like flowers growing from dark soil. No one else had ever managed to duplicate the pattern accurately. She had made this quilt—and she only gave quilts to family. That meant the baby belonged to the Hayes clan. He considered the relations who lived nearby.
Cousin Amelia lived in Evans Grove, but she was in Kansas visiting her sister. Although she had put on weight lately, he’d seen no indication that she had been expecting a baby. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone. Colton might not get into town very often, but news like that would have reached him no matter what. Children were something to celebrate in Evans Grove, especially after so many had been lost to the flood. No, the child couldn’t be Amelia’s.
He had cousins in Ohio. Perhaps one of them had come to visit and something had happened. If Ma and Pa had been healthy, the mother might have left the baby with them instead of at the unfinished orphanage.
A fierce protectiveness filled his chest. He would take care of this little one until the parents returned. He reached into the basket, thinking to scoop the baby up, then hesitated. Wasn’t there a special way to hold tiny babies? He’d heard women mention it when they handed their infants to others, but he couldn’t recall their exact words. Something about holding its head. But how should he hold it? Up? Down? To the side? Was he meant to hold the baby from the head or support it from the neck? He pulled his hands back to his knees. He knew how to care for baby calves and foals. He’d seen baby kittens born, watched brand-new puppies. Once he’d even saved a nest of pink mice, only to watch them grow into troublesome rodents. But a human baby! He had no idea what to do.
Standing, he again looked around, hoping the mother had slipped away on an errand and would now be returning on hurried feet.
But only a pair of cowboys rode down the street. A wagon approached from the north side of town. Somewhere he heard a door slam. And distant voices laughing.
“Hello?”
The only answer came from the basket, a little squawk.
The baby’s face wrinkled up like a prune and a thin cry came from the tiny mouth.
Colton’s heart turned warm and soft. This lost or abandoned or forgotten baby was somehow connected to Colton and, as such, would receive all the care Colton could provide. Remembering the admonition to watch the head, he cupped his hands under the bundle and lifted it to his chest, hoping for the best.
“You’re safe now, baby. Don’t cry.”
The wee face smoothed. The lips puckered into a little rosebud, and the baby opened watery blue eyes to consider Colton.
Colton’s protectiveness grew fierce. Whatever had happened to this baby’s mother, he would find her. In the meantime, he would protect the baby and take care of it.
At that moment, the baby screwed up its face and cried—a sound like a mournful cat. So weak and pitiful Colton wondered if something was wrong.
“Don’t cry.” He cradled the baby against his chest and jiggled the little bundle.
“Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
But the wails intensified. The baby sounded distraught.
What was he to do with such a tiny baby? Colton remembered the bottle and grabbed it. Stuck the nipple in the crying mouth.
The baby choked.
Colton’s face turned cold. His heart forgot to beat. In his ignorance had he drowned the wee mite?
* * *
Twenty-three-year-old Rebecca Sterling reminded herself to keep a cheerful smile and a hopeful heart as she headed down the street toward the orphanage. She was the one who had received the anonymous check, so she was the one in charge of the orphanage-building project, and she was determined to make it a success.
True, she knew nothing about building, but a year ago, she had known nothing about finding homes for orphan children, either. Her assignment with the Orphan Salvation Society—a New York–based organization that rescued orphaned city children from the streets and found families for them out West—had changed that in a hurry. Now all but one of the orphaned children placed in her care had been settled with families. The last child, ten-year-old Heidi Strauss, was at her side as they crossed the street to the orphanage building site. Half a block later, Rebecca’s heart sank and her smile faltered when she could see that no lumber had been delivered.
“No more wood,” Heidi announced.
“So I see.” No lumber. Things gone missing. Boards destroyed and made to look like an accident.
Someone didn’t want her to succeed at getting the orphanage built. Rebecca fought against her feelings of frustration. They were running out of time. The specially appointed U.S. marshal would soon return with the rescued orphans who’d been forced by Baxter into virtual slave labor for unscrupulous miners and farmers all over Nebraska territory.
The children deserved more than rescue. They deserved a warm place to live where they would be welcomed and protected. She intended to see that they got it. The orphanage would be built. Somehow.
She tucked her chin toward her chest in a sign that anyone who knew her would recognize as a sign of stubbornness. Whoever was at the root of her troubles would soon learn that Rebecca Gwendolyn Sterling expected people to do as she asked.
Her chin sagged. Here in small-town Nebraska, the name Lawrence Sterling III didn’t carry the weight it did back in New York. Few people here had heard of her father. Fewer knew or cared that he was a rich importer of European goods.
She again drew her chin back. She would not accept defeat.
Through the framework of the building, a dark figure lurched from side to side.
“Someone’s there,” Heidi whispered as she tugged on Rebecca to stop her.
Rebecca jerked to a halt and clung to Heidi’s hand. Was he the one responsible for the mischief at the site? Or was he there to help?
Realizing that she was alone except for the small girl, who squeezed her hand hard enough to numb her fingers, Rebecca glanced around, but saw no one. No one to help her...but no one to aid the intruder, either. There was only one of him, after all. No reason to be all trembly inside. She’d had enough of delays. If his intention was anything but working on the building...
A horse whinnied as she and Heidi trod past him.
A cry reached her ears. A thin wail. She stopped and listened. “What is that?”
Heidi listened, too. “It sounds like a baby.”
“Must be coming from an open window.” She moved on until she reached the corner of the framed building, where she paused to study the man. A big man, broad at the shoulders. Something stirred within her. A sense of recognition and more—a sense of eagerness and curiosity.
Nonsense. She pushed away everything but caution and determination. Whoever he was, whatever he was up to, she had a job to do on this building. It was time everyone involved realized that she was in charge and would not relent until her job was done.
“Come along,” she murmured to Heidi, who hung back, afraid of the man. Rebecca led her forward.
At
