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“I said,” the young woman enunciated carefully, her tone sharp, “doesn’t a famous pianist have enough to keep her busy in St. Louis?”
Winifred blanched at Darla’s rudeness and simply stared at her, unable to speak. No, it was not enough. It had never occurred to her before, but it wasn’t enough.
But why isn’t it?
Darla advanced another step into the entry hall and Winifred jerked to attention. “Dr. Dougherty is at the hospital all afternoon.”
“No, I am not,” a male voice from the porch steps interjected.
Darla pivoted, her stylish muslin skirt belling about her feet. “Zane!”
“Good afternoon, Darla. Do you need an appointment?”
“What? Oh, no, I am quite well. I just dropped by to...” Her gaze settled on Winifred.
Winifred knew the young woman wanted her to leave her alone with Zane, but something inside her refused to retreat a single step. Zane stepped up onto the porch. Darla was blocking the doorway, but she didn’t move. A standoff, Winifred thought. If they had pistols, it might be a shoot-out.
Finally Zane took Darla’s arm and pulled her out of the doorway. “Is there something I can do for you?” Adroitly he stepped around her.
“Yes, there is. I came by to invite you to a whist party at my house this evening.”
“Sorry, I don’t play whist.”
“I could teach—”
Zane plunked his leather medical bag down on the hall floor. “I’m afraid I’ll be at the hospital this evening.”
Darla’s lower lip pushed into a pout. “You’re always at the hospital. Every party I give, you’re busy at that old hospital.”
“I’m a doctor, Darla. I work at ‘that old hospital.’ I have patients who are dying, patients getting born. What makes you think whist is more important than that?”
Winifred turned away and discreetly retreated into the dining room where both Sam and Yan Li instantly busied themselves with setting out plates for supper. She didn’t dare look at either one.
“Lady chase Boss,” Sam whispered. Yan Li poked her elbow into his ribs and he ducked his head.
“Yes,” Winifred said quietly. “I see that.” No doubt everyone in Smoke River saw it as well. Was that how women ended up marrying a man, by pursuing him until he gave up?
Cissy had not done that; Zane had pursued her sister, not the other way around.
She shrugged and met Sam’s eye. It was no concern of hers.
But you don’t want Darla to trap Zane, do you?
No, she admitted. She didn’t want anyone to trap him.
Oh, what nonsense! Why should I care?
Yan Li again poked her husband in the ribs, then dropped her head to hide her expression.
Of course she shouldn’t care!
But she did.
Oh, for mercy’s sake, her thoughts were tumbling like dry leaves in a stiff breeze. She must still be feverish.
She retreated to her bedroom with the volume of Milton’s poems and read until she fell asleep with the book open on her chest.
When she woke the sun outside the window painted the hills a soft gold and someone was tapping at her door.
“You want tea, missy?” Yan Li’s soft voice brought her fully awake.
“Yes, thank you, Yan Li. I’ll come downstairs. Where is Rosemarie?”
“In piano room with Mister. Bring tea there.”
Winifred patted her disheveled chignon into a semblance of respectability, smoothed down her skirt and descended the stairs. Not a sound came from the “piano room.” Usually Rosemarie gurgled and crowed her incomprehensible little words with such volume you could hear her all over the house; but not today, it seemed.
She stepped into the library and stopped short. Zane lay stretched out on the carpet, his baby daughter clasped belly-down against his chest. Both were sound asleep.
Winifred’s heart gave a queer little thump. She tiptoed in and settled herself in her favorite green velvet wingback chair and opened the Milton. Seven poems later, Zane’s voice startled her.
“What are you reading?”
“Milton,” she whispered, afraid to wake Rosemarie.
“Ah.” One hand caressed his daughter’s back. “Sabrina fair,” he recited. “Listen where you are sitting, in twisted braids of lilies knitting—” He broke off as the baby stirred.
“Do you like poetry, Zane?” It had never occurred to her that any physician would have an education other than medicine. But then Zane wasn’t just “any physician.”
