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Until now. Truth be told, the current shivers made Byron’s seem like mere goose bumps from the cold air. Not what was prickling along her body now, no sir.
These were frissons of excitement. Of fear. Of longing.
Of pure raw need.
And not due to Ben Potter. The good doc had never made her feel hot and cold at the same time.
Land sakes, this little house was hotter than blazes.
The soft caress of Garth Mackenzie’s lips against hers invaded her thoughts, but she brushed it away.
Best make do with what she had. A lesson learned long ago as a preacher’s daughter, and a lesson she’d be well advised to put to use now.
“Fine, Ma. I will accompany Doc Potter to Hattie’s on Sunday.”
And she’d try like the dickens not to wish he were Garth Mackenzie.
Chapter Five
Ruth felt conspicuous. All eyes were upon her. What was the preacher’s spinster daughter doing dining with the town doctor at Hattie’s?
That’s what they were all thinking. She knew it.
Well, not all. Only seven other peo
ple graced the small dining room. Ruth had often wondered if a restaurant would make it in Dugan. Most of the townspeople she knew weren’t likely to spend their hard-earned money for a luxurious meal.
Luxurious it was, too. A fried steak that took up nearly her whole plate, served with string beans, mashed potatoes, and buttered cornbread. The cornbread was flavored with white sugar, too. Delectable.
Doc Potter was easy to converse with. At least he used to be. They’d conversed many times before. But something was different now. A tension, tight as a bow string, hung in the air almost visibly between them.
He asked questions about her childhood, and she responded in kind, and then asked the same of him. He’d grown up in Iowa, the son of a shopkeeper. He was thirty years old.
Such a nice man.
Why couldn’t she get those shivers?
“Miss Blackburn,” he said, “I’d like permission to use your first name.”
Gracious. “I suppose that would be all right, Doc.”
“Thank you…Ruth. Please call me Ben.”
“Of course, Ben.” Lord above, it sounded all wrong.
“May I call on you some evening this week?”
“Well, Doc…er, I mean Ben…this is the last week of school. I’m likely to be quite tuckered in the evenings.”
“Oh.” He looked down.
She’d disappointed him. Drat. She’d said the wrong thing. Why wasn’t she better at this? Some women were born to coquettishness. Not her.
“But you could still call, I suppose. I’d enjoy a walk around the farm. It will be…refreshing after a long day in that hot schoolhouse.”
His mahogany eyes brightened. “I’d enjoy that very much, Ruth. How about Wednesday evening?”
She nodded. “That would be fine.”
