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,”
