Loving Bella. Renee Ryan

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.

      The realization that she’d hurt a child, in spite of the necessity, weighed heavy in her throat, making her breath come in ragged pants.

      Seeking reinforcement, or at least a nod of approval, she glanced at the doctor. But he wasn’t paying attention to her. Head lowered, he blotted the remaining blood off Ethan’s skin and then wrapped a series of plasters and strips of linen over the wound. It wasn’t until he finished the task that he looked at her directly.

      She sucked in a quick breath of air. The eyes that stared back at her were a deep, troubled blue.

      What sort of inner strength did it take to administer necessary healing, even when it caused such pain? Certainly, it had to be a difficult life. Lonely, even. She felt a sudden urge to offer some show of compassion, give a kind word at least. But the doctor turned away and began cleaning up the mess they’d made.

      Needing to do something, anything but stare at the man’s rigid back, she whisked Ethan into her arms. Holding him tightly against her, she paced to the back corner of the kitchen and began humming the aria from Tristan and Isolde.

      Ethan sniffled, then wiped his nose on her shoulder. “That really hurt, Miss Bella.”

      “I know, darling,” she said. “But you were very, very brave.”

      He clung harder to her neck. “I don’t ever want you to do that again.”

      A shudder ran through her and she tightened her hold. “Me neither. I’d rather—”

      The door flew open with a bang. Bella spun toward the noise.

      Two adults, one male, one female, spilled into the kitchen. The young girl from the yard trailed closely behind. Hidden in the shadows, Bella cast the three a quick, assessing look.

      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