The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby

“I’ll check.” Happy for action, he headed for the door.

While he was gone she went through the seat. She found a pacifier and a soggy piece of paper. She was trying to shake it open when Nate returned with a diaper bag.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“It was in the seat.” She handed the paper to him. “I think it’s the note we’re looking for.”

Sitting beside her, he carefully unfolded the paper and spread the note. He took up a good portion of the couch and Michelle would have moved away from the large bulk of him, but she wanted to see the note.

Plus he was warm. And he smelled good.

So instead of sensibly moving away, she scooted closer and peered over his large arm. Pretending not to notice his big hands and the thick width of his wrist, she read the note.

Nate,

This is your cosin Jack. I never wanted a kid. Im too old and I cant take care of him and work. I gotta work to stay outta the joint. Jack talked good about you. He was good to me so Im giving his kid to you. If you don’t want him giv him to some body to giv him a good home.

“Well, I’m off the hook. Too bad for you,” Michelle muttered. The letter offended her. She knew desperation, knew self-absorption, and she could never abandon a child. She suddenly had new respect for her father, who’d at least accepted the responsibility of raising her.

“Joint?” she sneered.

“She means jail.”

“I know what joint means. She’s barely literate, but that’s no excuse for abandoning her baby. How could she give her son away? What about your cousin Jack? Where is he?”

“Dead.”

Oh, man. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“He was killed in a bar fight five months ago.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say it like that.” The eyes he turned on her were grieving. “Like he was a lowlife drunk. Jack was a nice guy, but he was troubled. He should never have followed me into the service. Some men aren’t meant to be killers. A stint on the front line messed him up good, and then they sent him home. But the damage was done. He began drinking, had a hard time keeping a job.”

Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “He was excited about the baby. Becoming a father was the first thing he cared about in a long time. And then he was gone. He didn’t even get to see his son.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, with more feeling this time. It was a sad story. She looked down at the lump of the baby under her shirt and thought he had a hard time ahead of him. She didn’t remember her mother, she’d died when Michelle was two, but she had been loved, coddled during those first formative years. Little Jack didn’t even have that.

When she looked up, she found the sheriff watching her.

“You need to call Child Services.”

“Why?”

Her eyebrows lifted, giving away her surprise. “So they can come get Jack, of course.”

He shook his head. “They’d only try to locate his next of kin, and that’s me, so there’s no need to call them.”

“But you aren’t equipped to take care of him.”

“No,” he said grimly, “but it looks like I have little choice.”

“So what does that mean? What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Raise him.”

She blinked at him. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” What did it say about him that he hadn’t even hesitated? That he was honorable? Responsible? Both fit with him being a sheriff. “You’re not even going to think about it?”

“My uncle took me in, taught me what it meant to be a man. Jack was like a brother to me. Of course I’m going to take care of his kid.”

“That’s huge. There aren’t many men I know who would just take a baby in like that.”

“Then they aren’t men.”

That was a pretty tough stance. But after a moment’s thought, Michelle nodded. He was right. One thing she could say about her dad, he’d never tried to give her away.

“Do you have to start tonight? Couldn’t you call Child Services to take him until you move into your new place and get all the gear you’ll need?” How could she work on the house with a baby around? They required care and feeding, and quiet.

His hands went to his hips and he shook his head, his expression forbidding.

“Ms. Ross, if anyone is leaving tonight, it’s you. As it is, you’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Because this is my place for the next four months.”

“But I need to sell the house. And I need to make improvements.”

“Not my problem.”

“But it’s my house.”

“And I have a lease. We’ve been over this.”

“But—”

He held up a hand. “There are rental laws. Read them. Then we’ll talk.”

Michelle wanted to bite the offending hand. Arrogant jerk. It wasn’t her fault her father rented the place without letting her know. She had the right to move on with her life and selling this house was a big part of that.

But she was smart enough to know pressing the issue wouldn’t gain her any points, so she retreated.

She nodded at the note. “What about the mother? She didn’t sign the note. Do you know her?”

“I met her. Wasn’t impressed.” The very flatness of his tone spoke volumes. “She has a criminal record so she won’t get another chance to hurt Jack.”

“Understand I have no sympathy for the woman, but it’s possible she knocked. We were arguing and the storm is loud.”

“Then she should have knocked harder—” there was no give in his response “—waited for me to open the door and talked to me.”

“You might have said no.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“No, but it’s a possibility she wasn’t willing to risk. Wait …” Michelle suddenly noticed something was different. “He’s stopped shivering. I heard that’s bad.”

“Maybe not.” His calm response took the edge off her panic. “If he were still in the cold, yes. But he’s been warming up. The need to shiver is gone. Is he still breathing?”

She froze, worried for a moment he’d stopped, but she felt the soft heat of his breath against her chest.

“Yeah.” She glanced down at her misshaped T-shirt. “I’d feel better if I could see him.”

Nate stepped over, grabbed the neck of her undershirt in both hands and effortlessly tore an eight-inch rip down the front. Michelle gasped, shocked by his outrageous action.

“Hey!” she protested, glowering at him.

“You said you wanted to see the baby. Now you can.”

Yeah, and the swell of her breasts and the pink lace of her bra. She pulled her flannel shirt closed over herself and the baby.

“I thought the point was to keep the baby warm.”

“Right. And skin-to-skin is the best way. Warm fluids would be good, too.”

She nodded toward the diaper bag. “There’s probably stuff to make a bottle in there. Do you think you can handle it or should we trade places?”

“If I’m going to raise him, I may as well learn how to feed him now.” He grabbed a bottle and a tin of formula from the diaper bag and headed for the kitchen.

Michelle frowned after him. Most people would probably find that admirable. She just found it annoying. It was just as much a fault to have to do everything yourself as to want everyone else to do it for you.

Then again she may just be reacting to her disappointment in not getting to see the baby pressed to Nate’s bare chest.

She imagined it would be a pretty impressive sight.

Thinking about it, she decided, no, her annoyance had nothing to do with being denied an erotic peek and everything to do with Sheriff Nate Connor being an arrogant pain in the butt.

In the kitchen Nate leaned against the counter and curled his shaking hands into fists.

How righteous he sounded when he told her he’d be raising Jack. Little did she know the internal fight he went through.

What did he know about raising a kid? Nothing. Sure his uncle had taken him in, but he’d been a stupid teenager and Uncle Stan already had a kid, so taking on Nate had been nothing new. And the Lord knew Nate was already messed up so there was little Uncle Stan could do to damage him.

Not so with Jack. He was an infant with his whole life spread out before him. The damage Nate could do encompassed everything from the baby’s health to his spiritual upraising. Nate groaned. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he went to church, the last time he’d done more than take the Lord’s name in vain.

New rule—no cursing.

Because he was a father now, no matter how freaked the notion made him. Because he was no coward and no quitter. He owed Uncle Stan and Jack, so Nate reached for the can of formula and began to read.

He would learn and he would adjust. And he and baby Jack would be just fine.

The baby stirred against Michelle and she looked down into frowning gray eyes. Jack was awake.

“Hey, little guy, how are you doing?” She smiled in relief and to assure him she was a friend. His color had improved and she cuddled him close and rubbed a finger over the downy softness of wispy wheat-colored hair. “Are you feeling better?”

He blinked at her, which she took as a yes.

“Bad news, buddy, your mom, the lowlife witch—” Michelle’s sweet tone never changed as she dealt the insult “—dropped you on Cousin Nate’s doorstep in the middle of the biggest storm of the season.”

He stared at her with sober eyes, taking in every word she spoke.

“Hopefully, your daddy was smarter than your mommy.” She nodded at the alertness in his gaze. “The good news is your cousin Nate says he’s going to raise you.” Chewing the inside of her cheek, she sighed. “Actually, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s a good news-bad news thing. He’ll be a rock for you, but he’ll have impossible expectations. At least that’s how it was with my dad.”

His little face crumpled and he began to whimper.

“Oh, shoot.” Michelle gently bounced Jack, trying to calm him. “No, baby, don’t cry. Shh. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Nate is different.”

“Different from what?” a deep voice demanded.

Flinching internally, she carefully controlled her expression when she met Nate’s challenging gaze.

“I was warning him how difficult it can be to live with a sheriff.”

He lifted one dark brow, silent reproach in the gesture. “Thanks for undermining me before I’ve even met the kid.”

“The truth is the truth.”

“Being sheriff is what I do.” He handed her the full bottle. “It’s not who I am.”

“I was raised by a lawman.” The warm bottle felt good in her hand. She checked the temperature of the formula on her wrist. Perfect, of course. She fed it to Jack, who latched onto the nipple and sucked, his little hands coming up to rest on the bottle. “I know what wearing that uniform means. Long hours, community service, duty first. Family a far and distant second.”

“You don’t know anything about me. I won’t be judged by the actions of another.”

“Fine. Prove me wrong.”

“I would.” Nate settled into the corner of the couch. “But you won’t be around to see. You just want to sell this house and head back to the city.”

He was right. And she wouldn’t apologize for wanting to move forward with her life. “I’m not going back to San Francisco. I’m moving to Los Angeles.”

“Really?” He lifted one dark brow. “Following some guy south?”

She snorted. As if she’d move across town for some guy. “My agent thinks it’ll be better for my songwriting career. And now who’s judging?”

“I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“There’s nothing in this town for me anymore.”

“You’ve never believed there was anything here for you,” he said.

Michelle glanced up from the sweet baby to study the stoic sheriff. How did he know her so well when they’d only met briefly at the funeral before today? She didn’t think Dad had been the type to talk about his absent daughter. Maybe she’d been wrong about that.

“You were wrong then and you’re wrong now.”

“Wrong?” Could he read minds now?

“About what the town has to offer.”

“I don’t have anything in common with the people here. I want more.”

“More what?”

The same question her dad had always had for her. She didn’t know! She just knew this town lacked what she needed.

“More everything. More music, more options, more money, more entertainment, more men, more people who want more.”

And Dad had never understood, never accepted how important music was to her, that songwriting wasn’t just a dream but what drove her.

“Shallow. I guess you’re right after all. River Run has character, people with heart and integrity who care about their neighbors, where life is more important than entertainment and meeting strangers in the street.”

No surprise, Sheriff Nate Connor didn’t understand, either. Why that hurt she couldn’t say.

She ran the back of her finger over baby Jack’s powder-soft cheek, wishing him a better life in River Run than she’d had. “He’s asleep again.”

“Good. Hypothermia is hard on the system.”

“Is the storm going to get better or worse tomorrow?”

“Why? You have somewhere you gotta be?” he mocked her.

“Just answer the question.”

“Worse. This was only supposed to be a light snow flurry, but a massive cold front pushed down from Alaska causing blizzard conditions. It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better. We’ve battened down the town and advised people to stay inside except for emergencies.”

Nodding, she tucked the fleece-wrapped baby in the crook of the couch and set his bottle on the oak coffee table.

“Then I should get at least one of my other suitcases tonight.” She reached for her shoes.

Nate didn’t move. “You’re not going out in the storm. Didn’t you hear me say I advised the townspeople to stay inside?”

“This is an emergency.”

“You’re safe and sound inside a warm house. There’s food and water, and a flushing toilet. How is this an emergency?”

His long-suffering expression made her grit her teeth.

“I need clothes. I have a change of underwear in my overnight case, but not clothes.” She tugged at her ripped T-shirt. “And the ones I have on came into contact with a Neanderthal.”

“You can borrow something of mine.” He shrugged off her sarcasm. “Nobody is going back out into the storm.”

Shooting daggers at him, because she’d hoped he’d offer to get the cases for her, she made her way around the table to the middle of the room. Her ankle throbbed but held her weight.

“Ten minutes ago you were ready to send me on my way.”

“That was before I’d been back outside. The storm has worsened.”

“All the more reason to go now. I’m going to get my suitcase and you can’t stop me.”

He laughed. And pushed to his feet with a lithe grace that spoke of muscle and discipline and the easy strength to make her do anything he wanted her to.

Aggravating man.

“You don’t scare me.” Still she couldn’t prevent taking an instinctive step back. And immediately felt her ankle turn. Pain streaked through her foot and she started to fall.

She screamed.

The baby cried.

And the lights went out.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’VE got you.” Nate caught a bundle of soft female curves in his arms. She smelled of something fruity, clean and tart … and good enough to eat.

Too bad she was prickly as a porcupine. Because it looked as if he was stuck with her for a couple of days.

“I’m fine.” She twisted against him, seeking release. “You’ve made your point. I’m not going outside.”

“Stay still.” He shifted his hold from her arms to her waist, practically spanning the narrow width with his hands. She was tinier than he’d thought. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse than you already have.”

“The baby is crying.”

“We’ll get to Jack in a minute.” For some reason Nate couldn’t let Michelle go. She’d untucked her shirt when she stuck the baby under the hem and the thumb of his right hand rested on the silky warmth of her skin. It wasn’t personal, he assured himself. It wasn’t Michelle he wanted.

It just felt so good to hold a woman in his arms.

But he had enough common sense to know the landlord who wanted to sell his house out from under him was not the place to kick-start his libido.

He had no choice but to let her stay for a couple of days, but after that she’d be gone. Either to a place in town or preferably back to the city to stay until his lease ended and she could return to do her thing without his bumping into her.

She stopped struggling, going totally still. The lights were out but the fire gave off enough light for him to realize the dark shook her.

He could handle a woman’s tears. When your mother cried at the drop of a hat, you learned to cope or became an emotional wreck yourself. Still the long day—days—and the baby must have him off his game, because he really didn’t want to see the tears sparkling in Michelle’s emerald-bright eyes fall. Already he knew enough about her to know she’d hate putting on a tearful display for him.

“What’s wrong, Michelle? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Anger instantly sparked, wiping the distress from her face, replacing it with haughty distain.

“Of course not.” Her chin lifted and instead of pulling away from him she stepped forward until her pink flannel shirt brushed against the khaki of his uniform. “I’m at my best in the dark.”

His body reacted with a rush. Holy sh—Moly.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Round one to Michelle.

A warrior knew the advantages of a timely retreat. He quickly released her and took two steps back, narrowly missing the coffee table and a fall of his own.

She flipped her hair and flashed him a glance of triumph as she moved to pick up the baby and coo at him. Not a tear in sight, and she seemed to have forgotten her missing suitcases.

Mission accomplished. So it hadn’t been a total defeat.

“Good. Then keep an eye on Jack. I’m going to go get some flashlights and candles. Plus I have to make some calls. I may be a few minutes.”

“Okay.” But she couldn’t prevent a flinch of uncertainty.

“Don’t let the fire go out.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can and we’ll get some light in here.”

“Thanks. I think the dark upsets Jack.”

Nate stared down at Jack held snuggly in her arms and an unexpected rush of emotion swelled up in him. The baby had Nate’s uncle’s eyes, the resemblance especially strong with Jack scowling like he was doing now.

How Nate had loved that old man.

Funny, he’d always thought of Uncle Stan as old, but hell, at forty-two his uncle had only been ten years older than Nate was now when he took in a wild fourteen-year-old.

He’d been in a bad place but Uncle Stan took no guff from him. There’d been no bluff in the man, but he’d cared. He’d been as free with his affections as he’d been with his disciplines. Nate had needed both.

He’d learned how a real man acted.

How proud Uncle Stan would be of baby Jack. Though it hurt Nate to admit it, he was glad his uncle hadn’t seen Jack Sr.’s spiral into drunken obscureness. He wouldn’t have blamed Nate—Stan believed a man was responsible for his own choices—but it would have killed him to see Jack’s pain, and the weakness that took him over.

The baby, the continuance of the Connor family, would have thrilled Uncle Stan. Michelle was surprised by Nate’s willingness to take the baby on, but Nate owed Uncle Stan and Jack too much, loved them too much, to shame them by turning away baby Jack.

Which meant for the time being he needed Michelle. At least for tonight; beyond that, he’d see.

“Right.” He mocked her claim that Jack was the one afraid of the dark.

She hit him with a scorching glare, but all she said, was “Food would be good, too.”

Her bravado and the underlying vulnerability got to him. He called himself a chump but once he’d gathered the flashlights, candles and a battery lantern he returned to the living room.

He lit candles and placed them on the mantel, handed her a flashlight and set the blazing lantern on the coffee table. But it was her smile that lit up the room.

“Double chump,” he muttered as he escaped to the kitchen. The phones were out, too, so he used his cell to call the county supervisor’s office to get the status of the utilities. He learned the storm had taken out several major hubs. And then the line went dead as his phone beeped and informed him he was out of service.

“Great.”

The need to fix the problems pressed at him, but there was literally nothing he could do except prepare for the cold night ahead. The loss of electricity meant they’d have no working heater.

He grabbed a box from the utility room and piled in his stash from the refrigerator and cupboard, tossed in utensils and topped it with plates, mugs, a pan and napkins. Next he used the flashlight he’d kept to find two sleeping bags in the attached garage.

Why he bothered to go to so much trouble for a woman so self-absorbed she rarely contacted the father who obviously adored her, Nate didn’t know. And sure she was watching the baby, but she hadn’t even offered to help. No doubt she expected to be waited on hand and foot. Well, that wouldn’t wash here. He expected people to pull their own weight and since her temporary stay was on his dime, she’d just have to meet his expectations.

He frowned, remembering what he’d overheard her telling Jack. That kids of sheriffs had to live with high expectations and little freedom. It made him recall the early days with his uncle Stan. That’s exactly how he’d felt. The restrictions had chafed badly, but it had also felt good to know someone cared about where he was and what he was doing. To have someone who checked up on him and made sure he had something to eat.

It took two trips to get everything to the living room and Michelle was sitting on the hearth pawing through the food box when he came back with the sleeping bags.

“Big boy, you are my hero.” The sultry look of anticipation on her face made him wish she were gazing at him instead of the stew she was transferring from plastic container to cast-iron pot. “I’m starved, and this smells really good.”

When she put her finger in her mouth to clean off a smudge of gravy, he had to disguise a groan with a cough.

That brought her attention up from the food.

“You’re not catching a cold, are you?”

Was that real concern in her voice?

“Because you’re a parent now, you have to take better care of yourself.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He should have known better.

“Thanks for your concern.” The sarcasm slid off his tongue before he could rein it in. Damn, now he’d have to put up with the sulks for an hour while she pouted around. He moderated his tone. “But I’m fine.”

Unoffended, she flashed him a dimpled grin. “I’m just saying. No more wandering around in the cold without a jacket.”

Surprised by her easy response, Nate felt some of the tension in his shoulders lessen. Maybe the woman had a few redeeming qualities.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh.” Her green eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously. “You didn’t go there.”

He had. And her huff made him add, “You want a cap and slippers to go with that advice?”

“You’re going to pay for that, buster.” She promised retribution. “Now you get to play chef.”

She pushed the heavy pot into the flames of the fire. And to punctuate her point she stood, dusted off her curvy butt and hobbled back to the couch, where she claimed her seat in the corner. Arms crossed over her chest plumped up her breasts, pushing pink lace and considerable cleavage into view.

“I like it steaming hot,” she said with a slow lick of her lips.

Oh, devious, devious woman. The wanton knew exactly how to make a man pay. And it had nothing to do with cooking supper.

Determined to keep his composure, he put his back to the tempting sight of the contrary female.

“You’re fickle, Ms. Ross. First I’m your hero, then I’m a sorry fellow tasked with heating your stew.”