Love on the Mend: A Full Steam Ahead Novella

  How much Jacob Sadler was missing! The love Uncle Curtis had to give was rich and deep and true. The new doc just needed someone to open his eyes, someone to help him see the man Uncle Curtis had become. The new doc needed someone like her.

  Chapter Five

  If he had to shake the hand of one more enthusiastic townsperson singing the praises of Curtis Sadler, Jacob thought he might retch. Over the last ten days, he’d met nearly every citizen of Cold Spring, and each one had felt the need to welcome him to town by recounting some kind of personal anecdote about how wonderful his uncle was. He’d been able to stomach the first few but when the bombardment continued, the nausea had built to dangerous levels.

  He’d learned, for example, that his uncle sat on the school board, was a deacon at the church, and singlehandedly organized the fund drive that paid for the new barn at the Wilcox farm after the old one burned to the ground last summer, taking a large portion of the family’s winter hay stores with it. Fredda Wilcox had chattered on about the good deed throughout her entire examination. No wonder the woman complained of a scratchy throat. She never ceased talking.

  The most disturbing bit of news came over the dinner table, when the head of the city council—Archie Larimore—revealed that they had ultimately decided to accept his application for town physician due to Curtis Sadler’s glowing recommendation. The man had bragged about how Jacob had finished top of his class at Harvard and distinguished himself as an army surgeon during the war. Described his dedication to his patients and told the council straight out they’d be fools to let a man of his credentials and character get away.

  How in the world had Uncle Curtis known all of those things? Jacob shoved the medical text he’d been reading aside and rubbed a hand over his face. Every bit of it had been accurate. Even the story he’d related about Mrs. McCurdy, one of the patients Jacob had seen in Galveston after the war. The woman had suffered extreme pain from gallstones. He’d performed a cholecystectomy based on Robert Graves’s procedure and removed the stones. The first time he’d ever done so. It’d been touch-and-go for a while, but the woman had been young and pulled through.

  Jacob had been rather proud of that success, yet he’d never spoken of it to anyone outside of the Thorntons. He supposed word could have spread through Mrs. McCurdy or her husband, who was quite a vocal fellow. But to have the news travel all the way to Cold Spring on its own? Highly unlikely.

  So how had Uncle Curtis known?

  The bell he’d installed above his front door rang, pushing the mystery to the back of his mind. Jacob rose from his kitchen table, shrugged on his coat, and started making his way to the parlor.

  “It’s just me, Doc,” a feminine voice called.

  Mollie. Another mystery he’d yet to decipher. How could a woman pummel his chest and call him a cold-hearted scoundrel one day then show up the following afternoon to accept his job offer? And all without even a hint of a grudge. It was quite remarkable, really.

  Then she’d gone and confessed her past to him, insisting he know her childhood secrets before allowing her to take the job. Guileless, straightforward honesty. She was like a fresh sea breeze that blew through him each afternoon, bringing a tang of salt with her no-nonsense manner and an invigorating coolness that lightened his heart. The woman was proving more addictive than morphine.

  “Mrs. Peabody said the powders you gave her are helping,” Mollie said, entering the surgery from the parlor at the same time he did through the short hall that connected the front rooms to the rear of the house. She beamed a smile at him, then bustled over to collect her apron from the hook on the wall behind his desk. “She’s sleeping much better, and her joints don’t seem to ache as much.”

  “I’m glad.” For more reasons than Mrs. Peabody’s health. If Mollie’s landlady slept better, Mollie slept better. Heaven knew his new assistant could use the extra rest. The woman worked longer hours than a cowhand on a cattle drive. She agreed to help out at the clinic in the afternoons while still cooking and cleaning for Mrs. Peabody in the mornings and evenings, leaving her little or no time to herself. Not that she ever complained.

  Which was why he’d be stuffing his own preferences into a deep pocket that afternoon and taking her on a house call.

  “Who does that horse outside belong to?” Mollie asked as she reached behind her back to tie the apron strings. “I expected to see a patient in here when I came in.”

  Jacob snapped the clasp closed on his medical bag. “He’s yours. For the afternoon, anyway.” He avoided looking directly at her, his pulse jumping in a ridiculously erratic pattern. Good grief. It wasn’t as if he were asking the woman on a courting expedition. It was strictly professional.

  So why did he hope so badly that his gesture pleased her?

  He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her widened eyes. “I thought you could come with me to check on Adam. It’s been a week since Curtis took him back to the farm. I’m not worried about infection, that would have set in the first day or two, but I need to make sure the—”

  “Yes!” Mollie bounced in front of him, her grin so bright he had to blink several times just to bring her back into focus. “When can we leave?”

  Jacob shrugged, pretending every nerve ending in his body wasn’t tingling in delight. “I suppose we can go as soon as we deal with the long line of patients waiting to be seen.”

  Mollie played along, giving a cursory look into the empty parlor. “Done. Race you to the horses!” She bounded away, leaving Jacob free to release the smile that had been demanding freedom.

  For the first time in years, he felt young and alive. And competitive. Jacob dashed out the back to where Galen waited and leapt into the saddle. Not taking the time to tie down his bag, he simply gripped it in one hand and the reins in the other as he nudged Galen into a trot and then a lope.

  “Come on, slowpoke,” he called to a waiting Mollie as he rounded the corner. He didn’t slow as he reached the road, somehow sure his assistant would rise to the bait.

  She did. Admirably.

  Light as she was, she flew down the road, leaning over her mount’s neck and urging him to greater speed. Galen surged in response, despite carrying a load nearly eighty pounds heavier. Jacob grinned into the wind, twisting his head to the side to gauge Mollie’s progress. She was gaining on him.

  “To the fallen tree,” he yelled, signaling a log beside the road about a hundred yards out that would serve as a finish line.

  Mollie nodded, her eyes narrowing in concentration even as her smile grew wider. It was such a captivating sight, he forgot to race until she was nearly abreast of him.

  Turning his attention back to his horse, Jacob leaned forward. “Come on, Galen, you can’t let a rented nag best you.” As if he’d heard, Galen found a burst of speed and pulled ahead, crossing the imaginary line with a full-length lead. Jacob reined him in and patted his neck. “Good job, old man. I knew you had it in you.”

  “We might have taken you if you hadn’t cheated at the beginning.” Mollie’s laughter nullified her accusation as she steered her gray alongside his buckskin.

  “It’s not our fault you were slow getting out of the gate,” Jacob teased.

  Mollie pushed at his shoulder. Jacob pretended to slide off the far side of the saddle. They both laughed.

  While the horses walked off their exertion, Jacob analyzed his riding partner. Mollie had a zest for life that he craved. A zest he hadn’t felt since before the war. No, since before medical school. Maybe even before that. He’d had plenty of opportunities for fun and games growing up with the Thorntons—sailing adventures, pirate tales, and more chances to build and explode things than any young boy could wish for. Yet even then, he’d held a part of himself back. A part he’d hidden away when his parents died. One he’d buried even deeper after Emma’s life was taken.

  One that was perilously close to being exposed the more time he spent in Mollie Tate’s exuberant company.

  “I wanted to
thank you for not taking back your job offer after you found out about my past.” Mollie’s earnest face turned toward him as she spoke, but then her gaze dipped toward the ground. “Not many people would trust a former thief with the keys to their business or home.”

  Jacob missed those greenish-brown eyes the moment her lashes covered them. “You were a child, doing what was necessary to survive. I can’t blame you for that. Besides, Mrs. Peabody trusts you with her keys,” he said in a light tone, hoping to recapture their earlier playfulness. “I figured if she could trust you, I could, too.”

  “Actually, she doesn’t.” Mollie slowly raised her head.

  Jacob frowned. “Doesn’t what?”

  “Trust me with her keys. She gives me a curfew to make sure I’ll be home before she locks up at night and keeps the key to her jewelry box on a chain around her neck at all times.” Mollie shrugged as if such behavior were to be expected, which only intensified Jacob’s outrage.

  The woman had employed Mollie for three years. How could she not trust her? From the little bit he’d been able to piece together from neighbors and Mrs. Peabody herself, Mollie was basically the woman’s personal servant—cooking, cleaning, running errands. And knowing Mollie as he did, she wouldn’t do anything half measure. She probably brought more sunshine into that crabby old lady’s house than ten plate-glass windows.

  “She does trust me with money when it’s time to restock the pantry,” Mollie said, a bit of her usual gumption returning. “Though, after the time the grocer raised the price of coffee and left me with less change than Mrs. Peabody expected, I now make sure to ask for a detailed receipt. Makes things easier. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for the job. I know I still have a lot to learn, but I really feel like this might be something I can be good at. A way to help people.”

  “You’re a natural.” Jacob squashed his boiling rage at the image of Mrs. Peabody raking Mollie over the coals for a missing nickel of coffee money and smiled. “I’ve never had a better assistant. Before long, you’ll probably be able to run the clinic yourself when I’m out on a call, at least for minor ailments.”

  Her eyes glowed at the compliment, and her smile brightened, all trace of what he’d diagnosed as Peabody syndrome gone. In that moment, Jacob wanted nothing more than to keep Mollie by his side for always, to stave off any future flare-ups of nasty Peabodyitis. Someone so lovely should never fall prey to such a depressing illness.

  “Did I ever tell you how I met the Thorntons, the family who raised me?”

  “No.” She turned in the saddle to face him more fully, her face pleading for the story.

  “They caught me climbing out a window after stealing as much food as I could carry.”

  A gasp echoed over the steady clop of horses’ hooves. “You didn’t!”

  He nodded. “Yep. Tried to outrun them, but they were fast for a couple of grown-ups.” His lips curved at the memory. “I expected them to drag me off to the local law, but Mr. Thornton offered me work and a place to sleep in his barn instead. Raised me like a son.” An urge to steer his mount closer and reach out to cup her cheek punched a hole in his gut, but somehow he managed to resist. Instead he focused his attention on the road ahead. “So you see,” he ground out, “we’re not so different after all.”

  He sensed her nearness a split second before he saw her. She’d brought her horse close enough that Jacob’s boot brushed the animal’s flank. Then she placed her hand on his forearm. “God brought the people we needed into our lives at just the right moment. We’re both blessed.”

  God brought you into my life at just the right moment. His need for her suddenly obliterated common sense. Tugging Galen to a stop, he gave in to the urge he’d been fighting. He cupped her cheek in his palm, pulled her face to his, and let his lips discover just how blessed a man could be.

  Chapter Six

  Mollie’s knees weakened in an instant. If Dr. Sadler hadn’t been holding her, she would have surely tumbled right off her mount. But then it wasn’t really Dr. Sadler who was holding her up, was it? No. It was Jacob. Handsome, capable, brusque Jacob, the take-charge man who’d been taking charge of her dreams far too often of late. And heavens, how he was taking charge now.

  His lips, warm and firm, pressed insistently against hers. His fingers stroked the line of her cheek. She quivered at the onslaught. So impulsive, so inappropriate, so wonderful.

  So . . . over.

  A coolness met her overheated face as Jacob yanked his mouth from hers. In a swift motion, he set her solidly upon her saddle and reined his horse back into motion.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me.”

  Her horse followed without any prompting from her, which was a good thing, since in her dazed state she was liable to sit in the middle of the road for hours before recalling how to nudge the beast into motion.

  Of course, she was also too dazed to come up with any kind of response to his apology. What could she say? You’re right. You shouldn’t have kissed me, but I’m oh, so glad you did. Do you think we might try it again sometime? I rather liked it.

  Mollie bit back a groan. She couldn’t say that, even if it was the God’s honest truth. So she simply said nothing until Uncle Curtis’s farmhouse came into view.

  Jacob reined in before they reached the yard. He scanned the property like a shopkeeper taking inventory. Lines furrowed his forehead as his gaze traced the frame of the house, lit briefly on the pig and chicken enclosures, and then paused over the garden where Mrs. Grady, the housekeeper, was showing the Dunster siblings how to weed.

  Victor, the oldest, worked the hoe while his little sisters, Bessy and Mable, squatted in the dirt and pulled at the small weeds growing close to the vegetables. The Dunsters had only been at the ranch a few months. Their father had dumped them on Uncle Curtis’s doorstep after his wife died birthing a stillborn son and then ran off to places unknown. He’d never been fully right in the head after returning from the war, but Curtis hoped that if the man got himself together, he’d come back for his kids one day. He’d probably avoid trying to find them another home for just that reason.

  Many of the children that came to the Sadler ranch ended up being adopted by families in the surrounding counties, but a few, like her, ended up staying around long term.

  “I imagine it’s changed a bit since you saw it last,” she finally ventured.

  “Everything’s repaired, cleaner, painted over.” His gaze zeroed in on the barn. “As if that day never occurred.”

  How could she be so dull? She’d been eager for him to recognize the improvements Uncle Curtis had made, to see a reflection of how he’d turned his life around in the way he’d turned his farm around and made it a home to needy children. How could she not have understood the agony such a sight would inspire? Jacob had watched his sister die in this very yard.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think . . .”

  He glanced her way, his brows raised. “Why are you apologizing? It was my idea to come here, not yours.” He straightened his shoulders and turned his attention to the house. “I’m Adam’s physician. A few old ghosts won’t keep me from checking on the boy.” He urged his horse forward. “Let’s get going.”

  Mollie followed, somewhat subdued. She recalled the whispers of the townspeople when she first came to live with Uncle Curtis. The scornful looks. The pitying glances sent her way. She hadn’t understood them then, but she’d felt their impact. It had taken years for Curtis Sadler to earn back the respect of his neighbors. To earn their forgiveness. How could she expect Jacob to give his after mere days, when his wounds went so much deeper?

  “With men this is impossible,” a familiar verse whispered through her memory, “but with God all things are possible.”

  Mollie’s lips quirked, her natural optimism returning with a vengeance. She had nothing to mope about. God was at work and in control. Surely between the two of them, they’d have the Sadler menfolk acting like family in no
time.

  Twenty minutes later, a bit of the shine had worn off her rose-colored glasses. Jacob had grunted more than spoken to Uncle Curtis and had gone so far as to give her instructions to relay instead of addressing his uncle directly. He’d been friendly with Adam and had even smiled at the boy a time or two, but she could tell it’d been forced. Tension radiated from him in waves, a tension that hadn’t lessened even though they were back on their horses heading for town.

  Not only would the man not talk to his uncle, but apparently he’d given up talking to her as well. That would never do. Mollie squared her shoulders. “He’s kept up with you through the years, you know.”

  She threw the statement into the silence, hoping to shatter his reticence, but Jacob’s lips did nothing more than tighten into a thinner line.

  “He has a box under his bed filled with letters and newspaper clippings, all about you.”

  Still nothing.

  Well, fine. The Grumpy Gus could just sit there and listen, then. “A friend of his down in Galveston wrote to him regularly,” she informed him, “and the letters were always full of news about you. You should have seen how Uncle Curtis’s face lit up whenever one of those letters arrived. He’d read it to me the moment he got home.”

  Those had been treasured times. Times when her imagination would run wild about a boy she’d never met. A boy who, according to the letters, got to ride ships on the ocean and scamper on the beach. Who won the school footrace five years in a row. Who excelled in every academic subject except for spelling. A boy, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she’d always been just the slightest bit jealous of—for holding such a place of honor in Uncle Curtis’s heart.

  “Did you know that he found me only because he was keeping an eye on you?” Mollie pressed.

  The block of stone riding the horse beside her cracked just a bit. He actually turned and met her eyes with a disbelieving scowl before jerking his attention forward again. A little surge of triumph shot through her. He might not want to admit it, but he was interested.