by Renee Ryan
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 sca
red.”
“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.
