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

You already knew that, didn’t you?”
    “Maybe because I grew up in the country. I’ve had a few pet cows of my own.” Yes, that was it. Concentrate on anything except Sam Frost.
    “So, you’ve always lived in the country?”
    “No. Scarlet fever took my baby daughter four years ago. Then it took my husband, and I fell sick. My mother came to tend me and she died. After that, I couldn’t keep the farm running by myself. I lost the house and the land, so Ruth and I moved into town. All the hustle and bustle made me forget. It was the noise. I was always reminded I was among other people, that my old life had vanished and things were different. Somehow it made it easier to move on. At least partly.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss, Molly.” Rich, his words, deeply intimate his tone. His sympathy touched her, as if they shared that in life and more. He moved closer, and not merely physically. “I pray there will be more children for you one day.”
    “I had a very hard time having Merry, and my doctor assured me there would be no more babies. Now you know why I think your twins are a blessing. I don’t understand why God chose to take my only child, but in losing my daughter I know the value of a child’s life and the richness of a child’s love.” She changed the subject. “How did you lose your wife?”
    “Cancer. I did a similar thing when Paula died. I moved from the town into the country. I worked so much, so I could stay numb from any more pain life had to offer.”
    “It’s no way to live. Eventually you have to rise to the challenge of living and loving again, or miss what is greatest in life.”
    “Wise words.” He had recently come to understand that.
    Kathleen’s voice carried from the open window. “Get out of my kitchen! Shoo! You girls take that cow outside right now.”
    “But she loves us, Mrs. Finley—”
    “—she wants to be with us.”
    “Honestly! Does my kitchen look like a barnyard to you? Shoo!”
    Beside him, Molly’s laughter was part amusement, part tears. Was she remembering her losses? He wanted to ask her about what had happened, about her buried child. But he could not hurt her in that way.
    “What a good life you have, Sam.” Amusement chased away the traces of sorrow from her lovely face, the loveliest he’d ever seen.
    “I know that, too.” She made him different. Hewanted to thank the Lord for sending the lustrous sunlight because when it glowed, it turned her blond hair to pure gold. He wanted to give thanks for the way his heart came to life, full of melody and harmony and notes in between. For the frightening vulnerable feeling of trusting a woman again.
    A clatter arose in the flower garden. A lilac bush rustled and Sukie emerged on the path, a daisy hanging from her mouth. Liquid brown eyes twinkled with mischief as she loped just ahead of her little girls. Molly hopped out of the way, bringing her dangerously close to his chest and to his arms. She smelled like sugar cookies and icing and spring. Being near her was like waking up and finding a dream.
    The girls dashed past, pink sunbonnets hanging down their backs by the strings, their black braids bouncing with their gaits. “Sukie!”
    The heifer, as if eager to play tag, took off into the field, her tail swishing. Penny and Prudy followed, their laughter like merry bells.
    “As you can see, neither is worse for the wear. Everything is back to normal.” Everything except him. He sidestepped, resisting the urge to pull her against his chest, to hold her sweetly enfolded in his arms. She definitely appeared more beautiful than when he had last seen her and somehow ever more precious and wholesomely feminine. Stubborn tenderness took root within him, refusing to do anything but flourish.
    Don’t love her. That would be an enormous mistake. But what he heard was his daughters’ pleas. We were praying, too, Pa. So that maybe you would like MissMolly. Really like her. So she could be our ma. What he felt