Ginny Aiken

by Light of My Heart

  She resumed work over yet another box of medical supplies. Eric’s gaze strayed to her petite though shapely form more often than it should have. Dismayed by his thoughts, he wielded the hammer with greater force than needed. He spewed German as the hammer crushed his thumb.

  “What happened?” Letty rushed to his side. She chuckled in sympathy as she examined his throbbing thumb, then returned to her crate, withdrew a remedy jar, and with a silver spoon scooped out a trio of pellets. “Take these. Arnica works better than waving your hand.”

  Although he saw no further humor on her face, the sparkle in Letty’s silver eyes gave Eric the distinct impression that she enjoyed his discomfort. He tucked the remedy under his tongue to let the pellets dissolve.

  Favoring his smashed thumb, he dismantled two empty crates, stacked the wooden slats for later disposal, and tried to avoid all thought of Letty. Being so close made his efforts futile.

  A timely knock at the front door distracted Letty. When she ushered in a young woman carrying an infant, Eric welcomed the opportunity to observe her with a patient.

  “Let me hold the baby,” Letty said. Eric noted her poignant expression, heard her soft crooning. In the examining room, she offered the mother a seat on an unopened crate. “What’s wrong?”

  The young woman shot Eric a panicked look. “Well, I . . .”

  Letty sent him a mute appeal. When he didn’t budge, she stood, the baby nestled in the crook of her arm, and hurried to his side.

  “Can’t you see this is a sensitive situation?” she whispered. “My patient needs her privacy.”

  With a glance at the mother, she continued in a louder voice. “I need a pillow and a woolen coverlet from the room upstairs. Please fetch them for me, Mr. Wagner.”

  Reluctantly he followed her orders. At the top of the stairs, he found a tidy room, fragrant with the scent of violets. A quilt in white and rose covered a sturdy oak bed, and plump pillows hid the headboard. Comfort beckoned him inside.

  Rose-colored slippers peeped from beneath a white bed skirt, and a matching nightdress lay across the foot of the bed, ready for the woman who wore it. He saw the woolen coverlet under the nightdress.

  He reached for the blanket but stopped, his hand only inches away. In order to pick it up, he would have to touch Letty’s nightgown. The intimacy of that action held him back.

  The baby cried downstairs.

  She needed the coverlet. He had to touch that bit of cloth, and he did. So sheer that it felt like mist against his fingers, the nightdress bore the scent of violets, the sweetness of Letty. She’d slept in this garment the night before. Unable to resist, Eric brought the fabric to his face and took a deeper breath.

  “Mr. Wagner,” she called, “we need the blanket.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m on my way.”

  Partway down the stairs, he heard Letty’s patient speak again. “He wasn’t nursing proper, Dr. Morgan, and the breast turned sore and red. Now it hurts something fierce, worse when he sucks.”

  “Belladonna pellets should take care of the mastitis,” Letty answered. “Continue to nurse him and apply heat to the sore spot.”

  Eric didn’t dare enter unannounced. The women would be mortified if they knew he’d overheard their discussion. He purposely stumbled, and the clatter of his boot against the step led to silence.

  Then, “Did you find what I need?”

  Going to her side, he said, “Yes, Dr. Morgan. Here you are.” He dropped the pillow and coverlet on a crate. To make sure Letty’s patient didn’t get the wrong idea about his presence in the house, he added, “Since it’s late and I’m not done building your shelves, I will head on home and come back to finish them later this week. Remember, I’m still your landlord until the sale of the house is complete. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything else. Good evening.”

  Looking confused, Letty nodded. “Oh,” she said, as he opened the door, “before you leave, would you be so kind as to look at Mrs. Miller’s buggy? She had a problem with a wheel.”

  He nodded. “On my way.”

  After Mrs. Miller left, Letty resumed unpacking. What an odd day. At times she’d sensed Eric’s interest in her. At others, it had seemed as if he’d built a rock-hard wall between them. She wondered if he would ever overcome the loss of his wife and son.

  And that wasn’t all. A grim expression had killed Eric’s humor at the mention of his father. Her curiosity, of course, had immediately leapt to life, but it had gone unappeased, since she had no right to pry into such matters.

  She would never forget his kindness. He’d tried to make everything right for her, and his generosity encompassed others, too. After he’d examined Mrs. Miller’s buggy and determined that repairs would take at least two days, he’d driven mother and child back home.

  She couldn’t help liking the complicated, fascinating, irritating man she was coming to know. Although at times he appeared too serious and one could nearly touch his pain, at other times a sense of humor came into play.

  When she realized where her thoughts had gone, she frowned. “Enough of that, Letitia Morgan. You have too much work to do.”

  Returning to her boxes, she suspected it was perhaps the idle mind rather than idle hands that provided the devil his playground. She stacked jar after remedy jar on her new shelves. Then she folded linens. When the sun set and the room grew dark, she lit several lamps so as to continue working.

  Some time later, Letty pressed her fists into her lumbar region and flexed her spine. A knock startled her. Dusting off her hands on her skirt, she went through the former parlor to open the door.

  A disheveled Eric stood there.

  She gestured him inside. “What did you do to yourself?”

  The mischief in his face brought heat to Letty’s cheeks, and she backed into the room. He followed, a smile curving his mustache. He wore the same clothes he had earlier that day, but the hat now sported a crust of mud, and the coat’s wool had ripped. Despite the scrape on his right cheekbone and the swelling around his left eye, Eric remained the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  She stumbled.

  His smile widened. “I was on my way back to let you know I took care of your patient, and I found Slosh trading punches again. With our earlier conversation fresh in my mind, I let my convictions spur me to action. And Slosh says he doesn’t need you doctoring his wounds this time.”

  “You stopped another brawl!” Letty didn’t know whether to scold or hug him. She knew which she preferred, but it was highly improper. Instead, she led the way to the examining room. “At this rate, you’ll run through my stock of Arnica in no time.”

  He laughed. The sound swept up and down her spine. She turned and scooped pellets from the jar. Two tiny white balls fell from the spoon onto the shelf, then bounced to her feet. She blushed again.

  “I didn’t come for doctoring,” he said. “I wanted you to know that before I took Mrs. Miller and the baby home, I fetched her mother. They needed the help.”

  Letty tried to hide her surprise. How had he known she would worry about her patient?

  He was handsome, intelligent, caring, and brave—although in need of occasional prodding. As she gazed into his eyes, her admiration turned to appreciation and something more.

  His expression changed. His eyes glowed like the flames from the lamps, and the intensity scared her. She tried to back away but found herself pinned against a shelf. His gaze burned into hers, and she trembled.

  She knew she should avoid what was coming but found she couldn’t move. Ever so slowly, Eric lifted his hand and, with the back of two fingers, caressed her cheek. A current ran through her.

  He trailed his fingers to her chin, cupped her jaw in his rough, warm hand, and lifted her face. Then he smiled, a smile so sad it nearly broke her heart.

  “I like you, Letitia Morgan. I like you too much.”

  4

  “Eric Karl Wagner, du bist ein dummes Huhn!”

  The
face in the shaving mirror reflected his disgust. If he weren’t careful, not only would he continue to behave like a chicken, but he’d grow feathers and start clucking, too. He should avoid her, and yet here he was, at two o’clock in the afternoon, sprucing up to meet Dr. Letitia Morgan.

  During the past two weeks, he’d done everything possible to forget the lovely bird that had alighted in town. But the more he tried to dodge thoughts of Letty, the more tenacious they grew.

  Her violet scent spoke of gentle femininity, and her sweet smile charmed its recipient. Dr. Morgan was a lovely woman indeed.

  And he was fool enough to seek out the confounded woman again.

  He’d offered to help her with the typewriter, and he doubted the determined doctor would forget his offer. That being the case, he’d decided to get the ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. Then he could concentrate on avoiding her altogether.

  Ignoring Marmie’s persistent purring, Eric dusted off the marmalade cat hairs clinging to his trouser legs. He rubbed her head, collected his bowler from the table by the front door, and went out into the crisp, winter afternoon. He hitched the chestnut mares to his black rig, then headed into town. Reasons to turn back filled his mind. So did visions of Letty.

  He tethered the buggy at the post outside the doctor’s home. After straightening his black coat, he strode up to the door and knocked.

  He wondered if he’d find her with patients. When he received no response, he knocked again and waited. Perhaps she’d gone on a call. Then the door flew open.

  “Sorry!” Letty called out, rushing back down the hall and into the kitchen. “Do come in. Please. I’ll be with you shortly.”

  Eric entered, puzzled. What was she doing?

  In the interest of good manners, he took a seat in one of the mismatched chairs in the parlor. But to his dismay, she didn’t return. Instead, he heard running footsteps, barely audible mutters, strange striking sounds, and odd rustles.

  “Ouch!” she cried. “Oh, no. No, sir. This time you won’t get away.”

  Was she treating some particularly resistant patient? Surely not. Letty would never speak in that tone to anyone in need of medical assistance. Eric had seen her with Steven, Slosh, and Mrs. Miller, and she’d always been respectful, concerned, solicitous.

  “Come back here, you . . . you scalawag, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . . oh, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

  Eric stood. He was intrigued—no, he was plain curious. Who was she chasing in the kitchen? Blast manners and all that. He had to take a look.

  As he hurried down the hall, a loud thump made him speed even more. At the door to the kitchen, he came to a halt. The goings-on made Eric laugh. Sieve in hand, Letty was trying to scoop up a yellow chick. Quick as she was, the baby bird managed to be just that much quicker.

  As he approached the hunter and her prey, he heard a chorus of peeps from a crate near the cookstove. There he counted four more balls of yellow down. “Why would you want five chicks, Dr. Morgan?”

  “Eric!” She straightened and fussed with her hair and her skirt. Her cheeks turned a bright pink. A brown curl caressed her ear, and a longer one dangled a hairpin across her shoulder.

  Fists on her hips, Letty turned. “Can’t you see I’m trying to catch that imp? I won’t abide him soiling my kitchen floor.”

  Eric stifled another chuckle, knowing she wouldn’t abide his mirth right then, either. “No,” he said, “I should say not. No self-respecting physician would tolerate a soiled kitchen floor.”

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “My reckless mouth triumphs once again. Mother despaired of ever making me a lady, so I stopped trying and became a doctor—” she grimaced “—and a spinster, as she so often predicted I would.”

  The logic in the comment escaped Eric, but he read pain on her face. “Here,” he said, doffing his coat. “What if I help you corner your scalawag?”

  She swatted at the hairpin swirling over her shoulder and aimed sparkling eyes at him. “Well,” she responded, “it would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  Eric almost hugged her. Instead, he swooped to the floor and presented her with her disobedient fowl. Instead of looking pleased, Letty seemed further irritated.

  “And why couldn’t I achieve similar results?” she asked.

  A smile tried to appear, but Eric forbade it. “The talent must come from growing up on a ranch.”

  A delighted smile replaced her pique. “A real ranch?”

  This time he couldn’t stop the laughter. “As real as horse manure, chicken feed, and cattle.”

  Letty reached for the bird Eric still held in his hand. Bringing the small, warm body to her cheek, she rubbed her skin against the ball of fluff. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “How lovely. A ranch, that is. Not manure. You understand.”

  “Yes, I understand. Any time you wish, you’re welcome to visit and get your fill.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t offer otherwise.”

  She cocked her head in that birdlike way of hers. “I wonder . . .”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I want nothing to do with mothering five orphan chickens. Do I look like a hen?”

  As Eric stared at her, waiting for an answer, Letty turned her gaze from the peeping bird in her hands to the man before her. It flitted from the fringe of his mustache, to the breadth of his wide shoulders, to the narrow waist and long legs. It was his strength that most impressed her, strength he couldn’t have developed behind a typewriter.

  On her way back to Eric’s face, Letty noticed his bemusement. Heat filled her face and she looked at the chick.

  Cheek against the living scrap in her hands, her thoughts registered nothing but the memory of Eric caressing that cheek. A hint of wonder, a touch of admiration, a bit of longing had filled his gaze when he’d told her he liked her.

  He was no hen.

  Hoping to disguise her discomfiture, Letty said, “Did you . . .”

  When her voice faltered, she shook her head, and a hairpin flew across the room to land at his feet. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Do you need medical attention?”

  Eric’s gaze followed the path of the hairpin back to her. Letty felt warm all the way to her toes. “No,” he said, bending. “I feel so well I’ve decided to enjoy the sunny afternoon. I came to invite you to test our Western Rapid typewriter at the office.” He returned her errant pin.

  “Why . . . certainly.” Excitement shimmied up Letty’s spine. First his glowing gaze had warmed her, and now his offer to spend an afternoon of leisure together flattered her. Especially since he’d seen her at her most unladylike worst. “I would love to come. How do those machines work?”

  Eric laughed. “That’s what I’m about to show you.”

  “Indeed. Now, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll be right back.”

  Letty nestled the chick in her hands amid the others in the box, then spun and, with gray skirt swirling at her ankles, flew up the stairs.

  The interior of Eric’s buggy bore the fragrance of luxury. The tang of leather upholstery blended with the odor of the lemon oil that gave a shine to the wood trim. As Eric maneuvered the team, Letty sank deeper into her seat and gazed out the round window.

  In the late winter sunlight, Main Street teemed with activity. Hartville’s residents bustled down the wooden sidewalks, and friends greeted each other. Letty relished the sight, glad to have relegated Philadelphia to the past.

  “I’ve seen you at church the last few Sundays,” Eric commented after a bit.

  “Why, yes. Pastor Stone’s messages are a blessing. Very uplifting.”

  Eric looked at Letty in surprise. He couldn’t even call up the Scripture texts upon which those sermons had been based. The curve of a slender white neck and the coffee-colored curls that escaped the bounds of the coronet she’d fashioned from h
er braided hair had unduly distracted him.

  “Pastor Stone always offers . . . inspiration and . . . uh . . . comfort to the congregation.”

  Letty nodded. A brown wisp slid free of a section of plait and bounced by her ear. Eric longed to smooth the lock back into place, to again touch the velvet softness of her skin.

  “. . . and very conscious of his community’s needs, don’t you think?”

  Letty’s words dragged Eric’s wayward attention back to the conversation. “Most good pastors are,” he said, then scrambled for a new topic. “Speaking of the community, how are you settling into Hartville?”

  “Quite well, I’d say. I’m not terribly busy with patients at the moment, but I have been to supper at a number of homes and am invited to church socials, ladies’ guild programs, and a soirée the new literary society has planned.”

  Eric arched a brow. “Not so busy as to exhaust our very necessary doctor, are you?”

  Her eyes flashed. “I never shirk my duty to my patients, Mr. Wagner.”

  Eric smiled. She was delightful, and he was a fool, opening himself to her charm. The danger lay in Letty’s vivacity; it had brought the first ray of light to pierce the shadows around him.

  He heard her soft voice and assumed she continued to expound on her commitment to her patients. He remembered why spending time with her carried such great risk.

  “. . . right, Mr. Wagner?”

  Since he had no idea what she’d asked, Eric took a different tack. “Back to Mr. Wagner? I thought you’d decided my name wasn’t so difficult after all. Try it again; you’ll see how easy Eric is.”

  He pulled up before the Hartville Day’s office. “We’re here,” he announced, keeping his attention on the horses.

  The sudden distance Eric had again put between them bewildered Letty. “Indeed we are.”

  He’d urged her to call him Eric, but his demeanor had clearly changed. Why? She’d thought, after the gentle touch to her cheek the other night, certainly after today’s invitation, that they shared a mutual attraction. Had she mistaken the meaning of friendly actions? She didn’t think so. A woman could tell the difference between a caress and casual contact.