Tempest in the White City Read Online Free PDF

table to him. “Your stomach’s had a traumatic day. We’re going to feed it something easy to digest.”
    The potatoes were cold and he hated bananas, but he cleaned his plate all the same.
    Finally, he pushed the table aside and stood. “Where are my clothes?”
    She craned back her neck to look up at him. “I didn’t remember you being so tall.”
    “All the guards are tall. Now, where’re my clothes?”
    “Right over here.” She retrieved them from a lower cabinet, then handed them to him.
    “Somebody brushed these for me,” he said.
    Glancing down, she shook out her skirts. The chatelaine no longer hung from her belt.
    He shrugged on his shirt and adjusted it against his shoulders, then began buttoning it. “Thank you for brushing them.”
    “Yes, it was, I only . . .” Looking up, she swallowed. “You’re welcome.”
    Her discomfort surprised him. She’d not so much as hesitated when she’d undressed him. But that had been different. He’d been a patient on a cot in a great deal of pain. Now, he was a half-clothed Columbian Guard, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was an unmarried lady doctor.
    She cleared her throat, fiddled with her hair, tugged down her sleeves, and crossed her arms.
    He pulled on his jacket. “My boots?”
    “Oh!” She shot off to another corner of the room and came back with them. “So, you’re from Texas.”
    “That’s right. Where are you from?”
    “Right here in Chicago.”
    “But you went to school in Michigan?”
    “Yes. They're the first state medical school to formally admit women.”
    With his jacket gaping open, he pulled on a boot.
    She reached out to steady him.
    “Cum laude, huh?” he asked.
    Again, she blushed. “Did I say that?”
    “You did.” He pulled on his other boot.
    The minute he finished, she released him and took a step back. “What about you? Did you go to school?”
    “I did.” Lifting his chin, he began securing the brass buttons on his jacket. “Only I graduated ‘praise the laude.’ ”
    Her laugh changed her entire face. Bright eyes. One dimple. Straight teeth. Rounded cheeks.
    “Is your home far from here?” he asked.
    Her laugh tapered off, but her smile remained intact. “It’s about a ten-mile train ride, so I’m staying at a women’s hotel built for the accommodation of the unprotected during the fair. That way, if there’s an emergency, I can be easily reached.”
    Nodding, he secured the last button and tugged down on the hem his jacket. “How do I look?”
    Her smile dissipated. She handed him a pouch of tea leaves. “You look very charming, Mr. Scott.”
    He tucked the pouch into his pocket. No sounds from outside penetrated their room. There was only her breathing, his breathing, and the sudden rushing of his blood.
    “May I walk you home?” he asked.
    “Under the circumstances, I thought perhaps I should walk you home.”
    He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Despite what you may think, I never get sick. Most of us boys from Texas have been raised with a gun in one hand and a milk bottle in the other. So, no need to worry. I’ll be fine. I feel a hundred times better already. Thank you . . . I think.”
    Her smile returned. “You’re welcome . . . I think.”
    “Are you ready to go?”
    She shook her head. “I have some paperwork yet. I don’t usually leave until a little bit after nine.”
    Nine. Good to know. That’s when his second shift of the day ended.
    He placed a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow, doc.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “For my massage.” Winking, he stepped through the door and gently pulled it shut behind him.

For more from the World’s Columbian Exposition, read an excerpt from Deeanne’s April release, It Happened at the Fair , on the next page!

C ullen’s eyes swelled to mere slits, his roughened cheeks itched, and a sharp line separated the raw skin on his neck from
the skin protected by his shirt. It had happened every planting season for his entire