AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Zane had her undo the top buttons of her dress and laid his stethoscope against her chemise. “What do you mean, ‘so much activity’? You doing anything unusually strenuous lately?”
“Well, no. I mean not yet.”
Sarah’s heartbeat sounded strong and regular. “Not yet?”
The older woman’s cheeks grew even more rosy.
“Sarah, why come to me when Doc Graham lives at your boardinghouse?”
“That’s just it, you see. I didn’t want Doc to know I was worried. It’s kinda private.”
“Private? Just what is worrying you, Sarah?”
Sarah wet her lips. “Do you think my heart is strong enough to, well, engage in some, well, spooning?”
Zane sat back. “Spooning? You mean making love?”
“Doc, hush! Someone might hear.”
Zane lowered his voice. “What, exactly, are you contemplating?”
Sarah leaned forward. “Marriage,” she whispered. “I’m thinking about getting married.”
He must have misheard the woman. Marriage? At her age? She must be over sixty! And who—?
“Rooney’s asked me to marry him, Doc. I want to, but I wouldn’t dare accept him and then die of heart failure on our honeymoon. It’d make him mighty unhappy.”
Zane tried like hell to keep a straight face. “Sarah, you’re in no danger of dying anytime soon no matter what you do, honeymoon or otherwise.”
She clasped his hand in both of hers. “Oh, thank you! I was so worried, you see. Thank you.” She rebuttoned her dress and stood up. “I brought an apple pie for you cuz you came to see Mark yesterday. I left it in the kitchen with Sam.”
“Sarah, I do love your apple pies, but you don’t owe me anything.” He squeezed her shoulder and walked her to the door of his office. When he heard the front door close he sank down behind his wide oak desk and poured himself a brandy.
So Sarah Rose wanted to marry again. Well, why not? She’d been widowed almost thirty years; she deserved some joy in life. A lot of joy, in fact. He had a particular soft spot for a woman who could run a boardinghouse year in, year out without becoming soured on humanity. He also had a soft spot for anyone willing to risk their heart in marriage. He’d sure as hell never do it again.
Losing Celeste had left his life so bleak that sometimes he didn’t want to go on. But he knew he had to, for Rosemarie.
He lifted his glass to Sarah Rose, downed the contents in one gulp and poured another. This one he nursed while idly leafing through the stack of medical journals on the corner of his desk. Nothing startling and nothing new. Sometimes he thought medicine back East would benefit from a dose of Out West Indian remedies.
He continued to sip and read until he heard the front door open and saw Winifred glide past his window. After a moment he heard the rhythmic creak-creak of the porch swing. She had wanted to speak with him about something, he remembered. Now would be as good a time as any. He gulped the last of the brandy and pushed away from the desk.
A breeze had come up, scented with pine and the honeysuckle that drooped from the porch posts. Celeste had loved the smell of honeysuckle, even though in the summer it made her sneeze. He sucked in a breath at the bolt of anguish that laced across his chest.
Winifred sat rocking in the swing with a sleeping Rosemarie cradled in her arms. She looked up when he closed the front door.
“May I join you?”
“Of course. It’s your porch, and your swing.”
Zane frowned. That sounded unusually crisp for Winifred. Or perhaps he just did not know her well. He settled an arm’s length away and they rocked in silence for a while. He hoped she couldn’t smell the brandy on his breath.
“At breakfast you said you wanted to talk to me about something?” He didn’t really want to talk, but whatever she had on her mind it was better to get it over with.
“Yes, I did. I wanted to... I want...”
Ah. She didn’t really want to talk, either. “We don’t have to talk, Winifred. We could just watch the sun go down behind the hills.” He didn’t like it when a woman “wanted to talk.”
“We do have to talk.” Her voice was oddly flat and a ripple of unease snaked up his spine.
“About?” he prompted.
She bent her head over his daughter, then raised it and looked straight into his eyes. “About Rosemarie. I—I want to take her back to St. Louis with me. I want to raise her.”
He stopped the swing so abruptly her neck jerked back.
