Chapter 1 of Committing to the Cowgirl

1

Fairplay, Colorado

July 1877

Astrid Nilsson wanted the job so badly she could taste the need for it.

She paused in front of a gray weathered building nestled among the saloons and businesses on Main Street. The words painted in bold white above the door read: Doctor's Office. A card in the large multi-paned window said: Remedies, Tonics, Powders. Another sign boasted: Painless Tooth Extractions.

The rugged one-story structure was smaller and more rustic than Chicago clinics. But the office was certainly better than nothing at all, which had been the case when she'd left Fairplay six years ago to begin her medical training.

She lifted a hand to knock on the rough-plank door to find that it was already open a crack.

Drawing in a breath, she straightened her black hat with its high, flat crown and narrow brim, situating the lilac and plum ribbons so they dangled behind her coiled hair but didn't disturb the light brown strands curled near her ears. She flounced the dust from the skirt of her day dress—a matching lilac and plum velvet-and-silk taffeta with an elaborate bustle at the back.

She'd already attempted to smooth out the wrinkles and grime her garments had collected during the stagecoach ride from Denver. But as she'd walked down the street from the livery, the passing wagons and horses had stirred up the perpetual dust of the high-country town and added a fresh layer to her garments—or so it seemed.

She slipped a hand into her medical bag draped over her arm and pulled out the delicate paper fan that matched her clothing. She flipped it open and flapped air over her flushed face. The high-altitude July sun was hotter than she remembered. Or maybe she'd just become accustomed to the more humid air of the Midwest.

Should she go out to her family's ranch, take a bath, rest, and apply for the position first thing tomorrow?

No. She grasped the door handle. She was doing this now. This afternoon. Before she garnered two hundred questions from her family.

Besides, she'd already resolved that whether or not she was fortunate enough to secure employment as Fairplay's second medical doctor, she didn't intend to impose on her sister Greta or any other family member. Mr. McLaughlin at the livery had informed her of a newly opened women-only boardinghouse at a homestead about a mile southwest of Fairplay. She'd take a room there.

First, she had to convince the current doctor that he needed to hire her, which would be no small feat.

She didn't have to look at the neatly clipped advertisement in her pocket. She had it memorized: Experienced medical doctor wanted as a partner in an established practice in Fairplay, Colorado.

Even if it hadn't ended with No women need apply, maybe she should have replied to the advertisement and scheduled an interview rather than showing up unannounced.

Tucking her fan back into her bag, she pushed open the door and stepped into the dim interior, the dusty front window allowing in only scant sunlight. The strong, earthy scent of camphor greeted her, as did the lingering bitterness of carbolic acid.

The front room—the size of a small parlor—was devoid of patients but contained several scuffed chairs as well as a bench, and a spittoon in the corner. The walls were painted a soothing light green, and a blue-and-green rug was positioned in the center of the floor.

A half-open door led to another room which she guessed was an examination area, one that allowed for some privacy.

Low voices came from within. Probably the doctor with a patient.

She didn't know the current physician's name. When she'd inquired of her fellow stagecoach passengers, they told her they were new to town, too, and hadn't been able to give her any information.

How many physicians had come and gone from Fairplay over the years? There had been quite a few. But a transitory nature was common in the high country, where people eventually tired of the rugged life away from civilization.

She placed her bag on the closest chair, the brown leather still shiny and the brass buckle polished to perfection. It had been a gift from Mr. and Mrs. Remington after she'd finished her medical degree at the Women's Hospital Medical College of Chicago three years ago. Unfortunately, she hadn't had many opportunities to use the bag, since most of her medical experience after graduation had been inside the Women's Hospital where a bag wasn't needed.

She'd gone on some house calls with Doctor Lawana Lewis, who had issued an invitation to assist in the practice she ran from her home south of Chicago. The apprenticeship hadn't been long or sufficient enough. But like the other female graduates, Astrid had known women physicians weren't trusted or accepted the same way men were and that the battle to find steady work would be difficult.

Expelling a sigh through her tight airways, she paced to the window and peered through the foggy layer of grime at the familiar landmarks—Simpkins General Store, Hotel Windsor, Cabinet Billiard Hall, and more. They were all there, hardly changed since the evening she'd ridden into Fairplay close to fifteen years ago when she'd been a waif of only nine. Greta had brought her to Colorado, hoping the mountain environment would cure her of consumption. And it had worked... for many years.

Astrid pressed a hand against her chest and pushed down a niggling tickle at the back of her throat. She hadn't told anyone about her suspicion that the consumption was returning. But she could feel her lungs filling with fluid, and her cough was getting worse.

With every passing week, she'd known she needed to return to Colorado... before she was too sick for any of Colorado's natural cures to work their magic again. The question was—would they work for her a second time?

She'd beaten death once. But maybe once was all she'd get. Maybe she was selfish to hope she'd have another fifteen years of life.

Regardless of whether she had fifteen months or fifteen years, she intended to make the most of her time left, and that included working for as long as she possibly could.

And it also included spending her last days close to her family...

Astrid stared at the general store, hoping for a glimpse of her sister coming outside, empty crates in hand after delivering her homemade jam and baked goods. The chances of the encounter were slim. It was too late in the day for Greta to be in town. And besides, nowadays Greta sold most of her products to the tourists and visitors who stayed at Healing Springs Inn.

Astrid's sights strayed to the side street past the courthouse where her friend Catherine—Mr. and Mrs. Remington's daughter—lived with her family in a lovely two-story home. Maybe she'd see the young woman milling about town with her children.

What would everyone think once they heard she was back?

She hadn't told anyone she was coming home. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Remington could have telegrammed Catherine with the news. But that was highly unlikely since Astrid had asked them not to say anything.

Catherine had been a true friend from the moment they'd met. As a midwife, she'd been the one to encourage Astrid to pursue nurse's training. Catherine had made living arrangements with her family in Chicago. And she'd supported Astrid's decision to continue on and earn her medical degree.

Not that Greta and everyone else had opposed her change of career. They'd agreed to it. Eventually. And reluctantly. Mostly because they missed her and wanted her to live closer. Her infrequent visits home once every couple of years simply hadn't been enough, especially for Greta.

Two men's voices from the other room became more distinct, and a moment later the door of the examining room squeaked open, and chatter filled the waiting room behind her.

She shifted away from the window as a tall, slender man attired in an impeccable navy suit coat and trousers led the way to the door, his back facing her. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his neatly trimmed hair was as dark as midnight.

An older man followed him—presumably the doctor. He was much shorter, only a few inches taller than her five feet, two inches. Slightly rotund, with but a smattering of gray hair covering his head, he was attired in baggy, rumpled clothing.

He held a crumpled handkerchief and wiped at clear discharge from his purplish nose. His eyes were red and watery too. He might have catarrh. Or it was possible he was having a reaction to something in the environment. She'd recently read research that investigated the effects of hay and pollen and other airborne particles in causing rashes, itchy eyes, and wheezing.

"Champion will eventually make a fine racing horse," the younger man was saying as he opened the door.

The doctor blew noisily into the handkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket. "Good. Then I'll be sure to wager on him."

Despite his condition, the doctor seemed to have a kind voice and personable demeanor. She crossed her fingers that he'd be open to her joining his practice even though she was a woman. After all, a simple town like Fairplay, while it had grown over the years, didn't have much to attract a male physician.

When Mr. and Mrs. Remington had returned to Chicago several weeks ago after visiting Catherine in Fairplay, they'd brought Astrid the advertisement for the medical doctor upon Catherine's insistence. They hadn't known anything about the current doctor either, except their daughter's assurances that he was a forward-thinking man who wouldn't dismiss applicants on the basis of gender.

The doctor reached for a battered felt hat on the coat rack beside the door and situated it over his head. He stuck out his hand to his patient and exchanged a handshake, and then the doctor stepped out the door.

Unless . . .

She fixed her full attention on the younger man as he closed the door, his suit coat stretching snugly across broad shoulders and his dark hair brushing at the collar.

She'd misjudged the situation. Maybe the younger man was the doctor. Surely that was better. Such a doctor might have an open mind to a female physician more so than an older man who was set in his ways.

He began to turn away from the door. "How can I help you—?" As he took her in, he halted abruptly.

Every single function in her body halted as well at the sight of a familiar slender face with a fine nose and a square jaw that was covered in a layer of shadowy stubble. His brows rose above dark brown eyes, and his mouth hung open as though she'd rendered him speechless.

Even though she was equally taken aback, she kept her expression from giving away her surprise.

This was Logan Steele, the son of Fairplay's former mayor. Her first true love.

He'd left Colorado without a goodbye when he'd turned seventeen and she'd been sixteen. Compared to the lanky boy she'd last seen, Logan had changed. His body had filled out considerably. His face had matured. And he bore an air of assurance.

He quickly closed his mouth and let his eyes make a trail down her body before rising and widening with frank appreciation.

Did he recognize her? After the passing of the years, she'd grown up and changed a great deal too. Or maybe he was taken with her fine appearance. She was accustomed to the looks and flattery. Her blond-brown hair, silvery blue eyes, and her womanly figure along with her delicate features drew attention everywhere she went.

She'd been told by plenty of men that she was beautiful. The trouble was, she'd grown weary of men paying attention to her outward appearance. If only they could see past her exterior to all of her other qualities that made her a good doctor. But most fellows couldn't reconcile why a pretty and fashionable woman like herself wanted to do "men's work."

Would Logan Steele be able to do so?

Even if he did see her as an equal and give her a chance to join the partnership, the real question was whether she wanted to subject herself to working with him... especially after the way he'd spurned her.

A part of her wanted to stomp out of the office and never look back. But the other part—the more rational, practical, controlled side—reminded her that this job was her only option. And since she wanted to practice medicine as long as she was physically able to do so, then she couldn't let a broken heart from the past keep her from doing what she loved.

Besides, the past was in the past. Logan Steele didn't mean anything to her anymore. And she'd show him that.

She lifted her shoulders and chin and gave him what she hoped was her most professional look. "I am here to inquire about your advertisement for a partner in your medical practice."

He leaned back against the wall beside the coat rack and crossed one shiny black shoe over the other before folding his arms, revealing gold-studded cuff links. The pose seemed casual, as though he had every intention of interviewing her right then and there. Except that a crooked smile tugged at his lips.

Did he think she was jesting? Some men poked fun at her when they discovered she was a doctor. It was cowardly of them to disparage her education and aspirations. But she'd learned that she'd only harm her efforts if she revealed any exasperation or anger. She had to stay calm. "You do still need another doctor to join your practice, do you not?"

"Astrid Nilsson." His lips lifted into a higher smile, one that had always been a killer. "You were the prettiest and sweetest girl in Fairplay."

Oh, please. If he'd thought she was so pretty and sweet, then why had he left her?

His gaze was back on her face, languidly taking in each detail of her features. "Looks like that's still true."

"Perhaps it is."

His dark eyes were rich and expressive, glimmering with cockiness.

Maybe she should act as though she didn't know him, at least for a few moments. She pretended to study his face. "You look vaguely familiar..."

"You don't remember who I am?" Logan continued to lean against the wall.

"You'll have to forgive me—"

"You were one of my first friends here in Fairplay." His eyes leveled with hers, swallowing her so that she wanted to lose herself there, but at the same time giving her a glimpse inside to his deep, complex, and stirring soul. Those eyes had always had the power to make her breathless and weaken her knees.

Not anymore. She was stronger now. "Sorry. I can't say I remember... it's been so long since I've lived here..."

He'd always been a dashing and good-looking fellow. But somehow, he'd turned into an almost sinfully handsome man. Too handsome for anyone's good—including his own.

As though hearing the direction of her thoughts, he pushed away from the wall and started across the waiting room toward her, his eyes riveted to hers. Her heart tapped in time with his footsteps, a strange anticipation humming through her blood.

He stopped only inches away from her and towered above her petite frame by at least a foot, just like he always had. Just like the night of the barn dance the last time she'd seen him, when he'd kept cutting in on dances she was having with other fellows.

The glimmer in his eyes then had told her how much he was enjoying making the other men angry. But she hadn't minded—had been too enamored, too easily swept off her feet by the charming Logan Steele. She'd believed he was finally staking a claim on her.

After the last dance near dawn, she hadn't resisted when he'd tugged her outside. She'd been near to heaven with him holding her hand and hadn't paid attention when he'd led her around the corner of the barn, until he'd tugged her close and dropped a kiss on her lips—her first kiss. Even though the kiss had been short and sweet, it had sent her to the moon—no, it had sent her to the stars.

Of course, if she'd been thinking straight, she would have realized much sooner that Logan hadn't been serious. Because after the kiss, he'd spun, walked away, and ridden out of her life.

Several days later, she'd learned that he'd left for the East—without a word, without a goodbye, without a glance back. After their years of friendship and after what she'd assumed was a mutual attraction, she'd been stunned and devastated.

She hadn't seen him since.

During her rare visits home, she'd heard tales of his adventures from Landry Steele and his wife, who liked to talk about their only son who was doing such great things in the East, becoming one of Boston's best physicians. But as far as Astrid was concerned, the moment Logan had left her at the dance, he'd written himself out of her life. And she intended to keep it that way.

"It's Logan Steele, Astrid. How can you forget about me?"

"Oh, w-e-l-l, Logan Steele. Clearly you think more highly of yourself than you ought to."

"I thought we got along rather well as friends. In fact, I'd say we ended up more than that."

Yes, she'd given him her heart, then he'd walked away without any explanation at all.

A long-buried spark of anger flared to life. Before she could rationalize or make sense of what she was doing, she lifted her hand and slapped his cheek.