CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHORES WERE AN unpleasant necessity at the mission house – Mother would be horrified to see me milking the cow and scattering feed for the chickens, who were now comfortably settled in the new coop.

I had discovered long ago that rising early was the key to having some free time to work on my lesson plans; I disliked waking with the sunrise, but I forced myself to get out of bed and get to work. Often I wondered how the mountain women could bear it, for in addition to all these mundane tasks, they had families and homes to care for; but somehow they managed it, and that with such perfect aplomb that I was ashamed of my pettiness.

Fortunately, the chickens didn't require much attention beyond their morning meal, and the fresh water had usually been brought in by Miss Ida by the time I came downstairs. I had been very hesitant about milking anything – it sounded like an unseemly business – but Harriet was a placid, sedentary sort of cow who wasn't at all offended by the invasion of her personal space.

I found that I actually liked the task, once I got over the strangeness of it all. This morning Harriet was particularly obliging, not even moving away once in search of a better pile of hay or overturning the pail. In no time at all, I had filled two large buckets with fresh milk.

"Thank you, Harriet," I said, getting up from the stool and placing the lids securely over the pails.

Harriet made a grunting sound and turned back to her food – she wasn't much of a conversationalist.

I had just towed the milk pails into the kitchen when Dr. MacNeill appeared on the trail outside the mission, riding Charlie at a plodding pace; I felt a sudden, paralyzing rush of fear upon seeing his bent head and slumped shoulders – for a moment, I thought that something dreadful had happened to him. Even while my eyes were scouring his form frantically for any sign of bloodstains, he lifted his head and caught sight of me.

Immediately he straightened in the saddle, and I breathed a sigh of relief; that relief was short-lived, however, as I hurried up the path to meet him. As soon as I was close enough to see his face, I stopped dead.

"You look awful!" I blurted out.

He gave me a ghost of a smile. "I was at the Holcombes' all night. Sam Houston broke his arm."

"Oh, no! What happened?"

"He slipped on some river rocks and landed on his right shoulder; his arm bent out at the elbow and it snapped clean through. To make things worse, it was a compound fracture."

"A compound fracture?"

"The bone came through the skin."

I shuddered.

"He'll be fine," he said, reading my expression. "I set it without too many problems and stitched up the cut, and as long as he keeps his arm immobile and clean, there shouldn't be any complications. You might want to go over and see him later; he's a brave boy, but it wasn't a pleasant experience for him."

"Of course I will." I studied his wan, pinched face. "You must be exhausted – you should be home resting."

"I had to come by first to see if there were any other calls while I was away. Is Alice at the cabin?"

"She's off at the Barclays' – Granny wanted to talk to her. But no one called for her medical services yesterday, at least to my knowledge."

"I'll come back later. Have a good day, Christy." Gripping the saddle pommel, as if he thought he might very well tumble off Charlie's back, he started back down the trail.

"Dr. MacNeill, wait!" I cried. "Come inside and have something to eat, at least. David went to El Pano today with Miss Ida – I'm sure he won't mind if you caught a few hours of sleep in the bunkhouse."

"I'd better not."

"What about breakfast?"

Before he could refuse, his stomach replied for him, rumbling loudly.

"I believe I have my answer," I laughed. "Come on." I started off toward the house, beckoning him forward. He came, swinging off Charlie to walk alongside me.

While the Doctor stabled Charlie in the barn, I searched the kitchen for something to eat. A loaf of bread sat cooling on the counter, but there were no leftovers from my meager breakfast but an apple and a stale, three-day old biscuit; to make anything else would take time. I sliced a thick slab of bread and opened a can of strawberry jam.

"This is all I can offer you for now," I said apologetically, coming back into the dining room where Dr. MacNeill had seated himself, "but if you don't mind waiting awhile, I can cook you a hot breakfast. Toast, eggs, ham – whatever you want."

"You don't have to go to all that trouble, Christy," he said, accepting the bread.

"Look, why don't you get some sleep first? Then I can make lunch for both of us. Miss Ida left me to fend for myself anyway – I would like the company, and if you're willing to wait, I promise I'll make something good."

It was a blatant piece of bribery, but I could see that he wanted to stay, even though his pride rebelled against accepting the offer.

Fortunately, I wasn't too proud to beg. "Please?"

He hesitated. "If you're sure. I can help with the cooking."

"I'll manage just fine. You look so tired; you're in no condition to be going anywhere. Go upstairs – there are two perfectly good beds."

"I couldn't do that. Look at me – I'm covered in dust. I would ruin the bedding."

"Dust washes off."

"It wouldn't be right to stay here while Alice and Grantland are away."

I gave him my best 'teacherly' look. "Fiddlesticks. You will get some sleep."

We glared at each other, wills clashing. Dr. MacNeill's gaze was piercing, but I wasn't going to back down. The stupid man would fall right off his horse if he tried to ride two miles when he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"The couch will do fine," he said at last, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't want to stay long. Just a few minutes."

I tried very hard not to look smug. Leaving him to tug off his filthy boots and coat, I fetched two blankets and a pillow from the linen closet.

"Just a few minutes," he reminded me, as he settled down on the couch.

"Of course."

He slept for three hours. I sat by the fireplace and tried to mend the pile of torn stockings that David had left, but I ended up spending the majority of my time staring at the Doctor. There were still ashy rings under his eyes, but I was struck by how different he looked when he was asleep. His eyelashes, colored the same red-gold as his eyebrows, were longer than I had thought, resting delicately on his high cheekbones. The lines of his generous mouth had relaxed into something like a smile; deep furrows around his nose and lips eased – his face was younger somehow, softer, more approachable.

In his own odd way, I decided, he was actually an attractive man. His eyes tended to overshadow the rest of his features; they were arresting, demanding the attention of whoever they happened to be fixed on. When they were covered, he was a great deal less intimidating. As I watched, his nose twitched and he burrowed his face in the pillow, as though he was aware of my rude scrutiny.

Something soft and tender stole through me. I had the strangest compulsion to go tuck in his blankets and give him a goodnight kiss. I laughed at the thought – what a shameless girl I was. Oh, but the good Doctor's surprise would be such fun to see!

As the clock struck eleven, I rose quietly and went into the kitchen to start lunch. There were ham steaks and strips of salted beef in the root cellar, and I sliced some potatoes to fry over the stove. What else? I rootled through the cupboards until I found a large jar of spiced peaches. I didn't know if the Doctor had much of a sweet tooth, but Miss Ida did make the best preserves.

I almost dropped the jar as a hand touched my shoulder – Dr. MacNeill's stockinged feet hadn't made a sound on the floorboards.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, moving back to give me a chance to catch my breath. "I wanted to know if there was something I could do to help." He still looked tired, but the glassiness in his eyes was gone.

I set him to work pan-frying the ham while I finished the potatoes and cornbread. There was something comfortably domestic about sharing the kitchen with a man – he clearly knew what he was doing too.

When everything was finished, we brought the food out to the table, and the Doctor courteously pulled out a chair for me. We ate and chatted, and I was astonished to realize how easy it was to talk to him; I had always felt vaguely cowed by his domineering manner. Had I changed? Or, I thought, looking at his smiling face, had he changed? There was something about him that was different, surely.

He told me about his latest calls, making me laugh and cringe in turn, and then asked me how school was progressing.

"Quite well, actually; it's good to have something to look forward to in the mornings. I'm afraid you can't get rid of me now," I teased.

"To be honest, Christy, I didn't think you were coming back at all." Dr. MacNeill saw my surprise and added, "I've been to the city before – I know what it's like. Don't tell me that you weren't tempted to stay."

"Of course I was," I said. "There was a teaching job available in Asheville, in one of the public schoolhouses."

"Why didn't you accept it?"

"I nearly did; I had a terrible time deciding what to do. My parents wanted me to stay, and some part of me wanted to too – but I wanted to go home at the same time. So, I prayed. After that, I knew what I wanted to do, and that someone needed me back in Cutter Gap."

The Doctor's face suddenly flushed as red as his hair. I looked at him in concern; he muttered something about the room being too warm and took a gulping drink of water.

"So, I made the decision and came home," I finished. Dr. MacNeill was still watching me unblinkingly, looking agitated. I raised my hand to my face, suddenly self-conscious. "What? What is it?"

"I prayed that you would come back."

I nearly spat out a mouthful of juice, I was so shocked. No, no, he wasn't teasing – his gaze was perfectly unwavering. "You did?"

He nodded, and the unnatural color began to fade from his cheeks. "I had no idea...I didn't know..."

"Neither did I." I fiddled with my glass, peeping up at him shyly. "Did you really want me to come back?"

"Of course. The Cove hasn't ever had such a good teacher – the children would have been disappointed..." He cut himself off and sighed, smiling ruefully. "Oh, never mind that. Is it wrong to admit that I missed you?"

It's amazing what a few simple words can do. There was such a lightness filling me that I wanted to laugh for the pure joy of it. "Not at all, Doctor – I missed you too."

A/N: I thought that Neil needed a chapter to himself, aye? Sorry it's so short and choppy, but I wrote it in a bit of a hurry.

I probably won't be able to post again for a week, depending on whether I can churn out Ch. 18 before Wednesday. I'll try, and if it isn't complete drivel, I'll post then. ; ) Thanks for your reviews.