Loving Bella. Renee Ryan
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equally uninspired shoes, her bland brown hair looked as if it might have corroded onto her head. Her starched collar matched her rigid spine. In fact, she sat so straight and so far back in her chair, Shane was amazed the pattern from the upholstery hadn’t tattooed itself to her dress.
When he raised his gaze to meet hers, the cold eyes and pursed lips reminded him of the women he’d encountered throughout his childhood on the streets of New York City.
His instinct was to dismiss her at once. But he owed it to everyone involved to put his own feelings aside and conduct this interview with polite professionalism.
Taking another moment to control his emotions, Shane lowered his chin and scanned the references he held in his hand. He couldn’t deny Miss Marley had the nursing experience he needed in an assistant. Her background was without blemish, her training impeccable. But did she have the temperament required for the unique position he offered?
There was one way to find out.
“The Charity House orphans are—”
“Orphans?” Her eyes went narrow and frosty, while her lips curled with pitch-perfect disgust. “You use that term loosely, Dr. Bartlett.”
A muscle shifted in his jaw and Shane felt his smile slip.
Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these…
At the reminder of Jesus’s words, Shane had to fight back a wave of resentment at the woman’s sanctimonious attitude.
“Perhaps they are not orphans in the literal sense,” he acknowledged with a grim twist of his lips. “However, they are children who—”
She snorted. She actually snorted at him. The sound was harsh enough to stop him in midsentence.
“These children.” He paused to emphasize his point, but then a dull drumming pounded in his ears and the pattern on the rug at his feet bled into a kaleidoscope of chaotic colors. Shane shook his head and began again. “These children…deserve decent medical care like everyone else.”
She pierced him with a sharp look and spoke as though she hadn’t heard his words. “This is a house for harlots’ mistakes.” She lifted her nose and looked pointedly around her. “Is it not, Dr. Bartlett?”
Before responding, Shane followed her gaze as it moved beyond the Persian rugs, past the expensive furniture, and straight to the crystal vases filled with fresh-cut flowers. The attention to detail was impossible to miss. Charity House was like no other orphanage in the territory, incomparable in its elegance and style.
And yet, Shane wondered if he’d made a mistake in choosing the mansion’s front parlor as the place to conduct his interviews today.
He’d hoped that by showing the candidates the interior of the orphanage they would realize Charity House and its occupants had class and substance. Apparently, instead of unleashing this nursing candidate’s compassion, he’d opened her judgment.
Whispered reminders of his own childhood crept forward in his mind. Shane clenched his jaw, refusing to allow this woman to see his growing anger until he had the poisonous emotion under control.
He forced his shoulders to relax.
“Whatever you might think of these children, remember they did not choose their parents,” he said, surprised to hear his calm tone when so many ugly emotions churned just under the surface. “As I said before, they deserve equal and fair medical treatment.”
He pierced her with a hard look, daring her to argue.
She blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Then slowly nodded. “I will concede your point, doctor. However, the children’s situation notwithstanding, I am entitled to know about your other patients. What of the mothers still alive, the ones working in the brothels on Market Street?”
Shane held her stare. “I treat them, as well. And anyone else in need. I turn none away.”
A sound of outrage slipped from her lips. “Innocent children are one thing, but their mothers are quite another. You did not say in your advertisement that you care for…for…sinners.”
Her words were like a solid punch to his gut. How often had he heard similar accusations thrown at his own mother, all because she had chosen to be a wealthy man’s mistress?
Memories lurking below the surface bubbled forth, taunting him. Shane’s breath turned cold in his lungs under the assault.
Yes, his mother had been a sinner, but she had paid dearly for her mistakes. She’d died in shame, and there had been nothing Shane could do to stop the tragedy.
He’d been too young, too inexperienced, too—
Another unladylike sniff yanked him back to the present.
“You have nothing else to say to me, doctor?” she asked. “What is your defense for misleading me into thinking this was an ordinary nursing position?” The chill of her tone sat heavy in the room between them.
Shane fought to keep his resentment and anger from taking control of his reason. What had he been thinking, to allow this interview to continue so long?
He could never subject the Charity House children, their mothers, or any of his patients for that matter, to this woman and her…judgment.
He owed it to the memory of his own mother to find a compassionate nurse to assist him in his practice. Was guilt driving him to care for the disenfranchised? Guilt over failing the one woman who had sacrificed her life for him. Or was it true conviction that pushed him to care for the unwanted?
He wasn’t sure anymore. Nor was he convinced his motives mattered. His patients, and their care, had to come first.
With his mind made up, Shane rose from his chair and waited until the woman did the same. “Thank you for your time, Miss Marley. I am no longer in need of your services.”
He did not offer her his hand.
“You are dismissing me?” The woman had the nerve to look mutinous, as though she was being unfairly sent away. “But you need my assistance. You said so yourself at the beginning of this interview.”
With each breath he took, his patience wore thinner. “I think it is best we part ways at this juncture.”
Gasping, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin high in the air. “I’m your last candidate,” she said. “You have no one else.”
“I am confident God will provide.”
“You will regret this,” she warned.
Shane met her gaze with an unrelenting glare of his own. “I will not.”
He’d never spoken truer words. For although he knew things would get worse before they got better, he also knew he just needed a little more faith, a little more patience. All would work for the best.
With a loud huff, Miss Eugenia Marley skimmed her ice-edged gaze across him, turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Each angry step she took sounded like a hammer hitting unforgiving iron.
Shane stood stock-still, staring straight ahead. He barely flinched when she slammed the door behind her with a loud bang.
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