Patchwork Family. Judy Christenberry
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people,” he’d said with a laugh.
Which made his assistance today impressive.
“I appreciate your help. High fever always frightens me.” He must think her a real fraidy cat. After all, yesterday she’d been just as frantic. “You must think I’m always— I mean, yesterday—”
He took her arm and drew her over to a row of chairs. “Special circumstances, Molly. Don’t worry about it.”
She sat down because she didn’t know what else to do. She’d wanted to follow the doctor into the examining room, but that hadn’t appeared to be an option, which worried her even more. A nurse had hovered at the doctor’s side, ready to assist him, and Sara hadn’t put up any resistance. Now, Molly clutched her hands tightly together, tensely waiting for the doctor’s —and Sara’s—reappearance.
A large hand reached out and covered her two. Its warmth helped ward off the chill that was racing through her. “It’ll be all right,” Quinn whispered.
“I appreciate your talking your brother into seeing us right away. I don’t know what could’ve caused such high fever. It could be meningitis, or even—” she gasped at the thought “—even leukemia.”
“It’s probably nothing more than the flu, which I’ve heard is going around.”
“You don’t know that!” she snapped, refusing to be consoled.
He squeezed her hands and said, “No, I don’t, but we don’t want to borrow trouble if it’s not necessary.”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.”
He seemed to take her apology in stride. “Do you have any family, other than Sara?”
She shook her head.
“Your parents?”
She stared at him. Did the man think she could carry on a normal conversation when her baby was desperately ill? “They’re both dead. My mother died when I was twelve, my father three years ago.” Before he could ask, she added, “I was an only child.”
As Sara was and would be. Molly had no intention of ever considering matrimony again, of giving Sara a stepfather who might fail her as miserably as her own father had done. No, it would be just the two of them.
“No aunts, uncles, cousins?”
“Are you asking who to notify in case of an accident? Or—or a death?” she demanded, her voice rising.
“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