Mollie: Bride of Georgia (American Mail-Order Brides 4)

by Lorrie Farrelly

  “I, uh, I was just thinking, uh, you see, Miss Winters,” he continued, more than a little awkwardly. “It, uh, it may be a while before you see significant proceeds from your book, so I’m just thinking, perhaps….”

  He stopped, shrugged.

  Mollie leaned forward. “Thought what, Doctor?”

  “Well, when all’s said and done, y’all did a fine job today, ma’am. You’re smart and quick, and you did what I asked you to do without hesitation or error.”

  “You mean, suh, that I did what you commanded.”

  He shrugged again. “Yes, well, the point is, you did well, and if y’all would like to earn some additional wages while awaiting the profit from your book – which I’m certain, by the way, will surely be forthcoming – well, I’d like to offer you the position of Veterinary Assistant here at the Grant Park Zoo. I seem to be in immediate need of an assistant, what with Bentley takin’ to the hills and all. Fifteen dollars a week, plus…” He nodded at her rumpled clothing beneath the stained apron. “… an allowance to purchase some suitable work clothes.”

  Mollie sat back in her chair, eyes wide. Perhaps she should have seen it coming, but she truly had not expected his offer. Veterinary assistant! Whatever would Mama say? She was likely rolling in her grave as it was.

  Still, Mollie thought, imagine helping take care of those beautiful animals, including the one she now thought of as her own dear Miss Peaches! And imagine being able to work every day beside Nicholas Avinger, whom in the last few hours she’d gone from thoroughly despising to grudgingly admiring. Oh, that would be so….

  Scandalous. There was no getting around it. Her reputation would likely be ruined, as a veterinarian and assistant would never be seen in the same noble light as a medical doctor and his highly respected nurses. There shouldn’t be any difference, but Mollie knew there was. It was just the way of things.

  “I … I don’t know what to say, Doctor,” she said slowly. “I would very much like to accept the position, but I simply cannot.”

  “Why not?” Nick’s brows beetled and his eyes narrowed mutinously. “It’s a dam-, er, darn good offer.”

  “Yes, I know it is, but, well, I’m sure you realize how much we … you and I … would have to work in close proximity, just as we did today while tending to Miss Peaches. This was an unusual situation … an emergency, if you will … but on a regular basis, it would be … unseemly. People would talk.”

  When his scowl deepened and he gave an obstinate snort, she added quickly, “Y’all know they would, Doctor. And I must think of my reputation, suh, especially now that I am embarking upon a career as a writer.”

  “You ask me, Miss Winters,” Nick growled, “a little scandal would be good for your book sales.”

  “Doctor Avinger!”

  “Yeah, I know, I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “All right, I apologize. And I reckon I do see your point, Miss Winters. About the close proximity and all.” Two splotches of bright color appeared high on his cheeks, and he swallowed, but he did not look away from her. In fact, his gaze grew more intense. He didn’t like the insane idea that suddenly occurred to him. He did not like it at all.

  Hold your horses, boy! Have you taken leave of your senses? Nick’s common sense railed at him. Not one hour ago you swore you’d never again put yourself in a fix like this, and now….

  But Nick Avinger was about to learn the oldest lesson of mankind: Common sense hasn’t a prayer once a woman gets under a man’s skin.

  He slapped his palms on the table, startling Mollie. “Very well, then, Miss Winters. Here’s the way I see it. You need money, at least until you can make a living from your writing. I need your assistance in the treatment room. And after all, y’all did come here to Atlanta with the stated intention of marryin’ me, so it seems….”

  Mollie’s cheeks flamed with indignation. “I … I … did not! I came here to pursue my career and to consider marrying you, Doctor!”

  He waved her indignant words away. “Yes, yes, all right. You came to consider marrying me. The point is, in a strange way, it may just be the answer to our dilemma. We get married, y’all come to work as my assistant. No scandal. You can still write all you want on your own time. I don’t care, whatever makes you happy.”

  Mollie could only stare at him. “You … you are asking to marry me? After all that fuss you put up? Well, suh, just you look here. You are hardly what one would call a cheerful prospect. What if I don’t want to marry you?”

  Nick sighed. “Miss Winters, I know I’m not the handsomest nor most sociable fella in town …” Unconsciously, he raked his fingers through his hair again, pulling a thick hank down to cover part of the scar that ran the length of his face. “… but it does seem we work well together, you and I.”

  When Mollie continued to simply stare at him wide-eyed, he cleared his throat and hurried on. “I, uh, well, I do own a house and some acreage a few miles away, and I make a good living. You know I like kids and animals, and I won’t ask anything of you that you don’t want to give. You must admit, marriage would be a … a practical move for both of us. It does make a certain kind of sense, don’t you think?”

  A practical, sensible move. Mollie’s heart sank, and she could not fully understand why. Hadn’t practicality, expediency, and the chance of a new life been the whole point of her journey to Atlanta, The Groom’s Gazette in hand, in the first place?

  Be very careful what you wish for, Margaret. The fates can be most unkind. For once, her mother’s pessimistic warnings actually seemed to hold a certain amount of truth and wisdom.

  Nick held out his hand to her, his eyes shaded with uncertainty instead of his usual imperiousness. “Well, what do you say? Will y’all share my work and my life with me? I’ll do the best I can by you, Miss Winters, I swear it.”

  Trembling, nerves jangling in a woozy mix of excitement and trepidation, Mollie slowly slipped her small hand into his much larger one. “Very well, Doctor Avinger. I … I accept your proposal. Um, both of them, I reckon.”

  He nodded, squeezed her hand. “Very well, then, Miss Winters. I’m relieved that’s settled.”

  “I suppose you should call me Mollie, now, Doctor,” she said, a little hesitantly. Given their circumstances, it was a perfectly normal liberty for him to take, and yet somehow, it seemed suddenly quite intimate.

  “Make it Nick,” he said, then added, “Would you do something else for me, Miss – I mean, Mollie?”

  “You have another request?” Mollie’s eyes could not get much wider.

  “I do. I’ve been wondering … well, I’ve been wondering what color your eyes are. Would you mind removing your spectacles?”

  A quick bolt of panic shot through Mollie, and she hesitated. Mama always said it was such a shame about her eyes. But then, Mama only saw the worst of things. What would Nicholas see?

  “My … my eyes are very sensitive to the light, I’m afraid, suh,” she said quietly, buying time to quiet her nerves. “Would you … would you be so kind as to turn down the lamp?”

  “Of course. But if you’d rather not, I….”

  There was no point putting it off. It would be what it would be, and he’d know soon enough, anyway.

  Steeling herself for his reaction, Mollie shook her head. “No, I don’t mind,” she lied. “It’s quite all right. I … I just need the light a bit lower, if you please.”

  Nick nodded, turned down the flame on the lantern.

  Mollie reached up and slowly, carefully removed her tinted glasses. She raised her eyes to meet his, squinting a bit in the now dimmed lantern light.

  Right away Nick saw thin lines of scarring about her right eye, but then he shifted his gaze, met her guarded one. He found himself looking straight into stunning, blue-violet eyes, the irises ringed in near black, clear as a mountain stream and deep as the ocean. He swallowed hard, and abruptly knew he was lost.

  Judas Priest, he thought, a little desperately. I am in some trouble now.
<
br />   CHAPTER 8

  “Doctor? Nick?”

  Mollie frowned, quickly fumbled her spectacles back on, and studied Nick’s face worriedly. The way he was staring at her…. Was he repulsed? Her stomach clenched in dread.

  Nick blinked, seemed to come back to himself. Cheeks flushing with color, he cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, Mollie,” he said, a little tongue-tied. “Wool … woolgathering there for a moment, I reckon.”

  Clasping her hands together nervously, Mollie said, “I know there is scarring, Doctor, but there is nothing I can do about it save try not to let it go further than skin deep. I hoped you, of all people, might understand that.”

  Nick nodded, and there was no hint of mockery or sarcasm when he said quietly, “Yes, I do, Mollie. I do understand. And I admire your strength of heart and character.” He reached out, gently laid his hand on her cheek. For the briefest of heartbeats, she pressed her cheek into his palm.

  At that small touch, a flood of tangled emotions he could not sort out gripped Nick’s heart and squeezed, hard. Then one feeling he did understand threatened to swamp him: lust, plain and simple. He wanted Mollie, he wanted her badly, he wanted her now.

  Pulling his hand back more abruptly than he’d intended, he picked up the publishing contract with trembling fingers and awkwardly stuffed it back into its envelope.

  Clearing his throat, he said, a bit too brusquely, “Well, uh, Miss Winters, perhaps we’d best get you home now. It’s rather late.”

  A little uncertainly, Mollie nodded and stood. She took a step back from the table, watched Nick with an unreadable expression. Knowing he was making a hash of things, he managed a thin smile and added, “Wouldn’t want Miz Wheeler comin’ after me with her shotgun, now, would I?”

  Surprised by his attempt at humor, Mollie said, “Mrs. Wheeler has a shotgun?”

  Nick nodded, took up the lantern and escorted Mollie to the door. “’Course she does. She’s a fine Southern lady, now, isn’t she?”

  Finally, Mollie smiled. “Yes, suh, that she is.”

  Outside the building, Nick turned onto a roadway that led away from the zoo enclosures and over the crest of the hill. A small stable and carriage house came into view.

  “I appreciate y’all seeing me home, Doctor,” Mollie said, then quickly amended, “Nick. But I truly don’t mind walking. There’s a lovely moon tonight, and there’s plenty of light from the gas lamps along the way.”

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy walking with you, Mollie, but I’m going to take your contract over to George tonight, and then I need to get back here to keep an eye on the … er, Miss Peaches.”

  “Oh,” Mollie said, coming to a halt. “I see. Well, thank you. And as I said, I don’t mind walking, and I shall be quite safe. It’s only a few blocks to the boarding house.”

  As she turned away, Nick reached out and caught her arm. “Dammit, I didn’t mean you should walk home alone,” he snapped. As her eyes narrowed and she looked pointedly at his hand gripping her arm, he sighed, released her. “I meant,” he said with exaggerated patience, “that we’ll take the buggy. It’ll only take a minute to hitch up Magnolia.”

  “Oh, I see,” Mollie said again, feeling a little foolish. Without thinking, she added, “But perhaps I should just stay here tonight.”

  Nick made a slightly strangled sound in his throat, and Mollie suddenly realized the implication of what she had said.

  “Oh, no! I wasn’t suggesting … that is, I only meant … to … to help you with Miss Peaches, of course. And her mate. I’ve named him Cream, you see, to go with Peaches, as it were, and….” Flustered, realizing she was babbling, Mollie blushed furiously and covered her mouth with her hand.

  A smile tugged at Nick’s mouth before he caught himself and schooled his features. What was it about this little bit of a woman he found so entertaining?

  “Ah, I see. So he’s Cream, is he? Huh. Well, I might’ve known.” He shook his head, but Mollie heard an unmistakable hint of amusement in his voice. He reached out, took her hand, gave a small tug.

  “Come on, Miss Winters. You’re going home before either one of us changes our mind.”

  • • • • •

  “Nick,” Mollie said, turning to him and laying a tentative hand on his arm as he drove Magnolia along at leisurely pace.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I … I want you to know … well, I think you are quite a handsome man.”

  He turned to her, astonished. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. You have very kind features, when you are not scowling and glowering, that is.”

  “Ah,” he said. “You are referring to the third Tuesday of every other month.”

  Smiling wryly, Mollie nodded. “Apparently.” Then she grew serious again. “But no, Nick, I’m not speaking in jest. I do think you handsome. You know I have no concern for the scar, though I do feel sorry for what y’all must have suffered to acquire it.”

  His brows beetled. Would she never stop setting him off-kilter? He was about to mumble some vague but dismissive thanks and change the subject, but before he could speak, she caught him by surprise again.

  “However, I feel I must ask. Y’all haven’t been engaging in barroom brawls, now, have you, Dr. Avinger?”

  When he snorted derisively, a sudden, more frightening thought occurred to her, and she leaned toward him. “Oh, Nick, you weren’t hurt treating one of your patients, were you?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am.” Then, after a long pause, he sighed, shrugged. “Bayonet.”

  Mollie pulled back. “What?”

  “I was lucky, all things considered. Consarned Yank was going for my throat.”

  “Good Lord!” Mollie whispered, horrorstruck. “You were wounded in the war? Why, y’all couldn’t have been more than a child!”

  In the moonlight Mollie could see a shadow of pain cross his face. “Not that much. I was going on thirteen. ’Course, I was big for my age, looked older, and….”

  “Going on thirteen? You were twelve?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “As I said, I was big for my age.” He went on as though Mollie hadn’t spoken. “Turned out it didn’t matter, anyway. By the summer of ’64, when Sherman marched on Atlanta, the army was calling up old men and boys whether they had one foot in the grave or one in the cradle. My Granddaddy Curtis joined up with me. He said if the Army just averaged us out, we’d make one 35-year-old soldier.”

  “Oh, Nick, how terrible that must have been for you and your family!” Tears began to sting Mollie’s eyes. In her mind, she pictured Nick as a proud, cocky, secretly terrified boy in a too-big uniform, bravely shouldering an old hunting musket while his mother and sister wept at his leave-taking.

  “Well, I reckon it was, though we really hadn’t any choice in the matter. My daddy and brother Jim had already gone with the 42nd Georgia, way back in ’62. Daddy died of typhoid fever in a winter camp in Knoxville, not six months after he joined up, and Jim fell at Missionary Ridge. So yeah, I reckon it was pretty hard on Mama and Ida when Granddaddy and I went off to fight, too.”

  “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry. I lost my father, too, at Jonesboro, but what your family went through….”

  He shook his head again. “No different from most families, Mollie. But I’m very sorry to hear about your father.”

  Mollie sniffled, blotted her nose with her handkerchief. “Thank you.”

  A bitter smile twisted Nick’s lips. “Truth is, even knowing what we knew, and deep-down scared as I was, I still thought fighting in a real battle was gonna be glorious and exciting. I remember telling Mama not to worry. Granddaddy and I, we were gonna stop those damn Yanks in their tracks and send’em off to have their supper in hell.” He paused, seemed to hear what he’d just said. He shook his head, cleared his throat. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mollie.”

  Her throat too filled with emotion to speak, Mollie waved away his apology. Nick shrugged, took a breath, went on.

  “Well, like most b
oys, I was just about as scared spitless as I was cocky.” He sighed and said, “I reckon we did our duty. But I was the only one of us to come home, you see, and by then, Mama was gone, too. So that was that. Done and no goin’ back.” He paused, added, “Huh. Now that I think of it, I wish I had been in a barroom brawl instead of that hell-scourge war.”

  He looked at Mollie, saw the tears streaking her cheeks, and his heart squeezed in pain. Carefully wrapping an arm about her shoulders, he gave her an awkward hug, then simply held her to his side. Mollie laid her cheek against his coat, felt his breathing and the muffled beat of his heart.

  “Aw, don’t go crying now, Miss Mollie,” Nick murmured. “You’ll make those pretty eyes of yours all red.”

  She managed a small, damp laugh of surprise at the compliment, and for the first time, Mollie began to trust things might just possibly work out all right.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next week sped by. Despite his gruffness, which Mollie thought might be softening just the tiniest bit, working alongside Nick at the zoo seemed to make the hours fly. Each evening, back in her little room at Mrs. Wheeler’s boarding house, she would eagerly and painstakingly write a vivid account of the day’s events in her notebook until her eyes began to water with fatigue. Though Mollie hated to put away her writing, at last exhaustion would inevitably get the better of her, and the moment her head hit the pillow, she fell asleep.

  Nick, meanwhile, had rendered his brother-in-law momentarily speechless when he’d taken him Mollie’s publishing contract, asking for his advice and also mentioning, in an offhanded tone, that she was now working as his assistant at the zoo. George had quickly recovered, though, and with what Nick considered an entirely too amused twinkle in his eye, George had taken the contract and given it an expert fine-tuning, rendering the provisions even more solidly advantageous to Mollie.

  When Willis Porter read the amended version, his brow beetled and he grumbled under his breath, but he signed it nevertheless, and was, in fact, secretly delighted to do so. He’d had the chance to read the entire manuscript of Hearts of the Windswept Range, and he thought it a real crackerjack.