Judy Christenberry - Patchwork Family

“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.

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.