The rugged doctors redem.., p.7
The Rugged Doctor's Redemption, page 7
Three days had passed since he last saw Flora and had quite the interesting encounter with her granddaughter attempting to do ranch work. Since that day, the influx of patients entering Herman’s office left him little time to do anything else other than eat, sleep, and treat patients—and not much of the former two activities. As the only doctor in town, he had become accustomed to surviving on only a few hours of sleep, as medical emergencies did not care if it were the middle of the night, nor did babies ready to be born. He often took a rushed bite of a sandwich in between patients during the day just to sustain him until the next patient.
But despite his hectic schedule, Herman could not prevent his thoughts from drifting toward Lena Moore. Three days later and he still chuckled softly as the image of her landing soundly on her rump in the mud resurfaced in his mind. Oh, but was she absolutely mad when he rode off. The image of her face flushed with anger was embedded in his mind. Her brown eyes had brightened under the heat of her fury. Her full bowed lips had pursed, and when he had first clapped eyes on them, he found that his mouth had watered with moisture.
What would her lips feel like against mine? Would they be as soft as they appeared to be?
But as soon as that thought entered his head, a twinge of guilt burrowed into Herman’s chest as he recalled her crestfallen face when he’d left her in the yard—covered in mud. He shook his head, in an attempt to rid himself of the guilt. Lena had been rude to him from the first day she met him, and he was under no obligation to help her with her ranch chores. Still, he had always considered himself to be a gentleman, and riding away like that was not how one should treat a lady.
But he was still vexed by their first encounter and the way she had undermined his professional expertise There was no doubt that Herman found her attractive from the first moment he saw her, but the minute she opened her mouth, all the lovely, feminine beauty was dashed by the venom pouring from her lips.
Nevertheless, he had to admire her determination to care for her grandmother—a person who they both shared great affection for—even if it meant muddying herself in an attempt to do ranch work. She may have been rude to Herman, but she clearly had the semblance of a good heart.
A frown tugged at his brow.
What a perplexing woman, he thought.
Herman rose from his desk, having finished jotting down notes for his most recent patient and treatment follow-up. The patient’s case was rather complex and quite alarming. Mr. William had come into Herman’s office several times now, complaining of weight loss despite a rather healthy appetite. He’d also complained of chest pains and a chronic cough. Herman had first prescribed him some anti-inflammatory herbal pills for the chest pains—believing he’d contracted a chest cold. Yet, now with the night sweats occurring…
Mr. William was a nice, agreeable fellow—a rancher who lived rather far on the outskirts of town. He had a lovely wife and three young children. A family who depended on Mr. William to bring profit from the crops he cultivated, to provide for his family. Yet, his progressing weakness in his hands and arms was a cause of alarm for both he and Herman.
Herman lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. Please, Lord, don’t let Mr. William have what I fear he might…
Though he tried to find other illnesses that might point to Mr. William’s symptoms, all seemed to indicate consumption. Herman’s chest swelled as he heaved a sigh. Perhaps when he visited Mr. William at his ranch again, he’d prescribe a nutritious dietary plan and a plan for proper exercise. Nodding at that, Herman stepped outside.
It was time to see Flora again for another check-up. Herman shook his head.
Who am I fooling? Herman mused. I visit Mrs. Moore for anything but a check-up. That woman sure does brighten my day.
Herman wondered when did he start feeling so attached to her? What started as routine visits to see to her eye health, had quickly become visits of an amicable nature—friendly even. They often sat and spoke over a cup of tea, and Herman found that he often stayed longer than he should. Having no grandmother of his own, Herman found Mrs. Moore’s warm disposition and nurturing demeanor to be refreshing and inviting. Everyone had a need for family, and especially for the love of a maternal figure, and Herman believed that God had sent Mrs. Moore to fill that void in his life.
In that way, perhaps, Mrs. Moore was helping Herman more than he was helping her.
***
Herman rapped his knuckles against the front door of Mrs. Moore's quaint house, his anticipation bubbling up into a hearty grin. The door slowly swung open, and Flora stood on the other side, her face soon lighting up with recognition as she realized who stood before her.
“Doctor Randall! How good to see you! And yes, I can still use that word. Those herbs you gave me haven’t improved my vision, but I’m happy to say that it hasn’t yet gotten worse. Come in, please!”
This pleasant exchange, however, was abruptly cut short as another figure emerged from the shadows behind Mrs. Moore. A single word echoed in Herman's mind.
Lena...
There she stood, a vision of true beauty in a lovely green day dress. The square neckline of her attire delicately framed her smooth, creamy skin, drawing attention to the graceful arc of her collarbone. Her waist dipped inward, giving way to the subtle curvature of her figure, while the ruffled skirts she wore accentuated the pronounced flare of her hips.
Herman's mouth suddenly felt as if it had been filled with moisture once more, and he swallowed with an almost audible gulp, his throat constricting with emotion. An undeniable sensation of longing mixed with irritation swirled within him, a frustrating reminder of the profound—and extremely frustrating—effect Lena had on him.
With graceful poise, Lena slipped around her grandmother, moving to stand beside her in the doorway. The atmosphere between them crackled with an unspoken tension.
“I’m so glad you’re here again, Doctor Randall,” Mrs. Moore spoke up, drawing Herman’s attention to her beaming face. “Please, have a seat on the couch while I make some tea for us all.”
“It is a pleasure as always, Mrs. Moore,” Herman said, his tone light, but his body anything but. The muscles along his back tightened as he sensed Lena’s hard stare.
He also did not miss the elbow Mrs. Moore dug into Lena’s side at her silence. Lena gasped softly, before shooting her grandmother a dark glower.
Eyes narrowed, Lena grumbled, “Yes, it is indeed a pleasure, Doctor Randall.”
“You sure about that?” Herman retorted.
Lena’s eyes flashed in ire. Oh, but Herman could not resist battling with her on a verbal level. Something about the pursed lips, and crease line between her brows, seemed to get his dander up.
Mrs. Moore shot her granddaughter a warning look. Lena’s lips thinned as she offered him a tight smile.
“Absolutely,” Lena replied sweetly—almost too sweetly, like adding too much honey to a cup of tea. “Why, whatever would make you think it is not an absolute pleasure that you show up every few days on our doorstep?”
Another jabbed elbow in Lena’s side from Mrs. Moore.
“Lena,” Mrs. Moore hissed.
A flush of red swept across Lena’s cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She ducked her chin, no doubt surly at being chided by her grandmother in front of Herman.
“Forgive my granddaughter,” Mrs. Moore said, her tone soft and apologetic. “I don’t know why she is so grumpy today.”
Herman shrugged a shoulder in a sign of indifference. “No need for apologies, Mrs. Moore. Your most agreeable disposition certainly makes up for it.” He offered her a warm grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Mrs. Moore tittered, pressing a hand to her lips as she ducked her chin. Lena stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
“Well, let’s not dawdle in the doorway,” Flora said. She stepped aside, allowing Herman entrance. “I have the tea made, and I think you will like the blend of herbs I put in this time, Doctor Randall. Lavender. It is absolutely aromatic to the senses if I do say so myself. An herb that brings such a natural calm.”
Herman stepped inside and removed his boots. “Of that, I have no doubt. Your tea is always excellent and warms my soul.”
Mrs. Moore giggled and quickly headed to the kitchen to retrieve the tea. Herman glanced out the side of his eye to find Lena still standing nearby.
“Flirting with an older woman, I see,” she muttered to Herman, her voice low so her words would not carry to her grandmother.
Herman straightened after placing his boots neatly in the corner. “No, I am not flirting. I am merely being a polite human. I know that concept is foreign to you,” he fairly growled, his skin prickling at the notion he’d come onto Mrs. Moore in such an appalling manner.
Cocking her head to the side, Lena raised a brow. “Truly?”
Herman felt himself reaching the end of his rope. He stepped close to her, their chests not even a hand’s width apart. Bending at the waist he dipped until they were at eye level with each other. Lena blinked rapidly, her lips pinched. He could tell she was uncomfortable with his nearness, yet the woman was so stubborn she’d rather hold her ground than take a step backward.
He could be just as stubborn as her.
Herman made a show of eyeing the young woman from head to toe. “Careful, Miss Moore,” he said, smirking. “You stand any stiffer and I am afraid you will break something.” He narrowed an eye. “At the very least, you are in danger of developing wrinkles at a mighty too young of an age, if you want my medical opinion. Although we both know what you think of my medical training, right?”
Lena’s mouth fell open, her eyes rounding with shock. Yet, before she could deliver a wicked retort, Mrs. Moore appeared around the corner, teapot in hand. She blinked her gaze flitting between Doctor Randall and her granddaughter. A slow smile curled her lips.
Herman raised a brow at the older woman.
What can she possibly be thinking?
Herman glanced at the position he and Lena were in. They were close. Far too close to one another. He felt his blood chill, then heat at an alarming rate. He moved quickly away from Lena and shot an alarmed glance at Lena’s grandmother.
My goodness! Does she think I am attracted to Lena?
While Herman certainly appreciated Lena's undeniable beauty, the mere thought of courting such an ornery woman had never crossed his mind. He knew her fiery temperament well, and her stubborn nature often made their interactions more exasperating than endearing. The idea that anyone might misinterpret his genuine concern for her well-being as romantic interest was not only perplexing but also mildly unsettling.
His alarmed glance darted back to Lena's grandmother, silently pleading for understanding and clarity in this potentially awkward situation.
Mrs. Moore’s grey eyes fairy twinkled with delight. Casting the pair a long knowing look, she then stepped into the living room. Herman raked a hand through his hair, yanking at the strands. He followed after her with hesitant steps, hoping she’d not question what had occurred between him and Lena in the foyer. His skin tingled as he felt Lena trail behind him. Herman chose to ignore the unexplained physical reaction.
Mrs. Moore sat in the chair on the opposite end of the coffee table. Which left the small couch for Lena and Herman to sit on. Herman caught the mischievous grin creasing Mrs. Moore’s cheeks before she schooled her features.
Herman’s brows shot up.
Is she trying to play matchmaker? Herman dreaded the thought.
Approaching the woman, Herman began his examination of her eyes.
“What are you looking for?” Lean asked.
Herman startled at the nearness of her voice. He whipped his head around to find that Lena stood right behind him, her eyes narrowed.
“I am assessing your grandmother’s eyes for any sign of retina damage,” Herman said, his tone curt.
Her eyes narrowed further. “And what does retina damage look like?”
Herman clenched his jaw at her questioning him, but nevertheless answered professionally. “The retina is usually smaller in size, more oblong than round. There can also be cloudiness present.” With that having been said, Herman returned his focus to his Mrs. Moore.
He gently gripped her chin and angled her head back, allowing the sunlight that slanted into the room from the windows to provide better lighting so he could view her eyes.
He noted the cloudiness that filmed her grey eyes, turning the orbs into a more silver hue. Yet, there did not seem to be any worsening from the last time he performed an examination on Mrs. Moore. Just as she had suggested when he first arrived, the herbs he gave her during their last visit seemed to have slowed the progression. That thought brought him some relief.
“How do you know my grandmother’s condition is permanent, let alone worsening?” Lena asked, her tone sharp.
Lord, grant me patience, Herman offered up the silent prayer.
He took a deep, steadying breath, before replying. “I have seen other cases of blindness that resemble your grandmother’s condition. Those patients’ eyesight worsened and—” he quickly drew off as he glanced down at Mrs. Moore. Bitter shame burned at the back of his throat for revealing such a dismal prognosis in such a blunt manner before his patient.
“Do not mind me,” Mrs. Moore told him. She patted his hand. “The truth is far better than a lie, no matter how much it may sting. The Lord always wants us to speak truth to one another, and I am not one to go against the Lord.”
Herman gave her a small smile that felt too tight. He shot Lena a narrowed glance. The young woman seemed unaffected. Hands on her hips she eyed him with thinly veiled skepticism.
“So you base my grandmother’s prognosis on your previous work with other patients,” Lena said. She jutted her chin a notch. “My grandmother is an individual in case you failed to notice. She should not be judged on what misfortune befell your other prior patients.”
Mrs. Moore gasped. “Lena! Where are your manners? Doctor Randall is our guest.”
Herman’s eyes hardened. A knot of muscle ticked along his jaw. “Actually, working with other patients is a valid method of determining the prognosis of future patients. In the legal field, you might call it ‘precedence.’ However, my prognosis of your grandmother is not just reliant on my experience with other patients,” he ground out. “I also studied diseases of the eye in medical school.”
Lena folded her arms. “And where did you receive your education?”
For a moment all Herman could do was gape at the woman and her audacity. He turned from Mrs. Moore and face Lena fully. Crossing his own arms, he stated, “If you must know, I attended Harvard.”
Open surprise flashed across Lena’s face and wicked satisfaction surged through Herman.
“That’s a fine school,” Lena admitted.
Herman jutted his chest a fraction as pride swelled inside his heart.
“But what was your score in class?” Lena asked, her words brusque. “One could very well attend Harvard but be a low-ranking student, barely grasping the concepts of lectures, yet passing with adequate enough knowledge to graduate. Why else would you leave the big city of Boston to come to this little town?”
Herman clenched his teeth. He felt the rope of patience snap with vicious recoil.
Mrs. Moore pushed to her feet behind Herman. “Lena, that is quite enough out of you!” She pointed a finger at her granddaughter. “Something has clearly crawled under your bustle and got your dander up, but despite such, a lady does not speak to guests in such a manner. You will apologize!”
Lena looked at her grandmother. “Grandma, please,” she cried. “This is your health—your eyesight— we are talking about. I will not have that jeopardized by an incompetent doctor.”
“Incompetent?!” Herman exclaimed.
Her gaze whipping toward Herman, Lena announced, “I want a second opinion before you proceed any further with treating my grandmother.”
His hands shook with rage, and Herman grasped his hands behind his back to still the trembling appendages. He was bitterly reminded that it was his hand tremor that prevented him from becoming a surgeon. Despite having all the intellect required, he did not have steady hands, and therefore would never be able to perform surgeries.
Perhaps that is why he responded in such a way anytime Lena questioned his skill and abilities—which she was doing now, by insisting upon a second opinion.
“Now, if You will excuse me, Doctor Randall,” Lena said sweeping past Herman. “I have chores to tend to. I trust you will see yourself out.”
“Lena!” Mrs. Moore exclaimed.
But an argument was no use. Lena had already stepped out of the house, the door closing in her wake. Herman glared at the door. He thought back to what Lena had just said. She had ranch chores.
Perhaps that cow she wrestles with will throw her back into the mud.
