Mail Order Brides and The Doctor (A Western Romance Book)(COMPLETED)

Chapter 10

Theodore was sitting in his office reading. He'd had two patients this morning, which were two more than he'd had yesterday. That was fine with him. This was the first day in months he could remember where he hadn't felt as though the world around him was caving in, and it was all because of Irene.

He never would have believed that a woman's touch could change his life overnight, but it had. The sky seemed brighter, the sun warmer, even the air seemed crisper. It felt easier to breathe, easier to walk, easier to get through what would otherwise have been another trying, boring day.

Now the only problem Theodore was having was counting the minutes until he could go home to be with his wife. He looked at the clock on this wall and saw that it was almost noon. He closed his book up, deciding that was enough. He had no patients scheduled for the afternoon and in all likelihood was not going to receive any.

Then again, only one of his patients this morning had been scheduled. The other had been a surprise to him, an elderly man who lived on the opposite end of town and was fed up with his usual doctor who no longer seemed interested in his complaints. Theodore had listened most attentively, and the gentleman had left saying that he would tell his friends those rumors were not true and the ought to come and see him.

It was not much, and probably nothing would come from it, but it was a ray of hope which had not been there just yesterday. Even this, he attributed to his night with Irene. It was not just about sharing his bed with her, it was the way she had felt when he'd held her in his arms. As though she belonged there; as though they were two parts of each other.

He wrote out a note that he would stick to the front of his door, saying that he would return after lunch. He intended for it to be a very long lunch however, and wondered if he ought to estimate the time and add that to his note.

No one's going to come looking for me anyway. What does it matter what time I return?

Satisfied with his note, he rose from his desk chair. He was just opening the door as a man who looked vaguely familiar to him entered. He had a thin mustache and was wearing a dark suit. "Dr. Theodore Harcourt?" he asked.

"Yes?" Theodore said.

The man handed him an envelope. "From your Aunt Erma," he said then bowed and took his leave. It was only then that Theodore remembered the man as one of his aunt's footmen. He wondered what she would have done with her life had she not married wealthy, bore no children, and had her husband die suddenly leaving her all his wealth.

He tried to picture her living in a small house without footmen or housemaids and could not do it. Her haughty attitude, though almost surely learned, had always been present for as long as he'd known her. He'd occasionally thought, over the years, that she must have been born that way, though his father had assured him it was otherwise. He'd said it was not until the age of five that Erma had realized she was better than everyone around her; until then she'd been a perfectly sociable and polite girl. Theodore had never been certain whether or not his father was joking.

He opened the letter with some dread, already thinking the contents must be something in relation to what had occurred at his home yesterday during supper. He would not make any apologies to her, however, no matter how much she might insist he did. He had done nothing wrong in defending his wife, and he would do it again if it came to it. If anyone was to apologize, it would have to be her.

The second his eyes fell on her writing, he knew this was not an apology. Nor was it her asking for one from him. Only a few lines had been written in her scraggly handwriting, and they sent his temper rising up and out of his collar through the roof of his office.