The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby. Teresa Carpenter

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where he set the carrier down. “Poor thing, he’s shivering. And look how red his skin is.”

      “Hypothermia. Get him out of the seat and his clothes,” Nate ordered. “Put him inside your shirt and wrap up in the fleece. Don’t rub his skin. I’ll get the fire going.”

      Michelle sat down and pulled a damp blue blanket away to get at the straps holding the baby in the seat. Quiet now, eyes closed, the infant shook so hard the seat moved. A dingy white cap covered the child’s head, but he wore no socks and his thin outfit offered little protection against the elements, including his own blanket.

      Next she unbuttoned her pink-and-purple plaid flannel shirt and pulled her T-shirt from her jeans. Her heart broke as she lifted the tiny body, quickly stripped him down to his diaper and then cuddled him to her chest under her shirt. Teeth chattering at the chill he brought with him, she wrapped them both in the warm fleece blanket.

      “His hands and feet are freezing cold,” she reported, happy to see the fire going. Already the room felt warmer. “How could anyone leave a baby out in a storm like that? It’s inhumane.”

      “Yes, it is.” Ice dripped from the words as Nate came to stand over her. “It’s neglect and child endangerment. I hope you have a good lawyer.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      “THAT’S not funny.” Glaring up into the sheriff’s cold gray eyes, Michelle carefully shifted the baby so his nose wasn’t pressed into her.

      “It’s not meant to be.” He tapped his badge. “I don’t joke about the law.”

      “And I don’t abandon defenseless babies.”

      “No, you just break into houses.”

      “It’s my house,” she reminded him through gritted teeth. “So there’s no reason I wouldn’t have brought the baby inside.”

      “You knew it was a boy,” he said, arms braced across his broad chest.

      “A guess from the blue blanket. And it hasn’t been substantiated yet. You called him a boy, too.”

      “He arrived at the same time you did.”

      “You don’t know what time I got here.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Seems to me he arrived at the same time you did.”

      How dare he accuse her of such an atrocious act? She fully admitted she looked out for number one. You had to put yourself first when no one else did. But she had a soft spot for kids, got along with them better than a lot of adults.

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “And as you’re so quick to claim, it’s your doorstep.” She made a point of pulling open the neck of her shirt and looking from the baby to the man. “I think he has your eyes.”

      His frown turned ferocious. “That’s not my kid.”

      “Are you sure?” she persisted just to aggravate him. “He looks about three or four months old. Think back about a year, something will come to you.”

      “There is no possibility the child is mine.”

      “How can you be so sure? A lot of men have vague memories when it comes to things like this.”

      “I know.”

      “Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes at his arrogance. “You know.”

      “I haven’t been with a woman since I moved to River Run.” Acknowledgment of what he’d revealed came sharp on the heels of his outburst. “Ah, hell.”

      “Why?” The word burst from her. Shocked, she ran her gaze over him. “You’re not bad-looking and your body is smoking hot.”

      “I have my reasons, which are none of your business.” The grimness of his tone warned her the topic was closed.

      “Okay.” She valued her own privacy too much to disrespect other people’s rights to the same. “We’ve established he’s not mine and not yours, so who is he? Was the seat all that was with him? Was there a diaper bag? Maybe there’s a note.”

      “I’ll check.” Happy for action, he headed for the door.

      While he was gone she went through the seat. She found a pacifier and a soggy piece of paper. She was trying to shake it open when Nate returned with a diaper bag.

      “What’s that?” he demanded.

      “It was in the seat.” She handed the paper to him. “I think it’s the note we’re looking for.”

      Sitting beside her, he carefully unfolded the paper and spread the note. He took up a good portion of the couch and Michelle would have moved away from the large bulk of him, but she wanted to see the note.

      Plus he was warm. And he smelled good.

      So instead of sensibly moving away, she scooted closer and peered over his large arm. Pretending not to notice his big hands and the thick width of his wrist, she read the note.

      Nate,

      This is your cosin Jack. I never wanted a kid. Im too old and I cant take care of him and work. I gotta work to stay outta the joint. Jack talked good about you. He was good to me so Im giving his kid to you. If you don’t want him giv him to some body to giv him a good home.

      “Well, I’m off the hook. Too bad for you,” Michelle muttered. The letter offended her. She knew desperation, knew self-absorption, and she could never abandon a child. She suddenly had new respect for her father, who’d at least accepted the responsibility of raising her.

      “Joint?” she sneered.

      “She means jail.”

      “I know what joint means. She’s barely literate, but that’s no excuse for abandoning her baby. How could she give her son away? What about your cousin Jack? Where is he?”

      “Dead.”

      Oh, man. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

      “He was killed in a bar fight five months ago.”

      “Oh.”

      “Don’t say it like that.” The eyes he turned on her were grieving. “Like he was a lowlife drunk. Jack was a nice guy, but he was troubled. He should never have followed me into the service. Some men aren’t meant to be killers. A stint on the front line messed him up good, and then they sent him home. But the damage was done. He began drinking, had a hard time keeping a job.”

      Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “He was excited about the baby. Becoming a father was the first thing he cared about in a long time. And then he was gone. He didn’t even get to see his son.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said again, with more feeling this time. It was a sad story. She looked down at the lump of the baby under her shirt and thought he had a hard time ahead of him. She didn’t remember her mother, she’d died when Michelle was two, but she had been loved, coddled during those first formative years. Little

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