Patchwork Family (3 page)

He trod up the steps and crossed the wide porch to rap on the door. A new door, with a delicate
stained-glass oval depicting flowers. With a smile on his face, he prepared himself to greet Molly Blake as the door swung open.

Shock rattled through him.

Gone was the harried, frustrated, angry woman with the messy appearance. In her place was a fashionably dressed young woman with pale blond hair feathering around her face, setting it off like a prized picture in a frame. She was dressed in trim wool pants and a blue sweater that enhanced her eyes.

He assumed the worried look on her face was the result of concern about her future. Hurriedly beginning his explanation, he was shocked again when she scarcely acknowledged his words. When she even began closing the door on him, he put out a hand to stop her.

“Wait. Do you understand, Mrs. Blake?”

“Yes, I—” She broke off as a wail floated down the stairs. She gasped and abandoned the door. “I’m coming, sweetie,” she called as she raced up the stairs.

Quinn frowned as he found himself standing alone in the entryway. He could leave. But then, if he did, he wouldn’t know what was wrong. Not his business, he argued with himself, but he didn’t leave.

Instead, he closed the door and stepped toward the stairs. Before he could ascend, Molly came back into sight at the top of the stairs, carrying a bundle in her arms.

“Is everything all right?”

She appeared surprised to find him still there. “No, my daughter is ill. I appreciate what you’ve done. I’ll—I’ll call later to discuss it. But she needs me right now.”

Quinn had kept his distance from children. And mothers. Too often, he’d seen a woman’s selfish disregard for her child’s needs. He knew how important the bed-and-breakfast was to Molly.

But not more important than her child.

A moan drifted up from the bundle in Molly’s arms. He hadn’t realized she was holding her child. She tightened her arms and murmured soothing words.

“She must be tiny,” he said with a frown, somehow drawn to the invisible child. “Have you taken her to the pediatrician?”

“I called. He can’t see her until late this afternoon.”

Quinn could tell she was trying to remain calm, but he heard the panic in her voice. “Is she running a fever?”

“Yes. It’s very high.”

He stepped even closer and pulled back the blanket, revealing a small face, quite similar to her mother’s, with the same pale hair and big blue eyes. “Hello there,” he whispered.

The little girl tightened her hold on her mother.

Okay, so he’d never been good with children. Never wanted to be good with children. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to walk away from this duo.

“Want me to call my brother?”

Molly blinked those big blue eyes of hers several times before she asked, “Why?”

“Sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know. My brother Brady is a doctor at Tyler General. He might be able to see her now.”

He’d offered women gifts before, even occasional
favors, but he’d never seen such intense gratitude in response. She even reached out to grasp his lapel.

“Oh, yes, please. With her fever so high, I’m—I’m worried.”

He patted her hand and asked for the phone. She led him to the small desk beside the staircase, standing beside him as he called, cuddling her daughter.

“Dr. Spencer, please. It’s his brother, Quinn.”

He covered the receiver and said, “They have to go get him.”

She nodded, hope in her gaze.

“Brady? It’s Quinn. I need a favor. A—a friend has a little girl running a high fever. The doctor can’t see her for seven or eight hours. Could you take a look at her?”

His brother’s hurried agreement had him hanging up the phone at once. “We need to get her there in fifteen minutes. Do you have a car? I walked.”

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much. My keys are in the kitchen. I’ll just—”

“Give your little girl to me,” he ordered, reaching out his arms.

She hesitated, as if not sure she should entrust her precious bundle to him, but then she handed over the child.

Quinn felt the heat rising in waves from the child and understood Molly’s fears. The child was very hot. He smiled down at the miserable face. “We’re going to take you to the doctor, and he’ll make you feel better.”

She whimpered and ducked her head against him. He cuddled her closer, surprised at the protective feelings that filled him.

Molly returned, shrugging into her coat. She
scooped the little girl out of his arms and handed him the keys, all at the same time. “You drive, please.”

His eyebrows rose. “You want me to drive your car?” he asked, not sure he’d understood.

She nodded as she turned to lead him through the kitchen to the garage. “Yes, please. I have to hold Sara.”

Such motherly devotion filled Quinn with stark terror.

All Molly could think about was Sara. She murmured soothing words to her daughter as Quinn Spencer drove them to the hospital. Sara had never been sick, other than occasional sniffles, in her four years of life. It unnerved Molly to see her baby in such straits.

“She’s so hot,” she muttered, scarcely aware she had spoken out loud.

“I’m sure Brady will be able to help her,” Quinn assured her. He pulled into the emergency parking area and came to a stop.

Molly was out of the vehicle, Sara still clutched to her chest, before he could come around and assist her. “Will your brother meet us here, in the emergency room?”

“Yes. He should be waiting.”

Molly scanned the medical personnel as they entered the hospital. It didn’t take her long to identify Brady Spencer. His hair might be darker than his brother’s, but they had the same eyes. Besides, he was hurrying toward them.

“Is this my patient?” he asked, voice filled with gentle reassurance. “What’s her name?”

“Sara,” Molly told him, but she was reluctant to release her child, even to the doctor.

“Hello, Sara,” Dr. Spencer said, pulling back the cover to see her daughter’s face. “How about we see if we can make you well again? Want to come with me? I may even have a lollipop for you.”

Sara nodded. The doctor scooped her from Molly’s arms. Molly reached out as he moved away, afraid to lose sight of her daughter.

Strong arms came around her. “She’ll be all right, Molly,” Quinn whispered in her ear. “You can trust Brady.”

With a strangled sob, she instinctively turned into those strong arms and buried her face in his chest. All she could think about was her precious child.

It had been so long since she’d had anyone to lean on, to share her burdens. The comfort the attorney offered was too tempting. She remained there, absorbing his strength, until other feelings invaded her concern.

She jerked herself from his embrace, embarrassed. How could she think about a man, any man, when Sara was ill? She certainly wasn’t a lonely widow looking for some man to rescue her. No! She and Sara were a team. They didn’t need anyone.

But, for a minute, she admitted, having someone to lean on had felt good.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually fall apart, but Sara’s never been really sick and—and—”

“It’s all right. I guess I’d feel the same way if my child—” He broke off and looked away from her.

She already knew he had no children and never intended to be a father. One night at Marge’s, the local diner, she’d overheard a conversation not in
tended for her ears. Quinn had been explaining to his companions how he felt about children.

“Children only complicate your life and take up time. I’m always on the go. I’ll leave raising the little rug rats to other people,” he’d said with a laugh.

Which made his assistance today impressive.

“I appreciate your help. High fever always frightens me.” He must think her a real fraidy cat. After all, yesterday she’d been just as frantic. “You must think I’m always— I mean, yesterday—”

He took her arm and drew her over to a row of chairs. “Special circumstances, Molly. Don’t worry about it.”

She sat down because she didn’t know what else to do. She’d wanted to follow the doctor into the examining room, but that hadn’t appeared to be an option, which worried her even more. A nurse had hovered at the doctor’s side, ready to assist him, and Sara hadn’t put up any resistance. Now, Molly clutched her hands tightly together, tensely waiting for the doctor’s —and Sara’s—reappearance.

A large hand reached out and covered her two. Its warmth helped ward off the chill that was racing through her. “It’ll be all right,” Quinn whispered.

“I appreciate your talking your brother into seeing us right away. I don’t know what could’ve caused such high fever. It could be meningitis, or even—” she gasped at the thought “—even leukemia.”

“It’s probably nothing more than the flu, which I’ve heard is going around.”

“You don’t know that!” she snapped, refusing to be consoled.

He squeezed her hands and said, “No, I don’t, but
we don’t want to borrow trouble if it’s not necessary.”

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.”

He seemed to take her apology in stride. “Do you have any family, other than Sara?”

She shook her head.

“Your parents?”

She stared at him. Did the man think she could carry on a normal conversation when her baby was desperately ill? “They’re both dead. My mother died when I was twelve, my father three years ago.” Before he could ask, she added, “I was an only child.”

As Sara was and would be. Molly had no intention of ever considering matrimony again, of giving Sara a stepfather who might fail her as miserably as her own father had done. No, it would be just the two of them.

“No aunts, uncles, cousins?”

“Are you asking who to notify in case of an accident? Or—or a death?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“No! I was just making conversation,” he assured her, squeezing her hands again.

She snatched her hands away from the warmth that had begun to seep into her tense body. Denying herself that comfort made her feel closer to her daughter.

“Molly, I wasn’t—” Quinn began, but he halted as Brady appeared, holding Sara in his arms.

Molly exploded from the chair and raced to meet her daughter. “What is it?” she asked the doctor. “Is she okay? What caused the fever?”

“She’s going to be fine,” Dr. Spencer assured her.

Molly’s knees suddenly went weak. She would’ve
sagged to the floor if Quinn hadn’t been behind her to support her.

It was Quinn who followed up with questions. Molly couldn’t speak. “What caused the fever?”

“The flu. It’s going around. She got dehydrated, which only made the fever worse.”

“I tried to get her to drink juice, but it kept coming back up,” Molly told him.

“I know. I’ve given her a shot that will settle her stomach and ward off any additional infection, and we put an IV in her. I want you to get some Pedialyte to give her. It comes in liquid and Popsicles. She should be able to keep that down. Wash her face with a lukewarm washcloth to help keep the fever from getting too high.”

Molly nodded even as she reached for her child. Sara snuggled against her mother, but her eyes never opened.

“Is she asleep?” Molly asked, alarmed.

“Almost. The shot made her drowsy. She needs lots of rest and liquids. Feed her soup, keep her still and call if anything worries you.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, Doctor. Thank you so much for seeing us. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”

Brady Spencer grinned. “Thank my baby brother. He’s the reason I worked Sara in. But I’m glad I did. She needed attention right away.”

Molly nodded again, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. “Yes, I’ve already told him how much I appreciated his offer to call you.”

The loudspeaker blared out Dr. Spencer’s name, and he excused himself, rushing down the hall to his next emergency, leaving Molly holding Sara close.

Q
UINN WAS RELIEVED
at his brother’s diagnosis. Molly’s fears had begun to affect him, and he’d feared that the small child might’ve had a dangerous ailment.

She was so tiny. Like a doll.

He offered to carry her, but Molly refused. “I have some money in my purse. Could we stop by the pharmacy here in the hospital and see if they have what the doctor recommended?”

“Yes, of course.” He paused and then said, “In fact, why don’t we put you and Sara in the car. I’ll go back and get the medicine. She’ll get heavy if you hold her while we shop.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, her blue eyes anxious.

“Not at all.” He escorted her to the car, putting her in the back seat, guessing she wasn’t going to give up holding her child.

“I’ll hurry,” he promised. Then he returned to the hospital.

In the pharmacy, he found Pedialyte in clear liquid form and in fruit flavors. And the Popsicles, encased in plastic, waiting to be frozen. He chose some of each variety, wanting to be sure Molly had what she needed. After paying, he hurried back to the car.

“I forgot to give you money,” Molly said at once as he slid behind the wheel.

“That’s okay. I’ll add it to your bill.” He’d do no such thing, but those words kept Molly from protesting.

When they arrived back at her house, he came around the car and reached for Sara.

“No! I’ll carry her.”

“Molly, she’ll have to be carried upstairs. Your
arms are probably already tired from holding her. It’ll be safer if I carry her. You can go ahead and turn down the covers on her bed.”

“It’s on the third floor,” she warned, watching him.

So much for his manly appearance. She didn’t seem to think he could make it that far. “I think I can make it up two flights of stairs carrying your little girl. She hardly weighs anything.”

As if she took his words as a criticism, she said, “I try to tempt her to eat. She doesn’t have much of an appetite.”

“I think she’s small-boned,” he said, hoping to appease Molly. Hell, he didn’t know what four-year-olds should weigh.

He didn’t know anything about kids. And didn’t intend to. Today was the exception to the rule. He couldn’t have abandoned Molly and Sara when he found them in such desperate straits.

She unlocked the front door, waited for him to enter and then pulled it closed behind him to keep out the cold. “This way,” she said, circling him and starting up the stairs.

He watched her race ahead of him, her trim figure in his face as he followed. He’d been right about her figure beneath that tacky sweat suit she’d worn yesterday.

She was a very attractive woman.

But she was also a mother.

Cross her off the list of potential lovers.

Too bad.

They reached the second floor and she led the way to a staircase almost hidden in the back of the house behind a closed door.

“Isn’t it a pain, living on the third floor?”

“No, it keeps us in good shape.”

He couldn’t disagree with that statement.

“And it’s like living in a tree house. We feel safe, tucked up here.”

They reached the top of the stairs and she led him down a short hall, opening the first door on the right. He followed her, seeing only the bed. She pulled back the covers and turned around to take Sara from his arms.

He let the warm little bundle go, reluctantly. It was only because he felt responsible for her, he quickly assured himself. As he stepped back, he took in his surroundings. Not a large room, but it was the perfect child’s room. A window seat, partially hidden by pink curtains, graced one wall. There was a mural on the wall next to the hall.

The bed had a pink ruffle around the bottom, beneath a pink and green quilt. Stuffed animals sat on several shelves, as well as storybooks. In one corner at the edge of the matching green rug sat a big brown bear.

A room full of loving touches. He had no doubt about who was responsible for the perfect child’s room. Molly Blake was the best mother he’d ever met.

Not that he’d met many mothers. There had been a few society women, a couple of whom had even tried to seduce him when he was dating their daughters. Their selfish attitudes only reinforced his own experience. His mother apparently had been more interested in her own happiness than any problems he or his brothers might have at having been abandoned by her.

Molly was different.

He began backing out of the room. “Um, I’ll leave you to make Sara comfortable.”

She whirled around. “I can’t thank you enough. Oh! The Pedialyte! It’s still in the car.”

“I’ll go get it.” He was glad for a real excuse to escape the nest Molly had created.

He hurried down the two flights of stairs and went out to the car. When he’d gotten the large sack, he turned back to the house. As he stepped inside, he drew a deep breath and took in his surroundings for the first time.

The first floor reflected as much love and care as Sara’s room. The wood on the banister gleamed with polish. The walls had been recently painted a soft cream. Flowers were tastefully arranged on the desk beside the stairway. A glimpse into the other rooms that opened off the main hall, the living room on the right and a large dining room on the left, were filled with antiques as polished as the banister.

Had she done all the work herself?

It reminded him of the idea he’d intended to explain to Molly. From his own memories of the house, he knew he had the right idea.

But the sudden need to escape, to get out of Molly’s personal space—and even the entryway was a reflection of Molly—seized him. He looked around for a place to set the bag.

“Thanks for getting it out of the car for me,” Molly called as she came down the stairs.

He jerked around and stared up at her.

“Sara’s gone to sleep. She’s resting much better and she’s not as hot.” She reached the bottom of the
stairs. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee? It’s not much after all you’ve done for us but—”

“No! No, thank you. I’ve got appointments,” he said, thrusting the bag in her arms. “It was nothing, actually. I hope Sara gets better soon.”

And he ran out of the house.

Molly stood there, the bag in her arms, staring at the door through which Quinn had fled.

What was wrong with him? She’d offered a cup of coffee. That was all. You’d think she’d tried to seduce him.

L
YDIA
P
ERRY RUSHED OUT
of the cold into the warmth of Worthington House early the next morning, knowing she’d already find her friends hard at work on another quilt. They’d finished the Bachelor’s Puzzle for Molly Blake yesterday afternoon.

“Have you heard?” she said as soon as she entered the room.

“Heard what?” Martha asked, barely looking up from her stitching.

“About poor little Sara Blake.”

Those words got everyone’s attention.

“What wrong with Sara?” Merry asked anxiously. The child was a favorite with all the ladies, but Merry especially delighted in her visits.

“She’s got the flu.”

“Oh, the poor baby,” Tillie crooned.