Free Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) by Jennie Marsland Page B

took over. He pushed past Chelle, ran to the byre, bridled his black cob and swung up bareback. The girl mounted her horse and followed him down the lane at a gallop. The horses’ hooves pounded out a beat that became words in Martin’s mind, a frantic, repeated prayer.
    Please, God. Not her too. Please.
    Was this punishment? The price for turning away from all that was left of Eleanor? From a part of himself? He knew nothing of his daughter, had cared nothing for her except to keep her housed, fed and out of his sight. He’d given her nothing of himself, and now he could lose her.
    Brian came out of the house to take the horses as they clattered into the forge yard. Martin slid to the ground, his legs threatening to buckle as he followed Chelle inside.
    Caroline hurried down the stairs toward him. “You’re here then. She’s about the same.”
    Her tone, her worried expression, took Martin back to the night Leah was born. He’d refused to hold her that night, refused to have anything to do with her. Now, this might be his last chance. “I want to see her.”
    “Aye, come with me.”
    He followed Caroline and Chelle up to the children’s room. Leah lay in her crib, crying fitfully, her fine red curls plastered to her head with sweat. When Martin reached out to touch her hand, she opened her gray eyes wide and screamed.
    Eleanor’s eyes, looking at him in terror. Martin thought his heart would tear loose in chest. Why wouldn’t he frighten his daughter, showing up like this when she was ill? He was a complete stranger to her.
    Chelle picked the baby up, wet a cloth in the basin on the nightstand and laid it on the back of Leah’s neck. In familiar arms, Leah stopped screaming. Martin laid his hand on the baby’s back and felt the scorching heat radiating from her. His palm covered Leah from shoulder to shoulder. She looked to be a sturdy little thing, but she was too young and small to fight for long against a fever like this. “Haven’t you sent for the doctor, Caroline?”
    “Aye, of course we have, but he’s out on a call. His wife said she’d give him the message as soon as he got in.”
    Martin wanted a target for his fear and anger, but he knew the McShannons had cared for Leah as if she were their own. He was the one who’d neglected her. He tried to speak around the lump in his throat and couldn’t.
    Caroline took him firmly by the arm. “Come downstairs and wait for Doctor Halstead, Martin.”
    With a last look at Chelle cradling his daughter, he let Caroline lead him from the room.
    Colin and Jack arrived home from a job on one of the farms, laughing and bantering. Their laughter died when they saw Martin there and Caroline’s grave face. Jack crossed the room and put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Is something the matter with Leah, then?”
    “She’s running a high fever. Jack, will you run round to the surgery and find out what’s keeping Doctor Halstead?”
    “Aye, I won’t be long.” Jack hurried out again.
    Martin slumped on the kitchen sofa, rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. By the stove, Colin and Caroline spoke quietly, their voices too low for him to follow. Then Martin heard the clink of glass, the sound of pouring liquid, followed by Colin’s voice. “Here, Martin, I think you could use this.”
    The fragrance of good whiskey made him look up. Colin sat beside him, his thin hand surprisingly strong as it gripped Martin’s shoulder. “Doctor Halstead will be here soon. Don’t think the worst, lad, it won’t help.”
    Martin turned away from the sympathy on the older man’s face. He didn’t deserve it. “I can’t lose Leah, Colin. I haven’t had time to get to know her. I haven’t taken the time to get to know her.”
    Colin swirled the whiskey in his glass, then gave his head a rueful shake. “Sometimes we’re selfish when we’re hurting. I’ve got a son caught up in the war at home when he might have been safely out of it if