Stone Dreaming Woman (6 page)

“No. I don’t carry tales out of school. It might go a long way to mend fences if you were to tell her why you haven’t exactly been in top form the last two weeks.”

“I’m fully prepared to apologize to her for Monday. And for today, too, for all that. But I’m not at liberty to discuss what happened to me. It’s still an open case.”

“I’ll smooth things over with her for now. Then perhaps you two can at least tolerate each other.” He left Shane staring into the fire, pondering his idea of Jenny Weston. At first he had thought her only another shallow professional beauty like all the society girls who had spurned him at Royal Dominion University. But there was something about her—call it an air of level-headed competence—that he could not quite put his finger on. Society debutante she might be, but there was more to her than that. She was a mystery, and the police officer in Shane lived to unravel mysteries.

****

Jenny stood before the mirror on the highboy, pulling the last of the tangles out of her wet hair, when Richard knocked on her door.

“Jen, can I have a word with you, please?” he asked.

“Come in, Uncle Richard. I’m decent.” Not only was she decent, she had dressed to kill in a café-au-lait silk blouse trimmed heavily down the front with ecru Alençon lace, and had chosen to adorn the base of the high collar with a diamond-heavy gold filigree bar brooch. Her brown moiré godet skirt had a wide, pointed antebellum waistband that emphasized her tiny waist. She tucked a gold-trimmed tortoiseshell comb into the left side of her hair and another behind her right ear.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse my loose hair. It’s too wet to do anything else with.”

“I’ll excuse that, and gladly.” He sat down on her bed, motioning her to the chair that went with Alix’s desk. “But you look like you’re dressed for Sunday dinner at John’s mansion.”

“I have very few casual clothes,” she replied coolly. “I left my hospital things at home.”

“Well, perhaps Mavis will help you remedy that. However, I actually came here to talk to you about Sergeant Adair.”

“What about him?”

“He’s my friend. He will be my guest from time to time, and I know I do not need to remind you that this is my home and you owe it to me to be polite to any guest I choose to entertain. And rest assured I just had a similar conversation with him.”

“What brought this on? Did he say something?”

“No, only that he was puzzled as to why offering to drive your team offended you. He’s prepared to apologize.”

“No. I want no apology. We…had words. It’s true. He did offer to drive for me, and I did decline, somewhat…decisively. I’d prefer that he say as little to me as possible. But your point is well taken, Uncle Richard. This is your home, and out of respect I do owe you the duty to be civil to your guests.”

“Arrogance always invites retaliation, you know,” Richard said softly.

“Do you think I was…”

“I do. I think you still are. Look how you’re dressed. You’re flaunting wealth to the point of snobbery. You’re obviously out to make him feel like an impoverished backwoods hick. You’re angry with your father, with the medical profession, with men in general, and you want to take it out on Shane. I’m here to tell you he doesn’t deserve it.” She bit her lip. Her uncle was right on the money.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Richard.” She felt like a chastened ten-year-old.

“And I am only going to say this once. You’re wrong about Shane. He’s a gracious gentleman, as educated as you are. He’s had some trouble lately, and we need to give him the benefit of the doubt. Well, come down soon. Dinner is ready.” He rose and exited the room, leaving it up to her whether she would comply with his request.

Within a few minutes she glided down the stairs. She had changed into a more simple forest green wool skirt and a plain cream pongee self-tied blouse adorned only with her gold pendant watch, and had gathered her damp hair into an elaborate chignon at the back of her head. She kept her eyes demurely down and pointedly ignored Shane; nevertheless, he looked awestruck as he rose from his chair. He made as if to set his empty tea mug on the piecrust table next to the wing chair, but missed and dropped it on his toe. Momentarily ignored, it rolled off onto the carpet. She could not restrain a giggle as he bent to retrieve it.

“Ready for supper?” Richard asked, standing back to let her precede him into the assembly room. She took the Blue Willow mug from Shane’s hand as she passed him.

“Here. Let me wash that for you,” she said unctuously, her dark eyes flashing. Shane’s cheeks flushed.

“
Merci beaucoup
,
Mam’selle
,” he said stiffly, his Johnny-come-lately English having deserted him in his hour of need.

“
De rien
, Sergeant,” she responded, her cultured Parisian French obvious against his rough Québécois. Richard cut his eyes at Shane, too, and he reddened even more. Pointedly she washed the cup and dried it, then leaned over to place it above his plate.

Richard said grace, seated Jenny, and Mavis served their food. Jenny sat primly across from Richard, as remote as the Snow Queen, ignoring Shane and paying attention to her meal.

“So, Richard, about the Balkan situation? Do you really think it means war? And if so, how soon?” Shane asked. It might have been inappropriate table conversation in some polite homes, but at table in the Weston household any topic was fair game, including very frank medical discussions. It did set them off and lasted nicely until their meal was finished, although Jenny spoke only when she was directly addressed, and for his part, Shane ignored her.

“Shane, you’re staying the night?” Mavis asked.

“I have to. I can’t ride Midnight just yet.”

“Well, the bunks are made up fresh. I’ll get you an extra blanket, too. It’s going to turn cold tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“If I may be excused, the night’s young, and I can get in a good hour or two of work before bedtime,” Richard said.

“Of course. And I can always stand study time.” Jenny rose a fraction after he did.

“Good night, Richard. Miss Weston,” Shane said. Finally she looked directly at him.

“Good night, Sergeant.” She gave him a remote nod worthy of her self-imposed role as Snow Queen and followed Richard upstairs.

The letters still lay on the cooling railroad stove. She picked them up and examined the first one. It bore the return address of the family home in New York. Richard’s name was on the front in the elaborately curlicued cursive she recognized as belonging to her Aunt Eleanor. She set it aside, turned the other over, and her heart stopped at the sight of a Northtown imprimatur. Resisting the temptation to savage the envelope then and there, she sat down at her desk, took out the delicate filigreed letter opener that had belonged to her late Aunt Alix, and slit the flap. With shaking hands she drew out the single sheet of stationery within. Unlike her other letter from Northtown, this one was handwritten, and when her eyes skipped down to the signature, it read simply, “Stuart.” Her mind conjured up an image of her father’s superior, the Chief of Surgery, a tall, stocky man with greying dishwater-blond hair, sprightly blue eyes, and one of the keenest minds she had ever known. She had always been fond of Stuart Hoffman. He had been one of the few men who had never patronized her or treated her like a simpleton just because she happened to be female. Her eyes skipped back to the top.

Dear Jenny, I wanted to give you time to make it to Canada and get settled before writing to you. I know that the rejection of your application to Northtown was arbitrary and abrupt, and I apologize. However, it was something over which I had no control. I only hope you did not take it badly.

I wanted to tell you that I fought for you. I waged the greatest battle I have dared since I was appointed to the Board of Directors, and I was not successful in budging those old fuddy-duddies from their viewpoint. But I did wring a concession or two from them. One is that if you will find an active practice to join, then reapply in a year with references from any physicians with whom you are associated, the Board will reconsider your application. I think (optimist that I am) that at that point I can prevail. Your credentials are absolutely the best I have ever seen, and I know that you would be a great asset to Northtown’s staff. Keep up the faith, Jenny. Do your best and I will do mine. In the meantime, write to me and let me know how you are doing. Sincerely, Stuart.

Her heart surged up into her throat and nearly choked her. So all along she’d had a very influential champion without realizing it. She had been close to giving up, but now that a door opened to her, if only a crack, she vowed she would make the best of it. If she had to write to every single doctor in the whole United States, she would find a place for herself, do her best, and hang onto her dream.

Considerably cheered, she took her favorite
Modern Obstetrical Procedures
to bed with her
.
She opened it at random and absorbed herself in the section dealing with manual podality. She read until her eyes grew irresistibly heavy, then blew out the hurricane lamp.

She immediately sank into such a deep sleep that when she next opened her eyes she was unaware that any time had passed. Enough moonlight shone in through her window that she could read her watch. It was nearly six o’clock, and not a sound disturbed the old farmhouse. She lay in the luxurious soft warmth of the bed until she woke completely, then she rose, stoked the little railroad stove, and dived back into the warmth of her bed. Not until the room warmed up did she rise and dress, taking her time, watching false dawn light the sky. When she heard her uncle stirring in the next room, she knocked softly on his door.

“Uncle Richard?”

“You’re up, I take it?”

“I have been for almost an hour. Do you think it’s safe to go downstairs?”

“Mavis is probably up already, but do you want me to go make sure the coast is clear?”

“I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to intrude on your guest’s privacy.”

“Tell you what. Just come downstairs with me, and if there are no lights on you can go back up until I wake everyone.” She trailed Richard down the stairs but need not have worried. Shane sat at the table with a mug of tea, and Mavis had already started breakfast.

“…to make your bed,” she was saying. “I’d just have to unmake it later to send the sheets to the laundress. Oh, good morning, Mr. Weston. Jenny.”

“Good morning, Mavis,” Richard replied.

“I’ll set the table,” Jenny volunteered, mostly so she would not have to acknowledge Shane.

“Did your work go well last night, Richard?” Shane asked.

“Very well. I squeezed in an extra hour before I went to bed. That explains the late morning. I apologize if I’m getting you off to a bad start.”

“No. I’m just going up to North Village. In this weather that’s only an hour from here, give or take. Now if I were getting started from town this late, it would be a different story.”

Jenny, standing with her back to the telephone, nearly jumped out of her skin when it rang. She turned and picked up the earpiece. “Richard Weston’s residence. Jenny Weston speaking,” she said.

“Miss Weston, this is Corporal Paul Weller, Royal Northwest Mounted Police.” His voice came through the crackling static on the line.

“Oh, yes, Corporal Weller. I remember you.”

“By any chance is Sergeant Adair there?”

“Yes, he is.”

“What a relief!”

“Would you like to speak with him?”

“If I may, please.” Jenny turned to Shane.

“It’s Corporal Weller,” she said, holding the earpiece out to him.

“I knew I should have telephoned them. Thank you.” He stepped to the phone and tipped the mouthpiece up.

“Hello, Paul… Yes, I’m all right. I’m fine. There was a little incident with Midnight yesterday afternoon, and I had to stay here at Richard Weston’s place. If Midnight isn’t lame, I’m going up to North Village, and then I’ll come back to town.” He listened a moment. “That’s fine with me. I’d actually prefer that you and Laurence do the short patrol together so he learns the beat the way I set it up. I’ll see you this evening, or if I can’t make it back I’ll let you know… No, Paul. Midnight didn’t throw me, and we didn’t fall. I was dismounted when he was frightened by a bear and ran away. He got tangled and fell, or he’d have run full gallop into a barbed-wire fence. He has a few little cuts, but nothing major… All right. I’ll see you this evening, or I’ll telephone you and have one of you bring me another horse.” He said goodbye and rang off. “Poor Paul. I did give him a turn, I’m afraid. I was just so…absorbed with what was going on that it totally escaped me that he and Laurence would worry when I went missing without a word.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I have a telephone,” Richard said, then pronounced the blessing and seated Jenny before taking his own chair. Mavis came to the table with a plate of bacon and eggs and another of pancakes.

“I’d have made oatmeal, because I know how much you like it, Shane, but it takes so long. There simply wasn’t time this morning,” she said.

“This is wonderful. Thank you.” He let Mavis serve him, politely waiting for Jenny to begin before touching his own food.
Backwoods or not, at least he has some manners,
she allowed grudgingly.

Chapter Four

A few minutes later Shane was on his way. He reined in his racing mind and paid attention to the trail that went abruptly uphill through the mixed conifer and hardwood forest. However, he was so familiar with the path after riding it at least twice a week for the last six years that his mind was soon off on its own rabbit trail again. No matter how many times he drew himself back to the present, he could not push Jenny out of his thoughts.

His artist’s eyes had seen and his memory copied down a thousand small details about her, including the stubborn whorls of dark blonde hair at the nape of her neck and the little dimple below the right corner of her mouth. He wanted more than anything to loosen that hair, twine his hands into it, and kiss that tiny dimple. He knew her skin, innocent of powder or paint, would be soft, with the slight tackiness of finely woven silk, and he could immerse himself in the dark, sweet fragrance that clung about her. It intrigued him; he had never encountered it before and could not place it. He also knew how warm and yielding her body would feel against him and how her lips would meet his with only a slight hesitance as she returned his kiss. Perhaps she would be brave enough to touch his cheek or slide a hand behind his neck, and perhaps he would catch and kiss those same scented fingertips… And suddenly, in spite of the cool day, he found himself needing to take off his clothes and roll naked in the nearest snowbank.