and she would at least have one brilliant memory to see her through the lonely months ahead. “I’d love to.”
He looked pleased, relieved. “About seven?”
“Fine.”
Before she realized what he meant to do, he brushed a kiss to her cheek and then ran lightly down the steps. Stunned by the unexpected gesture, she reached up and touched the place with her fingertips, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips touch hers.
Chapter One
Wolf Creek, Arkansas, 1886
Rachel stepped inside the medical office that was situated in the rear of the house she’d shared with her father and son since receiving her medical degree.
The rush of warm air from the fireplace was welcome after a cold drive in from the country. In a capricious mood, Mother Nature had dumped more than a foot of snow the night before, something rare in the southwestern part of the state.
She’d just come from the Gentry farm, where she had given Abby Gentry and her newborn son, Eli, a thorough examination. Baby Eli had been so eager to enter the world, there had been no time for his father to fetch help, forcing Caleb to help birth his son. Thankfully, mother and baby had come through the delivery with flying colors. Father was fine, too, but still a little shaky.
Breathing a weary sigh of satisfaction, Rachel set her medical bag on a nearby table and placed the quilt she’d used for added warmth on the seat of a straight-backed chair. She unwound the scarf from around her head and neck and shrugged out of her coat. Tossing them both over the back of the chair, she headed for the kitchen, where her son, Danny, and her father sat at the table near a rip-roaring fire, playing Chinese checkers.
“How are Abby and the baby?” Edward asked, with a smile of welcome.
“Just dandy,” Rachel assured him as she leaned down to give her son a welcoming hug. She was about to launch into the story of Caleb delivering the baby when a loud pounding came from the direction of her office. She gave a little groan. “I should have known better than to think I could spend the rest of the day baking cookies for Santa.”
“It’s part of the job,” Edward called as she retraced her steps to the office.
Danny, who followed her out of curiosity, pushed aside the lace curtains and peered out the window. “It’s Mr. Teasdale!” he cried, recognizing the peddler’s wagon. He brushed past Rachel to the door.
No doubt Simon was making a final tour of customers before Christmas to make sure they had everything they needed for the holiday. She wondered why he had come to the office entrance instead of the front and stood back while Danny flung open the door. Simon, whose fist was raised for another round of pounding, jumped.
“Simon,” she said, seeing the panic in his eyes, “what is it?”
“Oh, Doc,” he squeaked, his high-pitched voice quavering with emotion, “I was coming in from Antoine when I come upon this fella by the side of the road. His wallet was a few feet away, and it was empty. Looked like he’d been beat within an inch of his life. I was afraid to move him, but I wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, and I was more scared he’d freeze to death if I came to town for help, so I loaded him up.” The words tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out.
With no knowledge of how badly the victim was hurt, Rachel could only hope that Simon hadn’t done any additional damage by moving him.
“You did right, Simon,” she said, putting on her coat and following him to the back of the cart.
“Run get Roland,” she told Danny, who lost no time hurrying toward a small house down the way.
“I like to have never got him in the wagon,” Simon was saying. “And it took me more than two hours to get here. My Addie Sue is plumb wore down slogging through all that snow.” He unlatched the rear door and threw it open.
The man lay in the makeshift bed where Simon slept when it was impossible to make the next town at day’s end. The shadowy interior made it difficult to tell anything about the stranger except that he was big and tall.
“I’ll get the stretcher while we’re waiting for Danny,” she said.
In a matter of moments, Danny was back with Roland, the brawny teen who helped Rachel whenever and however she needed. “Let’s see if we can get him inside, so I can take a look at him.”
Working together, they carefully transferred the injured man onto the gurney and into the morning sunlight, where Rachel gave the stranger a quick once-over. Young. Strong. Bloody knuckles. He’d fought back. Good.
Her gaze moved to his face, and it suddenly became impossible to draw in a decent lungful of air. Every molecule of oxygen seemed to have been sucked into a vast void somewhere. Her head began to spin, and her heart began to race.
Despite the multiple bruises and the swelling and the blood still seeping from the jagged cut angling from his forehead through his left eyebrow and across his temple to just below his ear, and despite the fact that she had not seen him in more than nine years, she had no problem recognizing him.
It was none other than Gabe Gentry. Simon squeaked out his name in a shocked voice.
Gabe. As handsome as ever. She had traced those heavy brows and the bow of his top lip with her fingertips. She had felt the rasp of his whiskers against her cheek. Had...
Stop it!
Common sense returned, and a rush of fury and self-loathing banished the beguiling memories that jeopardized her hard-won detachment. Rachel’s jaw tightened and she felt the bite of her fingernails into her palms. She would have liked nothing more than to load Gabriel Gentry back into Simon’s wagon and order him to take the blackguard elsewhere, but she had taken an oath to heal, and as wretched as this man was, she was bound by her promise as a physician to do her best by him.
More to the point, and her consternation, it was her God-given duty as a Christian to do so.
Once she and Roland had transferred Gabe to the examination table, Simon said his goodbyes and went to see that his horse got a generous ration of oats while he went to Ellie’s café to see about getting some hot food in his belly. Roland stayed to help move Gabe to a proper bed after Rachel finished tending him.
She was alone with her patient when her father rolled his wheelchair into the room. The fact that he was using it, instead of the two canes he used to get around since the stroke, told her he’d done too much during the day.
“Good grief!” Edward murmured, rolling closer. “Unless I’m mistaken, that’s Gabe Gentry.”
“It is,” she said, pleased that her anger was manifested by nothing but the brusque reply.
“Do you need any help?” Edward asked.
“I will in a moment,” she told him.
Wielding the scissors with a rough carelessness, she cut away Gabe’s expensive coat and shirt. Deep purple bruises covered his chest. Her fingers began a gentle probing.
“Ouch!” Edward said, leaning in for a better look. “That’s going to be painful when
