Win pulled her chair out and waited as she picked up bowls of vegetables from the stove. Watching him closely, she placed them on the table, then slid onto her seat. She’d eyed him curiously the first time he held her chair for her, but had come to accept the small courtesy without comment. He walked to his place and sat down, weighing his words carefully.
“I think she was referring to your status as a single woman,” he said. “I have a notion folks are wondering about us, Ellie.”
“What for?” she asked. “What is there to wonder about? I’m your housekeeper and you’re the town doctor.”
“Some folks saw me kiss your forehead on the way home from church Sunday morning, honey. There’s been talk.”
“People think I’m after you?” she asked, fingers lifting to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. “I’ve never meant to—”
He reached across the table and clasped her wrist. “Don’t, Ellie. Don’t even think that. It’s not you they’re speaking of. It’s me. They think I’m taking advantage of you.” It wasn’t the sum total of the gossip that was circulating, but not for a moment would Win allow Ellie to be privy to the words that criticized her presence in his home.
“You haven’t,” she gasped. “Not for a minute. You wouldn’t.” Her head shook from side to side as she spoke, and tears formed in her dark eyes, spilling onto her bodice.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Win said, reproach gnawing at him. “But the truth is, I did kiss you, Ellie. And in so doing, I’ve compromised your…” Somehow, virtue wasn’t the correct word to use here, he decided.
“Reputation,” he finished with a nod.
“I didn’t have much of a reputation when I got here,” she said softly. “I’m sure that little peck on my forehead didn’t do a whole lot of damage.”
“Well, it made folks talk. And I won’t allow them to besmirch your name in any way.”
“You can’t go fighting any battles over me, Doc,” she told him. “I’ll just have to find someplace else to live.”
He shook his head. “Not on your life, honey. You’re staying here, where you belong.” Releasing her hand, he motioned to her fork. “Come on, now. Eat your supper, and I’ll tell you what I think we should do.”
Obediently, she picked up the utensil and speared a piece of carrot, carrying it to her mouth and chewing it, her eyes never leaving his face. And then she leaned back. “I can’t eat till you put me out of my misery, Doc,” she told him. “What are you planning?”
“Well,” he began, picking up a chicken leg and inspecting it. “You do fry chicken to a turn, Ellie,” he said with a grin, then turned the full force of that smile in her direction. His teeth bit into the tender meat and he chewed for a moment, wondering how she would take the revelation of his plan.
There was only one way to find out.
“Your father has been making noises again, about you living here. And along with folks being curious about my intentions, I’ve decided we should get married.”
Ellie dropped her fork, and it clattered against the thick china plate, then fell to the floor. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Now look what I’ve done.”
“I’ll get you another fork,” he said, rising quickly and walking to the buffet.
“Not that,” she said, her voice breaking as tears formed. She looked up at him and anguish painted her features. “I’ve put you in a terrible spot, Doc. You don’t want to marry me, any more than you want to…” She halted as if she could think of nothing horrendous enough to compare.
“Oh, but I do,” he said, placing the fork in her cold fingers. “Now, sit up there and eat,” he told her, circling to his own chair. He watched as she chewed and swallowed bites of potato and a forkful of green beans. Woodenly, she reached for a piece of chicken and ate it, her eyes fastened to her plate, as if something there was too marvelous to ignore.
“Ellie?” He spoke her name quietly, carefully, and was rewarded when she looked up at him.
“Doc? Are you funning me?” she asked, and beneath the scoffing words, he detected a note of hope.
“No.” His head shook slowly. “No, I wouldn’t do that, Ellie. You know me better than that, I’d think.
“I thought we’d go and see the preacher,” he told her, mindful of her stillness. She’d eaten a bit of the chicken, but not enough to please him. “If you eat everything on your plate, we can go after supper,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing lilt.
She looked down with a frown. “I don’t think I have any appetite,” she said. “My mind’s just spinning around in a circle, and I feel dizzy.”
“You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
Her color was good. In fact, he’d say she looked downright healthy. Except for the dazed look in her eyes, and that was to be expected, he supposed.
“No.” She shook her head. “I never faint. I come from sturdy stock. But I surely do feel like I’ve been dreaming and somebody’s gonna come by and pinch me awake any minute now.”
“It’s no dream,” Win said. “And nobody’s going to pinch you awake. I’m going to make a bride out of you, honey.” And if he knew what was good for himself, and for Ellie, too, he’d save the wife part for later.
Chapter Five
A fist pounding on the door caught Ellie unawares as she cleared the table, and within minutes, Win had spoken to the visitor and was on his way, black leather bag in hand.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he called back over his shoulder. “Depends on how much stitching up I need to do.” His response had been immediate, his mind set on the man who waited on a ranch outside of town, broken bone exposed, and in too much pain to be moved.
Ellie nodded in agreement, closing the door behind him, then set about cleaning up the kitchen. The visit to the parsonage would wait. Win’s patient would not. A glimmer of what life would be like as the wife of a doctor made her pause in her work, the dish towel caressing the plate she held.
Win’s face had been set in lines she was becoming familiar with, lines that bespoke his concentration on the task at hand. Nothing was as important to Winston Gray as the people who depended on him for the skills he possessed. A wife would come in second to that multitude, Ellie thought. And yet, even that fact could not dissuade her from the notion of marriage.
She’d protested mildly, yet her heart had raced with joy as he declared his intentions. Mrs. Winston Gray. The sound of those words vibrated in her mind as she rubbed the surface of the plate she held, and she spoke them aloud.
“Mrs. Winston Gray.” Her mouth curved in a smile as she repeated the title, drawing out each syllable with anticipation. She would walk by his side every Sunday morning from now on, march down the aisle of that small church and sit with him, her skirt touching his trousers, her hand occasionally brushing his as they shared a hymnal.
That a man like Win should consider marriage to Ellie Mitchum was not to be believed. And yet, he’d said it was so, that they would talk to the minister and then speak their vows. She would hold her head up, no longer the cast-off daughter, but the chosen wife.
He was handsome. There was no doubt of that, yet it wasn’t only his good looks that made her heart beat faster. Large, but well-formed, his hands were gentle. His body was tall and rangy, well put together, with not a trace of fat apparent. She knew the breadth of his shoulders, wide beneath the suit coat he wore, for only yesterday she’d ironed three of