Patchwork Family
QUINN 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.
LYDIA PERRY 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.
“She had a very high fever. If it hadn’t been for Quinn, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
Emma looked up sharply. “Quinn? What does he have to do with Sara being sick?”
All the stitching stopped as the ladies stared at Lydia.
“He called Brady and then took Sara and Molly to the hospital. Sara was dehydrated. He gave her an IV and fixed her up. This nurse I know told me how concerned Quinn was. He stayed with Molly the entire time Sara was with the doctor, holding her hand.”
Martha and Tillie stared at Lydia, then at each other, a light dawning in their eyes.
“Do you think—” Tilly began.
“It’s possible,” Martha agreed, nodding vigorously.
“I can’t believe it,” Emma protested. “Why, he steers clear of women like Molly. You know that.”
“Molly’s so pretty,” Bea said timidly.
“Did I miss something?” Lydia asked, puzzled by the conversation flowing around her.
“Not really,” Martha said, taking up her needle again.
“Now wait just a minute. I brought you the news. You should tell me what you’re talking about.”
“She’s right,” Tillie agreed. “It’s just that—Well, there’s not really anything to tell. More like a hope, don’t you know.”
“A hope for what?” Lydia asked in frustration.
Martha took up the explanation. “Quinn is a lovely man. Most people think he’s a flirt, a playboy, but he’s just afraid of being abandoned. That mother of his left him and his brothers afraid of commitment.”
“You sound like one of those ladies’ magazines, like—like Cosmo.”
“I know what I’m talking about,” Martha said sturdily, determination in her voice. “We want him to be happy.”
“He seems happy to me,” Lydia said.
“But he’s not. The boy hurts. He hides it, but I know,” Martha assured her.
“But how does that have anything to do with little Sara?”
“Woman, think with your heart, eh?” Emma suggested.
“You mean you think he and Molly— But if he avoids women like her, I don’t see—”
“He didn’t avoid her yesterday, according to you,” Merry reminded her. “He has such a soft heart.”
“He was kind, but that doesn’t mean he’ll see her again,” Lydia pointed out.
“And so? Whose side are you on?” Martha demanded.
Lydia stared at her friend. “Why, yours, of course. And Molly’s. I want Molly to be happy. Those Spencer boys, I don’t care what you say, they’re heartbreakers. Like their pa.”
“What do you know about Elias Spencer?” Emma demanded.
Lydia’s cheeks turned bright red. “Nothing! I’ve seen him a few times. About town.” Her fingers twitched, telling her friends she wasn’t being totally honest.
“Elias suffers from the same problem as the boys. He’s never forgiven that woman for leaving him and his sons. Probably never will. Anyone messing with him is asking for heartbreak.”
“Then why plan on Quinn having anything to do with Molly? You want her to be heartbroken again? I think Christopher Blake already did enough damage to poor Molly and her little Sara.”
“Quinn wouldn’t hurt either of them. All we have to do is make sure they spend time together,” Tillie said, narrowing her eyes as if trying to think of a plan.
“That won’t be a problem,” Martha said calmly.
Her friends all stared at her.
“What do you mean?” Lydia asked.
“Just wait and see,” Martha said, stitching again. “Are you ladies going to help or just sit there with your mouths open?”
Chapter Four
The next day was Saturday, so Quinn was able to justify not calling Molly Blake. After all, he didn’t conduct business on weekends. No one expected him to do that.
So he could avoid the lady without admitting his reasons for not calling to tell her the good news he’d stopped by her house for yesterday. Or to tell her the idea he’d come up with. Or to see how little Sara was feeling.
When his brother stopped by the family home Saturday afternoon, where Quinn lived, he asked, “Have you heard from Molly Blake?”
Brady raised one eyebrow, staring at him. “No. Why would I?”
Quinn shrugged, trying to look disinterested. “I thought maybe she’d call you if Sara didn’t get better.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Brady leaned against the kitchen counter. “Why wouldn’t she be better? You think I didn’t make the correct diagnosis?”
“Hey, I wasn’t insulting your skills,” Quinn hastily assured his brother. “I just thought—”
“Have you called Mrs. Blake?”
“No. Why would I?” Quinn demanded, taking a step back, repeating his brother’s words without even realizing it.
“Do what?” Elias, their father, demanded as he entered the room.
Quinn almost groaned aloud. He certainly didn’t want either his father or brother to think he had any interest in a woman like Molly Blake. “Nothing.”
“I asked why he hadn’t called Mrs. Blake,” Brady explained, grinning at his brother.
Quinn knew Brady was teasing him. He ground his teeth in silence.
“Who is Mrs. Blake?” Elias demanded. When Quinn had moved back to Tyler over a year ago, he’d returned to his father’s house because he didn’t have enough enthusiasm for life to find his own place. Somehow his father had interpreted his moving in as a return to the parent-child relationship.
“Dad, it doesn’t matter,” Quinn hurriedly said.
“She’s the mother of a sick little girl. Quinn called me yesterday and asked me to see her.”
“This Molly Blake?” Elias demanded.
“No!” Quinn exploded. “Her child, Sara. She’s—she’s like a doll, tiny, sweet…”
“How old is she?” Elias asked, a frown on his face.
“Four.”
“You’re interested in a four-year-old?”
Quinn drew a deep breath and scratched his forehead. Finally he stared at his father. “I was concerned about Sara’s health, that’s all. Anyone would’ve been. She was running a high fever.”
“And so? Why didn’t you call this Molly Blake and ask her how the child was feeling?”
“Dad, you don’t need to— Never mind. I thought Brady might have heard from her, that’s all.” Quinn started for the door. He didn’t want to answer any more questions about Molly Blake and her daughter.
“What’s she look like?” Elias asked Brady.
Quinn spun on his heels and charged back into the room. “No! No, Dad. This isn’t a man-woman thing. It’s nothing personal. She’s one of Amanda’s clients and I was trying to help Amanda.”
Brady shot him a sly grin. “A real looker. Blonde.”
“Hmm, I like blondes,” Elias said, staring at Quinn.
“Then you call her!” he snapped, and rose to get out of the kitchen before the speculation could go any further.
Unfortunately, he didn’t escape. His oldest brother, Seth, and Cooper Night Hawk, a longtime friend and local deputy, came in.
“Hi, guys, glad you’re all here,” Seth said. “Don’t leave, Quinn.”
Quinn frowned. He wasn’t in the mood for a family moment. He had too much on his mind. “What?”
“Cooper has some news.”
That got everyone’s attention. A while ago Seth had asked Cooper to find out whatever he could about their mother, Violet Spencer. Now that he was married and had a child on the way, Seth had felt a need to know whatever became of his mother. He’d asked his father if he’d object, but Elias had approved of the search.
Elias leaned forward. “About your mother?”
Quinn returned to the table and fell into a chair.
Everyone’s gaze shifted to Cooper.
“Yeah, Mr. Spencer. I’m sorry, but she’s…she’s dead.”
Seth came to stand beside his father, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There’s more, Dad. Brace yourself.”
“She died in childbirth,” Cooper said, after receiving a nod from Seth. “Over twenty-two years ago.”
“What?” Brady said, leaping to his feet. “She was pregnant?” He turned to look at his father.
Elias shrugged his shoulders. “She wasn’t pregnant when she left us. Probably she and—and that man—” It was as if he couldn’t bring himself to even mention the name of her lover. He sighed. “It was a long time ago.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “Violet had the baby—and passed on—seven months after she left. Ray Benedict, the man she— Her— Anyway, he died recently. I need to know if you want me to find the child, a girl.” Instead of looking at Elias, he let his gaze travel to each of the brothers. “After all, she is your half sister.”
“I say yes,” Seth said instantly.
“The baby didn’t die during childbirth?” Brady asked.
“No.”
Brady looked at Quinn, and then Seth. “I agree with Seth. I think we should find her.”
Quinn stared at everyone. They had a sister? A child his mother conceived with another man? Renewed anger filled him at her betrayal. But he couldn’t disagree with his brothers. They needed closure. Maybe this unknown sister would give it to them. He nodded his agreement.
THE DIFFERENCE IN SARA in just three days was dramatic. By Monday morning, she was racing up and down the stairs in spite of Molly’s efforts to keep her in bed.
“I’m all better, Mommy,” Sara assured her.
“Just to be sure, come have a snack,” Molly tempted, putting a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows on the kitchen table, along with a muffin.
“First, I has to get Button,” Sara said, naming her favorite bear, as she ran out of the kitchen.
Molly sighed. Getting Sara to sit down was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. Her little girl never seemed to stop. But today Sara would take a nap, Molly decided, her lips tightening, even if she had to sit on the child to keep her in bed.
After lunch, she convinced Sara to go to her room and let her mother read her a story.
“But it’s not bedtime.”
“I know, but Miss Kaitlin has you lie down on your blanket and rest, doesn’t she?” Kaitlin Rodier ran Tyler’s day care center, Kaity’s Kids, a combination preschool and child care facility.
“Yes,” Sara admitted, her bottom lip pushing out a little further. “I shoulda gone to school today. Jeremy will miss me.”
“I’m sure he will, sweetie,” Molly agreed, pushing a strand of hair behind Sara’s ear. Jeremy was Sara’s best friend at preschool. “But we have to be sure you’re well. We don’t want to make Jeremy sick, do we?”
Sara put one little finger at the corner of her mouth, as she always did when she was thinking. Finally she shook her head no. “I don’t want Jeremy to be sick.”
“Good. You rest and listen to the story. On Wednesday, we’ll go see the doctor and be sure you’re well. Then, if he says it’s all right, you can go back to school.”
“Okay,” Sara agreed with a sigh, her eyes slowly closing.
Molly picked up one of Sara’s favorite books and opened the page.
“Will that nice man carry me again?”
Molly’s head jerked up. “The doctor?”
“No, the man who carried me up here. It was kind of like having a daddy, wasn’t it, Mommy? Daddies carry their little kids, don’t they?”
Molly struggled to hide the pain that assailed her. “Yes, daddies carry their little kids, sweetie. But Mr. Spencer isn’t a daddy. He was just being helpful.”
She hadn’t even realized Sara had been awake enough to know Quinn Spencer had carried her. She certainly didn’t want her daughter thinking of Quinn Spencer as a father image. While the man couldn’t be much worse than Christopher, he probably wasn’t much better, either.
Playboys never were.
Halfway through the book, Sara was sound asleep.
After dropping a soft kiss on Sara’s forehead, Molly put away the book and tiptoed from the room.
Just as she reached the hallway leading to the kitchen, the phone rang. With a gasp, she raced through the kitchen door to grab the phone before it could ring again and awaken Sara.
“Hello?” she answered, her breath shortened.
“Molly? I mean, Mrs. Blake? Is everything all right?”
Quinn Spencer. He probably thought she was going to fall apart again. She took a deep breath. “Everything’s fine. I didn’t want the phone to awaken Sara. She just went down for her nap.”
“How is she doing? Is she better?”
He actually sounded concerned. She decided it was part of his routine, charm any female within a hundred yards. But she wasn’t susceptible.
“She’s much better, thank you.”
“Good. Have you taken her to your doctor?”
“We have an appointment for Wednesday afternoon.”
“Ah. That’s wise.”
“Yes. Thank you for calling to check on her.”
Before she could hang up the phone, he spoke again. “Wait! I came by Friday morning to tell you I talked to the mayor about your problem. He said he felt sure the zoning change Ursula is protesting will probably pass. All the councilors are in favor of your business.”
“Oh! Oh, thank you, Mr. Spencer. I appreciate your assistance.”
“Don’t hang up. I have an idea that might improve your situation.”
“You do?”
“You needn’t sound so incredulous, Mrs. Blake,” he muttered.
“I apologize,” she said hurriedly. “What idea?”
“I thought you should have an open house, invite your neighbors, the town leaders, anyone else with power, to see the changes you’ve made. I can remember how that house looked when Christopher’s mother lived there. You’ve made a lot of difference. I think your neighbors would be impressed.”
Molly was stunned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you really think it would help?”
“Yes, I do. And invite Ursula.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Invite that woman into her home?
“Let her see what you’ve done. It probably won’t change her mind, but you never know.”
Molly swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll think about what you’ve said, Mr. Spencer. And thank you for calling me to give me your favorable report.”
“You’re welcome. And tell Sara I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She hung up the phone, relieved that her future looked hopeful. But she was also disturbed. She’d just lied to the man.
She had no intention of saying anything to Sara on his behalf.
“YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD US your plan,” Lydia protested on the next Friday afternoon. “It’s going to be Christmas before you know it.”
“What’s wrong with Christmas?” Martha asked. “You got something against it?”
“Of course not! But I was hoping Molly and little Sara might not have to be alone then. It’s difficult to spend Christmas without any family.”
“Even I can’t act that fast,” Martha muttered.
“I guess you’re right,” Lydia agreed, her shoulders sagging. “I was hoping for too much.”
“That doesn’t mean we’ve given up,” Emma chimed in.
“We haven’t?” Lydia asked, perking up.
“Of course not,” Martha reassured her just as the door opened and Quinn Spencer walked in.
“How are my favorite ladies today?” he asked, a smile on his face. He rounded the table greeting each of them.
“We’re better for seeing you, my dear, don’t you know,” Martha said, patting his arm. “I’m so glad you could stop by.”
“You know I would never ignore a request from you, Martha,” Quinn said. “What’s wrong? Is your stash of candy low?” He pulled a bag of peanut-and-chocolate candy from his coat.
She eagerly took them. “Thank you, but no, that’s not why I asked you to come by. We need you to do us a favor. I know how busy you are, but I thought on your lunch hour you could run an errand for us.”
“Sure.” While he spoke, he surveyed their work. “You’ve started a new one?” he asked, referring to the quilt they were now working on.
“Yes,” Emma said. “We do them in sections, you know. We don’t just work on one quilt straight through.”
He nodded, smiling at her. “I remember.”
Martha touched his hand. “See those two quilts? They’re king-size, which makes them very large and heavy. We need to get them to Molly, but none of us are strong enough, and she’s too little to manage on her own. I wondered if you’d deliver them for us? She’s just a few blocks away.”
They all saw his hesitation, unusual for Quinn when they asked something of him. Several glances were exchanged, but not Martha’s. She sat stitching, supreme confidence on her face that Quinn would accommodate her.
“Um, it’s a busy day, Martha, but I can hire someone to take care of that for you. I can see where they’d be a problem.”
Martha looked at him briefly, allowing surprise to show on her wrinkled face. Then she reached out and patted his hand. “That’s all right, dear. We can hire someone. It was just— Well, you know how sentimental we are about our quilts. I wanted them to be specially delivered, but… I’ll call the grocery store and get a couple of their package boys to— No, no, they might not have clean hands.”
“We could call the hardware store. Some strong young men work there,” Emma suggested.
“Or maybe—” Beatrice began.
