Twice Blessed by Jo Ann Ferguson

cue, the short case clock by the stairs chimed twice. Two in the morning! Who was knocking on her door at this hour?
    She took a step toward the kitchen and the back door, then stopped. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to calm herself. This was Haven. The past was miles and another life away.
    â€œEmma!” The man’s shout sounded desperate. “Please open up! We need your help!”
    Muffled weeping ripped Emma from her terror. Someone was sobbing with heart-wrenching grief. A child! Sean? She glanced up the stairs, then realized the sound came from the front porch.
    She ran to the door and threw it open. Lifting the lamp, she looked out into the night. “Noah!”
    â€œWe need your help.”
    â€œWe?” She pulled her gaze from him to see a dark-haired child next to him, clinging to his trousers and crying. Both of them were drenched from the rain. He carried something wrapped in a blanket in his arms. Another child?
    Throwing the door open as far as it would go, she called, “Come in, come in.”
    â€œThank you.” His voice rumbled oddly about her parlor.
    She was shocked to realize that, except for Reverend Faulkner, she could not recall the last time a man had come to her house. Shaking that irrelevant thought from her head, she drew the child—a little girl, she noted—in and closed the door. On the stairs, Sean was gripping the banister, his mouth as wide as his eyes.
    â€œIs here all right?” Noah asked, pointing to the bare floor in front of the parlor stove.
    â€œAll right for what?” Emma set the lamp back on the table and blinked as its glare shimmered on his black silk vest and white shirt, which were newer than what he had worn when she saw him at the store.
    â€œFor you to check him over and see if you can help.” He squatted, putting the blanket and what was wrapped in it on the floor. Water pooled around him.
    The little girl tugged on Emma’s coverlet and whispered, “He’s hurt. He’s hurt bad. Can you make him all better?” Luminous tears filled her brown eyes.
    Emma was not sure which one to respond to first. She flinched when she heard a yip and a low growl. A dog? Butch was sleeping in the barn. She stared at the blanket. Noah Sawyer was carrying a dog into her house in the middle of the night? What was this all about? She wanted to ask, but silenced her curiosity. Her questions might lead him to ask some of his own.
    â€œEmma, please!” He grasped her arm and pulled her closer to the dog. “I’ve been told you have a way with animals. Can you help Fuzzball?”
    â€œFuzzball?” She knelt beside him.
    He did not look at her. “I know it’s a foolish name for a dog, but Belinda chose it.” He lowered his voice beneath the little girl’s weeping. “Can you help him?”
    Emma reached toward the small, brown dog. It could not be more than a pup. “Shh,” she said. “Good Fuzzball.”
    The dog snapped at her and growled weakly.
    Noah bent forward to calm the dog. “She’s going to help you, Fuzzball.” He cleared his throat, looking abashed to be caught talking to a dog as if it were a child. “Sorry, Emma. He doesn’t understand.”
    â€œOf course not. It’s all right. I get cranky when I’m not feeling my best, too, as you know.”
    â€œI guess I do.” He met her eyes and gave her a swift smile.
    She looked away from the naked honesty on his face. It made her uncomfortable. When he pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, she gasped. Surprise burst into his eyes, and he jerked back. He stared at his hand, clearly unable to believe he had done something so familiar.
    â€œJust hold Fuzzball while I check him,” she said, hating that her voice quivered. She did not want her breath to grow frayed at the touch of this man, who was still very much a stranger. She gritted her teeth to keep her question steady.