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“Oh,
Becky, wait!” The sound of Sarah’s quick footsteps followed her
breathless warning.
Already at the top of the stairs, Becky froze just outside the open door
of the guest room. Surprised to find a man standing in Sarah Jordan’s
guest bedroom, she jumped back as if someone jerked her by the
shoulders.
Tall
dandy, was the first thought that sprung to her mind. Dressed in a blue
broadcloth coat and black dress trousers, he gripped the brim of a dark
beaver hat. His black cravat, if a bit limp, was tied in an intricate
fashion around the starched collar of his white linen shirt.
She
felt the corners of her mouth pull down in a frown. The vision of Albert
Covington, the young man in Cincinnati, who’d won her affections, then
discarded them like a faded boutonniere, flashed before her eyes. She
barely noticed the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs.
“Becky,” Sarah’s breathless voice puffed beside her. “May I introduce my
young cousin—”
“Ephraim Morgan at your service, miss.” The dapper stranger dipped a
bow. “Late of Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky, I’ve come
to establish a medical practice here in Larkspur.”
Sarah’s hand on Becky’s back urged her across the threshold. “Ephraim,
this is Becky Hale, my hired-girl.
Becky’s jaw slacked as she looked with disbelief into the dark eyes of
the stranger who seemed the embodiment of the things she’d come to
despise.
“I’m
pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hale.”
He
closed the distance between them in two long strides.
She
involuntarily jerked when he took her hand. Bending his dark head, he
brushed his lips against the backs of her fingers.
Yanking her hand away, she pushed it beneath her apron. “Mr. Morgan,”
she managed to mutter, unwilling to acknowledge the title, “Doctor.” Her
gaze fled his dark eyes. Hypnotically dark-----so dark, she could hardly
tell the pupils from the iris.
“Becky, please bring up a pitcher of water so Ephraim can freshen up,
and then you can help me prepare a fine breakfast for him.” Sarah’s
voice had taken on a nervous tremor, suggesting she’d suddenly
remembered Becky’s aversion to members of the medical elite. With a
worried glance, she retreated down the stairs.
“I’ll
get your water.” Becky walked to the washstand and snatched the
ivory-colored china pitcher from its matching bowl. She couldn’t help
imagining how much more satisfying it might be to throw the water at him
rather than pour it in the washbowl.
A
bemused look clouded the man’s swarthy features. “I thank you for your
trouble, Miss Hale, and will endeavor not to be too much of a burden.”
For
some reason, God had sent this man to Larkspur. Perhaps it was to test
her resolve as a champion for gentler medical practices. With an
adversary in Larkspur, her conviction would be less likely to weaken.
Because she must accept God’s purpose in this-----and because he was
Sarah’s relation-----she had no choice but to treat him with respect.
However, she felt it only fair to warn him of her views.
She
stiffened her spin, squared her shoulders, and fixed him with a glare.
“Mr. Morgan, it is not for myself I’m concerned, but for those in
Larkspur who are, or may become, ill. I must tell you, God has laid it
on my heart to see no harm comes to them.”
The
puzzled look on his face slipped into a frown, his dark brows pulling
down into a V. When he spoke, his voice sounded crisp as the vacated
shell of a locust. “My dear Miss Hale, you’ll be glad to learn I’ve laid
my hand upon the Holy Bible, and in the tradition of Hypocrites, made a
sacred vow to God to keep my patients from harm and injustice.” The
tension along his square jaw seemed to relax and a smile tipped his
well-formed lips. “I do believe we are in complete agreement.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks, rekindling her irritation. It’s because
you’re angry. It has nothing to do with the way his mouth looks when he
smiles, she told herself. Hadn’t she learned not to trust a handsome
face? Lifting her chin, she fixed him with a searing glare. “I wouldn’t
say that, Dr. Morgan. No indeed, I wouldn’t say that.” Turning stiffly,
she fled down the stairs, dimly aware she’d attached the prefix “Dr.” to
his name.
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