She Was a Doctor Who Became a Mail-Order Bride — The Cowboy Who Had No Idea What He Was Getting
Chapter 3
By morning, Ethan had stopped thinking of Clara as a mail-order bride.
Now he thought of her as a problem.
A very intelligent problem.
He found her in the kitchen studying Margaret’s medical records.
“You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re welcome.”
He frowned.
“You know what I mean.”
“Your mother is sick.”
“She has a doctor.”
“Your doctor is killing her.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“That is a serious accusation.”
“I know.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Not yet.”
“Then stop.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“You don’t listen.”
“Neither does your family.”
He walked away.
Clara followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To town.”
“Why?”
“To see Dr. Miller.”
“I’ll come.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Clara.”
“You want answers.”
“So do I.”
They drove together.
Dr. Miller’s office was empty.
A nurse said he was at the hospital.
Ethan looked at Clara.
“Suspicious?”
“Very.”
They went to the hospital.
Dr. Miller was standing at the nurses’ station.
He looked surprised to see Clara.
“Who are you?”
“Dr. Clara Bennett.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Doctor?”
“Yes.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“She is my wife.”
Dr. Miller stared.
“You got married?”
Ethan hesitated.
Clara answered:
“Very recently.”
Dr. Miller looked uncomfortable.
“I wasn’t aware.”
Clara handed him Margaret’s file.
“Why did you increase her digoxin?”
He looked at the chart.
“Her condition required it.”
“Her blood levels were already dangerously high.”
He shrugged.
“Some patients react differently.”
“That isn’t medically sound.”
Dr. Miller’s face hardened.
“You’re new here.”
“So?”
“You don’t know this family’s history.”
Clara stepped closer.
“I know enough.”
Dr. Miller walked away.
Ethan looked at her.
“You made an enemy.”
“He already was one.”
They returned to the ranch.
That afternoon, Clara found something in Margaret’s room.
A small notebook.
She opened it.
Medication doses.
Times.
Names.
Margaret had been recording everything.
One entry appeared every week.
Someone is changing my medicine.
Clara’s heart raced.
She showed Ethan.
He stared.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Maybe she tried.”
He looked at the notebook.
The final entry was dated six weeks earlier.
If Clara comes, trust her.
Ethan froze.
“My mother wrote your name before she met you.”
Clara looked confused.
“She didn’t know me.”
“Maybe she did.”
“How?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Another page contained a name.
Joseph Walker.
Ethan’s father.
Then:
He knows about the land.
Clara looked at Ethan.
“What land?”
He didn’t answer.
The Walker Ranch covered thousands of acres.
It had been in the family for generations.
But something had changed after his father’s death.
Several properties had been sold.
Ethan had never understood why.
Clara turned another page.
The old hospital records are hidden in the ranch office.
Ethan stared.
“My mother knew about the hospital.”
“And your father.”
“Yes.”
Clara closed the notebook.
“We’re going to the office.”
The ranch office was locked.
Ethan had the key.
Inside were old ledgers.
Land deeds.
Tax records.
A safe.
He opened it.
Inside was a medical file.
Clara pulled it out.
Patient:
Joseph Walker.
Cause of death:
Acute cardiac failure.
Medication:
Digoxin.
Date:
Six years earlier.
Clara looked at Ethan.
“Your father wasn’t the first.”
Ethan stared at the file.
“My father was poisoned.”
“Possibly.”
She turned the page.
The same doctor’s signature.
Dr. Miller.
Ethan stepped backward.
“No.”
Clara’s voice was quiet.
“Someone has been doing this for years.”
Then they heard a noise.
A floorboard creaked outside the office.
Ethan opened the door.
Nobody was there.
But a small envelope lay on the floor.
Inside was a single photograph.
Clara.
Taken at the train station.
On the back:
You should have stayed in Boston, Doctor.
