A Touch of Flame Page 2

  “Well, sure. I didn’t want to seem forward calling you Ridley, and I don’t know what the E stands for. Elizabeth? Eliza? Emily?”

  “Exactly-none-of-your-affair.”

  It took Ben a moment to understand. “Oh, I see. Every-bit-your-prerogative, Ridley.”

  “Dr. Woodhouse.”

  “Yes, of course. Dr. Woodhouse.” He thought he saw a breath ease out of her, but he could have been mistaken. For all that she seemed self-contained, self-confident, and more than a little self-important, maybe she’d just been holding her breath all this time. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt and see where that took him.

  “I’m twenty-nine,” he said.

  She stared at him.

  “Twenty-nine,” he repeated. “My last birthday. You said you thought we were of an age. I’m aiming to find out.”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “Huh. Then you were right. That’s of an age. You can call me Ben, though. I don’t fancy being called Mr. Madison.”

  “By me?”

  “By anyone.”

  “All right.”

  It seemed there was the slightest hesitation after she spoke, almost as if she were about to call him Ben. If that were the case, she swallowed the urge and the word, and his name did not move past her lips. For all that they had a short acquaintance and she was as citified as the long pointed toes of her shoes, he would not have minded hearing his name on her lips. That had occurred to him the moment she lifted her face and he saw that she had a wide, splendidly curved mouth. She had yet to smile, to unleash its full exotic power, and he thought that was probably for the best. He’d be weak-kneed and noodle-limbed and never be able to manage to get the trunks to the buckboard.

  “You’re staring,” she said. That splendidly curved mouth flattened in disapproval.

  “Was I? You have something . . .” He pointed to the left corner of his lips and made a brushing motion with his index finger. She mirrored the same motion and he said, “That’s it. It’s gone.” Of course, nothing had been there, but it was a perfectly acceptable excuse for him staring, and unless he told her, she would never know he lied.

  She dropped her hand to her side. “Is there anyone to assist you with the trunks? I can manage the smaller things.”

  “You go. Wait at the end of the platform. The stationmaster will help me.” He did not wait to see if she started walking. He went into the station, asked the agent to give him a hand, and when he reappeared, she had already climbed onto the buckboard’s thinly padded seat. The doctor’s bag was at her side, and one of the valises was in the bed of the wagon. It was good to know she wasn’t helpless. He had confidence in Dr. Dunlop when he announced E. Ridley Woodhouse was in every way a competent physician. What Ben didn’t know was if E. Ridley could manage the everyday competencies that were necessary for living in Frost Falls. At the very least, she had proven she could lift and carry. It was a start.

  The buckboard sagged as the largest trunk was placed on the bed. Ben didn’t comment until everything was loaded and they were on their way. “What’s in the big trunk?”

  “Books.”

  He whistled softly. “That’s a lot of books. We have a library here, you know.”

  “Medical reference books,” she said. “They are hard to come by in any library outside of a university.”

  Ben nodded. “No bodies, then.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her head jerk in surprise and then a hint of a smile hover on her lips. “Good to know about the bodies. I was wondering.”

  “You were not.”

  He shrugged.

  She said nothing for a long moment and then regarded him with a sideways look. She asked, “Did you truly wonder?”

  One corner of Ben’s mouth lifted just a fraction. “Truly, I did not.”

  She nodded once, thoughtfully. “It’s as you said, then.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You do like to amuse yourself.”

  “I don’t believe I said that I like to do it. It’s more that I can’t help myself. There’s plenty that strikes me odd.” He thought she might seize on that, but if she felt the urge, she restrained herself. Her head swiveled to the right and left as she took in her surroundings. She did not ask any questions, and Ben wondered what sort of impression she was forming. He tried to see what was so familiar to him with fresh eyes.

  He raised a hand to acknowledge Hank Ketchum as the man looked up from tending to one of his horses. Hank nodded once, rather sharply, and went back to work. The livery could use a fresh coat of paint, Ben noted, and if Hank replaced the battered boards on the side visible to the public, it’d be a marked improvement. Ben didn’t see it happening. The building was a reflection of the man who owned it, utilitarian and a little careworn, rich with history, full of character. It was the sort of thing that Dr. Woodhouse could not appreciate in a glance, but something she would learn soon enough.

  Hank Ketchum was not the only person to give him a nod or lift a hand as the buckboard rattled on. He counted seven women gathered in front of the Presbyterian Church, all of whom looked up and offered fulsome smiles until they clapped eyes on his companion. While their smiles remained in place, stillness settled over the women, and Ben realized the set of their features was frozen. Whatever thoughts they were entertaining, he doubted that any one of them recognized that the woman he was escorting was the town’s new doc.

  The canted sign above the Songbird Saloon was a fixture that no one had ambitions about straightening, least of all the proprietor, who had a fondness for it since it had slipped fifteen degrees below level the same day his wife left town with a cardsharp from New Orleans.

  The land office had windows that could barely reflect the sun’s glare because they were in need of washing. The windows of his office were hardly any better. In fact, when Ben regarded the leather goods store, the apothecary, the mercantile, and the barbershop, he concluded that most of Frost Fall’s businesses required a spit shine. Mrs. Fish’s dress shop and the Butterworth Hotel were exceptions, gleaming like polished jewels in a dusty setting.

  Would Dr. Woodhouse judge the town by its appearance, or would she reserve her opinion until she met its citizens? And equally important, would the town judge her by her appearance or on her merits?

  “It’s precisely as he described it.”

  Ben turned to look at her. She appeared rather more pleased than disappointed, but he couldn’t be sure that it was a compliment to the town. She could have been referring to Doc’s skill at putting his observations to paper. Before he could ask for clarification, she distracted him by pointing to the butter yellow frame house on the side street past the Butterworth. He had not yet begun to turn the corner, but he did so now.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” she said. “The house. It’s Dr. Dunlop’s house.”

  “The way I understand it, it’s your house now.”

  Her slim smile widened. “So it is.”

  “I wondered why Doc was so keen to slap a fresh coat of paint on it this summer. He hired the Anderson boys to do it for him, and he was particular that they should do a good job. I suppose that was all for you. Guess this has been in the works for longer than anyone’s known.”

  She shrugged lightly and said nothing as Ben tugged on the reins and the mare halted in front of the house. Instead of rising, she remained seated and stared at her new home.

  Ben started to rise and then lowered himself back on the seat when she didn’t move. He was quiet, letting her take her fill. It was hard to tell from her profile, but he thought she looked reverent, and not for anything was he going to disturb that moment.

  With no warning, her head swiveled in his direction and she nearly pinned his ears back with her sharply focused and suspicious gaze. “What did he tell you about me?”

  Ben figured he knew what she was getting at, but he decide
d she’d have to do some better fishing for it. “Same as he told all of us, I reckon. Mainly that you had all the qualifications and that he was leaving us in good hands. Reminded us that he was a young’un once, and came here with considerably less experience and knowledge than you’re bringing.” He noted that his answer did not exactly calm the waters. Her dark eyes were no longer narrowed, but one of her eyebrows remained arched fractionally higher than the other. He asked, “That’s all true, isn’t it? You said you were a doctor and I took you at your word. There’re folks who will want to see a paper that says you are.” Ben jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the wagon bed. “I have to believe you got proof of that back there.”

  “My diploma. Yes. I have it.”

  “Framed?”

  “No.”

  He looked off in the distance and spoke more to himself than to her. “Damn. Thought it’d be framed.” When he looked at her again, he saw that suspiciousness had been replaced by curiosity. “Doc Dunlop had his diploma framed. He was that proud of it. Had it hanging in his office. There are plenty of folks in these parts claiming to be doctors that never studied for it. Sometimes they do all right. Sometimes they get run out of one town and move on to another.”

  “I’ll have it framed.”

  He was careful not to smile. “Probably for the best.”

  “It used to be in a frame. I took it out to make room for other things.”

  “Sure. Makes sense on account of you wanting to bring all your books.” He watched her purse her lips in disapproval, but she didn’t take the bait.

  “What else did he say?”

  Ben pretended to give it some thought. “He mentioned that he and your father were at the college together and that they stayed friends all these years.”

  “They corresponded regularly,” she said. “I don’t imagine he mentioned that he was my godfather.”

  Ben did not have to act surprised; he simply was. “That never came up. Mary Cherry might have known. She was his housekeeper and occasional assistant.”

  “I know who she is. I am hoping she will agree to work for me.”

  “I couldn’t speak to that. It never came up.”

  “Hmm.”

  Ben waited. The question was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but she was obviously loath to give it sound. “Give me a moment,” he said. “I’ll come around and help you down.” He started to rise, but this time he stopped because Dr. Woodhouse had a tight grip on the sleeve of his jacket. He expected that she would release him as soon as he sat, and when she didn’t, he was the one who raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “You are being deliberately obtuse.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit. There’s folks who will tell you I can be obtuse without even trying.” He thought she might have growled at the back of her throat, and because he was imagining her fingers as talons, he was grateful when she released his sleeve.

  The question she had not wanted to ask directly finally came out in a single burst of sound. “Did he tell you that I was a woman?”

  Ben took a moment to study her. It was hard not to linger on her mouth, especially since she was worrying the inside of her lower lip, harder still not to think about nibbling on it himself. He blinked, met her eyes through the glass shield of her spectacles, and pushed all carnal thought to that mysterious part of his brain where he stored information about square roots and conjugating Latin verbs. “No,” he said finally. “Doc didn’t mention it. He probably figured I would be able to work that out on my own.”

  Chapter Two

  “I suppose you think you’re clever,” Ridley said, and the way she said it left no doubt that she held a very different opinion.

  “Clever?” he asked. A small vertical crease appeared between his dark orange eyebrows, and he seriously considered her observation. “No. I guess I don’t. Just about anyone seeing you step off the train would have recognized you straightaway as a woman. Maybe Waite Givens would have had a little trouble, but that’s because he has to squint something fierce to see past the end of his own nose.”

  Ridley huffed, but it was done delicately. She had mastered tempering her frustration, and although she felt it keenly, she refused to be riled at this early juncture and by this man. She could not imagine why Dr. Dunlop had chosen Ben Madison to meet her at the station and help her establish her practice in Frost Falls. He did not impress her as the serious sort, and she meant to be taken seriously.

  She was prepared to put the question to him again, this time in a way that could not possibly be misconstrued, when he turned his back on her and jumped down from the buckboard. He looped the mare’s reins around a portion of the whitewashed picket fence before he walked to her side of the wagon and held out a hand. She gave him her black satchel and alighted from the buckboard without assistance.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said, grinning.

  Ridley frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He handed her back her bag before she asked for it. “Oh, you know, refusing help because you figure you have to prove you can do it on your own.” Ben shrugged. “Whatever it is.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I ask for assistance when I need it.” She pointed to the trunks and valises in the bed of the buckboard. “You’ll help me with those, won’t you?”

  “Sure.” He plucked two bags from the wagon and started walking toward the house. Under his breath, he said, “But I’m not wrong about the other.”

  “I heard that.”

  “Meant you to.”

  Ridley stared at his retreating back. Realizing that she was faintly slack-jawed, she snapped her teeth together and dragged one of the small trunks toward the edge of the wagon bed. She placed her black bag on top and lifted the trunk by its brass handles. It was heavier than she recalled, but she was able to heft it as high as her midriff and support its weight against her. Ben stepped aside for her on the walk as he was returning to the buckboard. He let her pass without offering assistance. There was no hint that he was amused by her insistence on self-sufficiency, but neither was there any indication that he was particularly pained by it. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it to himself.

  Ridley decided she was just fine with that.

  He’d left the front door open for her and set her valises on the floor off to one side of the vestibule. She hadn’t noticed if he had produced a key to get inside or whether the door had been left unlocked. Perhaps Frost Falls was the kind of place where people never locked their doors.

  Ridley was curious about the house, more so about the surgery, but she quelled the urge to explore in favor of returning for another of the small trunks. When she stepped back on the porch, she saw Ben was carrying it. That left the impossibly heavy trunk on the buckboard. There was no point in trying to move it alone, and she was not entirely sure that she and Ben could carry it together. She waited on the lip of the porch for him to appear.

  He brushed past her without a word and she hurried after him. “I don’t think we can manage it. Perhaps you will be able to carry your end, but I’m not sure that I can carry mine.”

  Ben looked to his right and left and then glanced behind him. “Do you see anyone else around?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s up to us.” He held out his right hand, palm up. “Key?”

  Ridley opened her black-and-white-beaded reticule and began rummaging. When she produced the key for the brass-bound trunk, she placed it in the flat of his palm.

  Ben unlocked the trunk, lifted the twin brass latches, and raised the lid. It was indeed filled with books. He picked up the first book that caught his eye and examined the lurid cover, which featured a young woman wearing a diaphanous night shift and an extravagantly large hat with more feathers than an ostrich. The feathers dipped low because she was artfully poised in a swoon over the manly arm of a gentleman scoundre
l. Ben read the title aloud. “Felicity Ravenwood Tames the Beast.” Arching an eyebrow in dramatic fashion, he turned to Ridley. “Medical reference book?”

  She tried to snatch the dime novel from his hand, but he raised his arm and kept it out of her reach. There was no dignity in jumping for it so she set her chin at a haughty angle and turned away. She began removing books from the trunk.

  Ben did not join her. He read the synopsis from the back cover. “It says here that Miss Felicity Ravenwood has a startling adventure when she is abducted in the Black Forest.” He looked up. “Isn’t that in Germany?”

  Ridley snapped, “Felicity travels the world.”

  “Oh. Maybe she should think about staying closer to home. Unless she is German. Is she?”

  “No. Her home is in Manhattan.”

  “Plenty of scoundrels there.”

  “No doubt,” said Ridley.

  “I know it for a fact. My sister-in-law, Phoebe, was raised in Manhattan. Of course, she met scoundrels out here, too. Train robbery before she reached Frost Falls. Remington—that’s my brother—more or less saved the day, but some say he’s a scoundrel himself. Felicity Ravenwood have any adventures like that?”

  Ridley’s foot beat a tattoo. “Mr. Madison. Please.” She watched him make a show of reluctance in surrendering the book. He placed it on top of the stack in her arms and she tucked it in place with her chin.

  “Maybe you’ll lend it to me later.”

  She sighed. “If you like.”

  Ben began collecting books, choosing the thicker, heavier tomes. “I’d like that just fine.”

  Ridley headed for the house. With the books piled so high in her arms, she had some difficulty seeing where she was going. She hesitated at the steps and then used the toe of one shoe to probe for the riser. When she found it, she climbed the first step, balanced herself, and used the same technique to locate the next step. Her mistake was thinking there were only two. She expected to be on the porch with the third, and when she wasn’t, she stumbled forward and would have taken an ignominious fall if Ben had not dropped his armload of books and hauled her back.