“I haven’t seen that steady of a hand in a long time,” Shane said. “You have a gift, Miss O’Toole.”

Her shoulders stiffened at his compliment and some unknown emotion flashed in her eyes.

“I—I do?”

“Yes.”

“I…” She lifted her chin. “Thank you.”

Her uncertain manner was replaced by a quiet dignity.

For a moment the foundation of everything Shane thought rocked under him. He was a healer, called by God to treat the sick, a man others turned to in times of need. He did not rely on anyone.

No human, at any rate. Only the divine.

Then again, he’d never met a woman who made him want to admit he might be weary of standing helplessly by as his patients struggled with illnesses that far too often resulted in death.

For the first time in his life, a woman—a fancy, overdressed, far-too-beautiful stranger—made Shane want to share a few of his burdens with another person.

“Miss O’Toole, what I ask is highly respectable,” Shane continued. “Would you consider working as my assistant?”

RENEE RYAN

grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.

Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.

She lives an action-packed life in Lincoln, Nebraska, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.

Loving Bella
Renee Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.

—Philippians 3:13

To my father, Dr. Augustus Emmet Anderson, Jr.

This one’s for you, Daddy!

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, London, England, 1885

Isabella O’Toole’s life swept from one tragedy to another. And she loved every dramatic, heart-wrenching moment. Singing opera, as her mother once said, was in her blood. No matter the setting or situation, Bella always wept for her doomed heroines.

Tonight, however, there was an added layer of emotion that had nothing to do with tragedy. The sensation left Bella with a dull headache and unusually raw emotions.

He was here. In the audience. Watching her—only her—with the intense stare that never failed to steal her breath away.

The moment the curtain made its final descent her first impulse was to run to her dressing room and prepare for his visit. But that would be self-indulgent, a trait she disliked in others and thoroughly despised in herself. Somehow, she found the patience to offer congratulations to her fellow cast members with a genuine smile on her lips.

Still, in the back of her mind she was well-aware that he beckoned and there was little time left to prepare. She offered a quick hug to her understudy, and began the brief journey to her dressing room. Much to her amusement, she caught herself nearly running by the time she arrived at her destination. So much for dignity and grace under pressure.

With an impatient shove, Bella shut the door behind her and leaned against the sturdy wood. Thoughts of William filled her mind. Her heart pounded, her hands shook.

Conflicting emotions tangled inside one another, threatening to overwhelm her. Despite the joy of seeing William again, she was still on edge after playing Isolde. No matter how many times Bella sang the shifting chords in the final aria, the music rent every bit of emotion from her. She was exhausted.

Trying to force calm into her thinking, she breathed in and out. Tonight was too special, too important to allow grief for a fictional heroine’s lost love to engulf her.

At last, the drumming in her heart shifted and she looked around the room.

Her refuge.

The one place solely hers, where she morphed herself from Bella O’Toole, youngest in the famous O’Toole acting family, into the most acclaimed opera singer of her day. With grace and comfort in mind, she’d decorated her small space by paying close attention to details and fuss. Intricate lace, fresh flowers and soft, cushiony furniture created a tone that was warm, feminine and fashionable.

To add a touch of glamour, Bella only used candles, preferring the soft golden glow and warm scent of the wax to the bleak ambiance provided by modern gas lamps. Perhaps she did have her moments of self-indulgence. But she tried to contain them to these small facets of her life instead of giving rein to the wild emotions that sometimes seized her.

Pushing from the door, Bella ran her finger along the edges of her makeup table, across the rims of the various jars of creams and rouge. Tools of her trade. Where she donned the mask of her characters and became the tragic heroines only found in the opera.

She spun in a circle and let dreams fill her head. Dreams of what life would be like if William proposed to her at last. Unlike the characters she portrayed, her love story would have a happy ending.

The charming, handsome viscount had been persistent in his pursuit of her over these last two months, often pushing for favors they both knew she would not give him until their wedding night. She was afraid, afraid he would come to mean more to her than she could handle. Afraid she would forget her moral upbringing and allow emotion to overpower her good sense. He already drew feelings out of her that no one else had.

In truth, his polished sophistication troubled her. Although she’d been raised in the theater, traveling with her famous parents and talented siblings across continents, she wasn’t as worldly as Lord Crawley. Her parents had sheltered her from the uglier side of their profession. Reginald and Patience O’Toole had raised their children with Christian values and a strong knowledge of Scripture.

Bella often felt much younger than her twenty-four years. She missed her family. Especially now, when she desperately needed someone to talk to about her handsome viscount. Her mother or brother, Beau, would know what words to use to settle her unease, or rather what Scripture.

Oh, Lord, she prayed, guide me.

Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, I will know you stand firm….

The words from Paul to the Philippians gave her confidence. Changing out of her costume would give her more. Bella bit back a sigh. With unsteady fingers, she quickly shed Isolde’s medieval costume and changed into the dress she’d worn to the theater. The locket William had given her hung beneath the lace collar, warming her skin and reminding Bella of the viscount’s deep affection, a tangible symbol of his love for her.

Sighing, she removed her stage makeup and laced up her boots. There was nothing left to do but wait.

As if on cue, the expected knock came at the door.

In spite of her efforts to remain calm and mature, a jittery surge of excitement tickled the base of her spine and she fingered the locket. “Enter,” she said on a breathy whisper.

The door swung open. Bella’s pulse drummed in her ears as her gaze connected with the man she loved. William Gordon. Lord Crawley. As she drank in the sight of her viscount immaculately dressed in black tails, she tried to look past the title and straight to the man.

He was tall and lean, his face aristocratic with a strong cut of cheekbones under deep-set blue eyes. Even the stark white of his shirt set off his dark good looks.

An unhurried smile drifted along his lips and he reached out his hand to her. Her pulse tripped, slowed to a near stop then quickened again. Tossing her head back, she started toward him.

He shut the door with a jab of his elbow and then lifted a single eyebrow at her.

Alone. They were all alone. Her stomach rolled over itself, but Bella continued forward. The click of her heels echoed across the parquet floor.

William was so appealing she wanted to rush her steps. She restrained herself. A moment like this required confident, liquid grace.

Tenderness and genuine appreciation mingled in his gaze before he covered his reaction with an unreadable expression. Her heart leapt to her throat and stuck. William Gordon was always kind, generous, quick-witted and charming. The sort of man a woman waited all her life to find. But he was also a man filled with hidden depths. And staring at her now, with such intensity, she realized he had a suggestion of danger about him.

With that thought, her steps slowed. She stopped a foot away from him and placed her palm in his.

“My beautiful, talented Bella,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips. “You were magnificent this evening.”

A jolt of impatience whipped through her at his standard compliment, but Bella hid the emotion behind a dazzling smile. Pleasantries first, sincerity later. That was their pattern. “Thank you, William.”

He stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of their breathing filling the barren silence. Bella’s lack of experience with men made her unsure how to fill the awkward moment.

Searching for a clue as to how to proceed, she stared into his handsome face. A sudden gust of wind threw open the window behind her, blowing out the candles closest to her. Shadows filled half the room, concealing William’s face. She thought she saw a flicker of something different in his eyes, something a little dark. A little unsettling.

A shiver iced across her skin and she felt the first stirrings of concern. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she wheeled around, shut the window and quickly relit the candles. As she moved through the room, she reminded herself that this was her William. She knew him well. The realization settled her nerves.

“Where would you like to dine this evening?” His gaze shifted to the divan as he strolled toward her. “Or would you prefer to stay in?”

Bella looked around her dressing room. She eyed the soft lighting, breathed in the scent of a spring garden, noted the many pillows strewn on the divan. From a certain perspective one might mistakenly believe she’d prepared for something…illicit.

“I think we should go out,” she said, flashing him a bright smile. “Celebrate my magnificent performance.”

She’d hoped to make him laugh but his face remained impassive, and his shoulders stiffened. He drew her close to him and took both her hands in his.

“Tonight could be very special for us, my dear.”

The sleepy charm in his manner pulled her a step closer.

He tightened his fingers around hers and commanded her gaze. “A beginning, if you will.”

In spite of his pleasant tone, Bella couldn’t shake the notion that something strange was creeping into their conversation, something sordid. She withdrew one hand and then another. “I—”

“Let us drop these pretenses at last.” He shoved shaking fingers through his hair and started pacing along the edge of the Venetian rug. “You are too good for the theater.”

He took her elbow and steered her to the divan.

Unsure of his motives, she slid away from him and perched against her dressing table instead.

“I have always dreamed of more,” she said, her voice sounding as tentative as she felt. Where was this leading?

He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped his jaw shut as though he was considering his next words carefully. His breath came out in a ragged sigh. She feared his next words would define their fate and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the outcome.

At last, he nodded as if he’d come to some decision, rubbed his hand across his mouth and resumed his pacing. “It’s good you want something other than the theater.”

The satisfaction that shone in his eyes was at odds with the tenseness in his movements. She’d never seen him quite so edgy. “William?”

“Let me provide for you properly,” he blurted while never missing a step. “In the style and comfort you deserve.”

His words staggered her and she found she had to clutch the side of her makeup table to steady herself. “Are you asking for my hand?” she asked, but she feared she already knew the answer.

He stopped pacing, turned to look at her with a frown marring his brow. “Marriage? You thought I came to offer marriage?”

His voice held genuine shock, as though the notion had never crossed his mind. She had to fight a wave of hysteria as she stared at him.

“You said you loved me,” she said at last, touching the hidden locket with her fingertip.

He rushed to her, knelt at her feet and clasped her hands in his again. “I do love you, Bella.” His breathing came in hard, shallow spurts. “It is why I offer my protection. It is the greatest gift I have to give.”

He was no longer the suave viscount, but a man too desperate to have his way to remember his rank. The thought brought her no comfort, no hope. Only anguish.

She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears. “You think that little of me, of us, that you would make me your mistress?”

He squeezed her hands gently. “Look at me,” he coaxed with his low, soothing baritone back in place.

She didn’t think she had the courage, yet she forced open her eyes. The sincerity in his returning gaze gave her hope.

She held her breath.

“You deserve better than marriage, my love. I would never relegate you to the role of wife. It’s nothing more than a gilded cage.”

She lowered her eyes and said nothing, knowing no response was necessary. Very carefully, very slowly, she pulled her hands from his and straightened. He stood, as well.

“As an opera singer, I am not good enough to become your wife.” She tilted her head to stare at him. “Is that what you are saying, William?”

“I love you too much to imprison you.” He rose to his full height and continued. “As my mistress, you would have certain freedoms my wife could never have. I would give you a notice of carte blanche. You will never again incur a debt and will live a life of complete luxury.”

The haughty tone of his words conflicted with the desperation she saw in his gaze. He looked so young, staring at her with those startling blue eyes. So sincere. As though he’d just offered her the most precious gift in the world.

“Yet, you don’t love me enough to marry me.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a long breath. “I already have a wife.”

Bella gasped and her hand clutched at her throat. Her fingers brushed the locket which now weighed heavy around her neck. Chills swept across her skin, followed by scorching heat. Unable to speak, she stumbled backward until her spine hit the door leading to freedom. She dropped her gaze to her toes. From the hallway, a beam of light shone like a beacon under the door. She wanted to run from the ramifications she could not yet face, but that would make her a coward. Thus, she found the courage to demand further explanation. “You’ve pursued me all these months, while already married?”

“What I am offering is far more than marriage.” He stood tall, head erect. His stance was full of aristocratic pride but his gaze held a silent plea. “Think of it, Bella, you will be the celebrated mistress of a viscount in his own right.”

How could he think he offered her something of value, when it meant the desecration of his wedding vows? These long months of pursuit she’d held him at arm’s length, had remained pure, all the while assuming he respected her as very few men respected women in her profession.

She’d been woefully mistaken. He hadn’t been courting a wife. He’d been seducing a mistress.

She had just enough pride left to be furious at him. “I would like you to leave now.”

Rage and anguish, guilt and love tangled in his gaze. “Bella, no, don’t make a hasty decision. I love you.”

His eyes begged her to believe him, and to her shame, she wanted to do just that. Hadn’t she felt his admiration, respect and love grow deeper these past weeks? Was this how Bathsheba had felt when King David had pursued her? Was David’s love so real and desperate, his arguments so convincing that Bathsheba willingly walked into sin with him?

Bella had never felt pity for the woman who committed such a brazen act of adultery. Until now. Heaven help her, Bella still loved William.

But the emotion shamed her.

Perhaps if she found the strength to walk away she could redeem them both. “I cannot accept your offer, William.”

“I will not lose you, Bella. You are my greatest desire, I will die without you. I know I can make you happy. You will never want for anything.”

Desire? Want? Was that how he defined love? She kept her head lowered to hide the spark of anger. At him. At herself for feeling such sorrow over her loss.

Marriage was sacred. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no man put asunder.

“I will not turn into an adulterer this night.”

But she knew, in her heart, the deed was already done. Hadn’t Jesus said that the thought alone made her accountable for the sin?

Apparently unaware of her turmoil, William turned his back to her, idly fiddled with the wax on a candle.

“I have pursued you these two months, have I not, with the benefit of nothing more than your smiles?” He sent her a shrewd glance over his shoulder, shifted to face her. “I honored your purity when I could have had any number of mistresses by now. I want you, Bella. The way a man wants a woman.”

With each word he spoke, her disgrace grew. The room was suddenly hot, so hot she feared she would faint.

Dry eyes were her only defense. “I cannot become your mistress. I will not.”

A range of emotions crossed his face again, more subtle and harder to read. The eyes that locked with hers were sharp and measuring. She knew he was calculating how best to win her. A wager he’d already lost. Bella would not harm an innocent woman.

At that thought, her mind was suddenly clearer. So clear it hurt. The churning in her stomach was humiliation, she knew. But she would survive.

Unfortunately, shame was a bitter taste on her tongue, one she feared would never go away. It helped to remind herself that she was not the victim here. Lord Crawley’s wife bore that burden alone.

“Bella,” he pleaded.

Their stares locked, held. He was so handsome. And she loved him so much. Even now. Still. Self-directed anger and misery bubbled up, but Bella forced it back with a hard swallow. She had to come up with a plan to get him to leave before she agreed to do something she already knew she’d regret. It was her only hope of salvation. “I need time.”

A flicker of hope pulled his lips into a soft smile. “I understand.” He drew her hand to his lips. “But make your decision quickly. I have been patient long enough.”

It was a caddish remark, but Bella saw genuine emotion in the flash of anxiety that wavered in his eyes. In that moment, Bella realized he loved her. Truly loved her.

Yet, he would never understand her. His upbringing had taught him duty and possession and broken vows. Hers had taught her the sacredness of marriage and loyalty and obedience to Christ, her Lord and Savior.

With that last thought, her humiliation burned deeper.

She knew what she had to do now.

It was only years of training that enabled her to look him in the eyes without breaking into tears, knowing this was the end. “Allow me one day to consider.”

He dropped her hand. A smile hinting at his confidence slithered across his lips. “I will return before noon tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

A knot twisted in her stomach as she watched him walk out the door. There would be no additional meeting. Her only chance was escape. And she knew just the place to run, a place where William would never dare to follow.

A small victory, to be sure, but hardly an honorable one.

She could only hope with distance and time, absolution would come.

Chapter One

One month later, Denver, Colorado

He couldn’t let her leave. Not without a fight. The spasm of panic shocked him, even as it pounded angry and insistent through his blood. For a moment—just one—Dr. Shane Bartlett had to fight the horrible urge to give in and beg, but he knew any display of emotion would be his doom.

For the sake of his patients, he had to ignore the choking sense of dread rising inside him and continue.

Jaw tight, Shane dragged a hand through his hair. If he was to win her over, persuasion had to be doled out in degrees of charm and skill.

Putting aside his frustration, Shane forced his heartbeat to slow to the same rhythmic cadence as the tick-tick-tick coming from the clock on the mantel behind him.

“Please, Miss Marley,” he said, curving a pleasant smile along the edges of his mouth. “I only ask that you hold off making a final decision until you hear me out.”

Her gaze remained direct and unwavering. But instead of responding right away, she clamped her lips shut and scrunched her forehead into a web of hard, vertical lines.

Shane felt his chest heave. Trying to gauge how best to present his argument, he dropped a glance over the woman in one quick swoop. Dressed in a drab gray dress and equally uninspired shoes, her bland brown hair looked as if it might have corroded onto her head. Her starched collar matched her rigid spine. In fact, she sat so straight and so far back in her chair, Shane was amazed the pattern from the upholstery hadn’t tattooed itself to her dress.

When he raised his gaze to meet hers, the cold eyes and pursed lips reminded him of the women he’d encountered throughout his childhood on the streets of New York City.

His instinct was to dismiss her at once. But he owed it to everyone involved to put his own feelings aside and conduct this interview with polite professionalism.

Taking another moment to control his emotions, Shane lowered his chin and scanned the references he held in his hand. He couldn’t deny Miss Marley had the nursing experience he needed in an assistant. Her background was without blemish, her training impeccable. But did she have the temperament required for the unique position he offered?

There was one way to find out.

“The Charity House orphans are—”

“Orphans?” Her eyes went narrow and frosty, while her lips curled with pitch-perfect disgust. “You use that term loosely, Dr. Bartlett.”

A muscle shifted in his jaw and Shane felt his smile slip.

Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these…

At the reminder of Jesus’s words, Shane had to fight back a wave of resentment at the woman’s sanctimonious attitude.

“Perhaps they are not orphans in the literal sense,” he acknowledged with a grim twist of his lips. “However, they are children who—”

She snorted. She actually snorted at him. The sound was harsh enough to stop him in midsentence.

“These children.” He paused to emphasize his point, but then a dull drumming pounded in his ears and the pattern on the rug at his feet bled into a kaleidoscope of chaotic colors. Shane shook his head and began again. “These children…deserve decent medical care like everyone else.”

She pierced him with a sharp look and spoke as though she hadn’t heard his words. “This is a house for harlots’ mistakes.” She lifted her nose and looked pointedly around her. “Is it not, Dr. Bartlett?”

Before responding, Shane followed her gaze as it moved beyond the Persian rugs, past the expensive furniture, and straight to the crystal vases filled with fresh-cut flowers. The attention to detail was impossible to miss. Charity House was like no other orphanage in the territory, incomparable in its elegance and style.

And yet, Shane wondered if he’d made a mistake in choosing the mansion’s front parlor as the place to conduct his interviews today.

He’d hoped that by showing the candidates the interior of the orphanage they would realize Charity House and its occupants had class and substance. Apparently, instead of unleashing this nursing candidate’s compassion, he’d opened her judgment.

Whispered reminders of his own childhood crept forward in his mind. Shane clenched his jaw, refusing to allow this woman to see his growing anger until he had the poisonous emotion under control.

He forced his shoulders to relax.

“Whatever you might think of these children, remember they did not choose their parents,” he said, surprised to hear his calm tone when so many ugly emotions churned just under the surface. “As I said before, they deserve equal and fair medical treatment.”

He pierced her with a hard look, daring her to argue.

She blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Then slowly nodded. “I will concede your point, doctor. However, the children’s situation notwithstanding, I am entitled to know about your other patients. What of the mothers still alive, the ones working in the brothels on Market Street?”

Shane held her stare. “I treat them, as well. And anyone else in need. I turn none away.”

A sound of outrage slipped from her lips. “Innocent children are one thing, but their mothers are quite another. You did not say in your advertisement that you care for…for…sinners.”

Her words were like a solid punch to his gut. How often had he heard similar accusations thrown at his own mother, all because she had chosen to be a wealthy man’s mistress?

Memories lurking below the surface bubbled forth, taunting him. Shane’s breath turned cold in his lungs under the assault.

Yes, his mother had been a sinner, but she had paid dearly for her mistakes. She’d died in shame, and there had been nothing Shane could do to stop the tragedy.

He’d been too young, too inexperienced, too—

Another unladylike sniff yanked him back to the present.

“You have nothing else to say to me, doctor?” she asked. “What is your defense for misleading me into thinking this was an ordinary nursing position?” The chill of her tone sat heavy in the room between them.

Shane fought to keep his resentment and anger from taking control of his reason. What had he been thinking, to allow this interview to continue so long?

He could never subject the Charity House children, their mothers, or any of his patients for that matter, to this woman and her…judgment.

He owed it to the memory of his own mother to find a compassionate nurse to assist him in his practice. Was guilt driving him to care for the disenfranchised? Guilt over failing the one woman who had sacrificed her life for him. Or was it true conviction that pushed him to care for the unwanted?

He wasn’t sure anymore. Nor was he convinced his motives mattered. His patients, and their care, had to come first.

With his mind made up, Shane rose from his chair and waited until the woman did the same. “Thank you for your time, Miss Marley. I am no longer in need of your services.”

He did not offer her his hand.

“You are dismissing me?” The woman had the nerve to look mutinous, as though she was being unfairly sent away. “But you need my assistance. You said so yourself at the beginning of this interview.”

With each breath he took, his patience wore thinner. “I think it is best we part ways at this juncture.”

Gasping, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin high in the air. “I’m your last candidate,” she said. “You have no one else.”

“I am confident God will provide.”

“You will regret this,” she warned.

Shane met her gaze with an unrelenting glare of his own. “I will not.”

He’d never spoken truer words. For although he knew things would get worse before they got better, he also knew he just needed a little more faith, a little more patience. All would work for the best.

With a loud huff, Miss Eugenia Marley skimmed her ice-edged gaze across him, turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Each angry step she took sounded like a hammer hitting unforgiving iron.

Shane stood stock-still, staring straight ahead. He barely flinched when she slammed the door behind her with a loud bang.

For several moments he remained unmoving, looking out the window facing the backyard of Charity House. The wind beat at the glass with an angry fist, sending an unrelenting howl past a crack between the pane and wood casing.

A perfect expression of his own frustration.

There was no one left to interview. Shane could only hope that—

No. He would not waste precious energy on hope. Nor would he worry.

He would trust.

Rolling his shoulders, Shane shoved a hand through his hair and shut his eyes. He let the tension drain from him for a single moment. And then another. And another still. Waiting until his mind cleared enough to focus on prayer.

At last, he whispered, “Lord, I cannot do this alone. Where man fails, I know You excel. I pray You bless my patients with a compassionate woman to assist us.”

Opening his eyes, Shane looked around the parlor room of Charity House. At first glance nobody would think this large and fancy mansion housed over forty children with nowhere else to go. Marc and Laney Dupree had created a home filled with compassion and caring, a refuge for the abandoned and unwanted boys and girls no other orphanage would touch.

The Duprees’ generosity of spirit humbled Shane and inspired him to expand his own medical practice in the same vein, a practice that was becoming unmanageable for one man.

Trust. He had to trust that God had a plan. The Lord would bring relief in His perfect time.

A deep clearing of a throat jerked Shane out of his reverie. Pivoting at the sound, he locked his gaze with Marc Dupree’s concerned expression. Dressed in a brocade vest and matching tie, with his dark hair immaculately combed and face clean shaven, Marc looked more like a banker than the fierce proprietor of an orphanage. But just like Charity House, Shane knew the other man had hidden depths, and was an example of complete integrity.

“Any success?” Marc asked.

Shane shook his head at his friend, and jammed his hands in his pockets. “It appears I’ve wasted another day with fruitless interviews.” He lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “Perhaps—”

A high-pitched scream cut off his words, followed by a round of incomprehensible shouting. Shane’s ears pricked when he heard one voice rise above the others. “Somebody find Dr. Shane. Hurry.”

Bella pivoted in several directions, searching desperately for the source of the panicked cries tumbling over one another.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she took a deep breath, stood immobile and listened intently. The shouts were coming from behind her.

She spun around and gasped at the sight before her. Chaos had erupted in the massive yard that backed up to her brother’s church.

Heart in her throat, Bella lurched forward. Stopped. Frowned.

Hadn’t she learned from her recent experience with William that it was better to assess a situation before rushing headlong into the unknown?

Dreadful memories of her last meeting with the viscount slammed through her mind, washing away her concentration. She shook her head violently and gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Bella knew she should find the source of the disaster unraveling in front of her. Instead, exhaustion, shame and anger at William’s betrayal threatened to steal her focus.

No. No, no, no. William would not invade her thoughts today.

Breathe, Bella, breathe.

One heartbeat passed.

And another.

By the third, Bella had taken in the stylish mansion at the opposite end of the yard. The fairy-tale backdrop was at odds with the trouble riding along the stiff mountain breeze. She counted over fifteen children of various sizes colliding into one another. Like waves crashing onto a beach, they plunged toward a common point—a child lying flat on his back.

Bella curled her fingers into fists. Where was the adult in charge?

Tossing her reticule to the ground, she sprinted toward the clump of frightened children. She’d barely taken two steps when a young girl of about ten years of age skidded to a stop at her side. The child had halted so abruptly that her shiny black pigtails swung forward and then landed with a soft thump on her narrow shoulders. Eyes wild and unfocused, her little cupid mouth worked quickly, but no sound came out.

Bella stooped to the girl’s height and touched her shoulder. “Deep breaths, sweetie. Take one at a time.”

Nodding, the girl gulped in large chunks of air.

“That’s it,” Bella said. “Now tell me what’s happened.”

“It’s…it’s…” She broke off and looked frantically around her.

Bella rolled her shoulders and prayed for patience. “It’s…” she prompted in what she hoped was a soothing tone.

“My. Brother. Ethan.” She pointed to the cluster of children knotted around a small boy lying on the ground. “He hurt his leg. You gotta get Dr. Shane for me.”

“Where?”

The girl cocked her head toward the mansion behind her. “Inside.”

Bella placed her palm on the child’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him.” Rising, she gave the girl’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You see to your brother. And whatever you do, make sure he doesn’t move until the doctor gets there.”

As though she hadn’t heard a word Bella said, the child stabbed her gaze back to her brother, over to the large house behind her, then back to her brother again.

“Did you hear me?” Bella asked.

The girl nodded. Gulped. Gulped again. Then finally—finally—she lifted her chin and lurched toward the injured boy.

Bella whirled in the direction of the house. At the same moment, two large men exited the backdoor in a run.

Bella faltered in her steps, froze. In her stunned state, she only had time for impressions. Both men were tall. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. One was dressed in expensive clothing that would make her flamboyant brother Tyler fall to his knees and weep with envy. The other wore a nondescript white shirt and black pants and carried a small black bag.

Dr. Shane.

The calm in his manner gave Bella such a sense of relief she pressed a hand to her throat and sighed. This man would make everything better.

The young girl changed directions and dashed to the bottom of the porch steps. “Ethan’s hurt, Dr. Shane.” She grasped his hand and tugged. “You gotta come quick.”

The sharp planes of his face tensed and his mouth pressed into a tight line. Yet, he carefully patted the girl on her back. “Don’t worry, Molly. I’ll take care of him.” His smooth baritone was pitched to the perfect level to instill calm. “You concentrate on finding your mother and father and then bring them here.”

“Right.” Teetering from one foot to the other, arms flailing, the child found her center at last and set off at a terrifying pace.

Focused on his task once more, the doctor lengthened his strides. With each step, his gaze shifted over the scene, taking note of every detail. He measured, assessed. Picked up the pace.

The other man followed hard on his heels.

Negotiating the final few feet, the doctor gently set two of the smaller children to one side and then dropped to his knees. “Marc,” he threw over his shoulder. “I need room.”

The fancy-dressed man went to work at once. With an authoritative tone and in-charge manner, he organized the children into two work groups. In perfect rhythm they shifted away from the injured boy, picked up toys, balls, shoes and began setting them into neat piles.

They were so purposeful in their task, so obedient, even as the nightmare churned around them, that Bella found herself gaping.

What sort of children were these? And then she remembered her brother’s many letters telling her about the unique orphanage that shared the church’s backyard. Charity Home. No. Charity House. Yes, that was the name.

Before she could take another look at the mansion-turned-orphanage, the doctor darted his gaze along the perimeter of the yard as though he was searching for something. Or someone. A helper, perhaps? Before Bella could offer her assistance, his eyes locked on to hers.

Snared in his powerful stare, her lungs constricted. Although she was too far away to make out the individual features of his face, the impact of all that intensity thrown her way had her stepping sharply back.

“You, there,” he said, his features twisting into a frown of concentration. “I need your assistance.”

Jolted into action, Bella yanked off one glove and then another. “Yes, of course.” By the time she’d crossed the yard, she’d tossed her hat to the ground, as well.

The children continued to chatter softly as they made room for the doctor to work. Their voices rose slightly as they began trooping one by one inside the large house but it was all background noise now. Never taking her attention off the boy, Bella knelt beside him and looked into his small, pale face.

Glassy eyes stared back at her. She swallowed down a gasp of surprise. He was so young, no more than four or five, with black curly hair and big brown eyes.

Lord, please ease this child’s pain. Use me as your instrument to erase his suffering.

Unsure what to do next, she waited for specific instructions from the doctor. When none came, a shiver of foreboding iced across her skin.

Cautiously, she lifted her gaze. And found herself staring into ocean-blue eyes the exact color as William’s.

Unwelcome images swirled through her mind like leaves on a deserted street. Incapable of grasping any one thought before it was replaced by another, her mind drained into a black void of nothingness.

Air clogged in her lungs.

Focus, Bella. Focus, focus, focus.

The doctor must have sensed her internal struggle because his eyes narrowed to inscrutable slits.

Bella quickly lowered her gaze back to the hurt boy. Little Ethan’s eyes were ringed with pain. Tears wavered on the edges of his lashes, but he gritted his teeth and released a shaky sigh.

“Oh, you brave little boy.” Bella touched his cheek softly then brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead with her fingertips. “You’re going to be fine. Just fine.”

As though her words gave him permission to give into the pain, the tears spilled from his eyes. “It…it hurts,” he gasped, his young voice shaking with anguish. “Real bad.”

Bella stroked her hand along his hairline. “I know it does, baby. But the doctor is going to make it better.”

Shutting out all thoughts but this small, helpless child, she boldly returned her gaze to the doctor’s face. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Shane?”

The sun chose that moment to break through a slit in the fast-moving clouds. Big. Hot. Illuminating.

The doctor stared at her for a long, tense moment. This time, Bella couldn’t look away. The bold, aristocratic angles of his cheekbones, the finely shaped nose and strong jaw covered with day-old stubble created a handsome portrait any leading man would covet.

Bella blinked.

Slowly—very, very slowly—Dr. Shane dropped his gaze to the child. “I’ll do my best, Ethan.”

The boy let out another shaky sigh. “I know.”

Dr. Shane cut his gaze back to Bella. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

His words were more statement than question, but there was an edge of doubt in his eyes. He was asking her to assist him, daring her perhaps, yet convinced she’d somehow let him down.

Would she? She had no training, no experience. Yet an injured boy needed her.

Lord, give me the courage to do what is needed.

Fortunately, the very moment she ended her prayer, Bella’s worries fell away. All that remained was a driving sense of purpose.

She swallowed back the last shreds of uncertainty and boldly held Dr. Shane’s gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

Chapter Two

Locked inside that startling amber gaze, Shane’s thoughts morphed into one undeniable realization. She hadn’t hesitated. The woman with the dark, golden curls, flawless features and refined British accent had defied his expectations. Instead of fleeing the unpleasantness of a child’s injury, she’d taken her place without question.

Could she be the answer to his prayer?

Wishful thinking at best. It was far too soon to determine if she had the character and necessary qualifications he required in an assistant.

Yet, even now, as she boldly held his gaze, conviction blazed in her eyes. What eyes. What depth of emotion.

His heart kicked hard against his ribs, warning him to beware of this woman, this stranger.

Lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, she blew out a slow, impatient breath. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

It took another few seconds for Shane to empty the overload of thoughts and impressions twining together in his mind. “Tell me where it hurts, Ethan.”

The little boy moaned in response, pain twisting his young face. “My…my leg.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Careful to keep his features bland, Shane flicked his gaze past the boy’s torso. Shane’s first reflex was to pull in a sharp breath. Instead, he detached. Separated emotion from logic. And focused.

The right pant leg had been torn at a jagged, vertical angle. Blood soaked the material, turning the light brown cloth nearly black.

“Don’t move, Ethan.” He flipped open his medical bag. “I have to cut away the material surrounding the wound.”

“Oh…okay.”

Shane’s chest pinched tight at the sound of the boy’s anguish. Oh, Lord, he prayed. Fill me with Your Spirit. Guide my hands and use me as Your instrument for healing.

With slow, careful movements, Shane set a firm grip on Ethan’s thigh, and then looked up at the woman again. “I need you to keep him calm for me.”

Eyes wide, she sank her teeth into her lower lip. “How?”

“Hold his hand. Speak to him.” Shane lifted a shoulder. “Whatever it takes.”

Nodding, she braided her fingers with the boy’s. “Ethan. I want you to concentrate on me.” She waited for him to turn his head toward her. “That’s it. The doctor is going to have a look at your injury. Nothing more.”

Ethan sucked in big gulps of air. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Me, too.”

Shane wanted to tell them both that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t make such a promise. Not yet.

“You talk funny,” Ethan announced. “I like it.”

Shane did, too. The proper British accent suited her.

“Why, thank you, Ethan. I like the way you talk, too.” Leaning toward the boy’s ear, she asked, “Do you have a favorite song?”

His dark brows pulled together in a frown of concentration. “I…lots… I don’t know…maybe… ‘Amazing Grace’?”

She smiled her approval. “I like that one, too.”

In a low, hushed tone, she began the hymn. Her soft, lilting voice was no piercing soprano as Shane half expected. Rather, she sang with a rich, smoky timbre. Pure velvety warmth. The perfect alto to calm the beast in any man. Or boy.

As Ethan’s leg relaxed under Shane’s touch, Shane found the restlessness inside him also stopping, pausing. Listening to the beautiful song.

Torn between shock and admiration, Shane shook his head and returned to his work. With quick snips, he cut away the tattered material and pulled it aside to reveal a long, nasty gash running down the side of Ethan’s leg. Thankfully, there was no swelling or misshapen bump to indicate a break.

As if on cue, the woman turned her gaze toward the injury, as well. To her credit, her singing never faltered. Nor did she flinch.

Astounding.

Shane had seen trained doctors fail to maintain their reactions so well. Stunned once again by her remarkable behavior, Shane sucked in a lungful of cold mountain air. Who was this woman? He was certain he’d never met her. Then why did he experience recognition when he looked into her eyes?

The sound of approaching footsteps cut off his thoughts.

Stabbing a glance over his shoulder, Shane barked out a set of orders for Marc. “I’m going to move Ethan to the kitchen. I’ll need water, clean rags and Laney’s sewing kit.”

Having experienced his share of injuries, Marc pivoted on his heel and flicked his wrist in the air. “I’m already on it.”

“Ethan, before we move you I want to make sure you haven’t broken anything.”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, sighed. “I’m ready.”

“This might hurt,” Shane warned.

At his words, the woman stopped singing. Shane silently willed her to resume her impromptu musical. Instead, she gently stroked the child’s hair along his forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a braver boy than you, and I’ve been all over the world.”

Ethan cracked open one eye and then the other. “You have? Wh…where?”

Her expression never changed nor did her rhythmic stroking of his hair. “Lots of places.”

“Tell me. Tell me,” he demanded with little-boy earnestness.

“Let’s see.” She tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Paris. London. Ro—”

“London?” Ethan tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down.

“I’ve always wanted to go to London,” he declared. “To see the Tower and all.”

Both grinning, they began a lengthy discussion of the infamous prison.

While Ethan babbled, Shane took the opportunity to check for broken bones. “Tell me if it hurts when I press on your leg.”

“What’s your name?” Ethan asked once he wound down his list of reasons for seeing the Tower of London.

Eager to hear her response himself, Shane turned an ear in their direction and ran his hand across Ethan’s leg.

“I’m Bella,” she declared.

Italian for beautiful. The name suited her. Shane moved his fingers along the boy’s kneecap.

“Bella,” Ethan said, his face scrunched in confusion. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

She released a tinkling laugh, the sound as clear and musical as her singing. “It’s short for Isabella.”

Holding back a grin at the look of adoration in the young boy’s eyes, Shane moved to the calf.

“Actually,” she said. “My full name is Isabella Constance O’Toole, but you can call me Bella.”

Ethan jerked.

Shane froze. “Did I hurt you?”

Ethan ignored the question. “O’Toole? That’s Pastor Beau’s last name.”

Laughing again, she gave the boy a dazzling smile. “I know. He’s my brother.”

Shane took a quick pull of air into his lungs. Of course she was the reverend’s sister. The similarity was hard to miss, now that he looked. They had the same golden hair, same tawny eyes, same memorable, aristocratic features. Perhaps that explained the odd sense of recognition every time their eyes met.

Shane finished his exam by searching for any obstruction or object lodged in the wound. Satisfied at last, he hopped to his feet and lifted the boy in his arms. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Don’t leave me, Miss Bella.” Struggling, Ethan reached out his hands to her.

“Not to worry, Ethan.” She rose and closed her fingers over his. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my priority right now.”

A burning throb knotted in Shane’s stomach. There was a time in his life when he would have given anything to hear those same words uttered directly at him.

Closing his mind to the unwelcome thought, Shane repositioned the boy in his arms. Without being told, Miss O’Toole grabbed his medical bag and stuffed the scissors inside.

The three of them entered the kitchen, Miss O’Toole leading the way. Shane shouldered the door shut behind them and then took a cursory look around.

The room was empty. Unusual for this time of day. But before Shane could speculate further, Marc entered with an armful of clean linens and set them on the center counter.

“Where’s your wife?” Shane asked.

Marc shot him an apologetic glance. “Laney and Mrs. Smythe went shopping for supplies. And Megan is upstairs organizing the children for naptime.” He began rolling up his sleeves. “That leaves me as your only helper at the moment.”

“And Miss Bella, too,” Ethan added.

“And Miss Bella, too,” Shane said without looking at the woman. He found looking at her distracted him.

Setting Ethan on the counter, he picked up a cloth off the pile Marc had set down.

Using the clean water out of the bucket, Shane washed the blood from Ethan’s wound, revealing good news and bad. The good news—the cut was indeed free of any debris. But the bad news was as disheartening as Shane had feared. The large gash would need stitching to close the wound.

A crash from upstairs had all three adults jumping. Marc shook his head in resignation. “I better check on that.” He turned to Miss O’Toole, who was standing slightly back but within eyeshot of Ethan. “Looks like you’ll have to assist Shane without me.”

She stepped forward, her gaze filled with fierce determination. “Of course. I’ll do whatever is needed.”

Marc smiled at her, a look of relief filling his features. “Thank you.” He leaned over Ethan, touched the boy’s arm. “Hang tough, little man. No doubt your parents will be here soon. In the meantime, Dr. Shane and Miss Bella are going to fix you up.”

Ethan’s lower lip quivered. “Okay.”

After sharing a quick look with Shane, Marc left the room.

Miss O’Toole smiled after him. “Nice man,” she muttered.

Shane swallowed back a surprising kick of jealousy and rummaged through Laney’s sewing kit for a needle and thread. “Can you sew, Miss O’Toole?”

His voice must have come out harder than he’d planned because she took a sharp step back, and eyed him with a healthy dose of wariness. “I’ve been sewing my own costumes since I was twelve.”

“Good. I’ll need you to stitch the wound for me.” He spoke over her shocked gasp. “You’ll make individual stitches, knotting and cutting them off one at a time before beginning the next.”

She slid a quick glance at the angry wound. Shivered. “Can’t you do it?”

If only he could. But he knew the procedure would be painful, painful enough that Ethan would need holding down. “I’ll have to…keep him still.”

Her eyes widened in instant understanding. “Oh.”

Shane closed his fingers over hers. The unexpected warmth that spread from her palm to his had him quickly releasing her. “I’ll talk you through it,” he promised.

She nodded, flexed the hand he’d just held. Nodded again. “All right, then.”

Ethan whimpered at her declaration. “Will it hurt, Miss Bella?”

Sighing, she trailed the back of her fingertips down his cheek. “A little, but I’ll work as quickly as possible.”

“Fine.” Ethan squeezed his eyes shut once again and took a deep, shaky breath. “Do what you must.” The adult words were completely at odds with the childish hiccupping that followed.

Shane passed the needle and thread to Miss O’Toole. With slow, deliberate movements, he placed one hand on Ethan’s shoulder and the other on the thigh of the boy’s injured leg. For now, he kept his touch light, and would only increase the pressure when needed.

After threading the needle, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on the boy’s head. The lingering scent of jasmine and sandalwood brought a vague memory dancing on the edges of Shane’s mind.

He shut it down.

Miss O’Toole met his gaze with honest trepidation in her eyes. No coyness. No pretend confidence.

Shane gave her a heartening smile. “Let’s begin.”

Bella’s hands might be shaking, her heart might be pounding faster than a series of half notes, but she was getting the job done as quickly as she could.

“Only one more to go,” the doctor encouraged. “You’re doing fine.”

She appreciated his support, more than he probably knew. This task went far beyond her capabilities. But prayer and this man’s precise instructions had gotten her through the worst.

Gritting her teeth, she tied off the final knot. “There.” She released her breath and placed her hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “All done.”

“That…” The little boy’s bottom lip quivered. “Wasn’t so bad.” The tear tracks down his face told a different story.

The realization that she’d hurt a child, in spite of the necessity, weighed heavy in her throat, making her breath come in ragged pants.

Seeking reinforcement, or at least a nod of approval, she glanced at the doctor. But he wasn’t paying attention to her. Head lowered, he blotted the remaining blood off Ethan’s skin and then wrapped a series of plasters and strips of linen over the wound. It wasn’t until he finished the task that he looked at her directly.

She sucked in a quick breath of air. The eyes that stared back at her were a deep, troubled blue.

What sort of inner strength did it take to administer necessary healing, even when it caused such pain? Certainly, it had to be a difficult life. Lonely, even. She felt a sudden urge to offer some show of compassion, give a kind word at least. But the doctor turned away and began cleaning up the mess they’d made.

Needing to do something, anything but stare at the man’s rigid back, she whisked Ethan into her arms. Holding him tightly against her, she paced to the back corner of the kitchen and began humming the aria from Tristan and Isolde.

Ethan sniffled, then wiped his nose on her shoulder. “That really hurt, Miss Bella.”

“I know, darling,” she said. “But you were very, very brave.”

He clung harder to her neck. “I don’t ever want you to do that again.”

A shudder ran through her and she tightened her hold. “Me neither. I’d rather—”

The door flew open with a bang. Bella spun toward the noise.

Two adults, one male, one female, spilled into the kitchen. The young girl from the yard trailed closely behind. Hidden in the shadows, Bella cast the three a quick, assessing look.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered and ominous-looking with his dark hair, dark eyes and dark-stubbled jaw. A tin star was pinned to his chest, making him look every bit the terrifying Wild West lawman of legend. The woman was smaller, softer, her coal-black hair and blue eyes a grown-up version of the girl clutching her hand.

Clearly, this was Ethan’s family. All three—mother, father, sister—wore identical expressions of concern.

Patting Ethan’s back, Bella moved out of the shadows.

The woman’s eyes landed on the boy first. “Oh, baby,” she cried. “My poor baby.”

Ethan twisted toward the voice. “Mama.”

He nearly launched himself out of Bella’s arms. The momentum from his struggles flung them both forward. Bella half handed, half dropped the squirming child into his mother’s ready embrace.

The lawman moved just as quickly as Ethan had. Jaw tight, gaze locked with his wife’s, he patted the boy on the back and whispered his own words of affection. For a tense moment, all thoughts and attention were on the sniffling little boy. Even his sister added her own soft words, patting the boy’s back like her father did.

Once Ethan’s sobs died down to sniffing hiccups, the father lowered his hand and leveled a hard glare on the doctor.

“What happened?”

His tone came out harsh, unrelenting, a father demanding a full accounting of his son’s accident. Clearly, this man protected his own.

In clipped, short sentences, the doctor sketched out the details of the boy’s injury. He ended with an explanation of Bella’s role in caring for the child. “Miss O’Toole was good enough to step forward and sew the wound shut.”

A pall of silence filled the room as all eyes turned toward her.

Unsure what to say, Bella simply stared back.

The little girl found her voice first. “Daddy, Daddy. She’s the one I told you about, the one in the church’s backyard.”

He raised a questioning brow at Bella.

A dozen responses ran through her mind, but none seemed quite right. Bella curled her fingertips into her skirt and swallowed. Facing this stern, upset father was far harder than walking on stage in front of a hostile theater audience.

She had no experience to draw from.

As though sensing her unease, Dr. Shane caught her eye and gave her a quick, approving smile. Her stomach performed a perfect roll, and she found the confidence to speak. “I was very proud of your son,” she said, careful to keep her voice from quivering. “He didn’t kick out once.”

Both parents smiled at her then. And to her surprise, she saw no judgment in their eyes. No condemnation. Just genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Miss—” The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Bella. Bella O’Toole.” At the instant recognition in their eyes, Bella opened her mouth to explain but Ethan beat her to it.

“She’s Pastor Beau’s sister,” he said with a look of pride in his eyes, as though he didn’t often know something the others didn’t.

At the news, the woman flashed a dazzling smile at Bella, a smile brilliant enough to reach the back row in any theater. “That’s lovely. We think very highly of your brother.”

“Yes, we do,” the husband agreed.

The look of admiration in all their eyes told its own story. Who would have thought her brother, the only member of her family who had denied his place on the stage, would become so popular, so well-loved without ever singing a note or reciting a fictional phrase.

Because he was Beau. A man of solid, Christian integrity who ministered to the lost and hurting—the shamed.

People like Bella herself.

A wave of melancholy crashed through her. She suddenly wanted—no, needed—to see her big brother. Now.

But she couldn’t leave yet. Could she?

Ethan’s father stepped forward, ending her quandary. “I’m Trey Scott.” He pointed to the woman standing closely behind him. “This is my wife, Katherine. You already know Ethan.” He swiveled halfway around and pulled the girl closer. “And this is our daughter, Molly.”

Tugging the child with him, he moved back to his wife’s side.

Bella’s heart ached at the picture the four made. Standing there like that, staring at her with such gratitude in their eyes, such peace and contentment in spite of Ethan’s injury, they made a beautiful family.

Sadness, sorrow and a bone-deep sense of loss overwhelmed her all at once. She had dreamed of starting her own family—with William. But the viscount was living that dream with another woman.

Bella’s heart broke a little more at the thought.

As though sensing her shift in mood, the little girl rushed forward and gripped Bella’s hand. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

Bella angled her head to stare into the guileless face. “I…I’m fine.”

But she lied. She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine since she’d escaped London and William’s ugly proposal.

Clicking her tongue, Katherine handed Ethan to her husband. The next thing Bella knew she was being pulled into the other woman’s embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for taking care of my son.”

Bella tried not to cling, but for one black moment she thought she might break down and cry. If she gave in to the urge, she might never stop.

At last, Katherine pushed back.

“I hope you will be staying in Denver awhile,” she said.

No, Bella thought, as she took a farther step away from all that suffocating kindness. She didn’t want to stay here with these nice people. She didn’t deserve to stay. She wanted to run. And never look back. But where would she go? There were already too many secrets, and too many regrets that had followed her from London. Surely, they would follow her wherever she went.

“I’m here for an extended stay,” she said once she had command over her voice again. Which, all things considered, was as truthful as she could be at the moment.

Katherine eyed her for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. I think you need to be here.”

She spoke with such certainty, such compassion, Bella’s hand flew to her throat. Her fingertips caught against the pendant William had given her, reminding her of her shame.

Why hadn’t she thrown away the necklace?

As soon as the question arose, the answer came. Because the heavy pendant was a reminder of how close she’d come to committing adultery and how far she’d walked from her faith. Until her sins were washed clean, if they were washed clean, she would continue to wear the incriminating necklace.

As though mocking her, the wind scratched at the window with clawlike strokes. Bella wanted to rush into the raw air, wanted to feel the hard slap of sobering cold against her skin.

Her breaths started coming shorter, faster, harder.

To her horror, and in front of these kind people, Bella stood on the brink of panic.

Dr. Shane cleared his throat, saving her from making a fool of herself. With extraordinary patience, he waited until he had everyone’s attention—including hers—before he began a litany of instructions needed to keep the boy’s wound clean and infection free.

Bella tried to listen. Truly, she tried. But all the pain of the last month, all the nerves of the last few moments tangled into a tight knot in the pit of her stomach.

At last, the doctor finished his list of instructions and then turned his attention to her. “Miss O’Toole.”

Bella bristled at the abrupt tone, ready to do battle, until she noted the hint of vulnerability in his gaze.

“Yes?”

He ran his hand through his hair. A gesture he clearly repeated often, if the messy edges were any indication. Instead of making him look foolish, the mussed hair added a hint of boyish charm to his otherwise too-handsome features.

“Miss O’Toole,” he repeated. “Am I to understand you are in Denver for an indefinite period of time?”

He sounded so formal. So distant and cold. But there was a hint of desperation in his tone, as well, and thus she found the courage to answer his question with complete honesty. “You are correct in your assumption.”

The sincerity in his gaze gave her renewed hope.

But then he spoke. And condemned her all over again. “I have a proposition for you. One I pray you will consider with the utmost care.”

Chapter Three

At last.

Shane had found a capable woman to assist him in his practice. But instead of feeling a sense of relief, a burst of unease pounded through his veins.

Miss O’Toole’s face had gone dead white. She remained frozen in place, staring at him with ill-cocealed horror.

Had she misunderstood his intentions?

Shane rubbed a finger over his temple and fought down a second wave of uncertainty.

Grabbing a quick breath of air, he began again. “What I meant to say is…thank you. You did a fine job with Ethan today.”

Her hand rose to her throat. She fiddled with the golden pendant around her neck while her gaze flitted around the kitchen, landing on nothing in particular.

Was she listening to him?

“We’re all very grateful,” Trey added with one of his rare smiles directed solely at her.

Unfortunately, the magnanimous gesture was lost on Miss O’Toole. She blinked rapidly now, sending the first glitter of tears wiggling along her long, spiky lashes.

Confused and terrified. Those were the words that came to mind as Shane tried to unravel her odd reaction to his request.

In truth, he sympathized.

He was battling his own sense of bewilderment, as though he, too, was on the cusp of diving into something beautiful and terrible.

“I haven’t seen that steady of a hand in a long time,” he continued. “You have a gift, Miss O’Toole.”

Her shoulders stiffened at his compliment and some unknown emotion flashed in her eyes. Discomfort? Pleasure? Something else entirely? “I…I do?”

“Yes.”

“I…” She lifted her chin, pulled in a composing breath. “Thank you.”

Her uncertain manner was replaced by a quiet dignity.

Something inside Shane threatened to snap.

How could he want to protect the woman one moment and wish to rest in her strength the next?

Rest in her strength?

For a moment, the foundation of everything Shane thought rocked under him. He was a healer, called by God to treat the sick, a man others turned to in time of need. He did not rely on anyone.

No human, at any rate. Only the divine.

Then again, he’d never met a woman who made him want to release some of his tight control, to admit he might be weary of standing helplessly by as his patients struggled with illnesses that far too often resulted in death.

For the first time in his life, a woman—a fancy, overdressed, far too beautiful stranger—made Shane want to share a little of his burdens with another person.

What did that say about him? About his faith in God as his only guide and one true hope?

“Miss O’Toole, I have an offer I would like to present you, a job offer,” he hastened to add when she sucked in her breath a second time at his words. “What I ask is highly respectable.”

Glancing from Trey’s amused expression to Katherine’s pitiful shaking of her head, Shane shifted his stance and continued. “Would you consider working as my assistant?”

Instead of answering him, she looked at Katherine who tossed her palms in the air and shrugged. The gesture seemed to say: who can understand what men really want from us women?

They shared a smile of feminine understanding. Or maybe it was a grimace. Either way, a thousand words passed between them, words no mere man could hope to understand.

There was another long pause, during which Miss O’Toole released a sigh and turned back.

“You want me to be your assistant, nothing else?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Shane shoved a hand through his hair. “Nothing else, I assure you.”

She blinked at him, opened her mouth, closed it again. And so the staring began again.

What was wrong with the woman?

Clearing his throat, Trey resettled Ethan in his arms and glanced at his wife. “I think we should leave these two to their discussion.”

The marshal’s suggestion was innocent enough, but the casual alertness of his posture said he’d been listening to every word spoken, and a few unspoken, as well.

Nodding, Katherine murmured something Shane didn’t quite catch before she turned to Molly. “Come on, Moll.” She plucked one of her daughter’s pigtails. “Let’s get Ethan home and in bed.”

“But it’s still daylight,” the little boy whined as he struggled in his father’s arms. “I want to stay and play with the kids.”

Kicking with remarkable strength, his face was a contorted mixture of childish rebellion and youthful disappointment.

“You’ve had a bad time of it, baby.” Katherine reached out in silent command to her husband. Trey handed the boy over with the patience of a man used to obliging his wife’s wishes.

As they made the exchange, Shane marveled at the silent harmony between Trey and Katherine Scott. The couple had created a happy, tight-knit family out of impossible odds. If Shane ever doubted God’s ability to heal the wounded and bring about good from tragedy, all he had to do was look at this unified family for proof.

“Please, let me stay.” Ethan’s voice squeaked along the edge of a loud sob.

“You need to rest for a while, little man,” Trey said in a placating tone with a firm hand on the boy’s back. “Then we’ll see how you feel.”

He shot his wife a challenging look over Ethan’s head. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“We’ll discuss it, after his nap,” she said, her voice no less formidable for its soft tone.

A stalemate began.

But as was often the case, the ruthless lawman who could intimidate murdering outlaws without flinching capitulated under his wife’s unyielding stare. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Katherine gave her husband a pleased smile. “I knew you’d see things my way.”

“What can I say?” Trey returned the look with another long, intent stare. “I’m an accommodating man.”

She giggled. She actually giggled. This, from the same woman who ruled her schoolroom with iron-clad structure.

Shane tried not to gape.

Molly rolled her gaze to the ceiling and groaned.

Silently agreeing with the girl, Shane handed Trey a roll of linen bandages. “Use these to wrap the leg once you’ve cleaned his wound in the morning. I’ll be by to check on him in the afternoon.”

“Right.”

Before the Scott family filed out, Miss O’Toole summoned a brisk air of confidence and said, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, as well.”

“We will,” Trey answered for them all. “And thank you again, Miss O’Toole. For everything.” One side of his mouth kicked up and he gave her a gallant bow, one more suited for a ballroom back east than a well-worn kitchen.

“It was my pleasure.” She dropped her gaze to Molly, touched the girl’s shoulder. “You were very brave today.”

The little girl flushed. “He’s my brother.”

Miss O’Toole squeezed the child’s shoulder in understanding then dropped her hand. Sighing, she walked over to Ethan and rubbed his back. There was such tenderness in her hands, such sweetness in her smile Shane found himself as riveted as Ethan appeared to be.

“Will you come see me, too, Miss Bella?” the boy asked. “With Dr. Shane?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Katherine patted Ethan’s bottom. “All right, folks, enough stalling. Let’s go.” She touched Bella’s arm and smiled. “Thank you again.”

One by one the Scott family trooped out the backdoor with Ethan waving enthusiastically over his mother’s head.

Once the door banged shut, Shane was far too aware of the silence as Miss O’Toole turned back to face him.

Their gazes locked with a force that nearly flattened him. In that moment, he forgot about steady hands and compassionate hearts and all the other reasons he’d decided Miss O’Toole would do nicely in the role of assistant.

He had one clear goal now: to convince this woman to work with him, by his side, for as long as possible.

What if she says no?

Desperation at the thought came so strong, so quick, Shane staggered back a step.

Cocking her head, Miss O’Toole pulled her eyebrows into a delicate frown. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re asking of me.”

Shane started forward, hesitated, shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s quite simple. My practice is growing faster than I can keep up. I’m in need of someone to assist me in—”

“No, no.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture. “I understand that part. What I don’t quite fathom is why me?”

A ripple of unease slipped down his throat. Blunt honesty was the only way now. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I started this practice to provide medical care for the women and children no other doctor would touch. It’s—”

“Yes, yes, my brother told me about Charity House and the unique children living here. I also know some aren’t actually orphans.” Her chin lifted. “I have a good idea of the sort of patients you see.”

He ignored how the sunlight streaming in from the window shone off her hair, how it twinkled in her gingerbread eyes. But he could not ignore the relief he experienced at her words. She knew all about Charity House, every squalid detail. And yet, she wasn’t running in the opposite direction.

This could only be an answer to prayer.

Thank You, Lord.

“Life is difficult for the defenseless ones in this world,” he said. “Regardless of life choices, everyone deserves medical care.”

“All the more reason to make sure you hire the right person.”

“I believe I am.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I still don’t understand why you want me?”

Her voice was steady, but there was something in her gaze that told him his answer was far more important than merely convincing her she was the right person for the temporary position.

She needed reassurance.

He wouldn’t have thought that of her. But whatever secret she harbored—and yes, she held a dark secret in her heart—it had destroyed a portion of her confidence.

A small, still voice told him to go forth with faith. “Perhaps I don’t know everything about you, but remember I witnessed you in action today. You never hesitated, you followed directions precisely. You’re Pastor O’Toole’s sister. And you—”

Before he could expand further, the backdoor swung open and in strode the very man he’d just mentioned.

Unfortunately, Reverend Beauregard O’Toole’s face was twisted in alarm. “Where is she?” he demanded, drilling his gaze into Shane. “I heard my sister is here but I don’t believe it.”

With each word the preacher spoke Miss O’Toole took a step back, nearly blending into the shadows of the outer edges of the kitchen. Her tawny eyes became like soiled glass, completely concealing her emotions.

With growing curiosity, Shane watched her odd retreat.

Following Shane’s gaze with his own, Beau swung around and caught sight of his sister. “Bella?” He moved in her direction. “Bella! It is you.”

“Beau.” She took a tentative step forward, two back, another forward, then rushed across the kitchen floor and flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Beau. I’ve missed you.”

Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he patted her back much like a parent would a child. “Ah, Bella,” he said. “It’s been too long.”

She sniffed, buried her face against his shoulder.

After countless seconds, Beau pulled back and very slowly, very carefully set her away from him. He studied her face a moment longer, then frowned. “What’s happened?”

She gripped the pendant around her neck and tapped her collarbone lightly with her fist. “Nothing’s happened,” she said, her voice nonchalant. Too nonchalant.

Beau folded his arms over his chest. “Try again, little sister.”

She dropped her gaze to her toes and dug the tip of her boot into a slat in the wood floor. “Can’t a girl visit her brother and meet his new wife without there being a reason?”

Shane sighed. Whatever had brought Bella O’Toole to Denver she wasn’t going to share the details with her brother anytime soon. Pity, that. Shane knew from personal experience the unholy tragedies that grew out of hidden secrets.

“No, Bella.” Beau gently clutched his sister by the shoulders. “A woman does not travel halfway around the world to see her brother without a reason. Not when she’s on tour in Europe.” He placed a finger under her chin and applied pressure. “Not when she’s been given the role of a lifetime.”

Chin up, she glanced desperately at Shane out of the corners of her eyes. He lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. In return, her face took on a look of feminine determination, the personification of “watch this.”

Shane’s stomach did a fast roll.

Unconsciously regal, she crossed the kitchen and stood next to Shane, shoulder to shoulder, in a show of solidarity. Take that big brother, her stance said. It’s us against you.

Shane’s stomach did another, faster roll.

Right. He was in the thick of it now, caught in the middle of a sibling squabble full of dynamics he didn’t fully understand.

Miss O’Toole slid him a quicksilver grin, took a deep breath.

Shane braced for impact.

“As of today,” she said on a breezy whisper, turning those remarkable eyes onto her brother. “I no longer sing opera.”

The dramatic lilt of her voice made Shane visibly cringe. A scene was in the making.

Thankfully, as a member of a famous acting family, Beauregard O’Toole had seen his share of female theatrics. And like any big brother worth his salt, he didn’t seem overly impressed with his sister’s performance.

“Just like that. No more opera.” His tone flattened. “One day in Denver and you quit your life’s calling.”

With elegant movements, she reached out, took a deep breath and smoothed a loose strand of hair off her face. “Who said singing opera is my life’s calling?” she asked.

Beau’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You did. In every letter you’ve written since you turned twelve years old.”

Ah, the rare valid point in the midst of female illogic. A point, Shane noted, that Miss O’Toole completely disregarded with an unladylike sniff. “As of today,” she wrapped her arm through Shane’s, “I’m a nurse.”

Beau sucked in a breath. “You’re a what?”

“A. Nurse,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Assistant, actually,” Shane muttered.

Both O’Tooles glared at him.

“There’s a difference,” Shane pointed out, his voice sounding defensive even to his own ears. “A rather large difference,” he added with more confidence as he untangled his arm from Miss O’Toole’s.

“You hired Bella?” Beau’s gaze cut through Shane like a scalpel. “Have you gone mad?”

Shane glanced at the woman standing beside him, noted the hidden desperation behind her false bravado. For whatever reason, she needed this job—he knew it as sure as he knew his own name—and Shane Bartlett was a fool for a woman in need.

No matter what that meant to his friendship with Beau, no matter how ill-thought out the idea was, Shane was going to hire Bella O’Toole as his new assistant.

“Apparently.” He blew out a frustrated hiss. “Insanity is indeed one of my more stellar traits.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.