Sumner wasn’t about to give up without a fight. First, she had a signed, notarized, five-year contract. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Even more importantly, now that the avalanche had marooned her in the valley, she was the only physician available. All she needed was a little time to prove her talent for medicine.
As she clutched the doorknob to the office, her heart pounded, her knees trembled and all the energy drained from her.
She couldn’t storm into Mr. Ramsey’s office in a fit of pique.
Closing her eyes, she offered a quick prayer for guidance. Lord, please show me how to proceed. Help me to help others.
Feeling calmer, she took a deep breath of icy air.
Tact. That’s what the situation required. Tact and diplomacy.
Sumner glanced behind her to see that Pinkerton Dobbs had kept pace with her the entire way.
Lord, help me stay calm.
Knowing that if she waited another moment she might lose her nerve, as well, Sumner twisted the knob and plunged into the warmth of the mining offices.
In an instant, she was inundated with the scents of hot coffee, wood smoke and pine shavings. Homey, manly smells that swirled around her along with half-forgotten memories of her grandfather.
There had been a time when she’d been accepted for who she was, when Poppy had let her climb on his knee and chatter about her dreams of being a doctor. She’d been ten when Poppy had bought her a book with anatomical drawings. To her, the muscles and bones had been more beautiful than the fashion drawings found in the periodicals her stepmother tried to get her to read. But when her father had discovered the book hidden beneath her bed, he’d thrown it in the fire, then had made her stand and watch it burn.
Behind her, the latch snapped back into place and a brass bell offered a muted jingle. In that instant, all eyes swung in her direction and the three men in the office froze.
If the reaction hadn’t been so disheartening, Sumner might have laughed at the trio of comical expressions. Mr. Creakle, the only man she recognized from the previous day, sat slack-jawed from behind his desk. Another gentleman with sad, basset-hound eyes and jowls, was half-bent toward the fire, a chunk of wood held toward the blaze. The third fellow—who was little more than a gangly teenager—stood blinking at her from where he sat on a high stool, a collection of miner’s lanterns laid out on a table in front of him in various stages of completion.
The combined weight of their gazes was nearly overwhelming, but she managed to say, “I’d like to see Mr. Ramsey, please.”
They didn’t move, and Sumner resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. Honestly, she didn’t see a need for the Pinkertons. So far, what few miners she’d encountered at Bachelor Bottoms appeared completely tongue-tied in the presence of a female.
The young man suddenly sneezed, and that seemed to break the odd trance because the two other gentlemen shouted out simultaneously, “Boss!”
A moment later, Sumner heard boots clattering down the steps on the other end of the building. Then Jonah stepped into view.
Sumner had forgotten how tall he was. Tall and broad-shouldered. He filled the doorframe. In the sunlight streaming through the mullion windows, she could see the circular impression in his hair where his hat had been. The bright rays picked out threads of silver at his temples and in his beard. He wore a dark leather vest with a soft linen shirt beneath.
After so many years spent in schools and hospitals where men took great pains with their grooming, there was something almost...wild...about his appearance. Nevertheless, Sumner couldn’t fault Jonah’s casual disregard for current fashion. If anything, his lack of formality echoed the ruggedness of the terrain that surrounded them.
Sumner tipped her chin at an angle. “Mr. Ramsey, may I have a word, please?”
His lips thinned. “Miss... Dr. Havisham. There’s no need to thank me for your belongings.”
She had been about to thank him, regardless of the fact that it had taken an ultimatum to get him to oblige. But his tone was so...so...dismissive that she choked on the words, her spine stiffening to a rod of iron.
“A private word,” she rushed on.
She watched as one of his brows rose. Yet again, she was struck by the man’s unusual eyes. They were a mixture of brown and blue and green. But there was more to them than that. They were keen and probing. At the same time, they offered no clue to his own thoughts or emotions.
He heaved a sigh.
“Dr. Havisham, can this wait? Perhaps tonight I could find a few minutes to speak with you.”
“No!” she burst in without thinking. It wasn’t as if she were asking for an audience with the king. She just needed a few moments to talk to him about...
Oh, my, she’d forgotten why she’d been so determined to corner him in the first place!
Her gaze bounced from Creakle to the wide-eyed teenager to the droopy-jowled office worker to the door. And the dark shape that waited there.
The Pinkertons.
“No, Mr. Ramsey. It can’t wait. And if you can’t spare me a private word, then I’d be more than happy to air our grievances in front of you and your men.”
Ramsey sighed, straightening from the doorway. For a moment, she saw the way his features were lined with weariness, and she was reminded of the fact that he couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep. That, combined with the strenuous work of freeing the passengers and the back injury he’d refused to discuss, caused a prickling of guilt. Even worse, she realized that her impetuousness may have led to her confronting the man when he would be least likely to heed her concerns.
But before she could speak, Jonah reached toward a hall tree laden with coats, hats and scarves. Snagging a battered black hat that she remembered him wearing the night before and a shearling jacket, he gestured toward the door.
“Very well, Dr. Havisham. I was just on my way to the cook shack to grab a bite to eat. If you’d care to join me, we can both have our breakfast and I can give you about fifteen minutes of my morning.”
She doubted she would be able to press her case in such a short amount of time, let alone finish a meal. But the rigid set of his shoulders warned her that it would be futile to bargain with him on this point.
“Very well. Good day to you, gentlemen. Mr. Creakle.”
“Ma’am,” Creakle said with a wide grin.
The other two men dived toward the door to open it for her.
* * *
As they stepped from the office, Jonah clenched his jaw to keep from saying something to his employees. They’d nearly tripped over themselves to assist Dr. Havisham, and now the two of them had wedged themselves in the doorway as if they intended to follow Sumner and him to the cook shack.
Jonah shot them a glance. They began squabbling with one another as they untangled themselves, stepped back into the office and slammed the door.
Jamming
