The rugged doctors redem.., p.9
The Rugged Doctor's Redemption, page 9
She pushed her plate away, her appetite clearly having left with the wind. “And I don’t think he’s the type of man that would do that. My first marriage has shaped me into the woman I am today.” Her gaze lifted, and Lena caught her grandmother’s eyes wet with tears. “I am damaged goods. And I don’t think I can ever be whole again.”
Lena reached out to her grandmother and pulled her into an embrace. “You can’t think like that, Grandma. The Bible also says for husbands to love their wife as Christ loved the Church. Grandfather did not hold to his end of the vows in that regard.”
Flora nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I think I just need to take some time to be alone. I’m quite tired, and I should turn in for the night.” Flora shook as she kissed Lena on the top of the head, and then left the table to retreat to her bedroom, leaving Lena alone in the dining room, lost in her thoughts.
Lena could scarcely believe that her grandfather had been such a man—a cantankerous, violent man who dared lay a hand on Lena’s beloved grandmother. She thought about all the Sundays the three of them had gone to church together. He had come across as such a godly man to everyone in the community. No one would have ever suspected that he raised a hand to his wife.
Her lips twisted in a scowl as she thought back to the men at university who viewed women with little regard, and then her thoughts changed path. She could indeed believe a man, even a man who appeared distinguished to the public eye, could act in such a way. Women have never been viewed as having much worth in society other than tending to a house and producing children like a brood mare. So of course, there would not be a thought given to a man who raised a hand to his wife. It would be merely viewed as a private, family affair, a man doing what he needed to do to keep his woman—his property—in line.
Her fingernails bit into the table’s surface as a rush of anger and sadness, for her grandmother, for herself, and for all women, crashed over her like a tidal wave.
***
The next morning, Lena was hunched by the fence post tending to a fallen plank. Numerous boards had fallen, causing the cattle and horses to be in danger of escaping their pastures. Though there was barbed wiring between the fence boards as an extra precaution, Lena had seen a cow break through. The animals thought better about wood railings, seeing them as more of an obstacle. Having been out in the fields for a couple of hours, already the heat was sweltering—the sun beaming down on Lena and singing her soft skin that was exposed. Sweat beaded her brow, droplets of perspiration slipping down her spine and resulting in the fabric of her day dress becoming suctioned to her skin.
She clenched a few nails between her pressed lips as she positioned the board and hammered a nail into the post. Lena’s insides twisted as her thoughts returned to her grandmother’s words last night.
I am damaged goods.
Lena’s hand slipped a fraction, and the hammer swung, slamming into her thumb. Crying out, Lena dropped the board and hammer and sucked on her throbbing thumb.
Hoofbeats clopped down the path toward Lena. She lifted her gaze, peering into the distance. A burly man rode on top of a heavily muscled buskin. From beneath his Stetson hat, the man’s blonde hair gleamed in the sunlight like spun gold. He wore a red chambray shirt and jeans weathered from long days working under the sun.
As he rode closer, recognition flashed to life within Lena. A frown touched her brow. She knew exactly who this was.
Malcolm Kane.
She removed her sore thumb from her mouth and stiffened. Her gut burned with anger as the rancher spotted her and lifted a beefy hand in greeting. This was the man who had stolen her grandmother’s ranch hands through underhanded, seedy, methods and he had the gumption to be genial toward her?
Malcolm Kane drew his horse to a halt beside Lena. The horse snorted in protest, tossing his elegant head and swishing his black tail. Malcolm’s dark brown eyes roved the length of Lena, before settling on her thumb, which was already bruising from the injury. His sharp gaze then flew to the fallen board at her side.
He clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly. “I am no stranger to that calamity,” he murmured. “That has been a pain in my hide more than once or twice when tending to my own ranch.”
Lena’s ears burned with embarrassment at having been found in this predicament by such an unsavory fellow as Malcolm Kane. She shrugged a shoulder in an attempt to appear nonplussed.
“It’s fine,” Lena said. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She turned around and faced the fence again, hoping that Malcolm Kane would take that as his cue to ride on.
The leather of his saddle creaked. “Well, now, are you sure about that, Miss Moore?” His tone was casual, but there was no mistaking the cynical and condescending tone in his voice.
Lena’s back went ramrod straight. Lips thinned, she faced Malcolm Kane once more. “Pardon me?”
Malcolm Kane leaned forward, his forearm resting over his saddle horn. He was settling himself in for the long haul, and Lena’s scalp prickled at the thought of having to converse with this man any longer.
“Well, word around town is your grandma’s health ain’t that great,” Malcolm Kane said, matter-of-factly. He cocked his head to the side, assessing her. “Everyone knows how you were plannin’ on being a big shot at that there fancy law school over in St. Louis.” He let out a low whistle. “It’d be a shame to give all that up to see to this ranch… all alone.”
Lena’s hackles were up, and she bit her tongue to stay any verbal retort.
A slippery smile curled at Malcolm’s thin lips. “How about I make you a deal? Why don’t you sell this here property, and then you and your grandma will not have to be burdened with all that running a ranch entails.”
Lena smiled sweetly. “Who said it was a bother running our ranch? We love it here.”
The slick grin slowly slipped from Malcolm Kane’s face. His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You could sell it to me, ya know? I’d be happy to take it all off your hands. Release you from all the worries that come with the maintenance of a property like this one.”
I am sure you would, Lena thought, anger pooling low in her core.
“Thank you for the offer, but I am afraid I will have to decline.”
“Would you at least consider selling?” A flash of desperation flitted across his narrowed gaze, causing the tiny hairs at the back of Lena’s neck to raise. “I can offer you a pretty price.”
She shook her head. “My grandmother loves this place. And so do I. This is our home, and we can’t part with it.”
A pregnant pause descended, the air thickening with thinly veiled frustration on Malcolm’s part. A muscle twitched along his jawline. His buckskin gelding shifted in place, sensing his rider’s tension—and shift in his emotions.
Lena swallowed thickly.
Finally, Malcolm Kane murmured, “Tell you what? If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” Tipping his Stetson hat in farewell, Malcolm Kane kicked his heels into his horse’s flank, and the pair took off down the trail—leaving a plume of dust billowing in their wake.
Lena licked her lips, her nerves unraveling at Malcolm Kane’s abrupt departure. Her gaze followed after his retreating form growing smaller into the horizon, and she reached out a hand to grab the board. Sharp pain lanced through her hand. A cry belted from her vocal cords. Lean whipped her head to find bright crimson spewing from a deep gash in her palm. Blood coated the barbed wiring in between the fencing.
“Oh my God, no, no, no!” Lena cried out anxiously as pain seared through her. The cut was so deep she could hardly stand to look at her hand without passing out from the sight of the blood. Grey and black spots dotted her vision, and she felt lightheaded.
She lifted her skirt and wrapped the fringe around her hand to staunch the blood flow. She winced in pain as she applied pressure. A bloom of bright crimson welled through the fabric, and beads of blood dripping on the grass.
Lena feared that the cut was too deep—that it would need stitches. This was beyond her ability to take care of it on her own. Realization dawned as she saw the wound needed to be looked over by a doctor. And the only doctor in town was Herman Randall.
Oh, dear Lord, why now…why him?
Chapter Eight
Herman thought he’d never see the day Lena Moore darkened his door in need of medical assistance. Yet, as she sat in the chair designated for patients, Herman found that very scene unfolding before him.
He could see that there was blood soaking the fringe of her dress wrapped around her hand, and his eyes widened in alarm—the cut was surely deep. He reached out a hand to assess the severity yet paused at the begrudging frown that marred Lena’s brow. His irritation flared.
“Do you view me so poorly that you don’t even think I’m capable of applying a few stitches?” Herman asked, his tone clipped.
Lena’s gaze flew up to connect with Herman’s. Indignation sparked in the bright brown of her eyes. Then, the heat of her gaze quickly died down as she must have realized the severity of her plight. Sighing, she dropped her head and extended her injured hand.
“Thank you,” Herman said, his tone gruff, his emotions still sour at her reaction to him. It did not sit well with Herman to have his medical skills questioned.
Grasping her hand in a tender hold, he slowly unwrapped the skirt and let the material fall to the floor, exposing the wound to the light slanting through the twin windows. At the feel of her soft skin in his hold, unencumbered by the dress, Herman felt an electric rush shoot up his arm. Herman stiffened, his mouth parting at the mystifying reaction. Lena winced as his hand tightened a touch, and immediately Herman loosened his hold.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Herman studied the wound from different angles. The blood welled, flowing over her creamy skin, the droplets pelting the floor.
“Bear with me, Lena,” Herman said to her gently. “We will get this patched up in a moment.” Lena shot him a skeptical glance, which Herman ignored. No matter how he felt about her or the differences they had faced, right now she was his patient, and as a doctor he had taken an oath.
He released her hand and quickly set to work gathering the supplies he’d need. Grabbing soap, a bucket, and a container that held well water collected from yesterday, Herman returned to Lena’s side. He set the supplies down on his desk and grabbed his office chair, dragging it over to sit opposite Lena.
Upon seeing the supplies, Lena shrank away. “W-will it burn?”
Herman frowned apologetically. “I am afraid so. But we need to get this wound cleaned. We don’t want it to become infected—otherwise you’ll catch a fever, and we’ll have a much graver situation on our hands.”
Lena licked her lips, her brow furrowed. She hesitantly extended her hand to Herman, and he felt a small tingle of pleasure that she trusted him thus far with her care.
It was progress, albeit small.
He reached for her hand with gentle fingers and turned her palm facing upward. Herman set about rinsing her hand with the water, a bucket placed beneath her hand to collect the running water. He then grasped the soap in his other hand.
“Please bear with it for a little more,” he told Lena. “This will be the worst part, okay?” Herman gathered the soap suds and lathered Lena’s hand. She yelped in pain as the disinfectant touched her open wound, her hand clenching into a fist.
“It hurts so much,” she cried. Tears pricked her lashes.
Hurt and regret flared within Herman’s chest. His voice dropped to a soothing murmur. “I know. I’m sorry, Lena. It’s almost over.” He pried her fingers open so he could continue to lather the wound clean. Lena gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyelids shut, and dropped her head, but she otherwise remained still. She was quite obviously using all her strength to fight against the waves of pain that surged from her wound, and Herman thought that all things considered, she was doing a great job at being brave.
Not that he would expect anything less from a woman as fierce as Lena Moore.
Herman rinsed the soapy suds out of the wound and was relieved to see that the bleeding had lessened. Despite the blood, he could discern that the wound was a clean slice and would therefore be an easy enough stitch.
He glanced up at Lena. “It’s really not that bad,” he told her gently. “The blood made it seem much worse than it was.”
Lena cracked her eyes open to peek at her wound. She blinked rapidly, surprise etched across her features. “You’re right, it’s not as deep as I thought” she let out a sigh of relief, and her gaze slid to Herman’s. “But will it still need stitches?”
Herman heard the trepidation in her voice. He felt terrible for what he had to tell her, for what he would have to do, but he was determined to give her the best possible care.
“Yes, it will still need to be closed so the flesh can mend properly.”
Lena’s shoulders slumped at his words.
Herman offered a small smile. “I’ll try to make it quick, okay?”
Shaking her head, Lena said, “Do not rush on my account. I’d rather have a clean stitch than to have to suffer later.” Her lips thinned, her eyes dull in resignation. She let out a mirthless chuckle. “It’s my fault, really. If I wasn’t so clumsy, I would not be in this predicament.”
Herman raised a brow at that. Rising to his feet, he stepped over to his medical drawers and grabbed a thread and needle. “What were you doing where you wound up with this nasty cut?”
“I was repairing the fence line and accidentally grabbed the barbed wire instead of the wooden board.”
Herman whirled, fastening wide eyes on Lena.
Her lips twisted with a wry smile. “Yeah, I told you I was clumsy.” She ducked her chin as a pretty pink bloomed across her cheeks.
Herman’s eyes snagged on the blush, finding the lovely hue accentuated Lena’s freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. It put him in mind of strawberries, his favorite fruit. He swallowed thickly.
“I have always been clumsy,” Lena said. “So much so that my grandpa never let me help him work on the ranch, when I was younger.” She shrugged a shoulder. “So I occupied my time with reading, inside the house.” She peeked at Herman from beneath thick lashes. Her tone turned solemn. “Now, I wish I knew more about ranch work. My grandma needs my help and I… I fear I may end up being useless.” A sad sigh breezed from her full lips.
Herman’s heart hurt for Lena. He’d heard from Flora about her late husband. The man had been a downright good-for-nothing scoundrel—having abused Flora both verbally and physically. At least Flora had confessed to Herman that he never struck her granddaughter, and for that, Herman was thankful. Lena should possess fond memories of both her grandparents after her parents’ murder—they had been all the family Lena had. It turned out that the Moore’s ranch had been one of the biggest and most successful ranches in Fort Scott before Flora’s husband had passed due to natural causes. His gaze slowly roved over Lena’s form.
She was such a petite girl. While she was clearly a woman of strength of mind and intellect, she did not have the physical muscular structure needed to slave over the land under the hot sun all day, tending to ranch chores. A man needed to be out there doing such a grueling task, not a lady.
They are out there all alone. Both she and the elderly widow, Herman thought, pity coiling a tight noose around his neck—making it difficult to breathe. The tendons in his neck grew distended as he swallowed and approached Lena where she sat in the center of the room. He lowered his muscular frame into his own chair across from her. He loosened a deep breath and set to work stitching her palm. Threading the string of thread through the eye of the needle, Herman pricked the soft skin of her palm. Lena whimpered, her lower lip trembling. Herman grimaced.
“I’m so sorry,” he told her again.
Lena hissed in pain. “Don’t be sorry,” she croaked. She sank her teeth into her lower lip before saying, “You didn’t do it. Like I said, I blame my own clumsiness. And I will get better at ranch work… with time.”
Herman continued sewing with deft fingers. After a moment of silence, he said, “If it’s any consolation, many people would say clumsiness is rather endearing.”
Lena stiffened. Herman froze. Both of their gazes snapped up and collided. Her chocolate eyes met his sapphire ones, and both gazes rounded with surprise. Heat burned Herman’s ears, and he prayed to the good Lord that his cheeks were not burning red.
Clearing his throat, Herman tore his gaze from Lena and resumed stitching her wound closed. An awkward silence descended on the room, draping over the pair like a thick wool blanket.
Great work, Herman, he chided himself. Now you have spooked her with your words of nonsense.
Herman weaved the needle across the wound for one last row and tied off the stitch. He reached for a knife in the desk drawer and proceeded to cut the thread.
“There, all done,” he told Lena. “Now I just need to wrap it.”
