frowned in alarm.
Sara’s lack of sleep made her own eyes well, too. She stood and began to walk the floor with Charley, jostling him a little as she moved in the hopes that the slight, swaying motion would soothe him. It did not.
“What’s wrong with him?” Matt asked.
That was the bitter irony. “I don’t know.” And as his mother, she certainly should have. She rocked him back and forth.
Matt strode closer, his handsome features etched with tenderness. He lifted his hand to Charley. This time, the baby howled all the louder and batted Matt’s palm away.
“Then why is he so fussy?” Matt had to speak up to be heard over the wailing.
Sara arched a brow, irritated to have him constantly finding ways to make her feel off balance, not to mention seeming more inept than she already was. “If I knew that, do you really think he’d still be crying?” she demanded.
Ignoring her pique, Matt gently touched her son’s cheek, as if checking for fever. Again, Charley batted his hand away.
Taking the cue, Matt backed off. “Is he sick?”
Glad to have someone to share her concern with, Sara shifted Charley to her other shoulder. She continued gently soothing him, as best she could. Looking over his blond head at Matt, she admitted, “I thought he might be since he’s so cranky and doesn’t want to eat, but he doesn’t have any fever. He’s not pulling at his ears the way he did when he had an ear infection, either.”
“Is his throat red?” Matt asked, while Charley warmed to the audience and wailed even louder.
Was this what it would be like to have someone big and strong and male to share the parenting duties with? Telling herself she was really losing it, Sara pushed the ridiculous notion away. “I can’t answer that, either. I haven’t been able to get a good look.” And in fact, she had been considering going into the emergency pediatric clinic in town, if this went on much longer.
Matt pointed out, “His mouth is open now.”
Figuring as long as she had help she might as well use it, she retrieved the flashlight she kept on the kitchen counter. Then turned back to Matt. “You want to hold him?”
For the first time, Matt hesitated.
“Listen, cowboy, either be part of the solution or leave. Because I don’t need any more problems today.”
From the pen in the corner of the living room, Champ, the nine-week-old black Labrador puppy Sara had been trying to get Matt to help socialize, lifted his head and began to jump up against the three-foot wooden sides of the whelping pen, in rhythm to Charley’s wails.
Matt turned in the direction of the noise. He locked eyes on the puppy.
And in that instant, Sara knew.
Matt wasn’t a dog person.
Not in the slightest.
Not anymore.
* * *
Matt swore silently to himself as he clamped down on the memories he worked so hard to quash.
When he’d set out for Sara’s ranch, he’d figured he would see her baby. He’d even been sort of looking forward to it. Why, he couldn’t exactly say.
He hadn’t figured she’d have one of the pups from the litter there. But she did and as the puppy continued whimpering with excitement and trying to climb over the sides, it was all he could do not to break out into an ice-cold sweat.
Over a harmless little black Lab pup, of all things.
“Matt?” Sara’s hand was on his arm. Her tone as gentle as it was inquiring.
“Sorry,” he rasped, turning his back to the rambunctious retriever. “I’ll hold Charley while you try and get a look at your son’s throat.”
Ignoring the stuff of his nightmares, Matt held out his arms. Sara shifted her son over. Oblivious to Matt’s private grief come to life, Charley wailed even louder.
Whatever questions she had—and she seemed to have plenty—could wait.
On task once again, Sara cupped her son’s chin in her hand and shined the flashlight in that direction. While the puppy gave up trying to escape, opting instead to pick up a squeaky toy and then roll happily around with it in the pen, Charley twisted his head to the side, buried his head in Matt’s chest and firmly clamped his lips shut.
Sara seemed even more nonplussed.
“Why don’t you hold him? I’ll look,” Matt said.
Nodding in frustration, Sara set the flashlight down and took Charley back in her arms. The moment she had him, he glared at her, as if he blamed her for whatever was bothering him, and began to howl again, even more vociferously.
Matt hunched so he was at eye level with Charley—and trained the light low, so it only hit the lower half of her son’s face. He surveyed the back of his throat. “Looks fine,” Matt said in surprise. The way Charley was carrying on, he’d expected to find it beet red. “A healthy normal pink.”
“No spots? Even on the roof of his mouth? Red or white?”
Matt looked again, as Charley began to cry in earnest once again. “Not a one.”
“Oh, Charley, honey, what’s wrong?” Sara said, swaying her little boy back and forth.
Noting the puppy was now drinking water, and vastly relieved his own unexpected memories were now subsiding, Matt whipped out his phone. “How old is Charley?”
Sara shifted her son onto her shoulder and walked over to the puppy pen. She reached down to give Champ another toy to occupy him. Turning back to face Matt, said, “He turned six months old ten days ago.”
Figuring the sooner he was able to get out of there, the better, he punched in a number.
Sara came closer, a still-whimpering Charley cradled in her arms. As she attempted to see what he was doing, her shoulder bumped up against the center of his chest. “Who are you calling?”
“Cullen’s wife, Bridgett.”
His brother’s wife was a neonatal nurse at Laramie Community Hospital, and a mother to a one-year-old boy, with another child on the way. Luckily, she answered right away. “Hey,” he said. “I’m at Sara Anderson’s ranch, and we’ve got a little problem...”
While Matt described what was going on, Sara carried Charley into the kitchen and got a bottle of apple juice out of the fridge. She offered it to the baby. Still sniffling, he took it in his chubby little hands, put it in his mouth and started to sip, then let out another wail and pushed it away.
Matt came back. He hated to pry, but Bridgett needed to know if she was to help. “Are you still nursing?”
As he spoke, his eyes slid to her breasts. Although it was a natural
