Loving Bella Read online

  “I wanted to make sure before I told him,” Hannah said.

  Bella felt very young and very inexperienced, but if she was going to work as a doctor’s assistant she better know such things. “How…how do you make sure?”

  With a shaky hand, Hannah shoved the hair off her face, glanced at the full bedpan near Mavis’s crossed feet. “I think it’s safe to say God has blessed us with child.”

  “Oh, Hannah. I’m so happy for you.”

  Bella reached out and smoothed her fingers across her sister-in-law’s forehead. She wanted to connect with this woman, to become her friend, as well as her sister, but something in Bella refused to soften, something dark warned her to keep her distance. “When is the blessed day?” she asked in a whisper.

  “In about seven months.”

  Seven months. So soon. So far away.

  “Will you tell Beau soon?”

  A smile played at the edges of Hannah’s lips. “As soon as he returns from his errand in town.”

  “He’ll be pleased,” Mavis announced, lifting her chin to a jaunty, I-know-these-things angle.

  “Yes. Yes, he will.” Hannah sat up again, blinked several times. Slowly, the color returned to her cheeks.

  Bella sighed at the sight of Beau’s pregnant wife. Bittersweet tears welled in her own eyes. She dashed them away with a single swipe. But, truthfully, she’d rarely seen such a look of contentment on another woman’s face, had never thought such joy possible.

  Surely, she wasn’t jealous was she?

  “This is truly a blessing from God,” Mavis said with such conviction, Bella gave the older woman a closer inspection. She didn’t look like a believing Christian. In truth, she had the hard, craggy exterior of someone who had lived a difficult life.

  Ah, but Bella had already learned a person’s exterior was no indication of the inner heart.

  “It is a blessing.” Hannah squeezed Mavis’s hand. “And I pray, God willing, our child looks just like my husband.”

  Bella sighed again. No matter which parent it took after, the child would be beautiful. And not to mention he, or she, would be the first grandchild in the O’Toole family.

  Bella’s parents would want to know the happy news.

  They would want to be present for the child’s birth. And if Bella was still living in Denver, there would be questions. More like a full-blown interrogation.

  Oh, no. No, no, no. Bella could bear anything but one of her mother’s “concerned” lectures, the ones that always began with, “If you would have listened to me in the first place.”

  That settled it, then. Bella would be long departed before her parents arrived. She had less than seven months to figure out her next step.

  When the time came, she’d be glad to go. She bit down on her lip.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Why did she feel the loss already? Why did she sense leaving this place, this town, these people would bring on far more regret than anything she’d left behind in London?

  Shane waited for his new assistant in the O’Toole’s front parlor. A quick glance around the tiny room revealed Hannah’s handiwork. She’d decorated with an overabundance of frills and lace. But instead of feeling too feminine, the fancy decor created a warm, comforting sense of home.

  At ten, he’d tried to create something similar for his mother. But his efforts had been pitiful, a small lace doily the only thing he could afford to give his mother the day she’d turned thirty, the first of many birthdays Peter Ford had missed.

  Forcing down a surge of restlessness, Shane took another, slower study of the room. Framed photographs of the famous O’Tooles covered all four green walls. Playbills, clippings and newspaper reviews filled two entire tables, all clear evidence that Beau and Hannah O’Toole cared deeply for their relatives.

  What would it be like, Shane wondered, to be a member of such a large and loving family?

  A dark, wistful longing he hadn’t experienced since childhood speared through his heart, leaving a vague sense of dissatisfaction. Disgusted with himself—with the unexpected emotion—Shane remained very still and forced his mind clear.

  He had no room in his life for dreams abandoned years ago. His patients depended on his sole dedication to the science of medicine. Logic, reason and hard work, yes, those were the three fundamentals of his life.

  The distant sound of light, airy footsteps hailed Miss O’Toole’s impending entrance. Shane shook himself out of his troubled musings. By the time his assistant joined him, he had successfully buried all thought, save one. They had a busy day ahead of them.

  “Here I am,” she said in her lilting accent, her arms outstretched as if to present herself for his inspection.

  Turning slightly, Shane brought his gaze in direct line with Bella O’Toole. His eyes loitered on her face. So many secrets buried in that beautiful head.

  The thought did nothing to ease his foul mood.

  Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she lowered her hands to her hips. “Are you ready to begin our new alliance?”

  New alliance? A swelling of something he couldn’t quite identify streamed through his resolve to think logically. Was it doubt? Or something more complex?

  Needing a moment to collect his thoughts, Shane studied Miss O’Toole’s chosen ensemble for the day. She’d dressed in a simple blue dress, rather nondescript, but she’d covered it with a bright purple apron with red patches sewn haphazardly across the hem. The dress alone was acceptable enough, but the apron added an entirely different quality to the overall look, bordering on the ugly.

  He did a quick estimate of Miss O’Toole’s height and weight and figured she’d borrowed the two garments from Mavis Tierney. No wonder the dress and apron clashed so completely.

  Suppressing a grin, Shane moved his gaze back to Miss O’Toole’s face.

  She wore her hair down, the golden locks cascading in a riot of curls down her back. She’d pulled the thick mane off her face with a black ribbon, tied with a large bow on top. She should look silly.

  She looked…incredible.

  Rendered momentarily speechless, Shane lowered his gaze for a final pass, and stopped dead at her shoes, or rather her fancy, thin-heeled slippers.

  His brows dived into a scowl. “Those won’t do.”

  He hadn’t realized how harsh his tone sounded until her eyes widened in response. She looked shocked, offended perhaps, but she quickly covered the emotion with a pleasant, almost vacant look in her eyes. “Well, they’re all I have.”

  Her flat tone gave nothing away, nor did her eyes.

  How could the woman hide her thoughts so quickly and so completely? He puzzled over the question until he remembered she was a trained actress, an opera singer of the first order who made her living pretending to be someone she was not.

  Like any man dealing with a woman he didn’t understand, Shane took a fortifying breath and prepared for the inevitable battle ahead.

  “We’ll take care of finding you appropriate footwear in town,” he said, using his mildest tone in hopes of forestalling any argument on her part. “We’ll get you a pair of shoes that will be warmer and more comfortable and—”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “—better suited for trekking through ice and mud.”

  Whatever you say? He blinked.

  “Did you just agree with me, Miss O’Toole?”

  Tucking a loose strand of hair beneath the black ribbon, she lifted a careless shoulder. “You would know better than I what sort of shoes I should wear.”

  And just like that, she threw him off balance. Again. This time with her complete cooperation. Would this woman never stop surprising him?

  “Right, then.” He cleared the shock out of his voice and turned all business. “Let’s be off.”

  Feeling more hopeful than he had in months, Shane helped Miss O’Toole with her coat and then stepped back while she tugged on the matching hat and gloves.

  Once outside, Shane gripped her elbow caref
ully and assisted her into his small, but serviceable buggy.

  She wiggled and shifted and squirmed until she finally settled herself on the cushioned seat. Only then did she turn her head and smile down at him.

  Shane’s pulse kicked hard in his chest. The sight of all that beauty aimed solely at him was like a swift punch to his gut.

  He quickly broke eye contact and made his way to the other side of the carriage and climbed aboard. With mechanical movements, he snapped the reins and clicked his tongue.

  His horse set out at a slow, easy gait.

  Focused on the passing scenery, Miss O’Toole remained silent during the ride into town. Shane took the opportunity to slip covert glances in her direction. Her wool coat was the color of a Colorado pine and set off her creamy skin to perfection. With her honey, sun-kissed curls pouring past her shoulders she looked almost imaginary. A storybook princess brought to life.

  But she was real. Very real. Her scent gave her away. She smelled of sweet perfume, like fresh jasmine, all pleasant and inviting.

  Shane smiled.

  Without warning, she turned her head, and Shane found his lips slipping into a frown. Imprisoned in those remarkable tawny eyes the dark, wistful longing he’d experienced in the parlor returned, somehow stronger, and with enough force to yank the breath out of his lungs.

  He tightened his hands on the reins and forced his attention back to the road. It took every ounce of his will-power not to look at her again.

  You do not need this sort of trouble, he warned himself. It’s dangerous, imprudent and reckless. Very reckless.

  Then again…

  Perhaps Shane was thinking too hard, allowing a pretty face to complicate a simple matter. Perhaps all he needed was a little distance from the woman sitting entirely too close to him.

  With that in mind, he turned his thoughts to the day’s schedule and scrutinized the road with careful attention.

  The rhythmic turning of the wheels mingling with his horse’s steady gait hypnotized him until Shane had no idea how much time elapsed. Surely, no more than ten minutes.

  At last, he drew the carriage to a stop in the alleyway between Mattie’s brothel and the Smoking Horse Saloon.

  This was it, their first real test as doctor and temporary assistant.

  He let out a slow breath of tension, shoved his fingers through his hair and tugged at the ends.

  In a matter of minutes, Shane would discover what Miss O’Toole was actually made of. And for both their sakes, as well as his patients’, he prayed she was up for the tasks that lay ahead.

  Chapter Six

  Truly? Bella squinted into the muted, gray light. He’d truly brought her to a filthy, stinky, back alley in the heart of a derelict part of town?

  There had to be some mistake.

  Why would the man direct them straight to a dead end and simply sit there without speaking?

  Swallowing her confusion, Bella covered her nose against the stench of garbage and stale liquor. She shot her gaze in all directions. Unfortunately, the jagged rooftops swallowed the sunlight and blue sky above, casting dark, ominous shadows over them. She could only make out a scant few details such as dirt, dirt and, oh, right, more dirt.

  Confusion giving way to frustration, she glanced at the good doctor for some clue to this unusual turn of events. He simply stared at her. Blinking, staring, grinning, frowning? She couldn’t tell. Shadows, long and deep, concealed his features entirely.

  Well, of course. Why make this easy for her?

  In spite of a hot surge of rebellion, Bella scooted a little closer to the man, casting her gaze to the right and back to the left again. She didn’t particularly like the dark.

  And, uh, were the walls closing in on them by chance?

  Stifling a gasp, Bella quickly lowered her gaze to the ground that…was…moving.

  Moving?

  One explanation came to mind.

  Rats.

  In spite of the calm horse at the end of the reins and the equally calm man beside her, the street was teaming with hideous rodents, their sharp little fang teeth waiting for a fresh ankle to bite.

  She tried to pretend she was on the stage with a packed audience. She failed. And all at once Bella surrendered to abject terror. “Do…do you see that?” She jabbed her finger toward the ground.

  “See what?”

  “R…r-r-r…r-r-r-rats! Everywhere.” She clawed at his sleeve. She hated rats worse than the dark.

  He gave her hand a condescending pat. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them. Give it a moment more and they’ll scurry away.”

  “No. You…you…you d-d-don’t understand.” She yanked hard on his arm, pulling at him until his ear came close enough for her to speak in a loud whisper. “I hate rats!”

  One by one, he slowly untangled her fingers from his sleeve and chuckled. “I should think you’ve seen enough of the little black creatures in your life. Aren’t they a staple backstage of most theaters?”

  The man had a point, a rather large point. But Bella was not in the mood to concede anything to the unfeeling, overly calm beast. “Ssss…So?”

  “So,” he said with the same practiced patience he’d used on Ethan yesterday. “I should think you’ve had plenty of time to get over any phobia you might have incurred through the years. You must know they won’t hurt you.”

  They won’t hurt you? Was the man insane? “Rats bite.”

  “Has one bitten you before?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

  Oh, right, now he showed concern. When it was too, too late.

  Bella jerked her chin. “That is not the point.”

  “Has a rat bitten you in the past?” he asked again, his tone growing softer and his hand patting with less condescension.

  “No. But, at the risk of stating the obvious, I…I…I am wearing slippers.”

  “Right. I forgot.” The man sounded entirely too passive, almost gleeful in the face of her panic.

  Something bigger was going on here, bigger than rat teeth searching for Bella flesh. And just like that, she knew. Beau’s terribly important meeting this morning made perfect sense now.

  This little trip down rat alley was a test.

  One the horse was passing, one the doctor was passing and one Bella had every intention of passing, as well.

  Just give her a moment.

  Once she started breathing again she’d have her fear under control. Oh, sure, her hands were shaking uncontrollably. And her heart was pounding a fast tempo against her ribs. But she would not submit easily.

  Lord, empower me with the courage to do Your work today, regardless of the black furry challenges You’ve set before me.

  “While we’re waiting for our new friends to find a hiding place,” Dr. Shane began in a matter-of-fact tone, “I should take this opportunity to warn you about what’s to come.”

  “Of course,” she said, waiting silently for him to proceed. Anything to get her mind off sharp, pointy fangs.

  Turning her head slightly, she considered the doctor more carefully now that her eyes were adjusting to the shadows. In the dim light, his features had taken on a series of sharp angles and well-defined planes. His eyes were the color of polished pewter.

  Unfortunately, the look he cast her was completely impersonal, as though he’d slid an invisible shutter across his features.

  Bella swallowed a sudden urge to cry. She wished she could understand what was going on in that complicated mind of his.

  “Our first patient is Lizzie.” He shifted away from her and set the brake. “She’s suffering from consumption, as many of her kind do.” The sorrow in his eyes told her there was more to the story than he was revealing.

  “Her kind?” she asked.

  His head rotated back in her direction. An inner struggle was written across his face. “Prostitutes. Lizzie earns her living by accepting favors from men.”

  A gust of cold, misty air swept through the alley at his proclamati
on. Bella shivered.

  “We’re at a brothel?” she asked, trying to hide her terrible fascination at the notion.

  “Yes.”

  Bella studied the two buildings on either side of her, silently wondering which establishment was their destination.

  As though sensing her unspoken question, Dr. Shane pointed to his left. “It’s that one.”

  Cocking her head in fierce concentration, she eyed the sooty brick and mortar. “I see.”

  She felt rather than saw him take a deep breath. “You are not shocked?”

  “Of course not.”

  Well, maybe a little. But she pitched her voice to a confident level. “I am a woman of the world, after all. In fact, I have sung the lead in the opera La Traviata.”

  She hoped her rapid blinking didn’t belie her bold words. She might have sung the notes of a doomed prostitute, but she’d never fully understood the tragic Camille’s choices. Her performance had suffered, resulting in the worst reviews of her life.

  “Did you enjoy playing the ill-fated courtesan?”

  “The story was quite sad,” she said. Then sighed. “I always wished she’d have accepted her young suitor’s love and simply left…” She cleared her throat. “That life.”

  That life.

  The very same life William had offered her.

  Of its own volition, her hand reached for the locket around her neck. She spread her fingers across her collarbone and let out another sigh. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she’d left London out of fear, not moral conviction. Eventually, she’d have given in to William’s vows of love, just as the fictional Camille had done over and over again with her various suitors.

  Bella hadn’t believed in her own inner strength, hadn’t believed she had the character to turn away from her temptation and the sin that came with it.

  So she’d run.

  She was still running.

  “Brace yourself, Miss O’Toole. The play glosses over the harsh reality of a woman dying of consumption.”

  She tossed her head back and scoffed at him. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve seen my share of ugliness in the world. I will not be shocked.”