Bluebonnet Belle. Lori Copeland
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and Lydia Pinkham’s show a few days earlier. The nerve of that woman, claiming her elixir could cure everything from cramps to kidney ailments. And women were listening to the exaggerated claims!
His irritation eased when he thought about the spunky young woman who’d pretended to faint. Surely if she was the girl he had seen at the mortuary, she would have said so. He smiled. She’d felt rather at home in his arms—
“Gray? Gray?”
Francesca’s strident tone drew him back.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“You’re not listening to me. You do miss me, don’t you?”
“Of course, Francesca, but my work keeps me busy and I get distracted.”
“If you would only return to Dallas, your life would be so much easier. There is no need—”
“Francesca, we’ve talked this to death.”
“You are entirely too practical, Gray Fuller. But I can wait. For you I will wait.”
“Francesca…”
“Oh, I remember that silly declaration, when you said the wedding was off, but you didn’t mean it.” She came closer and kissed him lightly. “I forgive you, darling. You are coming to Dallas on the twelfth? You know Papa is entertaining some very prominent doctors, and he’ll expect you to be there.”
Though Gray would begrudge the time, he would be there. He’d have the next installment on his debt to Louis by then. Though DuBois had assured him many times that repayment wasn’t necessary, Gray was determined to owe him nothing but gratitude before the next year was finished.
“Gray!” she wailed. “You promised!”
“Of course I’ll be there, Francesca.” He jammed his arms into his jacket. “I’ll instruct all my patients that they are under no circumstance to become indisposed on the twelfth.” Suddenly he needed fresh air.
“Oh, wait! I have something for you.” She picked up a small hatbox and carefully opened it. “You’re going to adore this.”
Gray stared at what he had to assume was a hat, though he’d never call it that himself.
Holding it up for inspection, she grinned. “Isn’t it just the most extraordinary thing?”
Extraordinary? Every bit of that.
“Very nice. You’ll look lovely in it.”
“Me? Oh, you silly goose! It’s not for me, it’s for you.”
Gray’s heart sank. Surely she didn’t expect him to wear…that.
“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” She turned the hat around.
“What is it, exactly?”
“A pillbox hat. It’s the latest thing in bicycling attire. You’re to wear it with tight-fitting knee britches, a very tight, military kind of jacket, and when you’re cycling down the street, you carry a bugle to warn pedestrians of your approach. I ordered it from France.”
“I don’t bicycle.”
“No?” She frowned. “Well, you should. It’s the most amazing sport. Daddy bought me one…. Of course, I’ve purchased britches and a jacket for you also, so we can dress alike when we cycle.”
“I don’t have a bicycle.”
Her eyes sparked devilishly. “You do now!”
She smiled as she turned the hat round and round. “Here. Try it on.”
Feeling stupid, he let her settle the navy-blue pillbox atop his head. This was what marriage to Francesca would be like. Manipulated, controlled…Between her and her father, he wouldn’t stand a chance of being his own man. He felt even more certain that God’s plans for him didn’t include this woman and a Dallas practice.
Gray stood before her wearing the ridiculous hat, wondering how much he could be expected to tolerate for money’s sake. If Louis called in his loan early he would have to cease practice; he couldn’t afford to do it. He had to keep peace with Louis’ daughter until the loan was paid in full. But he would not marry her. He rode horses, not bicycles.
Francesca ignored his protest, clapping her hands with delight. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of his glass-fronted bookcase, Gray grimaced. The hat made him look like an organ-grinder’s monkey. All he needed was a tin cup.
“Francesca, I don’t wear hats.” Feelings be hanged; he wouldn’t be caught dead in it.
“Nonsense.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed the end of his nose. “You look splendid, darling. Absolutely splendid.”
He looked like a fool. A splendid one.
“I have to go. I have patients to see.”
“You work much, much, much too hard, Gray.” She tried to wind her arms around his neck. He promptly removed them.
Relinquishing her hold, she sighed. “When will I see you again? I will be waiting,” she promised. She blew him a kiss as he left the room.
As he walked through the lobby of the hotel, he carried the pillbox hat hidden beneath his jacket.
Eyeing the trash receptacle, he pushed temptation aside and walked out the front door. Francesca had an elephant’s memory. She recalled every article of clothing she’d ever purchased for him.
For now, at least, he was stuck with the thing.
Chapter Three
“How much?”
April told her customer the price, folding brown wrapping paper around a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. “And thank you. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”
The past week had been a bonanza. Sales were up, and women were beginning to return for second bottles.
April was starting to relax. Apparently Gray Fuller hadn’t recognized her. At least she assumed he hadn’t. Grandpa hadn’t blown up, and he would if he knew what she’d been up to.
It was enough that Riley wouldn’t approve of her involvement with Henry. Learning about her involvement with Lydia Pinkham would do him in.
April worried about his health, but his lectures bothered her, as well. He was stubborn and easily worked into a tizzy when she did something that went against the grain. It was best to just keep to herself things that would cause Grandpa fits.
“Miss?”
April returned to the business at hand. “I’m sorry. How many bottles?”
“Five. I wouldn’t start a day without a dose of the elixir.”
“Wonderful.” April smiled, counting out the woman’s change.
By the time the rally was over, April’s feet hurt, her back ached and she was thinking about taking a sip of Lydia’s elixir herself. Not a big one, just enough to revive her sagging energy.
“Well, we’ve had a good day,” Mrs. Pinkham commented as she sank into a chair beside April’s table. It was nearing dark now, and the last happy customer had left the meeting hall with a bottle of vegetable compound.
“We made eighteen dollars today,” April told her.
“Eighteen? That’s wonderful.”
April put the money into an envelope and handed it to Mrs. Pinkham, then began placing the remaining bottles of compound into a box. Dan would carry it to the carriage later. She glanced up, smiling when she saw another of Lydia’s sons, Will, busily gathering up pamphlets the crowd had left behind.
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Lydia closed her eyes wearily. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could