answer came from the newly created nursery in the form of a high-pitched wail. Betsy. In the panic of the moment, he’d forgotten all about the baby. And Lacy. He glanced toward the back door. Apparently she hadn’t followed him in.
Betsy’s cries increased in volume.
Ryder backed toward the hall door. “Mom’s in good hands, Branson. Good spirits, too. She was still giving orders as they strapped her to the stretcher.”
But in spite of his attempts to reassure Branson, Ryder’s lips were drawn into tight lines, his muscles bunched, as he turned to walk toward the crying infant. He stopped at the door and turned back to face Branson. “Mom will pull through this. She has to.”
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