For several moments he remained unmoving, looking out the window facing the backyard of Charity House. The wind beat at the glass with an angry fist, sending an unrelenting howl past a crack between the pane and wood casing.
A perfect expression of his own frustration.
There was no one left to interview. Shane could only hope that—
No. He would not waste precious energy on hope. Nor would he worry.
He would trust.
Rolling his shoulders, Shane shoved a hand through his hair and shut his eyes. He let the tension drain from him for a single moment. And then another. And another still. Waiting until his mind cleared enough to focus on prayer.
At last, he whispered, “Lord, I cannot do this alone. Where man fails, I know You excel. I pray You bless my patients with a compassionate woman to assist us.”
Opening his eyes, Shane looked around the parlor room of Charity House. At first glance nobody would think this large and fancy mansion housed over forty children with nowhere else to go. Marc and Laney Dupree had created a home filled with compassion and caring, a refuge for the abandoned and unwanted boys and girls no other orphanage would touch.
The Duprees’ generosity of spirit humbled Shane and inspired him to expand his own medical practice in the same vein, a practice that was becoming unmanageable for one man.
Trust. He had to trust that God had a plan. The Lord would bring relief in His perfect time.
A deep clearing of a throat jerked Shane out of his reverie. Pivoting at the sound, he locked his gaze with Marc Dupree’s concerned expression. Dressed in a brocade vest and matching tie, with his dark hair immaculately combed and face clean shaven, Marc looked more like a banker than the fierce proprietor of an orphanage. But just like Charity House, Shane knew the other man had hidden depths, and was an example of complete integrity.
“Any success?” Marc asked.
Shane shook his head at his friend, and jammed his hands in his pockets. “It appears I’ve wasted another day with fruitless interviews.” He lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “Perhaps—”
A high-pitched scream cut off his words, followed by a round of incomprehensible shouting. Shane’s ears pricked when he heard one voice rise above the others. “Somebody find Dr. Shane. Hurry.”
Bella pivoted in several directions, searching desperately for the source of the panicked cries tumbling over one another.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she took a deep breath, stood immobile and listened intently. The shouts were coming from behind her.
She spun around and gasped at the sight before her. Chaos had erupted in the massive yard that backed up to her brother’s church.
Heart in her throat, Bella lurched forward. Stopped. Frowned.
Hadn’t she learned from her recent experience with William that it was better to assess a situation before rushing headlong into the unknown?
Dreadful memories of her last meeting with the viscount slammed through her mind, washing away her concentration. She shook her head violently and gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Bella knew she should find the source of the disaster unraveling in front of her. Instead, exhaustion, shame and anger at William’s betrayal threatened to steal her focus.
No. No, no, no. William would not invade her thoughts today.
Breathe, Bella, breathe.
One heartbeat passed.
And another.
By the third, Bella had taken in the stylish mansion at the opposite end of the yard. The fairy-tale backdrop was at odds with the trouble riding along the stiff mountain breeze. She counted over fifteen children of various sizes colliding into one another. Like waves crashing onto a beach, they plunged toward a common point—a child lying flat on his back.
Bella curled her fingers into fists. Where was the adult in charge?
Tossing her reticule to the ground, she sprinted toward the clump of frightened children. She’d barely taken two steps when a young girl of about ten years of age skidded to a stop at her side. The child had halted so abruptly that her shiny black pigtails swung forward and then landed with a soft thump on her narrow shoulders. Eyes wild and unfocused, her little cupid mouth worked quickly, but no sound came out.
Bella stooped to the girl’s height and touched her shoulder. “Deep breaths, sweetie. Take one at a time.”
Nodding, the girl gulped in large chunks of air.
“That’s it,” Bella said. “Now tell me what’s happened.”
“It’s…it’s…” She broke off and looked frantically around her.
Bella rolled her shoulders and prayed for patience. “It’s…” she prompted in what she hoped was a soothing tone.
“My. Brother. Ethan.” She pointed to the cluster of children knotted around a small boy lying on the ground. “He hurt his leg. You gotta get Dr. Shane for me.”
“Where?”
The girl cocked her head toward the mansion behind her. “Inside.”
Bella placed her palm on the child’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him.” Rising, she gave the girl’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You see to your brother. And whatever you do, make sure he doesn’t move until the doctor gets there.”
As though she hadn’t heard a word Bella said, the child stabbed her gaze back to her brother, over to the large house behind her, then back to her brother again.
“Did you hear me?” Bella asked.
The girl nodded. Gulped. Gulped again. Then finally—finally—she lifted her chin and lurched toward the injured boy.
Bella whirled in the direction of the house. At the same moment, two large men exited the backdoor in a run.
Bella faltered in her steps, froze. In her stunned state, she only had time for impressions. Both men were tall. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. One was dressed in expensive clothing that would make her flamboyant brother Tyler fall to his knees and weep with envy. The other wore a nondescript white shirt and black pants and carried a small black bag.
Dr. Shane.
The calm in his manner gave Bella such a sense of relief she pressed a hand to her throat and sighed. This man would make everything better.
The young girl changed directions and dashed to the bottom of the porch steps. “Ethan’s hurt, Dr. Shane.” She grasped his hand and tugged. “You gotta come quick.”
The sharp planes of his face tensed and his mouth pressed into a tight line. Yet, he carefully patted the girl on her back. “Don’t worry, Molly. I’ll take care of him.” His smooth baritone was pitched to the perfect level to instill calm. “You concentrate on finding your mother and father and then bring them here.”
“Right.” Teetering from one foot to the other, arms flailing, the child found her center at last and set off at a terrifying pace.
Focused on his task once more, the doctor lengthened his strides. With each step, his gaze shifted over the scene, taking note of every detail. He measured, assessed. Picked up the pace.
The other man followed hard on his heels.
Negotiating the final few feet, the doctor gently set two of the smaller children to one side and then dropped to his knees. “Marc,” he threw over his shoulder. “I need room.”
The fancy-dressed man went to work at once. With an authoritative tone and in-charge manner, he organized the children into two work groups. In perfect rhythm they shifted away from the injured boy, picked up toys, balls, shoes and began setting them into neat piles.
They