Page 15 of If The Fates Allow
Yanking one of the earpieces of the stethoscope loose, he scanned her quickly. “You’re not alright, are you?”
His concern was shattering, heartbreaking to a dizzying degree. It was his profession—to care, to treat, to want her to be at her best.
But with his confession of genuinely paying her a compliment, Willa had been swiftly whisked into a place she dare not ever tread. An enchanting false reality where a man such as Noah Anderson would see her as something other than a fragile enigma. That he would see her as a woman. Not a problem, not a bother, nor even a burden to be rid of, but as a woman. A woman he wanted to pay a compliment to.
“For the hundredth time, I’m fine, Dr. Anderson.”
“Noah, please.”
She shook her head stupidly, so very lost in the possibilities staring back at her. He could never be Noah again. It was to be Dr. Anderson forever. The formality made the relationship as it should be. Doctor and patient. To now call him Noah—to have his given name on her lips—would be torture for sure. Using his given name would provide her with a sick sense of hope, and if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that hope had no place at Haven House.
It had no place with her.
After the dances, she had obviously fooled herself into believing he was merely being kind. But this openly flirtatious side of him would be her downfall. Death by means of a handsome face.
“I was taken aback by the stethoscope.” She turned away, patting her loosely braided bun as if it were going to come undone due to her lack of composure. “Mr. Abernathy’s is nothing like the one you have.”
Pulling it completely loose, he held it out for her to see. “Try it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I insist. The last thing I want is for you to feel uneasy with myinstruments.”
Beyond the parlor’s front windows, Cal and Lucy caught her attention. They were talking on the porch, brother and sister, in the afternoon sun. Happy. They looked so very happy. A golden pair enjoying the fading warmth of the day.
The hope she was already attempting to squash died as she watched her siblings. They had their whole lives ahead of them while she had nothing. “Your instruments do not disturb me, Dr. Anderson. I’ve been poked and prodded by more nefarious things. A stethoscope is a toy in comparison.”
Settling back on the cushions, he observed Cal and Lucy with her. “Tell me about it.”
“There's nothing much to tell.” Willa smiled as Lucy threw her head back, laughing at something Cal said. She looked like Grace just then, reminding her, and likely Cal, of happier times. “I promise you that my stories are boring.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that.”
“And why do you doubt it?”
“Because they’re yours.”
Clever man. But two could play his game. “I was born. I grew up.”
“Do you mean to quote me Dickens, Ms. Fairweather?”
“Be sure to visit Haven House at Christmastime, Dr. Anderson.” She smiled serenely, masking the pain as she continued to bury it from the light as she always did. “Everyone gathers to hear me readA Christmas Carolaloud. I’ve been told I’m positively riveting.”
He regarded her quietly for a moment, then replied with a serious tone, “Yes, but do you change your voice for the different characters? Only a true storyteller would.”
“Oh, yes, and I also have wardrobe pieces, thank you very much.”
“Good.” He returned his stethoscope to his ears, feigning professionalism once again. “I would expect nothing less from Wilhelmina Fairweather.”
He spoke as if they had been acquainted for ages. As if they had known each other through the ups and downs of their journey. Surprisingly, it did feel that way.
And she really knew nothing about him.
“I’ve told you my story, Dr. Anderson.” Willa held still as he listened to her heart, praying it had returned to a normal rhythm. “Let’s hear yours.”
“You’ve given me very little, Ms. Fairweather.” He straightened and wrote something down in the notebook perched on his thigh. His verymuscularthigh. “But since it seems you’ve mastered the art of deflecting, I suppose I’ll take pity on you.”
He was annoyed by her lack of elaboration on the treatments she’d received but was too much of a gentleman to push. The contrast intrigued her. “Do tell.”
