by Renee Ryan
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.”
Chapter Four
Alone at last in her brother’s house, belongings long since stowed in the guest bedroom, Bella stood in the small, beautifully decorated parlor. Ignoring the lace curtains, the rose-print wallpaper and stylish furniture, she placed her hand on the windowpane, leaned her forehead on the cool glass and simply looked at the scenery beyond.
The slow ticking from the clock on the mantel soothed her nerves. She found herself slowing her breathing to match the rhythmic cadence.
She hadn’t expected to find Beau settled in the middle of a
wealthy neighborhood. He’d written in great detail of his decision to build a church that would be directly connected to an orphanage for prostitutes’ mistakes. He’d told of his wife’s support, both financial and emotional, throughout the entire building project. But his letters had failed to do justice to the fairy-tale world in which they’d settled.
And not just the large homes of expensive brick, manicured lawns and attention to detail.
Bella had never seen a sky so blue. So clear.
The mountains in the distance marched in a row, looking like sentinels on duty, safeguarding all who moved in their shadows. Puffy white clouds weaved along the top peaks, creating a sheer downy blanket of added beauty.
Bringing her gaze closer to Beau’s home, she took in trees of all shapes and sizes lining the lane between the church and Charity House’s front door. The afternoon breeze swirled fallen leaves into a tapestry of shifting shapes and rich colors of autumn.
Switching to the window on her right, Bella eyed the yard that connected the church to Charity House. The children were at play again. Now that the drama of Ethan’s injury was hours old, the fun had resumed.
Some of the more active boys played a hearty game of tag. Others climbed trees. Some of the girls sat in a small group, tying miniature bonnets on their dolls’ heads. All in all, the children looked healthy, happy, and well-cared for.
But Bella had seen the anguish in their eyes, the sense of aloneness that they all shared. She had seen the look that both connected them to one another and yet kept them painfully separate. There was an underlying sense of dishonor and disconnection that they didn’t think anyone else could understand.
Oh, but Bella understood all too well. She knew the loneliness that was brought on by shame, the inability to connect to people she’d once adored. Even her brother seemed a foreigner to her now. He was too much a man of Christian integrity. Surely he would see through her facade if she allowed him to look too closely. So she wouldn’t allow him to look. Ever.
The sound of approaching footsteps halted her thoughts. The hint of authority in the steps told her Beau had returned for round three of their argument.
Bella took a fortifying pull of air into her lungs as her brother joined her.
She pointed to his wrinkled forehead. “If you don’t watch out, that line will become permanent.”
His scowl deepened. “You can’t seriously be considering Shane’s offer.”
Bella scrunched her face in an identical expression and tried to ignore the fact that her brother looked well. The brute. Happy, too. The hint of contentment in his gold eyes belied his abrupt words with her, as though his shock and anger could do nothing to dispel the joy that was a part of his life, a part of who he was in Christ.
Why did Beau have to be so…good?
“Help me to understand, Bella.” He scratched his chin in frustration. “Why do you want to do this? And why now?”
She didn’t like his tone, but it was the familiar clenched jaw and narrowed eyes that had her bristling. It was the same expression all her brothers gave her when they were about to lecture her over some serious—in their mind only—offense.
Well, she might be the youngest of six. And the only female. But she wasn’t a child anymore. “Beauregard O’Toole, you might be older by nine years, and you might have an education from a renowned university and equally impressive seminary, but that does not make you an expert on everything.”
“I don’t need to be an expert to know you aren’t a trained nurse. And, I might also point out, that whine in your voice makes you sound twelve. Hardly the way to go about convincing me of your maturity.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Me?”
She made a face at him. “Dr. Shane only needs me on a temporary basis. He’s not even paying me.”
“He’s what?”
“Oh, he offered,” she said, careful to keep her voice from quivering. “But I refused to hear of it. I don’t need the money.”
Which had only been a portion of the reason for her refusing the man’s offer of a salary. The true reason had been connected to her sense of shame, her sin. Perhaps by volunteering her services for free she could do penance for her blunder with William.
William. So much regret there. Such humiliation. Even now, a month after their disastrous last meeting, she inwardly recoiled at how far she’d walked away from her Christian upbringing. How close she’d come to destroying a family.
How had she been so foolish?
Lord, how do I get past this? How do I make atonement?
Beau touched her arm. “Bella, what aren’t you telling me?”
She lowered her gaze. What would he think if he knew the real reason she’d fled London? “Beau, don’t. Please don’t ask.”
Thankfully, Hannah, Beau’s wife, walked into the room with the sort of grace any lead actress would envy. Even knowing of her renown, Bella was a little awes-truck at the woman’s mere presence. She was…stunning. Unforgettable.
It was no wonder she had earned enough prominence on the stage and consequently sufficient money to walk away a wealthy woman after only five years of treading the boards.
With a swoop, her startling green gaze landed on her husband for only a second before swiveling back to Bella. “Beauregard, introduce me to your sister.”
He blew out a frustrated breath, but then walked over to his wife and covered her hands with his. For a brief moment, the two shared a connection that went beyond words, similar to the one Bella had seen pass between Trey and Katherine Scott.
And similar to the Scotts, these two were not only in love they actually seemed to like each other. Bella had never thought marriage could include both love and affection, at least not outside her parents’ marriage. She’d always assumed Patience and Reginald O’Toole had been lucky.
Luckier, at least, than she would ever be.
Perhaps that was why she had been so willing to believe William’s lies. To convince herself what they had was love. Oh, there had been happiness between them, but also an inexplicable awkwardness. Pain, but hope, as well. But there had never truly been ease between them. And certainly nothing warm.
She’d never realized that until now.
And she felt more the fool because of it.
Smiling, Beau kissed his wife on the nose then turned back to Bella. Unfortunately, his worried scowl returned as soon as he spoke again. “Hannah, I would like you to meet Isabella Constance O’Toole, my baby sister.”
“Younger sister,” Bella corrected.
Hannah gave her a serene smile. Could anyone look lovelier? She was outwardly beautiful, yes, with her waterfall of raven curls, creamy skin and big green eyes, but this woman also had an internal light that was impossible to miss. The Spirit dwelling within her made her radiant. And like Katherine Scott, Hannah had no qualms over tugging Bella into a tight embrace.
Panic gnawed at her but Bella tried not to struggle free.
Why were the women connected with Charity House so kind? So understanding?
Bella wanted to hate them both. She needed to hate them both. For their inner goodness, if nothing else. In stark comparison to Hannah and Katherine, Bella felt dirty.
And yet, she yearned. Yearned for something she’d never had in her life. She yearned for sisters.
As though reading her mind, Hannah whispered in her ear. “Welcome, sister.”
Bella forced down a sob and tried to pull away.
Hannah’s grip tightened. “Whatever pain you’re running from, I pray we can offer you a safe haven in which to heal.”
Bella quit fighting.
How did Hannah know of her troubles? Had Beau used his preacher eyes to see into her sin and thus alerted his wife?
As ridiculous as the notion seemed, Bella pulled away from Hannah to check for sure. Looking into the other woman’s uncomplicated gaze, Bella realized Beau had said nothing. Hannah knew Bella had been scarred because Hannah was a woman.
And just like that, Bella had a sister.
The next morning, a vicious wind thrashed off the mountains in bone-chilling gusts. Shane hunched his shoulders against the driving cold and hurried down Market Street toward the rented rooms that housed his medical practice.
A sharp gust kicked up, whipping Shane’s coat tightly around him. Blowing into his cupped palms, he quickened his pace.
Autumn mornings like these, when the temperature dropped, reminded him that living in Colorado came with a cost. Given the alternative, Shane was comfortable with his choice.
Squinting toward the ground, he maneuvered around piles of frozen mud and crossed the threshold of 35 Market Street.
With a solid yank, he shut the door behind him. Warm air enveloped him at once, while outside the wind battered angry fists against the building.
As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the inky stillness of the room, Shane took a deep breath. The sharp scent of iodine filled his lungs. He was in his world now, a world of medicine and science, his personal sanctum of healing.
His vision cleared at last, and he moved farther into the room. With each step his heels clicked across the wooden floor, the sound echoing off the walls. The weak morning sun speared thin fingers of light along his path, providing enough illumination for Shane to work.
Preparing for a long day of visitations, he opened his portable medical bag and took a quick accounting of his supplies. Setting aside the heating iron and tourniquet, he checked the number of sponges and plasters. As he expected after Ethan’s accident, Shane was low on bandages. He would order more from the medical supplier in New Brunswick.
Satisfied with his inventory, he replaced the instruments he’d cleaned last night into the small surgery box that was housed inside the larger bag. Stethoscope, scissors, lance, forceps and cutting knife. All necessary tools of his trade.
Clasping the bag shut, Shane circled his gaze around his domain. The room was small, sparse, but serviceable enough.
One day, God willing, he would expand to a larger building.
For now, he had the basics.
A long table positioned in the middle of the room cut his realm in half. Shelves containing books and vials of medicines in powder, liquid and pill form lined the south wall. Two cots sat empty on the north end of the room. The linens would need changing, the wool blankets and pillows airing out. A simple enough task for his new assistant.
