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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.
