really small. Like the size of a doll. And wet.”
“Wet?” She told him how to pick it up. He lifted the infant and the red fleece all together, supporting the baby’s tiny head.
“It’s warm,” he said, juggling the phone as he cradled the newborn. “It’s got blood on it and some skin or something.”
“Take it inside. Wrap it up in something dry and wait for me. Did you call Child Protective Services?”
At her question, he recalled that his training included instructions to call the state agency, and that he had the number saved in his contacts on his phone.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll do it.” The phone went dead.
Jake held the still bundle and the phone. He glanced around one last time.
“Hello?”
The morning chill seeped under his collar as he stood holding the infant before him like a live grenade. He thought he might be sick as past and present collided in his mind. Lori was coming. Sweet Lord, Lori was coming. He squeezed his eyes closed. The sound of movement made them flash open, and he turned toward the rustling.
“Is anyone there?”
Nothing moved but the little baby pressed against his chest.
* * *
LORI DROVE TOWARD Koun’nde in the rising light before dawn. Burl had arrived quickly to relieve her, and so she was only a few minutes away from having to face Jake Redhorse. Since her return, she had mostly avoided him. It was infuriating how he could still make her tremble with just a smile. One thing was certain. She was not falling for his charm twice.
As she approached his home, the anxiety and determination rolled inside her like a familiar tide. If she had not been good enough for him then, she was now. Only, now she didn’t want him, the jerk.
She’d learned what he really thought of her after the baby had come. Not from him, of course. Oh, no. Mr. Wonderful would never insult a woman. He’d left that to everyone else.
Damn him.
Her face heated at the shame of it, still, always.
She pulled into the drive, wondering if she had the courage to make the walk to his front step. As it turned out, she didn’t have to. Jake hurled himself out the front door without his familiar white Stetson or uniform jacket and charged her driver’s side like a bull elk.
“Hurry,” he said.
Lori grabbed her tote and medical bag and followed as Jake reversed course and dashed back into his home. Lori ran, too, her medical bag thumping against her thigh as she cleared the door. Once inside, she heard the angry squall of a newborn.
Jake stopped in the living room before a dirty red polar fleece, which sat beside a couch cushion on his carpet. On the wide cushion was a baby wrapped in a familiar fuzzy green knit blanket, its tiny face scrunched and its mouth open wide as it howled. Lori’s stride faltered. She knew that blanket because she had knit it herself from soft, mint-colored yarn. She glanced at Jake. Why had he kept it?
Jake pointed at the baby. “It’s turning purple.”
Lori scooped up the infant and cradled the tiny newborn against her chest. The sharp stab of grief pierced her heart. She’d held dozens of newborns since that day, but none had been wrapped in her blanket and Jake had not been standing at her side. It was all too familiar. She tried to hide the tears, but with both hands on her charge she could not wipe them away.
Jake stepped up beside her and rested a once-familiar hand on her shoulder. His touch stirred memories of pleasure and shame, and her chin dropped as she nestled her cheek against the fuzzy head that rooted against her neck.
She turned and allowed herself to really look at Jake. Oh, she had seen him since her return, often in fact, but she’d refused to let herself look, refused to allow the emotional gate to swing open. But the baby and the blanket had tripped some switch and she wanted to see him again, if only to remember why she had once loved him. Permission granted to herself, she braced for the pain. His brow had grown more prominent, and his broad forehead was made wider because his hair was tugged back in a single pony at his neck, which was dressed with blue cloth. He always wore blue now.
No, not always, she remembered. Once, he’d worn his hair wrapped in red cloth. Jake’s ears showed at each side of his head and she noticed they seemed tucked back, as if he needed to hear something behind him. He wore a silver stud in each ear. Police regulations required that he wore nothing dangling, but she preferred the long silver feathers she’d given him. Did he ever wear them?
His jaw was more prominent now, having grown sharp and strong. The taut skin of his cheeks seemed darker than the rest of his face due to a day’s growth of stubble. She traced the blade of a nose with her gaze, ending at his mouth, and watched his nostrils flare and his lips part. Their eyes met and she went still, seeing the familiar warm amber brown of his eyes. He still made her insides quake and her heart pound. Memories swirled as he took a step forward. He rested his hands on her shoulders and angled his jaw.
Oh, no. He’s going to kiss me.
Instead of revulsion, her body furnished blazing desire. She told herself to step back but found herself stepping forward. The newborn in her arms gave a bleat like a baby lamb, bringing her back to her senses. Had she been about to stroke that familiar face?
She stiffened. Damned if she’d give him the chance to hurt her again. She was through with men who treated her like she wasn’t good enough. There were men out there who judged you by yourself instead of by your family. Jake Redhorse was simply not one of them.
“I’m sorry, Lori.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and made a disbelieving sound in her throat. Was he sorry that she’d come, sorry that he’d nearly kissed her or sorry that anyone else in the world was not here to help him?
His mother would have been an option—his mother, who had called her an apple, red on the outside and white on the inside, because her father had been white. Then she’d called her siblings pieces in a fruit basket. Lori was well aware that none of her siblings shared the same father, because no one ever let her forget it.
His mother had disliked her right from the start, but after May Redhorse learned about Lori’s condition and that Jake planned to marry her, her dislike solidified to distain. Mrs. Redhorse was a good Christian and a bad person.
Finally, belatedly, Lori stepped back. Jake’s eyes still had that piercing look of desire. She drew a breath as she prepared to throw cold water on him.
“You could have called your mom,” she said. Bringing up his mother was a sure way to douse the flame that had sprung from cold ashes between them.
His mouth twisted. “She can’t get around very well right now.”
Lori recalled the diabetes and the toe amputation—more than one. His mother had always been a big woman, and the disease had only made her less mobile. Some of
