In a Mother’s Arms by Jillian Hart, Victoria Bylin Page B

seat.
    Ignoring his pounding head, he paced to the table. Every muscle he owned ached something fierce. Probably from having his heart broken. Worse, he had not faced the truth. He had stayed on the sensible path instead of telling Molly that he was in love with her.
    Not that he could do anything about it now. She would be asleep, and he didn’t know if she would still want him. He didn’t want to build a marriage and a life on a flimsy foundation. Yet the love he felt for Molly was stronger than steel. But was it strong enough?
    Maybe the real issue was his fear. He was afraid to let her close. He was afraid to trust in any woman’s love, even hers.
    “Pa?” Penelope sounded sleepy.
    “What are you girls doing out of bed?”
    “We tossed and tossed.”
    “We couldn’t get to sleep.”
    “I’m not surprised.” He felt hot, so he shucked off his jacket. “Where did you two go off to when Molly came?”
    “Our fort.”
    “So you could fall in love.”
    Love. There was that word again. He groped around on the shelf for the tin. When he struck a match, the flame cast a dancing glow on the table set for two with the good dishes and the crystal candlesticks.
    Another piece of the puzzle revealed. He lit one of the candles, listening to the drag of the girls’ stockinged feet as they came to face him.
    “You girls know what you did was wrong.” His voice croaked, sounding harsher than he intended.
    “We know, Pa.” They chorused mournfully. “When we came back and Mrs. Finley said you had a house call—”
    “—we figured it was ruined.” Prudence sighed, a sorrowful sound if there ever was one.
    “Could we have Miss Molly for supper tomorrow?”
    “Mrs. Finley could serve the pot roast again.”
    His head pounded. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d never felt so terrible. Maybe because he had lost more today than he’d had in many, many years. Maybe because he was more in love with Molly than he cared to admit even now, when he had hurt her terribly. When he feared he had destroyed any faith in him she had.
    A droplet of sweat hit the table as he poured his tea. His hand wasn’t steady. Something was wrong. A sore throat. Possible fever. Headache. He set the pot on the table and unbuttoned his sleeve cuff. He only had to rollthe fabric once to see the tiny red bumps on the inside of his arms. No, it couldn’t be.
    He sank heavily into the nearest chair. The bumps hadn’t disappeared. They were still there, proof of his illness. He’d never had scarlet fever. He’d been around patients suffering from it since medical school. Why now? Why tonight? His head thrummed too painfully to think anymore.
    “Girls, I want you to go straight to Mrs. Finley’s room and wake her. You stay there. Have Abner come to me right away. You hear me?”
    “Yes, sir.” Wide-eyed, the twins froze for one moment, perhaps sensing his fear before they broke into a run, clattering down the hall and up the stairs.
    If he had been paying better attention, if he hadn’t been so enamored with Molly, he might have caught this earlier. Before he had exposed his daughters. Heartsick in more ways than he could count, he lowered his head, clasped his hands and prayed.

Chapter Nine

    “R umor has it you’ve been spending time with our local doctor.” Aunt Ida’s nimble fingers plucked at the weeds among the green beans in the pleasant evening light. “Is it merely a rumor, or is there more to the story?”
    Days had passed since she had driven away from Sam. She had returned to her empty home, tucked away her devastation and gone on with her obligations. One of them was right here, helping out her extended family, which she intended to do as if Sunday evening had never happened. As if Sam Frost had never admitted that he didn’t love her.
    Hardly a simple thing. She ignored the sting behind her eyes and the hollow feeling within her and tugged a dandelion seedling from among the little lettuce plants.
    What did she say