LITMIR.BIZ

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      CAROLYN DAVIDSON

      Carolyn Davidson’s life can be summarized in three simple words: reading, writing and research—followed by her husband and family, of course. With children and grandchildren spread across the eastern half of the country, travel has also become a big part of her life. A charter member of the Lowcountry Romance Writers of America, with women who share her love of writing, Carolyn holds her fellow members partly responsible for whatever success she has achieved in the pursuit of her career and enjoys hearing from readers at P.O. Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445.

      To a dear friend who cheered me on from the beginning of my writing career, in those days when only a very few thought I would ever find someone to publish my stories.

      A friend who listens and celebrates with me when things are going well in my life, and is still there by my side when troubles come along.

       A woman I call “warm and wonderful,” who loves me unconditionally.

      Tena Hoyle, this book is for you.

      And, as always, to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      August, 1897

      “I think I’m dying.”

      If her eyes had not been filled with tears, and her expression so woeful, Winston Gray might have smiled. As it was, he adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. Clearly, the young woman huddled in a straight chair on the other side of his desk was in dire straits. But, dying? If clear skin, soft brown eyes and a full head of dark, waving hair gave any indication at all, he’d say she was in the best of health.

      True, her form was slender, but not unduly so. And yet, there was a significant thickening of her waist and a suggestion of recent weight gain, if the fit of her dress was anything to go by.

      “What’s the reason for you to be so worried?” he asked, watching as her slender hand lifted to swipe at the tears on her cheeks. Concern was written all over the girl, and suddenly he lost his urge to smile. Rising from behind his desk, he moved slowly to where she sat, pulling a second chair closer.

      She looked up at him, her mouth working as though she might burst into a full-fledged crying spell any minute. “My mama died from a growth in her belly,” she whispered, and one hand spread across her own abdomen as she spoke. “I was only six years old, but I remember how she just got skinnier and skinnier, and her belly got bigger and bigger, till one morning she just stopped breathing.”

      Dr. Winston Gray knew heartbreak when it stared him in the face, and he sensed the girl’s need for comfort. His large hand reached for hers, clasping it within his palm. “And you think you might have the same affliction?” he asked quietly.

      She nodded, allowing the tears to flow now. “I’ve been feeling poorly lately, maybe for three months or so now. And my belly’s getting bigger all the time.”

      And if his training had taught him anything, Win knew exactly what the girl’s problem was. “Is there any chance you might be in the family way?” he asked.

      Her eyes widened and her head shook with a violent movement. “Heavenly days, no,” she blurted. “I’m not married, Dr. Gray.”

      “That doesn’t always preclude a pregnancy,” he told her. “Perhaps you…” How to phrase it delicately, so she would not take offense? “Do you have a gentleman friend?”

      Her flushed cheeks lost their color and she wilted in the chair, tugging her hand from his grasp. “No.” The single word was abrupt, and she straightened her shoulders. “Not anymore, anyway. Tommy Jamison used to come calling, but his folks moved back East a couple of weeks ago, and—” Her shoulders lifted in a telling shrug. “My pa didn’t like Tommy anyway, and now, with me probably dying, it’s just as well. His folks wanted him to go to college to get a good education.”

      And likely, the mother had taken a good look at Tommy’s young lady and hustled her son as far away as possible from the problem he’d caused, Win surmised. He leaned his arms on his thighs and looked down at the wooden floor. How any young woman could be so ignorant was a puzzle he’d come across once before, and that time it had been solved neatly by a hasty marriage, aided by an angry father with a shotgun.

      This particular situation didn’t look as promising.

      “How old are you?” he asked, glancing up to see her blinking back another deluge of tears.

      “Almost nineteen,” she whispered. “That’s too young to die, isn’t it?”

      “You’re not going to die.” He hesitated, unwilling to speak further without at least knowing the girl’s name. “You’re George Mitchum’s girl, aren’t you?”

      She nodded. “I’m Ellie. Eleanor, after my mama.”

      “Ellie.” He tasted the name, liking its simplicity. “Do you have any female relatives? An aunt, maybe? Is there a housekeeper at your father’s ranch?” From what he’d heard, Win was certain the man could afford to hire a woman to live in and keep up his ranch house.

      “No, there’s just me,” Ellie said, dashing his hopes. “I do the housework, and wash and cook for my pa and me.”

      Win cleared his throat. This was getting stickier by the minute. “Would you mind coming into my examining room, Ellie? I’d like to take a look at you

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