When the Council of City Professionals next met, three weeks had passed. Winter had slowly released its death grip upon the high Wyoming plain.

Waterlogged earth could absorb not a drop more. Snowmelt ran in rivulets down the center of muddy streets, heading for pools in the lowest elevations. Enough snow remained on the river valley between Evanston and Almy, Henry doubted the wagon could make it, but the sleigh stood a chance.

The lone rider who’d carried a note last week had met him at the door of his office, pleading for him to come soon. If the weather held, he’d attempt the journey on Sunday.

“All in agreement?” Mrs. Sophia Hughes, the attorney, raised her hand to indicate all should vote.

Henry couldn’t well cast his, given he hadn’t a clue what she’d proposed.

“Dr. Merritt?” Sophia raised a brow.

“My apologies, madam. I had—”

The glare from Miss Pattison burned him from ten paces. She turned to face front once more.

He couldn’t blame her. If he’d been in her tiny, high-heeled boots, he’d have been furious at the so-called “interview” Fisher had printed. What an utter falsehood.

After hours of deliberation, he’d determined Fisher had paid such an exorbitant price for the privilege of interviewing Henry for one reason, and one reason only—so he couldn’t deny the interview occurred.

Between a bit of truth here and a scrap of reality there, Fisher had painted Henry as the worst of fiends, distrusting females in men’s work. And that was precisely the problem. He did distrust professional females. But not for the reasons Fisher cited.

“I asked,” Mrs. Hughes repeated, apparently, “if we agree to meet this coming Sunday evening at five o’clock to report upon the progress of our individual assignments.”

Sunday. This Sunday. No. “Is it not possible to continue our meetings at the conclusion of a business day during the week?”

For the first time in three weeks, Dr. Pattison addressed him. “Where might you be, Dr. Merritt, that is more important than meeting your obligations to your community?”

Her dagger struck close to his heart. Precisely as she’d intended.

Drat professional women. Sharp-tongued, every last one of them. They’d forsaken every gentle nature, every bit of gentle persuasion their sex had ever owned.

“Personal obligations.” In a room filled with nearly all of the town’s well educated, he’d be loath to brag and hesitant to call attention to himself. A man had his pride, after all.

The woman stiffened, her posture screaming discontent and agitation.

He shouldn’t care.

She had no say where he spent his Sundays, and he owed her nothing.

“Assignments, Mrs. Hughes?” Might as well admit he’d not heard a thing said. How could he, when the weight of everything else threatened to crush him?

“Your assignment, together with the other two dentists, is the invitation committee.”

Other two dentists—

They’d assigned him to work with Dr. Pattison?

Sophia Hughes, like the professional she’d proven herself to be, regained control of the meeting. “We often meet without one or more members of our committee present, but this next meeting is essential, as we’ll ensure committees are well on their way. We haven’t time to lose. May I hear suggestions of an alternate date and time?”

Finally, with relative ease, the group decided upon a Friday evening one week hence.

“Will that Friday suit your busy schedule?” Dr. Pattison’s tone exuded thinly veiled criticism. “We do hope you’ll join us.”

Though he wanted to respond in kind, his mother had taught him better. He drew a breath to center himself. “Friday next will suit quite well, thank you.”

Once spoken, words could not be called back. How Isabella regretted failing to hold her tongue.

Unfortunately, that man had needled her. First, the newspaper interview with hot-tempered Thomas Fisher, and second, his insistence that the committee change plans to accommodate his inconsequential social commitments.

Rudeness in the newspaper had kindled rudeness in her. Granted, Fisher and Merritt had made a target of her, but that didn’t excuse unladylike behavior. No one provoked her like this. Not Mother. Not Dudley.

Shame heated her cheeks.

“Isabella?” Sophia offered a steaming bowl of glazed carrots.

“So sorry.” Isabella accepted the china dish and served herself. The roast beef supper filled the dining room with luscious aromas.

They’d gathered at the Hughes home after the meeting, including Doc Joe, Naomi’s husband, and their host, Chadwick Hughes, a talented cook. Chad had wed Sophia last Valentine’s Day.

The closest of friendships existed between the women and the two men who’d won the ladies’ hearts. Isabella imagined they’d remain friends through the years, their private supper parties providing an opportunity to discuss personal matters. Inviting a bachelor would be of no benefit, except to assist in passing dishes.

Tonight, the men discussed supplies for the clinic, delayed in transport by the Union Pacific.

Her mouth watered as she spread butter on a hot roll.

Naomi caught Isabella’s eye. “Are you comfortable on the invitations committee?”

She would not let that man interrupt her digestion.

“Dr. English, Dr. Merritt, and I will work together without . . .” Truth be told, she couldn’t promise the absence of friction. “Without disappointing the committee.”

Sophia set down her water goblet. “I saw your reaction tonight.”

In her estimation, all she could control was her response. Shame dampened her appetite.

“I’ll persuade someone to trade assignments with you. You needn’t pair with Dr. Merritt.”

She adored Sophia, particularly her protectiveness. She bit into the tender roll, savoring the delectable, homemade freshness.

“You’re most kind.” Assignments had been made by profession. To ask for adjustments now would draw attention. “You needn’t go so far. The worst that might happen is I’ll be forced to do all the work myself.”

“Are you certain?” Naomi set down her knife.

“Yes.” How she adored these women, who understood her challenges with perfect comprehension. “I’ll see this through.”

“A trait we love about you.” Naomi raised her wine glass in salute.

“To the calico ball,” Joe toasted, “and its success.”

Chadwick followed suit. “To the calico ball. With the lovely women at my table hard at work, the occasion will succeed.”

“Thank you.” Sophia meant her words for her husband alone. The connection between them, at the head and foot of the table, seemed a living thing.

Longing knocked on her lonely heart. Wishing for that kind of a match seemed nearer the surface of late. She’d long ago given up on finding a man who would honor, respect, and love her for who she was.

Last to raise her glass, she took in Chadwick and Joe, Naomi and Sophia. Her replacement family. “To us.”