it, wearily circling a hand under the damp collar of her shirt and thinking that Texas summers had surely grown hotter than they used to be. After a minute or so, she removed her clothes and pulled on a nightgown, any gown, from her dresser drawer. The gown smelled of old cherry wood and fabric softener and, faintly, of lavender. Its soft familiarity soothed her.
She lay awake for a long time that night, listening to cicadas chirring in the shrubbery and to Jesse James yodeling at the moon. She never heard the baby cry, not even once. But she did hear Colt’s footsteps pacing back and forth, back and forth on the creaky oak floor. If he slept at all, she couldn’t tell it, and she didn’t fall asleep herself until past midnight.
MORNING. PALE LIGHT. A baby fussing. The scent of coffee.
Colt struggled out of a deep sleep. For a moment he was confused. Where was he?
Then he remembered. Marcy’s baby was waking up. He’d fed her and diapered her during the night, and now she was probably hungry again.
He forced himself to slide out from beneath the smooth sheets, marveling at the fact that he no longer slept in a prison bunk. As he pulled on his jeans and shirt, he thought that never again would he take a real bed with a comfortable mattress for granted.
He bent over the cradle. Alyssa was squirming, screwing her face into an expression that he’d learned meant she was about to let loose with big-time bawling. He poked around under the blanket and found the pacifier.
“Here’s your stopper,” he said. Alyssa opened her mouth and accepted it, her eyes wide as she took in the looks of him.
“I know I’m not much to look at with this scar and all,” he whispered as he gathered her up from the cradle, a family heirloom carved with initials and angels and roses. Eddie had probably slept in this cradle, and maybe Frisco, too. Colt smiled to think of the crusty Banner-B foreman as a baby.
He changed Alyssa’s diaper, getting the hang of it now. It wasn’t an unpleasant job, exactly. Cleaning up after horses was much worse, though he’d heard tell of horses that wore diapers, carriage horses in touristy towns, and he thought it was a travesty. Babies, now, that was a different thing altogether. Trouble is, the person who should be dealing with this baby’s diapers was Marcy.
“Well, now, I am goin’ to find your mommy,” he told the baby. “Goin’ to bring her back.”
Not that it was so hard to understand the desperation that had brought Marcy to the point where she’d left her baby with him, but he couldn’t imagine what she’d thought he would do with a baby. Just out of prison, trying to make a life for himself—well, he could think of better things than dealing with somebody else’s problems. But then he’d always been a sucker for Marcy no matter how sorely she tried his patience, mostly because he knew how unhappy she was. Poor kid, she’d never had a chance with Ryzinski for a father.
“We’d better get you something to eat,” he said to the baby. He lifted her in his arms and studied her features for a moment. She had Marcy’s dark hair and eyes, and the set of her chin was pure Marcy.
A voice materialized outside the door. “Colt?”
Colt caught a glimpse of himself as he passed the mirror over the dresser. He looked rumpled and unshaven with one lock of hair falling over his forehead and his eyes rimmed by dark circles. He’d hardly slept at all.
He swung the door open with his free hand. Bethany stood there smelling of soap and shampoo, and he felt a little current of pleasure quiver through him just to see her. She’d showered and washed her hair, he could tell from the fresh clean scent of her. And she was wearing a T-shirt today. It was big, though, and left plenty to the imagination. He had no trouble imagining, none at all.
“How is the baby? I didn’t hear her cry during the night.”
“I didn’t let her cry. Didn’t want her to wake you.” He’d jumped up out of that comfortable bed at the slightest whimper from the cradle, and he’d rocked and fed and changed diapers like he knew what he was about.
Bethany sallied forth into the room. There was a sashay to her walk, but he’d bet she was completely unaware of it. “I’ll fill her bottle with more formula.” She looked at the baby, and the focus of her eyes softened. “Here,” she said, “let me take her.” She held out her arms and he sort of dumped Alyssa into them. He was wary of touching Bethany’s breasts by mistake. Wary and aware. Today she wore a bra, but instead of enhancing her figure, to his way of thinking it minimized it. Maybe that was what she wanted.
As Alyssa began to whimper, Bethany hesitated, then, as if she couldn’t help herself, dropped a kiss on the fuzzy little head. “Hush,” she said, a gentle command. The baby hushed.
“You can wash up in the bathroom if you like,” she said. “Meet me in the kitchen afterward.” It was as if she hardly saw him. She only had eyes for the baby. Which was a good thing. At least she hadn’t demanded that he leave. In fact, she’d looked right put out last night when he’d said that bit about not letting the baby be sent to a foster home. Well, he’d meant it.
Colt went into the bathroom. It was all white tile and white fixtures with a fluffy blue rug on the floor. It was clean, real clean. To him, it seemed the ultimate in comfort and convenience. He would have liked to take a shower from a spigot with a decent flow of water, but Bethany hadn’t said anything about that so he didn’t. He did open the corroding mirrored door of the medicine cabinet, hoping to find a razor. There wasn’t one, only a bottle of aspirin and one of mouthwash. He gargled with the mouthwash and studied his face in the mirror. No wonder Bethany wasn’t more friendly.
Well, hell, why would she be? He’d arrived unannounced, taken up residence, and saddled them with a baby, all in a short period of time. Boy, would he give Marcy a real talking-to when he finally caught up with her.
And how would he do that? He had no idea. The last time she’d visited Colt in jail, Marcy had informed him that she had a boyfriend, and she’d made it clear that she’d moved in with the guy because there was nowhere else to go. The man had probably walked out on her, left her pregnant and she couldn’t support the kid. End of story. Beginning of a major problem—for Colt, anyway.
He’d have to find Marcy. And he would, as soon as possible.
When he walked in the kitchen, Bethany was sitting in a rocking chair that hadn’t been there before. She had the baby spread out on her lap and was crooning to her, punctuating each word with a gentle pat-a-cake of the baby’s tiny feet. Alyssa seemed to like it, gazing at Bethany in rapt attention.
“You’re safe with us, Alyssa, safe with us. Yes, you are, you are,” Bethany said. She glanced up at the sound of Colt’s footsteps and suddenly became all business.
“Give me her bottle, will you, Colt? And help yourself to the coffee.” She gathered the baby in her arms, the game, whatever it was, over.
Colt handed Bethany the warm bottle, which she tested on the inside of her arm before sliding the nipple into Alyssa’s eager mouth. The baby began to suck and commenced looking blissful, making little dovelike noises deep in her throat.
Colt circled around and poured himself a big mug of coffee. Then he leaned against the counter and said, “I know it’s a burden on everyone, havin’ a baby here. This morning I thought I’d make a few phone calls, see if I can find out where her mother is.”
“Good. I’m supposed to work cattle with
