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

foolish she’d been. How romantic and foolish, wishing for a man’s love, a man who did not love her in return. Humiliated, she swiped at her eyes.
    “Here. Let me.” Could his voice be any more caring?
    She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t see him drying her tears. She felt the soft cotton dab against her skin, drying her cheeks, catching each tear as it fell. It was not sweetness she felt, really. Nor did she feel an iota of tenderness. This wasn’t a loving gesture on his behalf. This was one neighbor being kind to another. Friendliness, nothing more.
    “Are you going to be all right?” he asked, his voice raw and wounded.
    His kindness felt like torture. She broke away, wiped her remaining tears with her sleeve and tried to take a step.
    “It was the girls, wasn’t it?” His words were roughly spoken, heavy with regret. “They made you think I was courting you, didn’t they?”
    She nodded. The temperate winds stirred around her, swirling her skirt ruffles, tangling the curls around her face, perfuming the air with flowers and sunshine. Howcould she be breaking and the world be so perfect and whole? She couldn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice. She fought back her last tear.
    “I see it now. The proposal. The disappearances. They mysteriously prune half the garden. Their list. They keep a list with all their qualifications for a new mother. You meet every one.”
    A dagger to her already wounded heart. The girls. She would never be their stepmother now. Loss crashed through her, taking her last drop of hope with it. She’d had too many losses already. “Goodbye, Sam.”
    “No, Molly, wait.” He stood between her and her cart, barring her escape. “Everything the girls did, the flowers, inviting you here, trying to bring us together, that was wrong. But I can’t say I’m sorry. I care for you. More than I think is safe.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “Maybe you should stay.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb on her cheek, but no more tears fell. “Let’s see what’s for supper. It’s my suspicion Mrs. Finley is aware of this plan and perhaps has aided and abetted. There might be a very good meal waiting for us.”
    “Oh Sam, I’ve been in this exact position before, mistaking caring for love.” Sheer pain twisted her features. “I can’t stay.”
    “Not even if I ask you to?” He hated every single tear she had shed. He despised that she was hurting. Molly, gentle-mannered, caring Molly did not deserve this. The valiant tilt of her chin, the steel of her spine, the dignity she struggled to keep broke him apart. Tenderness drowned him, and helpless, he took her hand.
    “The girls haven’t done anything I haven’t thought to do myself.” Honesty, opening himself up to rejection, took the last of his pride. He felt like he’d jumped off nearby Angel Falls, the highest waterfall in the territory, and was tumbling to certain death. But he kept going. Her hand felt fragile within his own, trembling with broken disappointment and needs. He could feel every one of them. She needed to be cared for. She needed to care for others. She had deep love to give with no one to give it to. She would make a very fine wife.
    Just do it, Sam. Head pounding, throat tight and achy, fear beating at him, he got down on one knee, watching her gasp in realization. Yep, that was just about how he felt, too. Surprised and scared and afraid of another marriage hurting more than it helped. But this time, it would be different. He would make sure of it.
    “Molly, I’m hoping you would do me the honor—”
    “Oh, Sam, please don’t ask me this.” Her bottom lip was trembling, and she looked suddenly too young and vulnerable. He had never seen her so clearly. Her goodness, her love, her wounds. She tore her hand from his and dashed around him, skirts swaying.
    He didn’t remember hopping to his feet or following her. Only that he was by her side. “Please don’t go until you hear me out. Until