Free Mission of Hope by Allie Pleiter

yet realized just how hard supplies still were to come by. And while a huge chunk of him wanted her to wheel in here victorious, his practical side knew she had always stood a far bigger chance of wheeling in here sad and frustrated.
    She was even prettier when she pouted. Her delicate frown whipped up something fierce inside him, some heroic urge to see her smile again and to do whatever ittook to produce that smile. She didn’t know he had the means to do it. She didn’t know how much he’d stared at his hand yesterday, trying to recall the softness of her palm and the distractingly soapy scent that seemed to float around her.
    She didn’t know her father was standing over her shoulder looking straight at Quinn, as if to say there’d be no wandering across the street today. That was fine—Quinn had another strategy to restore Nora’s smile, and that strategy was currently tugging impatiently on his good arm. He didn’t mind at all that Sam wouldn’t take no for an answer in coming to see Nora.
    The moment Quinn finally let go of his hand, Sam scrambled across the street and up onto the cart to give Nora an enthusiastic hug. Her laugh at Sam’s exuberant, nearly tackling welcome made Quinn smile. Those two were a pair from the first moment.
    He stayed back while Nora went through her usual business with the mail, which was hampered by Sam for most of her visit. Sam had obviously declared himself her assistant, and Quinn couldn’t help but laugh as Sam’s “assistance” made Nora’s tasks that much more complicated. Every once in a while she would look up, catching Quinn’s eye. Even at this distance—as they had at the rally not so long ago—her eyes could dazzle him. He could tell she was disappointed at not being able to provide the items they’d listed. He admired how important helping out had become to her, mostly because he shared the same urgency.
    When her mail was dutifully received and Sam had been thanked, rethanked and thanked again for his “invaluable assistance,” Nora tugged a small box from the back of the cart and then handed it to Sam while sheclimbed down. Quinn wanted to sprint over there and help her down again, if only to buy himself the fraction of a second it gave him to hold her soft hand, but he decided restraint was the better choice. No one used to say restraint was a characteristic of Quinn Freeman, but maybe the stinging cut on his right forearm was sinking the virtues of discretion into his thick skull.
    After producing a piece of licorice for Sam from her pocket, Nora waved Quinn over. He forced himself to walk casually to the cart.
    â€œHere. It isn’t much, I’m afraid.” She held out the box to him with a handful of bandage rolls and half a dozen dish towels inside. “I think the dish towels will make fine diapers if they’re cut in half.”
    â€œDon’t say it’s not much,” Quinn replied to the frustration in her voice. He took the box from her, resisting the urge to find a way to make sure their hands touched when he did. “Every bit helps out here. You’re doing so much already. Josiah’s ma will be thrilled.”
    The wind stole a lock of hair out from underneath her hat, and she reached up to push it back off her face. “There’s just so much to do.”
    â€œReverend Bauers says all we can really do is the bit God puts in front of us. With all he faces, I think he might know a thing or two about big problems.”
    â€œThe post has twice as many messages as yesterday,” she assessed, squinting across the street. “It was such a splendid idea. You really should be proud of yourself.”
    Quinn shrugged, hiding his pleasure at how obviously she wanted to go over and inspect his creation. “I just copied the fountain. Anyone could have done it.”
    Her eyes told him she thought otherwise, and he liked that very much.
    She