They lay on a blanket in the field counting the stars, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"What ya gonna do abou' th' bull?"

"I don't know. Build a stronger pen, I guess." He sighed.

She could feel his fingers running over her palms and she blushed at the callouses on her hands.

"Need's to file 'em." She whispered.

"File what?" Nick asked.

"Them work spots, file 'em down and put crème on 'em so they hands don't be so hard."

"There's nothing wrong with your hands." Nick said, honestly confused. He couldn't quite figure out how he could be thinking about making love to her and she could start talking about her hands.

"They not lady's hands." She whispered. "I seen them in town, them ladies in shops. Hands so smooth, an' white an' soft. They pulls gloves on, an' they slide over th' fingers so quick and easy. Don't catch on rough spots, don't cover scars, knuckles all small an' an' " she groped for a word she'd read recently. "Refined. Pretty hands. Sof' like feathers. Perfect as li'l doves."

There was a moment of silence in the dark.

"Useless." Nick said.

"What you mean?"

"Their hands; they're useless. They're…." He thought about it for a moment. "Did you ever look at Mother's hands?"

Angela blushed, because she had noticed Victoria Barkley's hands and been surprised by the multitude of tiny scars that told of hard use.

"I never…I didn't take no notice-"

"We try to keep her away from the hard work, so her hands are softer now but she used to have callouses and rough spots. She had a place on her thumb that was always getting blistered. She put some lotion on every day so the back of her hands were always soft, but her palms had these rough spots. To me it always meant she could do everything."

'I remember when I was learning how to rope a calf, and I got these blisters and callouses on my thumb and the edges of my fingers from throwing the rope. When I saw them, they looked familiar, they looked right but I didn't know why. Then it struck me: Mother had those exact same callouses; she'd had them for years. They weren't just rough spots of skin, they were a code spelling out what she could do. Each blister, each callous was like a badge of knowledge.

'She used to...She'd come in to say good night. Sometimes I'd be almost asleep when she came in but she had a habit, she would run her hand over my forehead-maybe to check for a fever, maybe just to get my hair out of my eyes-her palm always felt so strong. Then she'd do it again with the back of her hand and she was so gentle; her hand was so soft. That's Mother. Strong but soft. Like your hands."

Angela smiled in darkness. 'He likes my hands' The thought unfolded as wonderfully surprising as a gift.

'Those 'ladies' can keep their pale, useless hands." He said. "I'd rather hold yours. They're strong, they're full of knowledge. "

A gurgle of laughter rose in her throat. "But not pale." She giggled

"Oh no," he pulled her closer in the dark. "Definitely not pale."

BVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Through some act of fate that Jarrod had always considered almost cosmically ironic, Doc Martens office was almost directly across the street from his law practice. It had been, naturally, closed after the Doctors murder and Jarrod had learned through the grapevine that the Doctors surviving family member had not sold the practice to any of the other physicians in town.

So two weeks later, while Jarrod was unlocking his office in the morning and noticed an unexpected movement in closed practice, he felt obliged to make certain no one was breaking into the office and rummaging thru confidential patient files, including his brothers.

There didn't appear to be any broken glass, or signs of an illicit entry and so Jarrod concluded it was safe enough to simply walk into the office.

"Hello?" He called out.

A shadowed figure jerked upright in the adjoining room, somehow giving the impression of being deeply affronted strictly by their physical bearing.

"Excuse me!" The voice that answered was a surprising feminine alto. "There happens to be a sign on the door that reads CLOSED."

The speaker came into the light and revealed herself to be a tallish, business like woman with burning red hair, green eyes and an unnervingly determined chin.

"My apologies." Jarrod felt a sudden need to assure her he meant no offense. He had the distinct impression that if he didn't do so she was quite capable of physically ejecting him from the building. "I'm Jarrod Barkley. I have the office across the street, and I was concerned that someone was breaking in."

"Ah." The alto voice softened somewhat. "That was very kind of you. Thank You." There was an awkward pause. "I'm Dr. Agatha Marten. Jeptha was my brother and I was ….." She trailed off as she looked around the office with a pained expression.

"Of course. I'm very sorry for your loss. He was my brother's Doctor and Nick thought very highly of him." Jarrod took a closer look at the physician.

Agatha Marten-DR Agatha Marten-looked nothing like her brother. Jeptha Marten had been all sharp points and angles, as if his body was conforming to his tongue. He had been, in a boyish kind of way, downright homely. Agatha Marten, on the other hand, was….well not. She wasn't quite beautiful, but she was striking, and gave the impression of an iron backbone. One thing she did share with her brother was an aura of intense observation and keen intellect.

A look of grief crossed her face. "I can't quite believe he's gone; that he was shot to death. Jeptha hated guns, you know. He hated all kinds of violence. He wouldn't even go hunting."

Jarrod felt for her. He may not have been wildly enthused about her brother but he knew how he'd feel if one of his brothers had been cut down so early.

"You know if you need any help packing up everything and send it back to your home-"

"Philadelphia." She said absently. "Woman's Hospital of Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia." He said dutifully. "I'll be happy to-"

"I don't think so." Agatha's absent look had been replaced by a more thoughtful one.

"Don't think so what?" Jarrod asked cautiously.

"I don't think I'm going back to Philadelphia. I checked you know; there is not a single female physician in the city of Stockton. There are only 2 in the entire state of California." She stared at him with narrowed, almost accusatory eyes.

"I did not know that." Jarrod felt oddly defensive, as if he personally was to blame for the overwhelmingly masculine concentration of Doctors. "I'm sure they'll be happy to welcome you-"

"They don't have to welcome me; they'll just have to get used me." There was that determined chin again. Jarrod abruptly felt sorry for anyone who got in Agatha Marten's way; and decided to make certain he wasn't one of them.

"Well, I've leave you to get on with, whatever you were doing." He fumbled for words slightly as he backed out of the office. "If there's anything I can do to help-"

"There is one thing."

Jarrod paused, hoping it was quick and painless. He wasn't certain he was up to an extended visit with the good Doctor.

"I'm moving into the apartment above the surgery so I have a place to stay but," She looked slightly embarrassed. "The simple fact is that while every other young woman was learning the intricacies of cooking, I was studying anatomy. I'm afraid I can't cook to save my life. I can carve a turkey, I can't however, baste a turkey. My stomach is quite …picky and I need to know the safest places in town to eat. '

"When I arrived last night I mentioned that at least there was a café nearby and the station master told me to avoid it at all costs. If you know of a good restaurant or place to eat?"

Instantly Jarrod felt better. He not only knew of a good café he knew about the best café and restaurants in town. Escorting her to lunch would give him a perfect opportunity to size up and quietly evaluate a physician who might eventually be needed for his family. The secondary thought, that he would be spending time with one of the most attractive and fascinating women he had met in some time, passed through his mind so fleetingly that he didn't really notice it.

"As a matter of fact, Doctor, I'm going to one of them today. Would you like me to drop by around noon? My treat."

"Noon would be perfect. I insist on paying my share, however."

Jarrod blinked.

"Very well. Noon. Until then, Doctor."

It wasn't until he was halfway through drawing up a tort that he realized she reminded him of Mother.

BVBVBVBVBVBV

Despite her statement to the contrary, Jarrod had halfway expected Agatha Marten to clean up her brothers office, dispose of his belongings and return to Philadelphia; a place which, she tartly pointed out, actually required physicians to be licensed professionals, unlike California which demanded ship pilots be licensed but allowed anyone who claimed to be a doctor to hang up a shingle. Instead, she had indeed decided to stay in Stockton, lobby for the state to required physician licensing and open her own practice.

It was very different than her brother's practice. Agatha Marten specialized in treating women. This had been in shrewd move on her part as she instantly obtained 50% of the population of Stockton as possible patients, unlike other Doctors who had to spend years building their practice. Jarrod had been surprised at the large number of women who preferred a female Doctor, although he supposed he wouldn't have been if he'd ever bothered to think about it.

She also lowered her prices for the less prosperous ladies, thus helping those who desperately needed treatment but couldn't always afford it. All in all, her practice was busy, but not so busy, Jarrod had discovered over the course of several months, that she couldn't stop for lunch around the same time every day. So, Jarrod, without really thinking about it, had taken to escorting her to 'the better places to eat' every noon.

He didn't really think too much about it, he simply incorporated it into his daily routine. Had he stopped to examine things more closely he would have seen Agatha Marten had become a part of his routine in more ways than one. If his day was broken down piece by piece it would look something like this:

Wake Up

Eat Breakfast

Go to Stockton

Stop by to greet Dr Marten before work

Work for a few hours

Wander by Dr Martens' office to check on her morning.

Go back to work

Have lunch with Dr Marten

Work

Drop by Agatha's office in the afternoon to chat a few minutes.

Work a few hours

Stop by Agatha's office to see how her day had gone.

Go Home

Eat Dinner while thinking about how California needed to license physicians like Agatha said.

Work a few more hours at home but spend part of it thinking about how he really needed to visit Philadelphia at least once to see the sights Agatha talked about. He had always wanted to go there any way and it was, after all, the cradle of our country.

Go to Sleep

Repeat.

It was a schedule that developed so slowly that he didn't notice how much everything was now revolving around Agatha Marten. He simply become vaguely aware that his favorite color of eyes was green, his favorite color of hair was red and maybe he should have been a doctor, not a lawyer.

It wasn't until he was walking past his secretary one morning and she raised her eyebrows and said, rather than asked:

"Going to go see the pretty Doctor again, eh?"

That he was hit smack in the face with the possibility that he was…. Intrigued by? Attracted to? Infatuated? In Love? with Agatha Marten. His mind froze and he literally backed away from the door and retreated into his office.

Because Jarrod Barkley had no plans to be intrigued by, attracted to, infatuated or in love with any woman much less Agatha Marten. Or even if he was perhaps intrigued or attracted or infatuated he definitely wasn't in love with Agatha Marten.

Furthermore he didn't like green eyes or red hair, never wanted to be a Doctor, didn't care about California's need to license physicians and hated-hated- Philadelphia even though he had always wanted to go and it was, after all, the cradle of our country.

With these thoughts impressed firmly in his mind he worked straight through the morning, lunch and afternoon until he was ready to leave in the evening and was completely unprepared to see Doctor Marten sitting alone in the waiting room.

Stubbornly, Jarrod reminded himself he was not at all attracted to her and gave her his best professionally courteous but personally indifferent expression.

"Dr Marten, Is there something I can do for you?"

She looked slightly confused. "Dr Marten? I thought I was Agatha."

Jarrod cleared his throat. "Well, it occurred to me that I'd never done you the courtesy of asking if I could call you by your first name. Dr Marten just seemed more appropriate."

She smiled in sudden relief. "Certainly you can call me Agatha. We've spent enough time together."

"That's good to know, Thank You." There was an awkward pause that lasted around a million years. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Her smile faltered as his professional expression remained in place.

"You didn't show up for lunch. I was wondering if anything was wrong."

"No, nothing. It's just that I've basically shown all the best eating places in town. There really aren't any spots you haven't tried already. You should be fine alone."

"Oh." There was genuine hurt in her eyes and Jarrod felt like a beast. Agatha took a deep, careful breath before speaking with absolute control.

"Well I appreciate your courtesy, and the time you've spent showing me around town Mr. Barkley. I hope you have a good evening." And she turned to leave.

"There is one more place." To his complete horror, Jarrod heard his voice speaking without any authorization from his brain whatsoever. "Our house. Sunday dinner is our main meal of the week. Not our only meal of course. We have breakfast and lunch. Especially breakfast."

He was babbling. He was actually physically babbling!

"Breakfast is an important meal. In fact, you could argue that it's THE most important meal of the day. Skip breakfast and by mid-morning you feel weak and it's hard to concentrate and-"

He couldn't believe what he was listening to. Jarrod Barkley didn't get flustered by women. Jarrod Barkley didn't get flustered by anyone. His words were always calm and carefully considered before he spoke them. He never said anything without stopping to think about the possible effect first. Yet here he was, yammering on about breakfast in an uncontrolled stream of words that made him want to stuff his fists in his mouth.

Agatha was giving him an extremely strange look.

"Did you just invite me over for Sunday Dinner?"

"Yes?" Jarrod's heart was beating so wildly that he wondered if she could hear it. "You can meet my family and-"

"I accept."

"Great!" They stared at each other for another million years before Agatha prompted

"I have a patient to see in the morning. Is 1:00 all right?"

"1:00 is perfect." Jarrod assured her, then bit his tongue before he started babbling again.

"Good. I'll take my carriage. I look forward to it." Another strange look. "Goodnight, Jarrod."

"Goodnight, Agatha"

He waited until she was a good 20 feet away before he smacked himself in the head.

IDIOT!