startling sound brought another frightened cry from Ben. Then he grabbed on to her, buried his face against her neck and sobbed, “Mama, Mama...” The words broke her heart. And his plaintive, lonely little cries made her feel powerless and useless and somehow cruel—to deny this perfect, beautiful child what he needed most of all. He shook his head against her neck, his hot tears smearing on her skin at the same time as he pressed himself so close against her, needing comfort so desperately, he grabbed for her even as he cried for the one he really wanted.
“Darling, shh. It’s all right. You’re all right....” She pressed her lips to his fine blond hair, breathed in the baby smell of him, milky and warm, a scent like fresh bread and baby lotion enchantingly combined.
“Mama, Mama...” He let out a garbled string of sad little nonsense words.
“Shh, Mama loves you. She loves you so much. But she can’t come,” she whispered against skin. “I’m here, though. I have you. You’re safe, you’re all right....”
Outside, the scuffling sounds continued. Again, something heavy bounced against the door.
And then she heard her cousin Charlotte’s sharp voice. “Stop this. Stop it this instant.”
A few more thuds and grunts followed.
And then she clearly heard Silas McCade say, “You damn fool, get hold of yourself.”
After that, there was silence from outside at last.
Charlotte spoke again, more quietly. Belle couldn’t make out the words. Then a door shut.
A moment later, Charlotte tapped on the door that joined their rooms. Ben had stopped wailing. He had his head buried in the crook of her neck and he was sniffling dejectedly, his little body shuddering in the aftermath of his tears.
She carried him to the inner door, rubbing his back, her lips to his temple as she went. When she reached the door, she settled the baby a little higher on her shoulder and turned the lock to admit her cousin, companion and dear friend.
“The...father has arrived,” Charlotte said, her prominent gray-green eyes wider than ever. She clutched the high neck of her ruffled robe with one hand and held the other hand around her middle.
“I heard,” said Belle.
“He wants to see Ben. He and Marcus had a bit of an altercation. They’re waiting outside with a loud-mouthed older fellow whom I’m assuming is the grandfather.”
“Has he been drinking?” Belle asked.
Charlotte frowned. “Which one?”
“Preston—but when you come right down to it, have either Preston or his father been drinking?”
Charlotte thought it over. Finally, she decided, “I don’t believe so. I think it was a case of the blood running high, as it were. They both appear sober and I didn’t smell liquor on either of them.”
“Very well.” Belle kissed Ben’s velvety cheek. He had his fist in his mouth by then. With a final hiccup and a weary little sigh, he laid his head on her shoulder. “Tell Preston we will meet him...where? It’s so early. I have no idea.”
“The restaurant across the street should be open,” Charlotte said. “I checked the hours yesterday. Six in the morning until eight in the evening.”
“Wonderful,” Belle said wearily. Maybe fortune would smile on them and the restaurant would be empty at this hour, giving them all a little privacy to deal with this difficult situation. “Tell them the diner, then. We’ll meet them there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Four
Belle, Charlotte and Ben entered the Sweet Stop together. Ben was bundled up and tucked in his stroller. The ever-present Marcus, sporting a black eye, followed close behind them. The diner was far from empty. Apparently, many of the good citizens of Elk Creek took breakfast before dawn. As had happened the day before, a hush fell over the establishment when Belle and the others came in. People paused with their coffee mugs halfway to their lips and stared.
Preston and Silas had taken a back booth and were waiting for them. One of them must have thought to ask for a high chair. It stood at the end of the booth. Preston, who faced the door, had a swollen lower lip and a small cut above his right eye. His gaze locked with Belle’s for a too-brief moment. An echo of last night’s magic arced between them.
And then was gone.
He and Silas both stood up as Belle, pushing Ben’s stroller, came toward them, Charlotte at her side. Marcus hung back near the door.
Belle reached the men looming by the booth. She moved around to the side of the stroller to take care of Ben and suggested over her shoulder, “If you two gentlemen wouldn’t mind sitting in the inner seats? Charlotte and I need to be next to the high chair for Ben.”
Neither of the McCade men answered. She glanced over at them. Neither had moved either. Both of them stood stock-still, wearing identical expressions of dumbstruck wonder, staring down at the child in the stroller.
Ben, bundled up in blankets and a miniature down jacket, a blue wool hat over his white-blond hair, gazed solemnly back at them.
Charlotte broke the silence. “Ahem. Sit down, please.” She made a shooing motion with both slim hands. “Sit down and slide over. Both of you.”
That seemed to break the spell. The men sat and slid to the window side of the booth. Charlotte hung up her heavy coat and took the remaining seat on Silas’s side of the table. Belle got Ben out of his warm hat and fat coat.
When she eased him into the high chair, he smiled up at her, sweet as any angel, his earlier misery completely forgotten. “Belle. Eat!” He pounded his hands flat on the chair tray—but not too hard. Just enough to punctuate his excitement at the thrilling prospect of breakfast. He loosed a happy string of nonsense noises.
She laughed low as she took off her coat. It was so good to see him back to his cheerful little self again. “Yes, Benjamin. We shall eat.” She gave him a biscuit to keep him occupied until his meal arrived and then took the seat next to Preston, who wore a winter-green corduroy shirt and a look both stern and completely stunned.
The waitress from yesterday, Selma, arrived with a coffeepot and an order pad. She poured coffee for all of them. Belle and Charlotte ordered.
Selma glanced at Silas and then at Preston. Both of them said, “The usual.”
The meal was a strange one, which really wasn’t all that surprising under the circumstances. Charlotte bravely tried to contribute something resembling conversation. She spoke of the weather and of the beauty and majesty of the local forests and mountains. Belle agreed with her companion that Montana was wild and rugged and beautiful. Charlotte had purchased a copy of the most recent edition of the Elk Creek Gazette. She’d read about the various holiday events that were coming up in the next few weeks.
“If we’re still here, we must attend the craft fair,” she said.
Belle agreed that, indeed, they must.
Preston methodically shoveled in food. He had nothing to say. Neither did the previously
