Chapter Eight

Could her potions, however inadvertently, be the cause of the arsenic poisoning? Her stomach pulled suture tight. She could be making people ill, not helping them as she’d vowed. Mrs. Campbell would be so disappointed. Yet, there was little she could do other than find the source and make sure no more people suffered. She would make this right, no matter what it took.

The sun sat directly overhead, beating down on the valley with thick beams of heat. Only a handful of people had ventured outside. A pair of riders and a mule-drawn wagon laden with burlap bags navigated the deserted roadway. On the other side of the street, old man Turner napped in a chair outside the feed store. Most likely folks were inside, enjoying the shade and their midday meal. It was the perfect time to carry out their investigation.

Dr. Locke walked with quiet determination, eyes forward, back straight, and legs churning. He was like a hound on a scent. She had to extend her stride just to keep up.

His medical bag swung in his hand as he moved, the clink of glass ringing softly from within. When she emerged from the storage room, he had immediately appropriated the sterilized bottles, announcing that he would conduct the collection of the specimens. Was he concerned that she might try to perform a slight of hand to absolve her guilt? As much as his distrust rankled, she couldn’t fault him. Were their situations reversed, she would have done the same.

The woodsy aroma of tobacco smoke issued from the open doorway of Cavendish’s mercantile. Memories surfaced of Tennessee and Uncle Spivey sitting on his porch, surrounded by a billowing white cloud. The man had few teeth and less hair, but he loved his pipe. He was rarely seen without it. Said there were few pleasures left to him after ninety years, and he was a’ going to enjoy all of ’em.

Speaking of pleasures…Mrs. Stone’s millenary loomed ahead. On the other side of the large display window, the shop owner bent over, rearranging the hats and bonnets set out to entice customers to venture inside. Moira’s heart sank. The green felt decorated with white tulle was missing. Had someone purchased it? She always seemed to be a day late and a dollar short.

“Is something wrong, Miss Devlin? You groaned.”

Dingles. She would have to work harder to keep her emotions in hand. She shook her head. “Nothing is wrong.”

“You’re certain? You appear to be distraught over something in that display window. What is it?”

A hawk with a spyglass wouldn’t be as perceptive as he was. She shrugged. “Mrs. Stone had a hat sitting in the window. A green felt with white tulle. A pretty little gee-gaw that caught my eye. It’s no longer there. I just wondered if someone bought it.”

“If they did, I’m sure the shop owner would craft you another one.”

And she could purchase it with coins plucked from her money tree. She waved a dismissive hand. “I have no need for fancy trappings. My straw bonnet is more than adequate.”

He grunted. “You are a curiosity, Miss Devlin. In my experience, most women would bankrupt themselves or their husbands to own such gee-gaws.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other women.”

“No, my dear. You most definitely are not.”

Was that a compliment? With him, one never knew. They fell into silence as the false-fronted business district gave way to the two-story saloons with their bat-wing doors and piano music emanating from within. Dr. Locke angled closer and rested a hand at the small of her back. His protection was unnecessary; she could take care of herself. But she wasn’t going to say anything. She didn’t want to upset the comfortable truce that had settled between them. Besides, she rather liked having his hand guiding her. It made her feel worthy of his protection…accepted.

A red-haired woman leaned over the upper balcony of the Starlight Saloon, her barely concealed breasts spilling over the top rail. “Good afternoon, Miss Devlin. What brings you and your gentleman friend out our way on this fine afternoon?”

She recognized the woman from an earlier visit to the office. The lady of the evening had purchased a bag of pennyroyal, a common remedy against unwanted pregnancies.

Moira smiled up at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Birdie. This is Dr. Locke. He has taken over Doc Thompson’s medical practice. I’m giving him a tour of the town. We’re on our way to visit the sawmill.” Not quite the truth, but it would have to suffice. The true reason for their mission might incite a panic.

The woman chortled and pressed a hand to a red-rouged cheek. “The new town doc? La, and handsome, too. I think I might just have to take you up on that offer to come by the office for a thorough medical examination.”

Since many diseases could be passed from person to person through intimate contact, she had suggested the ladies get routine examinations. Keeping the prostitutes disease-free ensured they and the menfolk they served stayed healthy.

“Please do. You and your ladies are welcome any time.”

Fingers pressed deeper into her back, urging her forward. She cut her companion a glance. The skin covering his jaw twitched and his lips were pulled taut as bowstrings. Definitely not an admirer of prostitutes.

Once they were past the saloon, she shrugged out of his heavy-handedness. “I can see by the set to your face that you disapprove of my association with such women.”

“You shouldn’t be speaking with them in public…much less inviting them into our office.”

Our office. She quite liked the sound of that. “They are people just like anyone else and deserve medical care.”

“Yes, they do. But we can’t have them mingling with the good folks of Mineral. It’s just not done.”

He sure held some puritanical notions under that derby hat. “Miss Birdie is doing what she has to in order to survive. Surely you can understand that.”

“I understand perfectly. However, others are not so forward thinking and will hold any such associations against us. We can’t afford to alienate the townsfolk. In the future, all medical visits for those…er, types of patients will be conducted at their place of business…not ours.”

She wouldn’t fight him on this. Not now. Maybe later, when she had earned his and the townsfolk’s trust. “As you wish, Doctor. I’ll arrange a schedule that suits both you and the women.”

He grunted and fell silent. Buildings soon gave way to an open field. Dancer’s Creek loomed ahead with its clear water burbling peacefully over partially submerged rocks. There had been little rain lately, and the water level was lower than normal.

Dr. Locke stopped at the edge of the creek and shrugged out of his jacket. He turned his head from side to side as if looking for a place to set it.

“Let me hold your jacket for you,” she offered. “No sense getting it dirty.”

He nodded and handed her the jacket. Heat lingered in the folds. Did his scent? It took all her willpower to keep the garment draped over her arm and not shoved against her nose.

Unaware of the foolish thoughts swimming in her head, he extracted a blue bottle from his bag and crouched at the water’s edge. He dragged his fingers through the creek bed in a back and forth motion. Muddy silt rose up and clouded the water.

An odd thing to do. She bent beside him. “Why are you stirring up sludge from the bottom?”

He plunged the bottle into the murky water. “Metals like arsenic or mercury are heavier than water and will settle to the bottom. Stirring flushes them up for easier collection.”

Quite the knowledgeable man he was. She could learn a lot from him…provided he allowed her to stay.

After filing the bottle, he fastened the stopper and stowed the bottle in his medical bag. He pointed downstream. “We should collect a few more specimens at different spots along the creek just to be thorough. That bend should be a good location. Heavier particles will gather at the top of the curve.”

Methodical and precise. He was the perfect investigator. Hope climbed inside her. They would uncover the source of the arsenic in no time.

He pushed to his feet and walked several yards downstream. As he squatted to fill another bottle, she stopped behind him and stared off into the distance at the Shoehorn blanketing the horizon. Purple and gold patches shimmered like gems among the greens and browns.

She sighed. “Just look at that mountain. It’s hard to believe anything so beautiful could harbor something so dangerous.”

He lifted his head and peered across the creek. “It is quite a sight to behold. The mountains of Pennsylvania are drab cowbirds compared to it. But as you say, danger can lurk in even the prettiest of peacocks.”

Her stomach twisted. Was he referring to her as well? She moved her gaze to the mountain crouched in front of her. He filled the cotton shirt nicely. No bulk, no knobby bones. He kept himself fit, that was for certain.

A grasshopper vaulted onto his back, and she leaned forward to brush it away. Before she could pull back, he pushed to his feet and plowed right into her. Startled legs wobbled. She gasped and threw out her arms for balance. His hands caught her waist. Heat boiled under his touch and spread through her like a wind-fed wildfire. She couldn’t contain a moan.

He scoured her face as if searching for the answer to a plaguing question. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Hands and eyes held her firmly under a mesmerizing sway.

Flames leapt into the depths of his eyes. With a moan of his own, he dipped his head and firm lips covered hers. His kiss was gentle at first, then more demanding when she didn’t resist. How could she? Her bones had turned to mush.

She splayed her fingers over his chest. His heart thudded beneath her fingertips, racing like hers. He nibbled on her bottom lip, teasing, tasting. Her head reeled. A twister couldn’t whirl as fast.

He slid his tongue over her lips, basting her with pleasure. He yanked her closer. They molded together like well-fit puzzle pieces. Her body quivered, aching for more. So much pleasure. So much urgency. The blast of her healing power was nothing compared to this explosion.

She’d only been kissed a handful of times. Mostly quick busses that left her feeling disappointed and empty. Not so with this man. He filled her with wonder and excitement. She wanted it to go on forever.

A blackbird’s raucous crow exploded like cannon-fire over a quiet field. She started and pulled away. Anson dropped his hands from her waist and stepped back. Anson. After sharing a kiss like that, it was the only way she could think of him.

He lifted his derby hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Probably not. She touched a finger to lips that continued to burn. But, lordy what a kiss. It was as if he had branded her.

“It won’t happen again, Miss Devlin. I assure you.”

Miss Devlin. Not Moira. Not sweetheart. Not my love. Yet, keeping their relationship on formal footing was for the best. Romance would only complicate matters. He knew it. She knew it. Why then did her insides contort as if she’d been poisoned?

****

Anson set his medical bag on the ground next to the community well. A simple rig of hewn saplings flanked an adobe cylinder that looked to be about three-feet tall by three-feet in diameter. A bucket hung from a rope that fed into an overhead pulley which allowed the bucket to be lowered and raised. Based on the length of rope coiled on the ground, the well was deep and would make drawing reliable samples much more difficult.

Something brushed his arm, and he turned. Moira stood beside him, her lavender scent teasing his senses. Moira. He couldn’t think of her any other way after that mind-robbing kiss. Even now, his lips ached for another taste. But he couldn’t let that happen. Their relationship stood on shaky ground to begin with. Adding emotions into it would only make things worse. He would hold himself to a more benign path. Business-like and friendly.

She leaned over the side of the well. “I don’t think we’ll be able to find anything long enough to stir up the bottom as you did at the creek.”

His knees went weak. The urge to grab her ratcheted through him. Not to touch her, although his hands playing over that slender waist would be pleasant. But to keep her from falling in. During a game of hide-and-seek, one of his playmates had attempted to hide in an abandoned well. It was deeper than his friend thought. Johnny didn’t survive the fall.

He edged closer. “I don’t think we’ll need anything. We’ll just splash the bucket around and hope that stirs up the water enough.”

She pulled back from the well and peered up at him with eyes a man could drown in. “Are you feeling ill, Dr. Locke?”

“I feel fine. Why do you ask?”

Pretty lips pursed. “You look a bit green about the gills. Are you coming down with the same ailment as the other men?”

The only ailment he suffered from was a lust that refused to be contained. Focusing on the task at hand should help. “I’m perfectly fine. Let’s get this collection started. You can prepare the bucket for lowering, and I’ll get the bottles ready.”

“Yes, Dr. Locke.”

Dr. Locke. Formal and business-like. As it should be. He unbuttoned his jacket and squatted beside his medical bag. There were two green bottles left to fill. Moira had suggested they use blue for the creek and green for the well. That would make the sources easier to identify when they began the testing. Such a clever lady. Was it any wonder he was drawn to her?

He rose and set the bottles on the well ledge. Moira stood off to the side, holding onto the rope. Her blouse stretched across generous breasts. Perfect for suckling infants. And for hungry men. Heat that had nothing to do with the mid-day sun blasted through him. His groin stirred.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said.

Oh, he was ready. But not for the reason she intended. He turned back to the well and nodded. “Lower away.”

Rope slid through the pulley mechanism. The bucket dipped and swayed as it dropped into the vertical tunnel. It was soon swallowed up by the darkness.

After a few minutes, a splash drifted up from the depths. Anson held up a hand. “You can stop lowering. The bucket is at the bottom.”

He turned back to her. Her breaths were coming in short pants, the effort pushing those breasts up and out for inspection. He forced his focus on her face, flushed now with exertion. “You’ll need to give the rope several good hard yanks. Can you do that, or do you need my help?”

He hoped not. That kiss in the meadow had been hard enough to forget. Touching her would only burn the memory into his brain.

She swiped a stray lock from her forehead. “It’s no trouble. I can do it.”

Lips pursed into a taut line, and she hauled on the rope. Soft grunts punctuated her movements. Would she make those same sounds while in the throes of lovemaking? He gave himself a mental yank. No more of that. Such thinking would only make keeping her at a distance all the harder.

He lifted a hand. “That should be sufficient. Let the bucket rest a moment so it can fill with water. Then you can raise it.”

After a few moments, she adjusted her grip and began backing up, heels digging into the ground. Just as in life, she wasn’t going to back down…not for a bucket weighing half her weight, and not for a man who wanted to stomp on her precious ambitions.

The bucket appeared out of the darkness and wobbled toward the edge. He reached for the handle. “That’s good. You can stop now.”

The rope went slack, and he set the bucket on the ledge. He picked up the ladle and scooped up a generous dose. The well water was clear with only a slight trace of sediment. He took a sniff. No detectable odor either.

Moira joined him. “How does the water look? Do we need to collect another sample?”

“I think this should do. No need to collect more.”

“Good. I—” she broke off, shoulders squaring, her expression tightening. Something had set her on edge. Was it something he did?

“There you are, Anson. I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” came a high-pitched voice.

Not him then. Someone much worse. He turned. Mrs. Wentworth walked toward them with a quick, purposeful gait. Her face was set in a determined mask. She didn’t appear to be suffering from anything that required a doctor’s attention. That meant she had other business with him. Business he most likely wasn’t going to like.

He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Wentworth. What can we do for you?”

“I went by your office.” Her gaze slipped to Moira and narrowed. “Mrs. Lidle said that you were out touring the town.”

“I’m sorry we weren’t in. Is something wrong? Do you or Mr. Wentworth require help with a medical matter?”

“No. We’re both fine. I just stopped by for a visit. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since you arrived in town.” She glanced at the bottles lined up on the well ledge. Her brow bunched, adding more wrinkles to the mix. “What are those for?”

He ladled water into a bottle. “We’re collecting samples from the town’s water sources.”

“Why? Is there a problem with the water?” Her eyes widened. “It’s not cholera, is it? Last year, Eagle Ford had an outbreak that was traced back to the well water. It sickened half the town and killed dozens of people.”

Good Lord, the last thing he needed was for her to start a panic. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. We’re just testing the water to be sure it’s safe for everyone to drink. The city managers in Philadelphia conducted the same assessment once a year. I figured we could do the same here in Mineral. Prevent any contamination before it starts.”

Wrinkles waned. “I knew asking you to take over the medical practice was a good idea. You’ll keep everyone safe and healthy.”

Perhaps. He stoppered the two bottles and handed them to Moira. “Place these in my bag if you would, Miss Devlin.”

Their fingers touched in the exchange. Fire shot up his arm. Their gazes met and locked. A rope-like energy stretched between them, taut and twining to be released. It was magical. And most pleasant.

Moira blinked first and yanked her hand away. She busied herself with stuffing the bottles into his medical bag.

Mrs. Wentworth’s disgusted sniff scraped the air. “Why is she still in your employ, Anson? I thought we agreed her presence was bad for business.”

Moira’s gaze fled to him, filled now with accusation and hurt. His stomach sank. The last thing he wanted was to cause her pain.

“Miss Devlin will remain working at the office for the time being. I have need of her assistance.”

“Her assistance? She’ll cause you nothing but trouble, Anson. She’s the devil’s spawn.”

“You go too far, madam.” Anger polluted his tone. “Miss Devlin has been nothing but professional in all her medical dealings…with me and with our patients.”

“Harrumph. Alice would be disappointed in your attachment to this…” Her gaze raked hard over Moira. “Creature.”

His blood boiled. He bent and snagged his medical bag. If he didn’t occupy his hands, his fingers might just find themselves clamped around a wrinkly, over-critical neck. “Alice is dead, Mrs. Wentworth. It would be best if you accepted that and moved on with your life. It’s not good for your mental or physical well-being to remain rooted in the past.”

He didn’t want to be harsh with her, but she had to be given a dose of reality. Truth be told, he needed a good dose as well. It was time to move on with his life. Stop wallowing in the what-ifs and the what-should-haves.

Moira’s face glowed with gratitude, and his heart lifted. Perhaps he should reconsider having a romantic relationship with her. She could very well be the future he was avoiding.