Chapter Ten
Bella Creek, Montana, summer 1890
Twenty-two-year-old Kate Baker walked out of the big house on the Marshall Five Ranch. She’d completed her errand and was intent on returning to her home, four miles away, in Bella Creek. She’d taken two steps toward her buggy when a wagon rolled up to the house.
A stranger got down, retrieved a basket like the one Kate used for laundry and handed it to her.
“For Conner Marshall.”
Before she could think to ask who he was or what he’d delivered, he jumped back to the seat, flicked the reins and drove away.
She turned to look in the basket and met the dull brown eyes of an infant. Not a single rational thought came to her mind. What was she to do with this baby?
Think, she ordered herself. Who would bring a baby to Conner? He wasn’t even married.
Grandfather Marshall was inside—she had delivered some new liniment for him from her father, the local doctor—but he was in no shape to take care of a baby.
Grandfather, as everyone called him, had said everyone else was away. Wait, hadn’t he said Conner had stayed on the ranch to keep an eye on things...meaning the older man?
She glanced around. Did she detect movement in the corrals by the barn? It could be one of the hired hands or Conner.
“Conner,” she yelled. “Conner Marshall.”
The movement turned into a body that vaulted the fence and raced toward her.
She watched Conner approach. The middle Marshall son was twenty-four years old. He was a big man. Blond as all the Marshalls were with piercing blue eyes. His dusty cowboy hat tipped back from his pace, allowing her a view of his strong, angular face.
He reached her side. “Is something wrong? Is it Grandfather?” He clattered across the wooden veranda toward the door.
“Not Grandfather.” Her words stopped him and he slowly turned. She pointed toward the basket that she had lowered to the ground. “Someone brought this for you.”
“Me? What is it?”
“You best look and see.”
He did so. “A baby? Why would anyone send me a baby?”
Exactly her question. They stared at the solemn infant.
“Look, there’s a note.” She pointed to the piece of paper tucked by the bedding.
He seemed incapable of moving, so she picked it up. “It has your name on it.”
He plucked it from her fingers, unfolded it and read it aloud. “‘Conner, this is Elspeth. She’s yours. Take care of her. Thelma.’”
Kate lowered her gaze, unable to look at the man. He had a baby? And obviously no wife, unless she had left him. “You’re married?” She kept her voice low, revealing nothing of the shock this news provided.
“No, of course I’m not.”
He’d fathered a baby out of wedlock? She’d known him since she and her father had moved to Bella Creek in the spring and would never have considered him the sort to act this way. It left her stunned to the point she couldn’t think how to respond.
Drawn by the sound of their voices, Grandfather came to the doorway.
“You should be resting,” Kate said in her kindest voice, knowing how much his legs must hurt. He’d been injured a couple of years ago and his legs had never healed properly.
“Can’t rest with all this commotion. What’s going on?”
“A baby.” Conner sounded as shocked as he looked. He handed the note to his grandfather, who read it and grunted.
Grandfather hobbled over to peer into the basket. “So you’ve fathered a baby?” The disapproval in the older man’s voice hung heavy in the air. “She’s awfully still.” He pulled the blanket covering the baby lower. “And thin as a stick.” He waved Kate forward. “I’ve seen how competent you are at helping your father. You’ll know what to do with this baby. Have a look at her, would you?”
Kate’s father was the local doctor. Her mother had been his assistant before her passing, and since then, Kate had assisted him. This was what Kate knew. She stared into the eyes of the little girl. Her heart stalled. Something about the look in those eyes begged for Kate’s help.
She drew in a deep breath. She touched the baby’s cheek, found it dry. Kate slipped off the tiny bonnet and ran her hand over Elspeth’s head. She guessed the baby to be about five or six months old. Conner would have a better idea of the age of his daughter.
“She’s badly dehydrated.” She refrained from giving her assessment that this child was also undernourished. Her throat constricted at the idea that the baby had been neglected. It was all she could do not to scoop the little one from the basket and promise to protect and care for her. Instead, she waited for Conner to take responsibility for his child. “She needs to be fed,” she added for good measure. Still no response. What must she do to get the man moving?
“You need to feed her,” she continued. A nursing bottle with a skin of sour milk lay beside the baby. She picked it up and held it toward him.
He lifted his gaze from studying the baby to stare at the bottle.
“Come, I’ll help you.” She made her way to the door. Grandfather hobbled after her, but Conner didn’t
