Love in the Balance by Regina Jennings Page A

couldn’t hide his smile. Prue had been right, but would Molly admit it?
    “I’m sorry to hear that you’ll once again be unemployed,” she said. “Can’t say that I’m surprised, though.”
    “Thanks for the encouragement.” He thought about winking but remembered the tea.
    “Well, if you learned a skill like blacksmithing, you might accidentally stumble into an income. Then, if you weren’t careful, you could find yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to marry me like you’ve threatened.” The jutting chin disappeared beneath a smug smile.
    “Believe me, if I find myself dangerously close to being able to support a wife, I’ll be sure to call our families together and see what they suggest. We’ll meet at the church for a discussion. You should come, too. Show up in white—”
    He didn’t want to stop just as her confidence was returning, but the situation at a vacant house ahead of them demanded attention. Standing on a porch the size of a cowhide was a dingy little girl peering into the window.
    “No one lives there.” He frowned and went to the gate, trying to remember who the child belonged to. “Do you need help?”
    The girl turned, took a bite of a sticky bun, and nodded solemnly.
    Bailey held the gate open and motioned Molly into the yard.
    The house stood abandoned, the flower beds brimming with winter weeds and blooms past their season. The girl’s dress had seen better days, too. With grimy fingers wrapped around her treat, she walked out to meet them.
    “I’m supposed to be home before dark, but my kitty ran into this haunted house.” Her big brown eyes never left his, but she must’ve seen his amusement, for she set him straight immediately. “It is haunted. That’s why it’s for sale. Old Lady Ridens don’t want to share her bed with a haint no more.”
    Share a bed? Oh boy. Bailey saw Molly dimple, trying not to laugh at the girl’s story, and the movement drew the child’s attention to her.
    “Say, you’re dressed up real pretty like.” She took inventory of Molly’s skirt trimmings of braid and fringe. “Like the pictures in the catalogs.”
    Molly gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. She peered triumphantly through her eyelashes at Bailey. He chuckled. As if he needed a ragamuffin to draw his attention to how Molly looked.
    “Thank you, honey. And don’t you have the cutest—” Molly’s enthusiasm wilted.

    Even Bailey could see the girl’s plain frock sported only one strand of eyelet lace, broken loose and dangling. A ribbon that should’ve been retired years ago captured fewer strands of dirty hair than it released.
    “Freckles?” he offered, and Molly threw him a grateful smile.
    Bailey’s heart warmed as she knelt and fished through her reticule for a handkerchief. He should’ve known she’d spiff up the child. His little sisters always begged him to bring Molly home, relishing the attention she lavished on them.
    The girl slurped sticky bun off her finger but held still for Molly’s attentions. “When I get big, will I look like you?”
    “Only if you’re lucky, sweetie,” Molly said. “Lucky and willing to spend two hours at your dressing table every morning, scads of money on your wardrobe, and have the patience to religiously scour Harper’s Bazaar for the latest fashions.” After a few swipes at the glaze, she gave up and pulled the sticky handkerchief off of the girl’s face. Sighing, Molly fished a three-cent piece from her bag and dropped it into the child’s hand.
    “Tomorrow morning you go buy yourself a fresh hair ribbon.” Molly stood and tugged at her snug bodice. “And no more sticky buns. You’ll regret every bite some day.”
    “Don’t pay her no mind,” Bailey said. “She does everything she can to disguise what God gave her. If she’d spend half the effort, she’d get twice the results.” He really shouldn’t be looking at Molly like that. What had Weston said about repeatedly falling into