Coming Home for Christmas by Carla Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

to do was nod to him and turn on his heel. He did not. To the surgeon’s relief, the kitchen hand—lowest of the low in the garrison and destined always to remain such—beamed at them both.
    He turned specifically to Laura and Thomas held his breath. He shouldn’t have worried.
    â€œSeñora Wilkie, if there is anything more you wish from the kitchen, only tell me.”
    Letting out the breath that Thomas knew she was holding, Laura smiled her thanks. “I will let you know, Pablo,” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
    The man bobbed a bow to Thomas and left the sala. Laura sat down, as though her feet could no longer hold her. There was nothing in her face of condescension and Thomas almost found himself missing her dignified, superior air. Almost.
    She did not speak for a long moment, swallowing a few times. Then, in a voice no louder than before, “I did not expect him to be kind, señor, ” she said.
    â€œI did. And please, call me Thomas, not señor. ”
    She blushed. “I do not think I can.” She swallowed. “Yet.”
    Not yet? he asked himself, as he took the cover from the tray of food. Actually, that was more than he had hoped for. Maybe the little plan—such a wee plan—hehad forged in the early hours before he slept had some hope of success.
    He set out two bowls and Laura went to the cabinet where he kept his utensils. He smiled to see that, womanlike, she had already acquainted herself with everything in his tiny household.
    He bowed his head while she murmured her prayer and crossed herself. Like a practiced wife, she dished out the mush and set it before him before serving herself.
    They ate in shy silence. Since she could barely bring herself to look at him, Thomas couldn’t help but admire the length of his wife’s eyelashes again and the delicate way she held a spoon. She was grace personified.
    And now he would put her to dirty work; it was all part of the plan.
    â€œLaura, my pharmacist’s mate sailed with the ship a few days ago.”
    She looked at him then, curious, perhaps not understanding the way he had translated pharmacist’s mate into Spanish.
    â€œThe man who assists me when I perform surgeries or help patients in the ward,” he explained. “I have no help.”
    She nodded. In the brief moment she looked at him, he saw the interest in her intelligent eyes.
    â€œI already know how you have helped me and Father Hilario with the poor folk in the pueblo, ” he continued, after a few more bites. He nodded his thanks when she handed him the little plate of tortillas.
    He rested his elbows on the table then, and could have laughed out loud to see the way she frowned athis bad manners: almost the old Laura again, but not quite.
    â€œYou are going to be my pharmacist’s mate,” he continued, swabbing the inside of the bowl with the tortilla. “You will accompany me on my rounds of the garrison and into the pueblo, and we will tend the sick together.”
    She turned pale at that, looking at him with stricken eyes. “I cannot,” she whispered. “They would never allow it. I am…” She paused as the tears rose into her deep brown eyes. “Oh, señor, I should have left with my father! They hate me now!”
    He took the corner of his napkin and gently wiped her eyes, even as he writhed inside over her anguish. “Don’t be so sure of that, Laura.”
    She stood up, unable to remain seated, humiliated by the misdemeanors, even though she had not authored them. “You don’t understand, señor! I know these people!” She sobbed out loud. “They will hate you, too!”
    Touched, he took hold of her hand before she could retreat to the bedroom, pulling her closer, but not forcing her beyond what she was willing to do. “I know them, too, Laura,” he told her. “They’re going to discover that we are a matched