Loving Bella. Renee Ryan

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      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.”

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