On Sunday morning, Henry determined that winter’s snows had receded enough. The team could make the journey, pulling the loaded wagon, if the vehicle were on sleigh runners. So he’d taken precious time to affix the runners, then loaded up with needed supplies, tool kits, dental engine, and chair.

Not fast enough, though. Two competing church bells clattered, announcing Easter morning services had concluded.

Aggravation locked its claws tightly about his gut. For years, he’d kept his weekend trips unknown to the gossips. He’d quietly roll out while men slept off Saturday night drinking. If only last night’s storm hadn’t demanded he scout the conditions before attempting the journey with a loaded wagon.

Come quick as you can, Doc. Winter’s been long.

Fisher’s payment had made it possible to accept the call. He couldn’t wait another week.

A stream of colorful bonnets, well-dressed ladies, and men in tailored suits paraded past. No one drove buggies with the streets sure to swallow wheels to the hub.

One last trip inside to douse the lamps, close the shades, and lock the door.

“Dr. Merritt, good morning.” Mayor Raymond Gardner, not three feet away, spoke loud enough to be heard across the street. “How are you this fine Easter morn’?”

“Well, thank you.”

The mayor noted Henry’s cap to his boots, no doubt realizing he’d dressed for the mines, not church.

Religion, Henry had long believed, was where one found it.

The mayor turned to the wagon bed, covered with canvas and tied securely, upon its runners. “Problem, Merritt?”

“No, sir.”

A knot of ladies passed by, some holding children’s hands, calling good mornings. Henry lifted his hat, responding to several by name.

One of the men in their company engaged the mayor in conversation, so Henry grabbed the opportunity to nod his farewell, circle the congestion on the boardwalk, and gather the reins from the hitching post.

“Henry Merritt!” Doc Joe, with his perpetual warmth—and his wife on his arm—offered a handshake.

Sure enough, immediately behind came Chadwick Hughes, his wife also on one arm, and Dr. Isabella Pattison on the other.

Would nothing go smoothly? This was precisely why he left town under cover of darkness and while Main Street yet remained quiet.

Henry shook Joe’s hand, then climbed to the wagon seat. He raised his hat to the women. “Morning, ladies.”

At this, Chadwick laughed, good-natured and friendly. “Am I one of the ladies, now?”

“Sorry, Hughes.” Henry gripped the reins.

“Couldn’t see me for all the Easter bonnets?”

Actually, yes. The ridiculously festooned bonnet perched on Isabella Pattison’s dark head distracted him.

With royal-blue ribbons tied in bows, feathers, and flounces cradling robin’s eggs so real in appearance, they might’ve been natural. A stuffed red-breasted male robin, accompanied by a nut-brown female, perched on the edge of their nest and their eggs.

How . . . domestic.

Why a bonnet like that would appeal to a professional woman, who had no interest in a home of her own, he hadn’t the vaguest notion.

Perhaps the royal blue of the hat itself, tall and—from the looks of other hats upon the street—highly fashionable, matched the royal blue of her costume. She’d clutched her skirt and multiple petticoats in her free hand to save the hems from the muck of the streets.

Every time he had the distinctly unfavorable experience of glimpsing this woman, she wore another vivid color. Why, if he had access to the fortune she spent at the dressmaker, millinery, and shoemaker, he’d never want for gold foil or nitrous oxide again.

“No offense taken,” Hughes insisted. “Say, won’t you join us for Easter dinner? We’re headed home now.”

Noon, already?

With impeded travel, he’d be lucky to see only the most desperate. “I thank you for the invitation. I’m not able to, not today.”

“Where are you headed?” Doc Naomi asked.

Apparently Joe didn’t feel the need to ask where—or for permission. He lifted the canvas and peered inside. “Removing your offices? Where to?”

Jesting, yes. But the guess speared Henry’s gut. Twenty-four days remained until the rent must be paid. “Not today.”

The bright blue bonnet bobbed in his peripheral vision, as if Dr. Pattison did her best to see over the taller persons in her company. The little miss barely reached Chadwick’s shoulder. Unless one took into account her stylish high-heeled boots and absurd bonnet.

“If I didn’t know better,” Joe said, laughter lingering in his words, “I’d say you’re setting up shop in a tent.”

“No tents. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you a fine day.”

While he’d been careful not to glance in her direction, Dr. Pattison and her fancy blue costume made her way to the front. At Joe’s side, she peeked into the wagon.

Henry’s gut pinched. Hard.

Joe had earned the right to pry and to ask questions. He’d paid for that right with years of genuine friendship.

Dr. Pattison had not.

He clamped his mouth shut rather than break every rule of decorum his late mother had drilled into him. Let the lady show her lack of manners—no one expected a professional woman to behave.

“Are you sure you won’t join us?” This from Sophia Hughes.

Already, his stomach grumbled. “I do wish I could.”

“My husband is a fine cook. We have more than enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d heard tell of Chadwick Hughes’s skills in the kitchen. What an odd couple they were. She, a professional, wage-earning woman—though not as successful as Doc Naomi. And he, a successful Station Master for the UP.

“Why, you’ve loaded your dental office, Dr. Merritt.” Dr. Pattison kept peering beneath the canvas. He itched to drive away and pull the cover from her nosy fingers.

But her tone held only curiosity, as if he were a puzzle to be solved.

Today was not the day to reveal his secrets—especially not to her.

She looked up from the wagon bed and held his gaze with a mixture of surprise and . . . triumph? Her hazel eyes sparkled.

Oh, no.

“You’re taking dental care to those who cannot come to you.” Gears turned in her mind under a full head of steam. “It’s Sunday, and you’re prepared with runners for a distance beyond Evanston.”

The others had fallen silent, taking in her assessment.

“At this hour,” she continued, “you can’t plan to go much more than five or ten miles. Nor are you headed along the road, or you’d have purchased a ticket and loaded crates into the baggage car.”

The road, meaning the UP line east to Rock Springs or west to Park City, or the spur northwest to Almy.

She spoke casually of the train and baggage car as if money were no object.

For her, obviously, no object at all.

What could she possibly understand of his mission?

Every bit of snootiness embodied by matching, fashionable costumes, slipped away. She blinked remarkable hazel eyes. “You’re headed to Almy.”

His jaw loosened. “Now how’d you figure—?”

Joe shifted. “You’re not setting up shop in Almy, are you?”

“No.” A little shake of her head sent her bold hat bobbing.

Were those stuffed robins on springs?

Dr. Pattison spoke to her friends. “I’m certain of it. He’s taking dental care to the residents of Almy, none of whom can travel to Evanston.”

How had she drawn that accurate conclusion?

If anyone put two and two together, it should’ve been Joe, who understood the miners’ troubles. Twelve-hour shifts, Monday through Saturday. He and Naomi often rode to various mines when disaster struck, to treat the injured.

“But,” Chadwick Hughes began, “on Easter Sunday?”

“I want to go along.” Dr. Pattison bounced on her little feet, her eyes bright.

“Impossible.” She could not go with him. Absolutely not.

“Of course it’s possible.” She refused to acknowledge his answer. “With two of us seeing to the needs of the residents, the work will go much faster.”

She intended to steal his nonpaying patients, also? Or did she assume the miners paid him?

“Your noble endeavor is most deserving. Pull your wagon around to my office, and we’ll load my implements and supplies.”

She ordered him about, as if he worked for her? He’d put her in her place, but she wouldn’t have heard.

In the fracas, he met Joe’s eye. His unspoken question conveyed with ease, for Joe laughed. His eyes crinkled in that way of his. Laughing at life’s inconveniences.

“Miss Pattison,” Henry spoke over the top of her as she huddled with her kind. The three professional women were no doubt hatching a plan to take over the county.

She stilled. She squared her shoulders in her smart costume, and almost as if someone tightened her corset another full inch. She turned to him. “Dr. Merritt?”

He wanted to groan. And throw his hat to the muddied street. And stomp on it.

She’d railroaded over him, ordered him to see to her wishes, invited herself along.

Unpredictable.

Bossy.

Troublesome.

Precisely why he didn’t care for women like her.

Well, one of the topmost reasons. He had plenty.

His mother’s insistence on proper decorum around ladies nagged at his conscience. “I apologize, Dr. Pattison. I misspoke.”

She radiated triumph.

Because he’d acknowledged her education? Fool woman.

“If you’ll be so kind as to allow me, I’ll contribute my ready supplies. My own chair, implements, machine. I am well supplied.”

Unease curled in his gut. He’d loaded his case that morning, agonizing over the number of doses, and fearing his lack would render the trip useless. Yet, to accept help from a woman, especially like this, trampled his pride.

He grasped at the one remaining argument. “I work late, by lantern, and won’t return until tomorrow.” Before she could argue, he insisted, “I won’t risk the horses.”

She nodded. “Seems wise.”

“Don’t you care for your reputation?” Proper ladies did not travel overnight with a man.

Without so much as a glance at her friends, she took one dainty step closer. “Allow me to ask, Dr. Merritt. What is your age?”

Where had that come from? “I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-eight in June.”

“Why do men consistently include the not-yet-achieved year?” A rhetorical question. “I am age thirty, Dr. Merritt. I go where I wish, I sleep where I wish, and I make my own decisions. I need not a father or brother to look after me.”

Henry looked at the others—Mr. and Mrs. Hughes and Dr. and Dr. Chandler. None seemed surprised. Or uncomfortable.

“My offer of help, Dr. Merritt, is for the children and women of that mining town. Not for you.”

His resolve softened, sure as snow on a late spring afternoon. “What of the men?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“They’ll prefer my care.” His insistence rang false. How many male patients had he already lost to her?

“I understand.”

Did she? He doubted he understood.

“I’m leaving now. In conditions like these, I face hours of travel, many on foot.” He paused for emphasis. “No chaperone. No ability to return until tomorrow.”

He expected her to hesitate or to change her mind.

He’d banked on it.

“I’m a professional, Dr. Merritt.”

Precisely why he disliked her.

The diminishing stream of passersby trickled to almost nothing. Clouds, swept on brisk Wyoming wind, scuttled across the sun. The day was wasting.

From the looks of her entourage, particularly Doc Joe, Henry hadn’t an icicle’s chance in August against this woman.

He’d show her the truth of dentistry away from the comforts of an office. She’d not ask again. “Very well.”

Her grin erupted with the force of a mine explosion.

She took two long strides back in the direction she’d come. “Pull up in front of my office. I’ll bring out my gear.”