“Precisely my point.” Isabella turned on the wagon seat, apparently to face Henry better. Excitement animated her features, and most of the twinkle in her eyes had little to do with sunlight sparkling upon the snowbanks.

“W. D. Miller wrote of this challenge last year—have you read his findings?” She nearly bounced on the seat, and her words spilled like the rushing Bear River.

He hadn’t yet read the publication, but he’d make the time. How could he not prepare for an invigorating conversation with her?

Today, he’d rather listen to Dr. Isabella Pattison’s viewpoint on dental caries and their causes than contribute to the conversation.

Observing her work in the Cromptons’ kitchen over the past three weekends and her uncommon and immediate connection with the women and children, he found himself more than enamored with her skills.

And brain.

And fascination with science.

The hours spent driving there and back had become filled with stimulating conversation on virtually every dental subject. He’d found renewed interest and energy for formerly dull concepts.

“Dr. Willoughby D. Miller, DDS, is an American. You know of whom I refer?”

He nodded.

Her focus, which had flitted from the scattered and wind-curved trees to the river, to the motion of the horses before them, landed on him for a moment.

“This American published an article in German, last year, challenging dentistry in myriad ways, enlightening the cause for which we labor.”

“You read German?” Had this woman’s education no limit?

“No, but I had the good fortune of attending dental college with two brothers, German by birth. We remained in contact, and upon discussing the matter, the two translated Dr. Miller’s research.”

One woman among a class of men . . .

Once more, this lady dentist reminded him of another. The joy in stimulating conversation dissolved with the rapidity of sugar whisked into hot tea.

“I could not wait.” Every ounce of desperation carried into her words. “Various dental periodicals have mentioned the English format would be published this year. I needed to know everything immediately. How could I wait?”

She paused for a long moment, as if she wanted an answer.

He chuckled, caught up in her enthusiasm.

“His discoveries are fascinating. Contrary to the common belief that sucrose, so prevalent in the modern diet, is the primary villain, Dr. Miller’s findings prove that carbohydrates are.” Her knee bumped his, then rode against him. She hadn’t noticed. “The sugars are readily diluted by saliva, while carbohydrates—frankly, the staples in the diet of our patients—adhere to teeth and spaces between, causing subsequent caries.”

“The people of Almy haven’t the resources for more protein.” Who would hunt? With their earnings decimated, how could they buy?

She turned solemn and introspective. Fascinating, how her animation dimmed and surged, so like gusts of wind on the high Wyoming plains. “I do believe, Dr. Merritt, the challenge lies not in adjusting the diet of the Almy residents, but in helping them to understand the necessity of oral hygiene.”

“How do you propose to convince them that improved oral hygiene will result in fewer lost teeth?” He couldn’t pass on this point of contention. How did she address it with her patients? He’d tried, failed, and tried again.

He attempted to keep his eyes on the road, stunned to realize the team had brought them nearly to Bear River Bridge.

“It’s a matter of education,” she insisted. Vivaciousness in her tone struck a new high note. “Without instruction, how might they know the importance of brushing and flossing regularly?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “They argue such things aren’t natural.”

Her laughter surrounded him, banishing doubt. “Dentures? Dentures are natural?”

He chuckled, despite his wish to remain beyond her influence. “Of course they are. Every component is indeed natural, from vulcanized rubber to porcelain.”

At his reply, she lit up, from the crown of her head to the soles of her boots. She’d worn “country” clothes, simple, plain, warm, and durable. Almy’s mud clung to her hems and boots.

She didn’t need vivid raspberry or royal-blue wool. She didn’t need dyed feathers or ridiculous stuffed birds. The woman’s natural state was filled with life, energy, and color.

From that first moment he’d noticed her on Evanston’s Main Street, he’d been wildly attracted. He’d wanted to discover her name and her place among the citizens. Whose visiting sister? Was she wed?

He’d reacted with haste and pain upon discovering her identity.

Now he needed to know everything about her. Beliefs and perspectives on matters from amalgam to dentures, food preferences, and why she wore a new costume every time he noticed her.

“So you agree with Dr. Miller’s microorganism theory?” She seemed braced for criticism.

“I do.” Possibilities unspooled before him. Someone to discuss ideas with, discover solutions, develop improved practices . . .

And so much more . . .

“You agree?”

“Naturally. I’ve read Lister’s work at length. With bacteria causing suppuration of wounds and surgical incisions, the success of his antiseptic technique—this school of thought makes sense.”

“Dr. Merritt . . .” She tugged her gloves on more snuggly, shifting in her seat with restless energy. “I’m thrilled to discover your beliefs are much like my own.”

“Likewise.”

She slid him a knowing look.

He grinned.

How unfortunate that he’d lost the previous eleven or twelve months, when he might have had the association of Dr. Isabella Pattison’s sharp mind.

She returned his smile. Warm and open and genuine. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

This woman’s smile transformed her from lovely to dazzling.

He turned back to the path ahead, his senses attuned to the music of nature: the rushing melody of water over rocks in the riverbed and the wind singing over the plain.

The wagon seat, barely large enough for two, put her person in close quarters. The wagon rocked frequently, the back-and-forth motion brushing her shoulder and thigh against him. Often.

“You’re doing a good thing in Almy.” Her tone underscored her sincerity. “Mrs. Nye told me what you’ve done for the coal miners and their families these past five years. And how you persisted until they accepted your services.”

How had he once thought Isabella and Lenora too much alike?

Beyond gender and choice of careers, what had they in common?

Not once had Lenora understood his reasons. She would not have approved of his determination to help . . . nor his choice to give away services that should’ve netted a tidy income.

Perhaps that’s why he’d kept his Almy visits a secret. If no one knew, he’d not take the brunt of their criticism.

He fiddled with the reins, uncomfortable with Dr. Pattison’s praise.

Her little hand, gloved in brown calfskin, settled upon his. He shouldn’t be able to sense her heat between their mismatched gloves, but he did.

She squeezed, rested there for a long moment, perhaps the space of ten seconds. She released him far too soon.

The oddest warmth expanded in his chest.

Soil slipped beneath his proverbial feet, giving way in an alarming rush.

Now here he stood, again, on the cusp of repeating that greatest mistake of his life.

He must not fall for the wrong kind of woman, not ever again.

Isabella bit into a crisp apple, savoring the sweet-tart flavor. Late April sunshine heated her back through her many layers of clothing as she strolled, slowly, in the direction of the office.

Restlessness nipped at her heels.

If someone had warned her, on the eve prior to Easter Sunday, that her life would change so significantly, she’d have scoffed.

Until Dr. Merritt, she could have held her life’s significant detours in a thimble.

Two and one-half weeks.

Three Sundays in Almy and three Monday-morning return drives.

Hours of invigorating conversation.

Given where they’d begun—with him unwilling to acknowledge her on the street nor make her acquaintance—they’d somehow become esteemed friends. At ease, laughing and talking about science and shared challenges.

Never had she made the acquaintance of a man who claimed her awareness so completely. Never before had she wanted more than friendship.

She nipped off the last good bit of apple and fed the core to a patient mare tied at the hitching post before Davidson’s Drugs.

The drugstore’s doors stood open wide, welcoming fresh air and warming temperatures. A paperboard sign hung on the window’s frame, swinging gently in the breeze.

Premium Office for Rent.

A calligraphic arrow pointed up.

Up?

She tipped her head back and discovered a matching sign in the second-story window.

Between the pharmacy and a merchant tailor shop, a door opened to an interior staircase, smelling of fresh paint. Natural light entered the stairwell from windows at both top and bottom.

Satisfactory accommodations couldn’t preclude wishing, right?

Midday sunlight spilled through four tall southwest facing windows and illuminated the grand room with its high ceilings and new hardwood floors. The space smelled of fresh plaster, sawdust, varnish, and paint. The workmen must’ve left a window or two open to clear the air, because a fresh breeze teased fine hairs at her temple.

A washroom in back provided running water and indoor facilities.

With ease, she imagined her chair and footrest, dental cabinet, and drill in this palatial space . . . filling less than half.

If Dr. Henry Merritt joined her . . .

Their Sunday forays north were filled with stimulating conversation, insightful questions, and a budding friendship.

The best parts of her Sundays and Monday mornings could easily become the best parts of her weekdays.

She really should lock away her affectionate feelings for the man—a remarkable fellow who’d make some lady a wonderful, faithful husband.

Not her, naturally. Never her.

Their friendship and working relationship was based on mutual appreciation of intellect.

Their Almy runs were the furthest thing from a courting ride as could possibly be.

She had no business wanting more.

But . . . what if?

What if they could have more, be more?

She turned from the sunlit space. At the bottom of the stairs, she shut the exterior door with a smart snap.

If she were prudent, she’d halt this nonsense, immediately. Before she ended up on the fast train to heartbreak.

The same mare who’d shared the apple tossed her head and whinnied.

“No more apple, girl.” The horse’s muzzle was warm velvet beneath her hand. “Though I understand you’d like more.”

Longing tugged her view upward. From here, the screen on the open window was visible. Funny, she hadn’t noticed that convenience from inside the room.

Perhaps a different perspective was all she’d needed.

The many hours in Dr. Merritt’s company had given her that new perspective. He’d awakened much more than a desire for intellectually challenging conversation.

She wanted more. Easy to admit, at least to herself.

Somehow, in the space of five minutes, she’d made a decision. Perhaps several.

She wanted to work alongside Dr. Merritt and spend more time with him. That meant she wanted the rental.

With one last pat on the mare’s muzzle, she whispered, “Thank you, lady, for your fine advice.”

Inside the pharmacy, she made her wishes known, and paid for the first three months.

Now to inform her patients of her new address, and to invite Dr. Merritt to join her there.