Page 5 of If The Fates Allow
Understanding something was off, he halted in his advance. That perfect jawline ticking as he surveyed her state. “I’m Paul Anderson’s cousin.”
“The doctor,” she replied nervously. “You are the doctor, and I am Wilhelmina.”
“Cal asked that I examine you. He mentioned your lung issues, and I can already see I have my work cut out for me.”
Pressing her lips together, she attempted to quell her rapid breathing, not wanting him to realize what was currently happening had nothing to do with lung spasms.
“Nod, if you understand, Ms. Fairweather.”
Dear God, did he think her a simpleton? She couldn’t fault him for it, but still, he could have the decency not to make a show of it.
Willa stuck her nose in the air. “I quite understand.”
“Good.” He returned to the bookshelves and continued searching through the selections. “By the way, your Keats collection is lacking.”
“Only because I do not care for Keats.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” Sliding a novel from its spot, he flipped through the pages. “However, I see you have two copies ofTheModern Prometheus. I know Cal’s not a reader, so I assume this is either yours or one of your sisters, and I find that interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?”
His big shoulders shrugged. “Even though it was written by a woman, most of the females in my life can’t handle it. They find the story disturbing.”
It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s time you associate with women who have stronger stomachs.”
And there was his taunting smile again.
“May I borrow it?” Snapping the book closed, he held it in the air. “Reading of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster always seems fitting this time of year when we lose the heat of summer and trade it for dreary autumn skies.”
“You may,” she replied. “And I happen to enjoy autumn. Summer and spring are my least favorite seasons.”
“Why is that?”
If he were truly planning to treat her ailments, she shouldn’t keep things from him, but with honesty came a price. A lesson learned from her mother. Being open and honest with another person provided them with ammunition to use against you later.
“My spasms lessen once the heat departs,” she explained. “I can spend time outdoors if I choose to.”
Her description intrigued him. “You said spasms. Is that what it feels like?”
Moving off her spot on the wall, she nodded. “I cough and cough but can never get it under control. Then I lose my breath. It feels as if I’m empty of oxygen and can’t replace it fast enough.”
Hearing her symptoms had him crossing the room. Without permission, he laid a hand on the flat of her back and another on her lower rib cage. “Breathe in and out for me.”
A blush seeped into her cheeks, but she did as he asked, focusing on the opposite wall. “I’ll bring my bag on the next visit,” he murmured, closinghis eyes to focus while she inhaled and exhaled. “We need to gather a baseline before I recommend treatment.”
Dr. Noah Anderson smelled as lovely as he looked, and his scent overpowered her with every draw of air through her nostrils. Sighing, she took a moment to enjoy his nearness.
“Why don’t you like Keats?”
Eyes still closed, he had whispered the question, and Willa prayed for her heart to remain at its current pace. “I much prefer Poe if I am to read poetry, and I also enjoy his shorter narratives.”
The hand on her rib cage slid higher, his thumb grazing the underside of a breast. The touch had been unintentional, but even so, it didn’t halt the flood of salacious thoughts from taking over Willa’s brain.
Once last year, while on one of her winter walks through the forest, she happened upon a worker from the mill secretly meeting with his sweetheart. The couple had no inkling of her presence and kissed with such abandon that Willa had stopped, transfixed by the sight.
And she still didn’t move as they carried on, not even when the mill worker opened the woman’s shirt to lavish her breasts with his tongue. It had been wrong to watch, but a jealous curl of yearning had left Willa frozen, the pain reminding her that this brazen act of passion was something she would never have. It became even worse when, in a frenzy, the woman dropped to her knees and tried to lower the man’s pants.
Willa had left the couple then, returning to Haven House with the bitterness of a pathetic destiny in her mouth. Fate would never allow her to know pleasure like she had witnessed out there in the forest. It would never give her a moment of feeling unrestricted and adored. Destiny had dictated early on that no man would ever desire her in the way the mill worker had desired his woman that day. She would forever live feeling like she was alone in the world, married or not.
