down, picked up a hand lens, and stepped closer to Mr. Halsey. Even sitting in the examination chair, his tall frame and broad shoulders made an imposing figure.

  “I’m going to look into your right eye first.” She pressed close, her body brushing his arm as she put her free hand on his face. “I’ll hold your eyelid open.” Holding her breath to still the quiver of her insides, she leaned in and studied his dark brown iris, and then searched the outer white for any signs of continued blood flow to the eye. Though she detected no damage, she didn’t see the pulse of life in the white. She backed away and moved to the other side of the chair.

  “I’m going to look in your other eye now.” She again placed a hand on his face and opened the eyelid, stilling her fluttering heart as she pressed close. His clean-shaven face had a couple small nicks on the edges of his angular cheeks. The spice of his shave soap lingered on his skin.

  She resisted the urge to rub her cheek against his. The heat of his face under her palm and his breath moving wisps of wayward hair fluttered her eyes closed. She pretended for a brief moment he could be her husband. A man who loved her and wouldn’t be threatened by her occupation or sickened by her hideous scar.

  His breathing quickened. His hand settled on her waist, slid around to her back, and drew her forward. Her hand, holding the lens, dropped to his shoulder, and she opened her eyes. This behavior on both their parts was unconscionable, but her constricted throat wouldn’t allow her to utter the rebuke.

  Clay sensed the moment the doctor slid from professional to aroused woman. The hand on his cheek caressed rather than held, her breathing quickened, and her scent invaded his senses like a warm summer rain.

  He pulled her body next to his. She came willingly, but then stiffened. Her hands moved to his shoulders. She didn’t take a step back, but her chest expanded with an intake of breath.

  “Call me Clay when we’re alone.” He didn’t pull her any closer. Instead, he reached up to touch her face. What did she look like? His fingers tangled in soft wisps of hair. She backed away, pulling out of his arm.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—” Her voice quivered.

  “No, it was me. I shouldn’t have touched you.” The earlier pleasant companionship was now singed like summer flowers after a first frost. All because he hadn’t been able to resist touching her. Since their first meeting, warmth grew in his chest at the sound of her voice and his skin tingled at her touch.

  Ominous quiet filled the room. Not a rustle of clothing, deep breathing, or retreating steps.

  He reached out in the direction she’d retreated. His fingers skimmed across fabric and he heard her step away.

  Clay lowered his hand. Regret and loneliness battled to take hold in his chest. “I truly am sorry. I wouldn’t want my forwardness to change the friendship we’re building.”

  “It’s not you.” Her voice quivered again and—it sounded laced with tears.

  “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

  Never had his actions shamed him as they did now. He’d made this woman cry. His arms ached to console her, but he fought the urge, determined not to cause her further sorrow.

  She sniffed and a damp hand grasped his. “Don’t. Don’t think you did this. And I value the friendship we’re building as well. I just…” Her hand pulled out of his. She blew her nose, and a half-hearted laugh echoed in the stillness.

  “I’m sorry you have to be a part of me making a fool of myself.” Her clipped tone proved she’d gained control and revealed to him her strength.

  “I’ve been told if you can’t show all your sides to a friend and still be friends, he isn’t really a friend.” Clay raised an eyebrow, hoping to ease the tension.

  She laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Well, you caught me at my worst today. I promise to remain professional from now on.”

  “You don’t have to be professional around me all the time. Especially when we’re alone, like now.” He raised a hand, palm out, acknowledging what his words might convey. “I don’t mean we need to drop proprieties. But I would prefer you call me Clay rather than Mr. Halsey. What’s your given name?”

  “Rachel.” Her voice held a smile.

  “That’s a pretty name.” Silence pressed around them again. Why had that comment affected her? Best to change the subject.

  “What did you discover in my eyes? Any chance this is temporary?” He couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of his voice. As much as he wanted to see again, he wanted to know this woman better. Wished he could see her, gaze into her eyes—see the emotions swimming in their depths.

  “I can’t give you false hope. Your eyes are clear, but they don’t react to light. Time is the only way to tell if you’ll improve.”

  Her professional tone and direct answer doused his hopes. He’d be stuck in this black hole the rest of his life.

  “I better get you back to Donny. I’m impressed with the way you two were getting along.” Her fingers wrapped around his hand, drawing his arm forward. The moment she started to slip her hand from his, he slid his palm up her arm to her shoulder, gauging her height. The top of her head would come to his shoulder.

  She stepped beside him and slipped her hand around his arm.

  “I was just seeing how tall you are,” he said following her pace.

  “The top of my head comes to your shoulder,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “And what’s your build? You don’t walk heavy. And I noticed you have curves.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll share later when we’re in private,” she whispered over the tap of the matron’s shoe growing louder.

  “Dr. Tarkiel, I thought Mr. Halsey was helping Donny?” The suspicion in the matron’s voice didn’t bode well for him sp
ending time with Rachel.

  “I finished his new student physical and am returning him to the broom-making room.”

  Did he detect a bit of prickle in the doctor’s tone? Clay bit his lip to keep from smiling. It wouldn’t do to rankle the matron.

  “I’ll take him from here.” Mrs. White’s heavy-handed tone irked Clay.

  “Ladies, I can find my way from here.” He turned to Rachel. “Dr. Tarkiel, thank you for doing your duty.” He unhooked her hand from his arm and stepped to the railing.

  He strode down the hall and into the broom-making room, sorting out the incident with the doctor. Could she be feeling the attraction he was? She’d been aroused by his nearness. Her breathing had sped, and her voice had deepened to silky tones. He wanted to discover the woman in her, but he needed her friendship. He missed his brothers and newly acquired sisters. His whole life he’d been surrounded by family. If the only way he could keep the friendship was to ignore the attraction, he’d try.

  Damn! Why did he have to find a woman who interested him when he wasn’t in any shape to care for anyone? He could barely care for himself.

  Chapter 5

  Rachel stood at the infirmary window watching Clay help Mr. Smith spade the garden area. His easy movement and quick work of the patch showed he knew hard labor. One spade full at a time, he laid the earth over. The slight drizzle, common for this time of year, trickled off his hat brim. Her heart sped, and she waved a hand in front of her face to dissipate the heat building.

  She’d spent the past two weeks avoiding the blind school’s oldest student, not trusting the way her body reacted around him. She had to remain professional. If not, she risked her job and Clay’s education. He could end up expelled. Visiting with Donny, she’d learned while Clay found reading Braille frustrating, he was making progress. She didn’t want to stand in his way of learning. Of returning to his family.

  “Get to work,” she told herself and reluctantly moved from the window. Upon her arrival this morning, Mrs. White had brought her a student with a rash on her arms and upper torso. She opened the medical book and began reading, again. There had to be a logical explanation for the rash. The child wasn’t feverish or otherwise showing illness.

  If she couldn’t find the answer in her books, she’d have to visit her mentor and the one local doctor who didn’t disregard a woman physician.

  A loud crack rang against the window. She jumped and spun around to face the glass in time to see a spatter of gravel strike the pane.

  Rachel ran across the room and shoved the window up. Mr. Smith hopped from one foot to the other.

  “Mr. Halsey, he done falled!” The man stared at her, his eyes round and scared.

  Air whooshed out her lungs and her knees trembled. Clay was hurt!

  “I’ll be right there!” She grabbed the leather bag with her instruments, charged out of the room, and ran down the hall to the outside door. Mr. Smith met her there, loping alongside as she continued at a jog.

  “I done told him not ta climb the ladder in the rain. He just laughed and started up. He don’t knowed this area. Things get slick with this here rain.”

  They rounded the corner of the tool shed. Her knees nearly folded at the sight of Clay. His head sat at an odd angle against the last rung of the ladder and one leg lay askew.

  Disregarding the mud, she dropped to her knees beside him and placed a hand on his chest. The slight rise and fall reassured her. He was alive!

  “Clay? Clay, can you hear me?” She patted his cheek, but he didn’t respond.

  “Go get Mr. Griffin to help carry Clay to the infirmary.” She didn’t look up at the handyman. She focused her attention on the blood seeping through Clay’s pant leg. An open fracture.

  With care, she ran her fingers over the back of his head. No open wound, but a large bump had already formed. She settled his head and back flat on the wet grass. Running her hands down his body, she searched for more breaks and straightened his limbs until she came to the broken leg.

  She cut away the bottom of his pant leg and surveyed the jagged bone sticking through his blood-drenched underdrawers and the hole in his flesh. Her gaze wandered to his face, and her chest squeezed. She’d set many bones during her year of practicum, but the thought of what she’d have to do to— She pushed her irrational thoughts away. She was a doctor. He was the patient and nothing more. She’d need Mr. Smith’s help to set the leg.

  Heavy footsteps and huffing approached. Mr. Smith, followed by Mr. Griffin, dashed around the corner of the building.

  “He’s unconscious and his leg needs to be set. Mr. Smith, pick him up under his arms, please.” Rachel shot a glance at Mr. Griffin. His face blanched, and he froze, staring at the wound.

  She pointed to the uninjured leg. “Mr. Griffin, grasp that leg. Hold on at his upper leg so the two of you carry most of his weight.” She held the injured leg, one hand on either side of the gaping hole in his shin, to keep the bone from doing any further damage.

  “On the count of three we’ll all pick him up and head to the infirmary.” She glanced at her bag. Someone could come back for it. “One, two, three.”

  They all stood at the same time and proceeded to the school. At the building, Mrs. White held the door open. Rachel nodded her thanks, and they continued to the infirmary. In the room, she directed them to place Clay on the wooden table near the windows. She’d need the help of the gray daylight along with the gas lighting to sew up the laceration.

  When Clay was settled on the table, she faced the men. “Mr. Griffin, please retrieve my bag. I left it by the ladder. Mr. Smith, I’ll need your help setting the bone.”

  Both men stood still as the furniture, staring at her.

  Mr. Griffin stepped forward. “I think it would be best if I helped set the bone.”

  “I saw the way you paled at the sight of the injury. I can’t have you fainting halfway through the procedure. And Mr. Smith is stronger. I need him to hold Mr. Halsey down should he come around while I’m working.” She waved the superintendent away. “Go get my bag.”

  “Mr. Smith, help me get Mr. Halsey’s trousers off, and then wash your hands.” Her hands shook reaching for the opening on Clay’s trousers. He was just a patient.

  Mr. Smith pushed her hands aside. “I can do that. Get yer stuff ready.”

  She sent him a weak smile and stepped to the cupboard for supplies.

  Gather up your emotions. She couldn’t let her feelings for Clay hinder her aid. She was a doctor first. Mr. Smith grunted, and Clay moaned, but she remained at the cupboard pulling out a basin, antiseptic soap, peroxide of hydrogen, needle, suture, rolled cotton bandage, and adhesive bandage. She stacked the supplies on a tray.

  “What about his long johns?” Mr. Smith asked from behind her.

  Rachel picked up a pair of scissors and glanced over her shoulder at the table. “I’ll cut the one leg above the wound.” She pulled the garment away from his knee and carefully cut the fabric around his muscular thigh, then down the front, laying the cloth open under his leg.

  She picked up the soap and motioned for Mr. Smith to follow her to the wash basin. Mr. Griffin entered carrying her bag.

  “Thank you. Place it on the desk.” She returned to washing her hands, standing shoulder to shoulder next to Mr. Smith.

  Mr. Griffin cleared his throat.

  She exhaled and threw him an impatient glance. “Yes?”

  The man didn’t say anything. Just shot a meaningful glance at the handyman, then at her and shook his head. Rachel rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for the superintendent’s bigotry.

  “We have things under control, Mr. Griffin. Thank you.” She dried her hands and handed the towel to Mr. Smith. He glanced at the other man, and then at her. She smiled and nodded. He took the cloth and dried.

  Mr. Griffin huffed something under his breath and left.

  Clay moaned.

  She rushed across the room to the table. “Clay? Clay, you have a broken leg. Mr. S
mith and I are going to fix it.” He didn’t respond.

  She had to treat him like any patient and quit showing emotion. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the chloroform and a towel. She dripped the liquid onto the towel and handed it to Mr. Smith.

  “Hold this above his nose. It keeps him sleepy while I work on the leg.”

  The man nodded, took the towel, and held it above Clay’s nose.

  “Good.” She used her fingers to probe the area around the broken bone. A clean break. But with an open fracture of the tibia, the fibula was broken, too. She hoped the smaller bone would move into place when she set the larger one. “Hold him down, I have to pull the bone back and seam it in place.”

  The big man nodded and placed his hands on Clay’s shoulders. Rachel grasped Clay’s long, slender foot and slowly pulled, easing the bone back into the flesh and turning the foot to match the broken ends together.

  Clay cursed and moved his head from side to side.

  “Hold the towel over him, again.” The bones in place, she doused the sterile cloth with the peroxide of hydrogen and scrubbed away all debris. She didn’t want to chance an infection.

  Happy with the state of the wound, she placed a hand on Clay’s chest to register his breathing. His rib cage moved in a steady rhythm. She glanced at his color and toward Mr. Smith.

  “You’re doing a fine job keeping him sedated.” She smiled at the handyman and picked up a needle and suture. He nodded but didn’t take his eyes off the needle in her hand. “I’m going to stitch the wound closed. He may flinch, but unless he moves his leg, don’t give him any more chloroform. I’d like him coming back around soon.”

  Mr. Smith nodded.

  Rachel held the skin together with her fingers, blood oozed around the skin and trickled down his leg. He’d been lucky the bones hadn’t severed a main artery. Fifteen stitches closed the gaping flesh. She stepped to the basin, washed her hands, and returned to the table to clean up his leg and the stitches.