senses. They looked too much alike. It distracted him more than a Christian man should allow. What happened to his resolve about not needing a woman? Didn’t being a father and a doctor take up all of his time? What about the slip of paper in his Bible listing all of his requirements for a wife? Besides, this woman couldn’t possibly . . .
“Jenny?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever been kissed by a sweaty, dirty, black-eyed, bruised, and beaten doctor?”
“No. Can’t say I have.”
“Good.” He pulled the horse to a halt. “You may want to hold your nose,” he said with a halfhearted attempt at humor.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
Wrapping his arms around her small shoulders, he drew her close to him. She trembled in his embrace as he lifted her chin. In the darkness, he envisioned those huge, endless pools of brown, feathered in the longest lashes he’d ever seen.
Slowly he descended upon her lips, gently tasting. The softness increased his desire for more. She seemed fragile to him, like a porcelain doll, but real—and in his arms.
Hesitantly, he pulled back. He wanted to say something, but the words refused to come. What he’d yearned for in a kiss had now manifested itself, and it shook his senses.
Without a doubt, Grant realized he was in love.
Chapter 27
Grant opened the door of Martha’s Place shortly before noon. The quiet hit him as such a contrast to the raucous sounds that began after the sun set. He’d been there a few times amid the off-key tunes of the battered piano, the smell of liquor, and the mask of counterfeit happiness. Unfortunately, some of the patrons had a tendency to become violent, and that’s when the knives and guns took over. But today the residents were apparently asleep, except for Martha. She rarely slept.
A strange woman, Mrs. Martha DeMott. No one had ever met Mr. DeMott. Grant doubted if one existed, especially given the relationship she shared with the town’s banker, Lester Hillman, which had resulted in two young sons.
Glancing at the gaudy red and gold decorations, Grant considered the contrast of the church a scant half mile down the road. So much sadness dwelt within the two-story building inappropriately referred to as a “pleasure palace.” Drunkenness, loneliness, unwanted pregnancies, diseases of the trade, and physical abuse all continued while the citizens of Kahlerville looked down their noses and closed their minds to the despair.
Grant called out for Martha. He knew her ways—she’d keep him waiting until she decided to venture into the front area with a sweet look of surprise. He pulled out the newspaper from under his arm and began to read.
“Grant, what a pleasure.” Martha strolled into the room, looking as grand at midday as she did at midnight.
With an inward smile, he folded the paper. “Can you spare me a moment?” he said.
She tilted her head and batted her eyes. “For you, I can spare an hour.”
He laughed. “Now, Martha. We’d set the town’s tongues wagging.”
She nodded, almost sadly. He often wondered if she regretted her profession, even if she was the richest woman in town. “Best we talk in my office.” She whirled around, and he followed.
Oh, the role he played to pacify this woman who made money from the sinful pleasures of men. But how would she ever see Jesus through condemning eyes and wagging tongues?
“I won’t waste your time, Martha. I want to know who told you that Ellen Kahler and Jenny Martin had plans to open a brothel.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s not true. Ellen is happily married, and Jenny is only visiting.”
“My, you do draw the Martin girls, don’t you?”
He swallowed the sarcasm he itched to unleash. “What if the person who lied to you was more interested in causing trouble than in telling you the truth?”
Martha leaned in closer. The neckline of her dress needed . . . adjustment. Grant glanced away.
“Tell me more,” she said.
“I don’t have any more to say. I have a hunch all is not as it seems.”
Martha wrapped her slender fingers around a cup of coffee. “Life is seldom what it seems, Grant. A trusted person told me about their plans.”
“Know what I think?” Grant studied her face.
Before she could respond, the door opened, and two small boys raced inside. The endearing smile on Martha’s face confirmed Grant’s belief that she loved those boys with all of her heart.
“How are my sons?” she said and drew the younger one into her lap while tousling the hair of the other.
“Very good,