Читать книгу Maybe My Baby - Victoria Pade - Страница 9

Aiden woke up early the next morning and immediately rolled to his side to peer down at his youngest houseguest.

He’d pumped up an air mattress and placed it between the bed and the wall as a makeshift crib, but he hadn’t been sure it was the safest way for the baby to sleep. Worrying about it had made for a restless night. But, as he had on every other bed check, he found Mickey sound asleep, peacefully making sucking noises as if he were practicing for breakfast.

Even though it came as a relief to see once again that the infant was all right, Aiden didn’t hold out much hope of falling back to sleep himself. The sun wasn’t anywhere near rising yet, so he rolled to his back again, closed his eyes and tried to relax enough to maybe doze off.

Except that now he could hear those sucking sounds and he just kept thinking, What the hell am I doing with a baby…?

He’d thought he’d pretty much seen it all up here during the past seven years. But he had to admit that having a baby left on his doorstep was a new one. He delivered babies, he didn’t have them left with him.

As he’d put his tiny charge to bed he’d tried to figure out if Mickey was one of the babies he’d delivered seven months or so ago, but he hadn’t been able to tell. A newborn and a seven-month-old didn’t look much alike. Even the eye color often changed. And it wasn’t as if he could remember specific, identifying features of each baby, because he couldn’t.

And then there was the other possibility. The possibility he didn’t want to consider. The possibility he had to consider even if he didn’t want to.

What if Mickey was his? What if that was the reason he’d been left with him?

If it hadn’t been for one single night, he would have been able to say there was no way that it was possible that he was Mickey’s father. But there had been that one single night. And when he’d counted backward—seven months for what he guessed to be Mickey’s age and then another nine months gestation—he had to admit that that one single night could have, in fact, resulted in Mickey.

That thought chased sleep further from his grasp, and Aiden opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

One single night…

One single night when his marriage had fallen apart, when Rebecca had left him, that he’d gone into town and drowned his sorrow in a whiskey bottle.

And ended up sleeping with Nora Finley.

But until now he’d thought sleeping was all they’d done.

Even now he couldn’t remember anything beyond being in Boonesbury’s bar to tie one on and meeting up with Nora.

He only knew that when he finally came to the next morning, there had been a note on the pillow beside him that said, “Thanks for a good time, Nora.”

But since he’d still had his pants on he’d assumed the “good time” they’d had had merely been drinks and laughs and maybe sharing a platonic mattress.

He’d been sure that nothing else had happened. He liked Nora well enough but she was a long—long—way from his type. To say she was rough around the edges was a kind description of the woman who had hacked out a place in the woods to build her cabin with her own two hands, and who made her living running dogsled races. And rough around the edges was not something he’d ever found attractive.

But now he couldn’t be absolutely positive that nothing beyond drinks and laughs had happened. Maybe he had offered her more than a place to crash for a night.

Mickey didn’t look like Nora, Aiden reminded himself, in an effort to find something to hang some hope on to. Mickey didn’t look like Aiden, either. Or like anyone Aiden knew.

But the hope he derived from that was fleeting. Looks were hardly conclusive proof of anything.

Which meant that he was going to have to do some investigating. Some testing. Some questioning.

And all right away.

Unfortunately.

Because although this was not something he ever wanted to be faced with, having it happen now was phenomenally bad timing.

He was grateful to Howard Wilson for submitting Boonesbury for the grant that Emmy Harris was there to consider them for. The money would be a huge help in updating the care he could give, and Aiden had planned to do everything he could to convince her to recommend that they get it. Only now he had Mickey and this whole situation to deal with, too.

But there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to hope that Emmy Harris would be as understanding and patient as she was lovely to look at.

That thought made him nervous the moment after he’d had it. On two counts.

First of all, Emmy Harris had already not seemed patient and understanding about Mickey. Actually Mickey’s arrival had sort of pushed her over the edge, Aiden recalled, as he considered the end of last evening and the foundation’s director saying what she’d said about Howard setting up these complications, about this being a trial by fire.

She hadn’t seemed patient or understanding then. She’d seemed agitated.

And second of all, what was he doing thinking about her being lovely?

That didn’t have a place in any of this.

It was tough to ignore, though, he secretly admitted to himself.

Because she really was a knockout. And a whole lot more his type than Nora Finley.

Not that he was interested in Emmy Harris personally. But, purely on an empirical basis, she was a very attractive woman. How could he not notice that? How could he not notice that she had skin as flawless as Mickey’s? And high cheekbones that no plastic surgeon could have fashioned as well? And a small nose with the faintest hint of a bump on the bridge that kept it from being too perfect and ended up making it just plain cute? And lips full enough to inspire images of long, slow kisses…

Fast—think about what you didn’t like about her, he ordered himself before his mind ventured too much farther afield than it already had.

He hadn’t been wild about that bun her hair had been in—that was something he hadn’t liked.

Although the hair itself was a great color—rich mink-brown all shot through with russet red.

And her eyes were a fascinating color, too. Dark brown but with rays of glittering green all through them so that first he’d thought they were brown and then he’d wondered if they were green, before he’d finally sat across the kitchen table from her and been able to really figure it out.

Plus there were those legs of hers. Terrific legs.

Any woman in a skirt and nylons was a rare, bordering-on-nonexistent sight in Boonesbury. But even if it had been an everyday occurrence, her legs would have caught his attention. Long, shapely legs that made them a particular treat.

A treat that only started there. It continued all the way up a great little body that was just curvy enough to let him know she was a woman underneath that stuffy suit and high-collared blouse.

Oh, yeah, she was easy on the eyes.

And smart.

And she had a sense of humor, too—something he was really a sucker for in a woman….

Aiden mentally yanked himself up short when he again realized the direction his thoughts had wandered.

So much for thinking about what he didn’t like about her.

But even when he tried to come up with something else, he couldn’t. The bun was about it in the negatives column. And he had no doubt one swipe of a hairbrush would take care of that.

Which was probably why, even in spite of the mess with Mickey, he was looking forward to this next week more than he had been before he’d met Emmy Harris.

This isn’t a social event, he reminded himself.

This week was work. And that was the only way he should be thinking about it.

Besides, even if Emmy Harris had been there for some other reason, Aiden knew better than to let down his guard with a woman like her.

She might be more his type than Nora Finley, but he could tell the minute she’d stepped up to him at the airport that she was not the kind of person who could make a go of life in the Alaskan wilderness.

Emmy Harris might look pretty special, but he knew right off the bat that she wasn’t the kind of special to live where high fashion translated to anorak jackets, mukluks and thermal underwear. Where the only restaurant was also the gas station and the mayor’s office. Where there wasn’t a shopping mall within driving distance. Where a fair share of women—like Nora—considered cutting their nails with a gutting knife to be a manicure.

And if there was one thing Aiden already knew from painful experience it was that it was a losing battle to make any attempt to fit the round-peg kind of woman Emmy Harris was into the square hole of Boonesbury.

Oh, no, that wasn’t something he’d ever try again.

But even so, he thought as the sun began to make its first appearance through the open curtains of his bedroom window, he did have to admit that having the foundation’s beautiful director there with him for a little while would be a nice change of pace.

Of course it would have been a nicer change of pace if he didn’t have an abandoned baby and possible fatherhood looming over his head at the same time to distract him, but it was still a nice change of pace, anyway.

On the other hand, considering how intensely aware he’d been of every detail about Emmy just in the first few hours of knowing her, maybe having Mickey around as a buffer was a good thing.

Mickey made a noise just then that sounded different from the sucking noises, and Aiden rolled to his side again to check on him.

When he did he found the baby’s eyes open and his fist in his mouth.

Mickey left the fist where it was but looked up at Aiden with curiosity.

“Morning, little guy,” he said softly.

Mickey granted him a tentative smile from behind the fist.

“Ready to get up?” Aiden asked as if the infant would answer him.

Mickey grinned even bigger, as if that idea had thrilled him.

“Okay, but here’s what I’m thinking,” Aiden informed the baby. “I’ll get you cleaned up and fed, and then you’re going to have to pay me back by keeping things on the up and up while Ms. Emmy Harris is around. You can’t let me do anything stupid. What do you say?”

Mickey finally removed his fist from his mouth and blew a spit bubble for him.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

But Aiden was worried that Mickey had his work cut out for him.

Because as he got out of bed to pick up the baby he could feel the itch to see Emmy again, to hear her voice, to catch a whiff of her perfume.

An itch so strong he wasn’t sure how he was going to ignore it.

Even if the medical future of the whole county was riding on it.

For Emmy there was ordinarily nothing like a good night’s sleep to recharge her batteries and help her face the day.

But she had had nothing like a good night’s sleep. And when she woke up at five minutes after seven, she was aggravated with herself. Even if she was on a business trip, it was Sunday and there was no hurry getting to work. The least her body could have done was to have let her get some rest.

Although, it wasn’t actually her body at fault. Her body was supremely comfortable in the feather bed.

It was her mind that had kept her awake most of the night. Her mind that had kicked up again now.

She kept her eyes closed and took deep breaths, willing herself not to think about anything.

Just sleep, she told herself. Just sleep…

But her nose was so cold where it poked above the covers that she thought that might be keeping her awake.

Which meant she would have to get up, have her bare feet touch an undoubtedly frigid floor, expose herself completely to what her nose was suffering already and go all the way to the far corner of the room to turn on the space heater.

What exactly was it that people saw in rustic living? It was a mystery to her.

She sighed and resigned herself to having to leave her warm cocoon to get some heat in the place.

Flinging aside the electric blanket and quilt, she ran on tiptoes to the space heater to turn it on, then dived back under the covers again.

But that mad dash didn’t save her, and even after she was back in the warm bed a chill shook her whole body like a leaf in the wind.

How could any place in the twenty-first century—especially in Alaska—not have central heat, for crying out loud?

But once the chill had passed and the room was beginning to warm up, Emmy relaxed again and admitted that it was nice under that electric blanket and the weight of the quilt. She even began to wonder if maybe she’d be able to fall asleep again after all.

She closed her eyes and gave it a try.

Just sleep. Just sleep…

But would her stubborn brain give her a break?

Absolutely not.

It started spinning with the same thoughts that had kept her up most of the night—that it was a dirty trick Howard was playing on her to put all these obstacles in her way to test her on her very first trip for the foundation.

But he wasn’t going to get the best of her. The determination to pass the test was stronger this morning than it had been the night before.

She figured that she’d already overcome some of the obstacles: she’d gotten on that small plane rather than allowing fear to rule; she’d left Aiden Tarlington to contend with the baby rather than digging in as if it were her problem; and she’d made it through her first night in the attic room without heat.

So there, Howard!

Of course, she’d also spent the night tormented with vivid images of Aiden Tarlington and a strange longing to be back downstairs with him.

But that didn’t count as a failure of the test; keeping her from sleeping was not foundation business. It only counted as foundation business if she was distracted from her reason for being here. And while the much-too-attractive doctor had the potential to do just that, she was not going to let it happen.

Any more than she was going to let herself get sidetracked by the complications of the oh-so-cute baby who had come onto the scene last night.

Because although it might not be easy to keep her focus, she was going to do it. She really was. Howard was not going to win this one.

She’d fought for this job, and now that she had it, she was going to do it. She was going to do it better than anyone had ever done it before her—man or woman. And without a peep of complaint.

She just needed to wear blinders of a sort. She needed to block out the effects of Aiden Tarlington’s appeal, the draw of the adorable Mickey, and keep her eye on the ball.

And that was what she was going to do.

The little pep talk bolstered her confidence and she felt herself actually beginning to drift off to sleep again.

And if while she did, the picture of Aiden Tarlington came back into her mind and made something warm and fuzzy inside her stir to life?

Well, she wasn’t working at the moment, was she?

There may have been no hurry for Emmy to join Aiden for the tour of Boonesbury but, when the next time her eyes opened it was eleven o’clock, she bolted out of bed in a panic. What kind of impression did it make for the foundation’s director to sleep that late?

She rushed to the bathroom to take a shower but that was no quick thing. She had to deal with the peculiarities of a pitifully poor spray of water that literally ran hot one minute, cold the next, and never just warm enough to stand under.

She’d wanted to do something nice with her hair. Something nicer, more youthful and definitely more attractive than the bun. But that would have taken too long so she ended up leaving it to fall loosely around her shoulders.

And as for clothes, she could hardly dawdle when it came to deciding what to wear, and quickly chose a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved, white, split-V-neck T-shirt. Then she applied blush and mascara—as fast as she did in her car on the way to her office when she’d slept through her alarm.

Yet it was still noon before she grabbed the black knee-length cardigan sweater she’d brought with her and bounded down the stairs to knock on Aiden’s door.

“It’s open. Come on in.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the barely above-freezing temperature outside actually shook her at the sound of his voice through the closed door. Before she opened it she reminded herself how much she had riding on this trip and how much damage she could do to herself by allowing an unprofessional response to this man.

Besides, she’d already had her life scrambled by a nature boy, and she knew better than to get too close to another one. She and Aiden Tarlington were oil and water, and the two just didn’t mix.

Remember that, she ordered herself as she went inside.

“Hi,” he greeted, the moment she did.

He was sitting at the kitchen table with Mickey in the baby carrier in front of him so that he could feed the infant what looked to be applesauce.

Emmy returned his greeting and then debated about making an excuse for why she was putting in such a late appearance. But the fact that Aiden didn’t question her gave her the opportunity not to explain herself and so she didn’t.

“We’re just finishing up lunch here,” he informed her. “Help yourself to something to eat.”

Emmy was struck all over again by the lack of formality, but she went to the other side of the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

There were still a few sandwiches from the night before in the fridge and, in the interest of letting him think she’d been up for more than an hour, she chose one of those to bring back with her to the table rather than having the toast or cereal she would have preferred as her first meal of the day.

As Emmy joined Aiden and Mickey at the table, Aiden was intent on persuading the baby to accept another bite of food. Not being in the conversation left Emmy free to drink in the sight of the big man.

He had on blue jeans and a blue-plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing the cuffs of a darker blue crew-neck T-shirt that also showed behind the open collar. He looked more like a lumberjack than a doctor but he was something to behold nevertheless.

“So I see Mickey is still here,” Emmy commented, when the infant took the spoonful of what was indeed applesauce.

“Still here,” Aiden confirmed.

“Mmm-hmm. And you’re still going with the story that he was just left here,” Emmy said, unable to suppress a knowing smile at what she was convinced was an elaborate ruse instigated by Howard.

“I’m still going with the story because it’s the only story there is.”

She decided to call his bluff. “If Mickey has really been abandoned shouldn’t you call the police or Child Protective Services or someone with the authority to do something about it?”

Aiden showed no sign of wavering. “That might be what I should do if I was somewhere else,” he explained smoothly. “But we don’t have anyone in Boonesbury to call. State police provide law enforcement on the rare occasions we need it, but since this isn’t an emergency it could be days or even weeks before they get around to sending someone. There’s a Social Services office in Fairbanks but I’d have to take Mickey to them.”

“That seems like what you should do, then,” Emmy said, still testing.

Until something else even more outlandish occurred to her.

“Unless he could be yours,” she said with a full measure of challenge in her tone.

But Aiden didn’t pick up the gauntlet she’d dropped. He didn’t raise his eyebrows at the very suggestion. He didn’t balk and defend himself in instant outrage.

Instead his slightly bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown that actually seemed unnerved by exactly that possibility.

“Could he be yours?” Emmy repeated in shock.

Again there was no quick denial.

In his own sweet time Aiden said, “I’m going to have to do some digging before I can answer that.”

Which obviously meant that there was a possibility Mickey might be his.

And for absolutely no reason Emmy could put her finger on, she felt a swell of something that seemed like jealousy. Although, of course that couldn’t have been what it was.

“Oh,” she said quietly, hating that she sounded so incredulous.

Aiden didn’t seem to notice, though. He was very serious now and he stopped feeding Mickey to level those incredible blue eyes on her. “I know it looks bad that there’s even the chance that I could have a baby I had no idea existed. You’re probably thinking it makes me an irresponsible jerk who shouldn’t be caring for Boonesbury’s citizens, let alone be the person who would oversee your grant money. But it isn’t like that.”

Actually she’d been too stunned to think anything. But she let silence pretend that was exactly what had been on her mind so he would go on.

Which was what he did.

“It’s a long, personal story,” he said. “But if Mickey is mine—and I’m not convinced that he is—but if he is, it was a matter of one night when I hit rock bottom and pickled myself in a bottle of scotch. Now that’s something I’d never done before and haven’t done since. But that night I ended up so out of it I don’t remember what happened. Until now I’d been sure nothing had, and that may still be the case. Mickey’s being left here could be something entirely separate from that night. From me. I just don’t know. But either way, I’ll have to find out what’s going on.”

Emmy stared at him. Intently. She searched his eyes, his handsome face. And she suddenly began to doubt that this was a test Howard had set up. This man was too uncomfortable admitting this to her, too embarrassed to have to admit it to her, for it not to be real.

“Did you call the woman who could be Mickey’s mother to ask if he’s yours?” Emmy inquired, maybe testing just a little more.

“The woman’s name is Nora Finley and I haven’t seen or heard from her since that night I thought I’d just given her a place to stay. She lives in a cabin a long way from anywhere and she doesn’t have a phone. She’ll have to be tracked down, and the best way to do that is to put out a message over the radio. There’s a station in Cochran—that’s the nearest town to Boonesbury. Their signal is strong so it gets picked up pretty far out. I called there and they’re going to report on Mickey on their newscast, requesting that anyone with any information about him contact me or the station, and they’ll be broadcasting regular messages from me to Nora, asking for Nora to contact me as soon as possible. That will all start tomorrow since they don’t air on Sunday.”

So he was trying to reach this woman over public airwaves to ask if they’d slept together, if she’d had his baby and if she’d left that baby on his doorstep?

No one would choose to do that unless they had to.

“This isn’t something Howard arranged in order to see how I handled complications and distractions on these trips, is it?”

Aiden shook his head. “I wish that’s all this was. But it isn’t. I told you that.”

“Someone actually packed up their child and brought him to you without warning or explanation.”

“I’m afraid that’s how it looks.”

“And it’s a coincidence that it happened now?”

“A lousy coincidence that I’m trying to make the best of.”

Maybe she was letting down her guard, but she believed him. It was all just too crazy to be invented, and in the light of day, looking at Aiden’s expression, she honestly didn’t think anyone could be that adept an actor.

“Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” she finally said. “But if this is all something you and Howard devised—”

“Why would I risk all of Boonesbury’s medical future?” Aiden cut her off to ask. “I know your recommendation makes or breaks that grant. Even with Howard’s endorsement there are still six other votes that have to go Boonesbury’s way in order to get the money. If you go back and tell them not to give it to us, Howard’s one vote in our favor isn’t going to amount to a hill of beans.”

That was all true and swayed Emmy more in the direction of letting go of her assumption that Howard had arranged a trial by fire for her. Apparently Evelyn’s complaints that these trips rarely went smoothly had some merit.

But that was all right, Emmy consoled herself. She was good at multitasking and she’d put that into play here.

“Then I guess we’ll just deal with this along the way,” she finally said.

Mickey, who had lost interest in his applesauce and instead had turned his attention to Emmy, cooed at her as if he were giving his approval.

And Emmy, who had been trying not to notice how cute he was, finally gave in and laughed at him. “You like that idea, do you?” she asked the baby.

Mickey giggled as a reward.

“Does this mean you’ll do diaper duty?” Aiden asked, sounding relieved and relaxed again.

“Oh, no. There has to be a line drawn,” Emmy joked in response to the note of teasing in his tone. “The only diapers I’m signing on for are for kids of my own if I ever have any.”

“Guess I’ll have to take care of it, then, so we can get going. Will you keep an eye on him while I clear away his lunch?”

“That I’ll do,” Emmy agreed.

She was finished with her sandwich, so when Aiden got up from the chair in front of Mickey she replaced him.

The seat was still warm from his body, and of all the things to find sexy she didn’t think that should be one of them.

But that’s how it was just the same and it left her fighting images of his body wrapped all around her.

Luckily Mickey seemed to have made it his goal to entertain and charm her because he helped get her mind off the image by drawing her attention back to him with enthusiastic waves of his arms and kicks of his legs.

Only too willing to comply, Emmy grasped his feet in her hands and made a bicycle motion that delighted him as she studied him.

He was an absolutely adorable baby with those big brown eyes and those chubby cheeks. He had pale-brown hair that cupped his round head like feathers and two tiny teeth just beginning to poke through the center of his bottom gums.

“How could anybody leave you on a stranger’s doorstep?” she asked in a cooing sort of way that belied the words.

Mickey apparently responded to the tone rather than the content because he grinned at her and made a grab for her hair.

“That’ll hurt if you let him do it,” Aiden advised as he rejoined them.

“Oh, I think I could stand it,” Emmy said in a singsong as she rubbed Mickey’s knees with her nose to make him laugh.

“Don’t be too sure.”

Aiden had laid a towel on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the cabin, and he took Mickey out of the car seat then to lay him on the towel to change him and get him into his snowsuit.

As he did, Emmy finished her coffee and washed her cup to replace it in the cupboard. Then, after Aiden had bundled the baby back into the carrier the way Mickey had been the previous night when they’d found him, Aiden put on that same jean jacket he’d worn the day before, tossed a few diapers, the pacifier and a bottle in a plastic bag to take with them, and carried the car seat outside to the SUV. With Emmy following behind.

“Why don’t you start the engine so it’ll warm up while I figure out how to strap this thing in the back seat?”

Again, no standing on ceremony.

But Emmy was getting used to the fact that things between them were so casual and she didn’t mind it. She was even beginning to like it a little.

“Okay,” she agreed, catching the keys Aiden tossed to her with an ease that seemed to impress him.

Emmy was waiting in the passenger seat and the engine was warm enough to produce heat before Aiden finally judged the carrier secure and slipped behind the wheel.

“I talked to Joan—the woman who owns the local store,” he said as he put the SUV into gear and pulled away from the cabin. “She’s meeting us at one-thirty so we can get the shopping over with before I show you around town. I didn’t think you should be doing a lot of walking until we got you a coat.”

“Okay.”

Something about that made him smile a smile that might have been a smirk on a less handsome face. “What? No more of the ‘I’m not susceptible to the cold’ stuff?”

“I’m conceding to your greater experience in the tundra,” she said as if she were merely humoring him.

“This is nothing compared to the tundra,” he said with a laugh. “But if you want to sneak a peek at that—”

“No, thanks. Boonesbury and the complete tour of the medical needs it serves will be fine.”

“In a warm coat,” he goaded. But his grin was every bit as infectious and charming as Mickey’s, only with a whole lot more grown-up appeal.

He went on looking at her out of the corner of his eye for a moment longer. Then he said, “I like your hair down better than in that librarian bun, by the way. The bun doesn’t suit you.”

“It has its purpose.”

“Probably to make sure Howard and the rest of the Old Boys take you seriously.”

Emmy’s expression must have shown her surprise—both at his correct assumption of the reason she wore the bun and at the term Old Boys.

As if Aiden knew what she was thinking even now, he said, “Yeah, they know you call them the Old Boys, so don’t ever say it without affection.”

“Howard told you that?”

“It came up. But since he’s the youngest of the trustees he figures you’re referring to everyone but him.”

“Great,” Emmy muttered to herself facetiously.

“There’s no offense taken, so don’t worry about it.”

The two-lane road they were on went over a ridge just then and began a steep decline that brought Boonesbury into view. It changed the subject as Aiden nodded with his chin in that direction.

“There she is—the town of Boonesbury.”

To call what Emmy was looking at a town seemed like an exaggeration.

It reminded her of the old frontier in Western movies. There was a single main street not more than four blocks long and so wide it was as if the buildings on one side were trying to keep their distance from the buildings on the other. What few cars and trucks were parked in front of the peeling-paint one-and two-story structures were aimed nosefirst to the curb and even then there was room for three regular-width lanes in between.

From the vantage point of the hill she could see houses all around what passed for Boonesbury’s thoroughfare, scattered as erratically as marbles tossed on the ground. Some of them were close enough together to be considered neighborhoods of sorts, others sat off alone as if anyone who had been inclined had staked out a plot of ground for themselves.

And that was it.

Which was exactly what Emmy said. “That’s it?”

“That’s the heart of the town. The business district, I suppose you could call it. There’s more—a lot more—that’s Boonesbury county, it’s just too widespread to see from any one spot.”

As they drove into town, Aiden pointed out the highlights of the businesses they passed.

They were all small businesses—no chain stores or recognizable names were anywhere to be seen—and only the bare necessities of the community seemed to be served.

There was a barber shop and a beauty shop side by side in the same building. An accountant and a lawyer shared an office. There was a mechanic. A tiny bank. An equally as tiny chapel for a church. An insurance office. And several other places that offered more than one interest per establishment—the Laundromat was also the library, the snowblower sales and repair shop was also the post office, the local mortician also sold real estate and acted as travel agent, and, as Aiden had said before, the only restaurant was also the mayor’s office and the gas station.

The general store was housed in the largest building, a white clapboard structure two levels high with a recessed front door and cantilevered display windows on either side of it.

Aiden parked in front, and once he’d taken the baby carrier out of the back seat they were let into the store by a tall woman with an extremely long nose and kind green eyes.

Aiden introduced her as Joan, and as Emmy went to explore the shop that carried everything from groceries to underwear to farm equipment, she could hear him telling the other woman about Mickey, asking if she recognized the baby or knew anything about him.

Joan didn’t, but before they left the store Emmy bought a down-filled parka, three sweaters, another pair of jeans and some warmer socks, and Aiden purchased a travel crib, more diapers, formula and baby food.

Introducing Emmy, showing off Mickey and telling his story, and asking about Nora Finley became a pattern once they’d left the store and begun their trek along the street. A number of the shops were closed, but there were still people milling around between the few that opened on Sunday, and since Aiden knew everyone they encountered, they all stopped to talk.

By midafternoon they’d gone completely up one side of the street and down the other with Aiden providing commentary about every building and most every owner and employee. Plus, Emmy had met more people than she’d ever be able to remember, and word of Mickey’s situation was well spread.

Aiden suggested they get in out of the cold for a cup of coffee and they ended up at the Boonesbury Inn—the only restaurant and bar.

It was a big adobe building with water-stained walls and four wooden steps up to a scarred double door.

The place was packed with people sitting on stools at the bar to watch a baseball game on the television, playing pool on the three tables that occupied the rear or sitting at the tables and booths where food was being served.

Aiden and Emmy got the last booth, which was where they spent the remainder of the day doing as they’d done through the rest of the city tour with people they hadn’t yet spoken to. But with no better results—no one recognized Mickey or knew anything about Nora Finley.

Through it all Emmy was struck by the friendliness of the whole town, though, and by the time they left the place—after coffee evolved into a dinner of hamburgers and fries and Mickey had been passed around like a football—Emmy was actually beginning to appreciate the warmth of Boonesbury.

Mickey was sound asleep when they got him home, and Emmy offered to get him ready for bed while Aiden set up the travel crib.

The baby slept through the change and went right on sleeping as Aiden set him in the crib that he’d put alongside his own bed—the bed that Emmy had to work very hard not to picture Aiden in when she brought Mickey into the bedroom.

And then Mickey was down for the night and Aiden was ushering her out of the room, and she knew she should say good-night and go up to her own room.

She just didn’t know what she was going to do up there since it was only nine o’clock and there wasn’t a television or a radio and she didn’t feel like reading the book she’d brought along for the trip.

Aiden solved the problem by reminding her that the space heater needed to be turned on to warm the attic room in advance, leaving her to wait downstairs while he did it.

“How about a little brandy to chase away the chill?” he suggested when he returned.

Neither of them had had anything stronger to drink than coffee and water at the inn, so a small drink now didn’t seem so out of the question. Even if she was there on business, Emmy reasoned, there had to come a time when she was off the clock.

“Sounds good,” she said.

“Sit down and I’ll get it.”

He’d motioned to the sofa and that was where Emmy sat, hugging one end with her hip.

When Aiden joined her with the brandy he sat on the chair where he was closer to her than he would have been at the other end of the couch.

He’d been clean shaven when Emmy had come downstairs that morning, but his beard was beginning to shadow his jaw now. It added to his rugged masculinity and made him resemble a burly lumberjack all the more. A very attractive burly lumberjack.

“We didn’t learn much about Mickey or the woman you think might be his mother,” Emmy said to get her mind off just how good he looked.

“No, we didn’t. I thought if it was Nora who left him, someone might have seen her at least pass through town.”

“So maybe Mickey isn’t hers.” Or yours either, was the unspoken finish to that.

“Maybe. But I can’t rule it out all the same. She could have come here and left again without ever going near Boonesbury.”

“What’s your next plan of action? Or is it just to see if the radio announcements tomorrow bring any information?”

“The radio announcements only start tomorrow, they’ll go on until I stop them. But, no, I can’t just leave it at that. I thought we’d spend tomorrow at the office. Monday is always a full day, and it’ll give you a chance to see what goes on. Then, when I get a minute to spare, I’ll take some of Mickey’s blood to type it, see how it compares to mine. And to Nora’s, if I have that in her file.”

Obviously, he hadn’t ruled himself out as Mickey’s father.

Thinking along that line, Emmy said, “I suppose it is hard to understand why anyone would leave him with you if you’re not his father.”

But her assumption that Aiden was leaning more in that direction was wrong.

“Actually, it isn’t all that far-fetched. As the only doctor for miles, and one of the few people educated beyond high school, I hold a pretty unique position. Even folks who shy away from civilization or value their independence and self-reliance above all else, still come to me with their problems—medical and sometimes otherwise. Basically, they trust me around here.”

“In other words, if someone was going to leave their baby on another person’s doorstep, you’d be the likeliest choice?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“That’s an even heavier responsibility than most doctors have.”

“Maybe. But I like it that way. As I said, I’m not thrilled with having a baby left with me without any explanation—and in the middle of this grant stuff, to boot. But I like having a closer relationship with my patients. Knowing them by name. Knowing what’s going on in their lives. Having them place that much confidence in me—”

“Having them leave you their babies…”

“I’d rather have that than have a cold, impersonal practice in a big city. If doing what I need to do with Mickey now and having to wonder if he’s mine in the process are the trade-off for that, I’m okay with it.”