The Alaska Brides Collection Part 53

Fiona blew across the steaming surface of the dark liquid and then gingerly took a sip. It was surely what the coffee in heaven must taste like. To be certain, however, she took a second sip. Then a third.

The dark-haired girl sat wide-eyed. "What do you think?"

"I think..." Fiona took another taste. "I think this is possibly the best coffee I've had in a long time."

Grace beamed. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Well, I don't know," Fiona said. "I'd better take another taste just to be sure. See, there was this coffeehouse in Seattle...." She drained the cup and held it out for more. "Grace, I have to say that you've bested anything I've ever tried. How did you do it?"

"I've had plenty of practice," she said. "See, it's just my papa and me at home, although we do live next to my aunt and uncle and cousins, so I've never felt like I missed much in the way of brothers and sisters. Anyway, my papa works hard, and sometimes he's gone working for the White Pa.s.s and Yukon for a week or two at a stretch."

"That must be difficult."

"Oh, I don't like it much, but my aunt's like another mama to me." Grace paused. "She's the only mama I've ever had, actually. Mine only lived long enough to see me born."

Fiona reached across the table to cover Grace's hand with hers. "I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I lost my mama, too."

A fat tear landed on the polished mahogany. "I'm being silly," Grace said. "I got all off track trying to answer your question about coffee. See, one of the times my papa was gone, I asked my aunt if she would teach me to make coffee. Well, when he came back, I figured I was going to make him real happy with what I brewed up."

"How old were you, Grace?"

"Seven going on eight," she said, her grin returning as she swiped at her eyes with a tea napkin.

"And how did he like it?"

"Oh, he praised and praised my coffee. Then he asked me if maybe I would like him to share his secret recipe." She tapped the tabletop with her forefinger. "Wouldn't you know I was thrilled? The next morning we went downstairs together, and he showed me exactly how to make coffee his way."

"Well, he's definitely got a knack for making good coffee. I won't ask your secret, but I sure would like to find out what he does to make it so..." She finished off the contents of the second cup and set it back in the saucer. "So very good."

"I'm glad you like it," came a deep and somewhat familiar voice behind her.

Fiona whirled around in her seat, sending the cup and saucer clattering to the floor. Framed by the curtains he held back stood Tucker Smith.

She'd have known him anywhere. Age had touched his face, but in a kind way, and the creases at his temples she hoped to be laugh lines. Somehow knowing Tucker had smiled in the intervening years made her heart soften. The threads of silver in his hair-now that was a surprise.

Fiona rose on shaky legs and gripped the back of the chair. "Tucker?"

"Papa, what are you doing here?"

He looked past Fiona to Grace. "I could ask you the same question, Elizabeth Grace."

"Papa?" Elizabeth Grace. Fiona's knees tried to buckle. The girl she'd taken under her wing was the daughter of the woman who...

She couldn't complete the thought.

"Sit down, Fiona," he said. "You're swaying, and I have no desire to catch you."

"No," she said as she stiffened her spine and stilled her wobbling knees, "you never really did desire to catch me, did you?"

"Do you two know one another?" Fiona heard the chair legs sc.r.a.pe against the floor and then saw Grace come around to stand beside Tucker. As she wrapped one arm around his waist, she slapped her forehead with the other palm. "Of course. You're the one my daddy's been in love with all these years."

Silence.

Grace clamped her hands over her mouth, flames jumping into her cheeks. "I said that out loud, didn't I? Oh, no." She buried her head in her hands. "Douglas is going to kill me. Neither of us was supposed to know, but we overheard a conversation between his parents. I swear we didn't tell anyone else."

The room was so quiet Fiona could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

"Go home." Tucker ground the words out through clenched jaws. "I will speak to you about this later."

"Yes, Papa. I'm sorry, Dr. Rafferty. I never meant to..." Grace looked up at her father and then burst into tears and ran from the room.

A moment later, the front door opened and then slammed shut. For the first time in almost twenty years, Fiona found herself alone with Tucker Smith.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Fiona." Tucker stood arrow straight in the doorway. "Where's the doctor?"

"No apology is necessary, Tucker. Your daughter's obviously misunderstood the situation." She paused to give him a chance to dispute the statement then, to her surprise, felt a bit of disappointment at his silence. "Dr. Killbone is gone," she added. "He left me in charge."

Tucker pinched the bridge of his nose. "For today?"

"No," she said slowly as she avoided Tucker's direct stare, "for six months."

Eighteen years fell away, and Tucker stood at a riverbank with the best fisherwoman and the most beautiful-or was it the most exasperating-girl in Alaska. Tucker shook off the memory and concentrated on where he actually was.

He certainly couldn't do anything about his headache now. In the past, Fiona was the cause of headaches, not the cure.

The past.

Like it or not, the past sat right in front of him. There was no more wondering what he'd do when he saw her. What he did was turn around and walk right out the door he came in without saying another word.

He got as far as the sidewalk.

Chapter 18.

The front door slammed shut, and Fiona rose. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly while holding on to the back of the chair for support.

"Six months," she said as she tested her voice. "I can endure anything for six months."

The door opened again, and this time it shut quietly. Time to go to work. "Take a seat, please. I'll be right there."

Fiona picked up her cup and saucer and set them in the sink. Then she washed her hands, drying them on the tea towel. Thank You, Lord, for giving me the chance to help Dr. Killbone. She turned around. Tucker Smith stood in the doorway.

"I owe you an apology, Fiona," he said, "and it's eighteen years overdue."

She thought to respond, but Tucker held up his hand to silence her.

"Just let me say this. Once I've said what I have to say, you can tell me to leave you alone, and I will."

A piece of her heart cracked, and she leaned against the counter to remain upright. She had dreamed of this moment, this measure of satisfaction over the wrong Tucker had done, for the better part of eighteen years.

When she nodded, he continued. "Good. I a.s.sume you'll be keeping the same hours as Doc Killbone."

Another nod.

His expression was unreadable. "Then I'll be here to walk you home when the clinic closes. We can talk then."

The day pa.s.sed far too quickly, and as the clock edged past four, she found unexpected b.u.t.terflies in her stomach. She'd just finished giving a new mother advice on a croupy baby when the door flew open. Grace tumbled in with Douglas right behind her.

"Help him," Grace said. "I'm so stupid."

"What in the world are you-"

Grace scooted out of the way to reveal her strapping cousin's pale face. Blood covered the front of his s.h.i.+rt, and his hand seemed to be wrapped in a cloth. Fiona could see stains where the blood tried to seep through.

"What happened?"

"Broken jar. I applied pressure to stop the bleeding and then wrapped it tight and kept it elevated."

Douglas swayed, and Grace slid under his arm to hold him up. Without being told, Grace walked Douglas into the exam room and helped him onto the table. Fiona tagged behind, marveling that the girl knew enough about first aid to a.s.sess his ability to move.

"Nerves weren't cut," Grace said. "Looks like you can st.i.tch it."

Fiona cradled her nephew's hand in hers and decided Grace had judged correctly. "Douglas, does it hurt much?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "It stings a bit. It's just that..." His face reddened.

Grace leaned toward Fiona. "Blood makes my cousin woozy."

"Does not," Douglas replied.

"Then look at it," Grace said.

"Enough, you two." Fiona placed her hand on Douglas's shoulder. "It's not bad. No gla.s.s in the wound. Your cousin took good care of you, and now I'm going to let her help me finish the job."

Douglas looked a bit doubtful. So did Grace.

"Finish the job? What do you mean?"

"Yeah, Aunt Fiona, what do you mean?" Her nephew jerked his hand against his chest then grimaced. "You're not going to let her sew me up, are you?"

"Grace, would you please tell me how many st.i.tches you think it will take to close the wound?"

Fiona watched the dark-haired girl reach for her cousin's hand and study the wound. "It's only a small cut, but it's deep." She paused. "No more than four, I'd say."

"Well, let's see. Go wash up." She squeezed Douglas's uninjured hand. "Would you like something to take the edge off the pain?"

The young man squared his shoulders. "I'm not a baby, Aunt Fiona. If I'm going to fight in the war, I've got to learn to manage things like this."

Fiona bit back her response while she washed up and gathered supplies. Grace returned and stood by Fiona's side, holding Douglas's elbow while the st.i.tches were sewn. True to Grace's a.s.sessment, a fourth would be required to completely close the wound.

Fiona looked at Grace and then addressed Douglas. "You're going to need one more st.i.tch. With your permission, I'm going to let Grace do it."

Douglas didn't even blink. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"Grace?" Fiona asked.

The girl met Douglas's gaze before nodding slowly. "I won't hurt you any more than I have to," she told her cousin.

Fiona handed her the tools and exchanged places. "Douglas, speak up if you want me to take over for her."

"That won't be necessary. Go ahead, Grace. Just remember: If you mess up, you'll be taking my s.h.i.+ft was.h.i.+ng dishes."

"Someone's going to have to take it anyway, goofy," Grace said. "These st.i.tches have to stay dry."

"All right, then." Fiona winked at Grace. "Go right ahead, Dr. Smith. I believe the patient is ready. And I know you are. You're a natural."

With deliberate precision, Grace put the last st.i.tch in place. Fiona showed her how to tie off the thread. The girl bound the wound like a pro then dropped the instruments into the pan.

"Would you like me to clean these?"

"Grace?"

"Papa?"

Fiona whirled around. Tucker stood behind her. She suppressed a groan. Surely he was furious with her for letting his daughter perform minor surgery.

On closer inspection, however, Fiona could see no anger on his face. Rather, a slow smile dawned.

"Papa, Douglas cut his hand on a broken jar. If I hadn't been next door..."

Tucker pressed past Fiona to embrace his daughter. "I'm so proud of you, Lizzie Grace. I watched you sew up Douglas." His voice caught as he met Fiona's stare over his daughter's head. "Fiona's right. You're a natural, sweetheart."

Grace nuzzled against her father's chest. "Do you think so?"

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and planted a kiss on Grace's nose. "I know so." He turned her around to face Fiona. "I wonder, Dr. Rafferty, do you think my daughter might benefit from medical school training?"

Fiona fought to control her smile. "Why, yes, Mr. Smith. I think your daughter shows great potential. May I have your permission to speak to my former professor at the medical college in Oregon on her behalf?"

"Oh yes, please do," Tucker said.

Grace danced a jig and then regained her composure. "Thank you, Papa," she said. "I promise to make you proud."