Restless Hearts. Marta Perry

me.”

      “You can’t be sure of that.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “I’d be glad to help you find them. Or maybe that police officer you met could help.”

      “No. Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to find them.”

      Because they rejected your mother? The small voice in the back of her mind was persistent. Or because you’re afraid they might reject you?

      “If that’s what you want—” Nolie began, but her words were interrupted by a wail from downstairs. “Uh-oh.” She smiled. “Sounds like trouble. That music video keeps her happy for a half hour, but then only Mommy will do. All my years of taking care of animals didn’t prepare me for the demands of one small human.”

      “And you love it.” Fiona picked up her corduroy jacket and handbag. “Go ahead, take care of little Siobhan. I’m fine, really.”

      Nolie nodded. “If you ever want to talk—”

      “Thanks. I’m okay.”

      The wails soared in pitch, and Nolie spun and trotted down the steps. “Mommy’s coming. It’s all right.”

      Fiona followed more slowly. The maternal love in Nolie’s face was practically incandescent. Seeing that when it happened for the first time was one of the best rewards of being a midwife. Once her practice got on its feet, she’d have that opportunity again and again.

      She was off to take possession of her new house, the first step toward her new life.

      Lord, please bless this new beginning. Help me not to dwell on the difficulties of the past, but only on the promises of the future.

      Chapter Two

      When no one answered his knock at the old Landers house, Ted pulled open the screen door and stepped into the hallway, glancing around. Come to think of it, he’d have to start calling this the Flanagan place. Or Flanagan clinic, maybe. Rumor had it she was starting a midwife practice here.

      Whatever she was doing, Ms. Flanagan really shouldn’t leave her door standing open that way. Then he noticed that the latch had come loose when he pulled on the screen door, probably one of hundreds of little things to be fixed.

      “Ms. Flanagan?”

      The two large rooms on either side of the central hallway were empty, except for a few odds and ends of furniture left by the last inhabitants. He could see what attracted the woman to the house—under the dust and neglect were beautiful hardwood floors, and the rooms were graciously proportioned, with bay windows looking out toward the street.

      “Hello, is anyone here?”

      A muffled call answered him from somewhere upstairs. Taking that for an invitation, he started up the staircase, running his hand along the curving banister. An oval stained-glass window on the landing sent a pattern of color onto the faded linoleum someone had been foolish enough to put over those beautiful stairs.

      Sunlight poured through the tall window at one end of the center of the second floor landing. He paused, blinking at the sight of a rickety stepladder under what had to be the opening to the attic. A pair of sneakered feet balanced on the very top. Nothing else was visible of Fiona but a pair of trim legs in dust-streaked jeans.

      The stepladder wobbled dangerously, and he grabbed it, steadying it with both hands. “What on earth are you doing up there? Trying to break a leg?”

      As soon as the words were out, he realized that was more or less what he’d said that first night when he’d spotted her. Now, at least, she owned the house, but that was no excuse for endangering herself.

      Fiona poked her head down from the dark rectangle of the attic opening, looking disheveled and annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

      “At the moment, I’m keeping this ladder from collapsing under you.”

      “It’s perfectly fine.” Her weight shifted, and the ladder swayed.

      He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let go?”

      Her lips clamped together. “No.” She seemed to force the word out. Then, hands braced on the edge of the opening, she started lowering herself.

      He caught her elbows and lifted her the rest of the way to the floor. The stepladder, relieved, collapsed in a heap on the dusty floorboards.

      For a moment Fiona looked as if she’d like to kick the recalcitrant ladder, but then she managed a rueful smile. “Much as I hate to admit it, it looks as if you’re right.”

      “I’ll find something sturdy to stand on and close that for you. No problem.”

      “I’d say I don’t need help, but that would just convince you I’m totally irrational.” The smile warmed a bit, and her eyebrows lifted. “Did you come for something in particular?”

      “Just being neighborly,” he said mildly. He glanced around, spotting a solid-looking chair in the nearest room, and hauled it over. Fiona wouldn’t be able to reach the ceiling from it, but he could.

      He climbed onto the chair, reached up and eased the hatch back into place. It set off a puff of dust as it settled into its groove. He stepped back to the floor.

      Fiona, apparently aware of how dirty she was, attempted to transfer the dust from her hands to her jeans, not looking at him. “Thank you.”

      “Any time.”

      That fierce independence of hers amused him, but it also made him wonder what was behind it. If she couldn’t accept a little nosy neighborliness, she’d never fit in here. He’d had to get used to that again when he came back.

      She straightened. “I’m glad this isn’t an official call. As you can see, I’m rather busy just now.”

      “Looking over your new purchase from top to bottom,” he agreed. The girls he’d grown up with had had plenty of spirit, giving as good as they got, but Fiona was different. Defensive, almost, and the cop part of his mind wondered what she had to be defensive about.

      “It’s a beautiful house, really. It’s just been neglected.” Her smile flickered, and he thought her pride of ownership was getting the better of her wariness with him. “Once I have the renovations done, you won’t know it’s the same place.”

      “What do you have in mind to do?” He was happy to keep her talking about the house, because it seemed to put her at ease. Since she was moving in, she was part of his responsibility, and he liked to stay on friendly terms with folks.

      “My living quarters will be up here.” She gestured. “At first I thought I’d have to install a kitchen on this floor, but there’s actually a back staircase that leads down to the current kitchen, so I can just use that.”

      “A remnant from the days when people had servants, I guess. What happens downstairs?”

      “The old parlor will make a perfect waiting room.” She started down the steps, gesturing as she talked, and he followed. “The other rooms will have to be partitioned to make an exam room and an office, maybe space for classes. The birthing clinic where I worked in San Francisco ran a lot of childbirth classes, but I don’t know how much demand there will be here.”

      He shrugged, coming down the last step to stand beside her in the hall. “You may be surprised. Plenty of women among the Plain People prefer home births and might enjoy the classes. You should be able to build a good practice, if you stay.”

      “If?” Her eyebrows shot up at his words. “I’m not going to all this trouble with the intent of leaving. Why would you say that?”

      He shrugged. “You wouldn’t wonder if you knew how this state has been losing medical personnel to other places. We’ve seen too much coming and going, mostly going, to take anything for granted. Folks just start to rely on someone and then find they’ve moved