Cassidy's Kids. Tara Quinn Taylor

sensibilities and the frown on his scrunched up little face.

      “Okay, we’ll let him live, but only because you need a daddy to teach you how to play baseball,” she amended. “But I get to at least yell at him first, okay?”

      Cody’s legs flailed as Ellie cleaned and powdered him before expertly applying a dry diaper and sleeper.

      There were bottles of formula already made up in the refrigerator in one corner of the nursery, and a bottle warmer on the counter beside it. With the baby lodged in one arm, Ellie used her free hand to prepare Cody’s late-night meal.

      She hated to think of one of her beloved older brothers being guilty of fathering this abandoned child. Which was maybe another reason why she’d refused to acknowledge the baby’s presence in their lives as little more than an administrator’s public relations problem.

      “The truth is, little guy, that when I think about it, almost any one of them could be responsible.”

      After testing the warming formula on the inside of her wrist, Ellie settled into the rocker her mother had had brought down from the attic. Until that night, Ellie had been hoping Cody wasn’t really a Maitland at all, but rather a scam on the part of some sick woman to tap into the Maitland fortune.

      But holding the baby close to her breast, taking in features that were distinctive even at such a young age, she knew in her heart what Megan must have known from the minute she’d first unwrapped him in the doorway of Maitland Maternity a month ago. Cody could very well be a Maitland.

      Sucking greedily, the baby ate, innocently unaware of the commotion his existence was causing in the lives of so many people. Ellie had only thought about the damage the baby’s sudden appearance was doing to the Maitland family and, by extension, the clinic. Now, as her heart and body warmed at the noisy sounds of the baby eating, as his little fist came to rest intimately against her breast, she couldn’t help but think about the damage that could be done to this innocent little child.

      Was he to live with the stigma of his abandonment for his entire life? Was it going to remain like a dead weight, creating feelings of unworthiness that would follow him into adulthood?

      Getting angrier, and more possessive, by the moment, Ellie gently burped Cody and rocked him long after he’d fallen asleep in her arms. Who, in her right mind, could hold this precious bundle in her arms and then abandon him? How could one of her relatives have slept so irresponsibly with such a woman?

      And who was the baby’s father? R.J.? As Maitland Maternity’s president, he’d certainly have reasons not to come forward if he were responsible. But would his personal integrity allow him to stay silent? Of course not.

      And what about Mitch? Ellie couldn’t believe he’d lied when he’d so sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. He was a fertility specialist. He’d know that eventually the baby’s paternity could be proven, once their mother approved the testing. He’d know it was useless not to come forward. Unless he’d donated some of his own sperm to his experimental bank and didn’t know it had been used…

      Then there was Jake. A tear splashed against the sleeping baby’s face, and Ellie started guiltily, wiping the wet drop away. Jake was the most likely suspect of her three brothers. And the one she least wanted it to be. She adored all of her brothers, but Jake was special. He was different. He was her hero. He’d never have fathered this helpless child without knowing it. And he’d never have allowed the baby to be abandoned. No matter what lines Jake crossed in his life, he’d never cross that one.

      Ellie rocked the baby until her muscles were cramped. An hour passed, then two, and still she wasn’t ready to give up her burden. It was a night out of time. A secret night, when Ellie could be Ellie, and no one would ever know; a night that would never ask questions.

      Finally, when she was afraid her tears would wake the baby again, she laid him gently in his crib, covered his diaper plump rear with a light blanket and tiptoed back to her room. She’d hoped the stark familiarity of her room would shock her back to normalcy. Wiping the tears away, she wanted to pretend that they’d never fallen. That the tiny body in the other room hadn’t opened up a door she’d thought rusted shut years before.

      Changing her stained pajamas for a clean pair, she climbed between her sheets, trying to soothe herself back to sleep using numbers, the way she’d been doing for most of her life. She started with smaller figures, afraid her concentration would be overstimulated by the larger ones she more commonly used these days. But even the smaller ones wouldn’t line up. They danced around on the stage in her mind. Changing colors. And form. Trying to escape, to get away from her before she could force them into their logical places.

      And as she struggled, tossing and turning in her attempt to control the images in her head, the numbers were replaced by Sloan’s face. By two imaginary little female versions of his face. One plus two equals three. With baby Cody’s heat still warming her body, she couldn’t stop the images, couldn’t help wondering if Sloan’s baby girls would feel just as wonderful, just as right, up against her.

      Then onto the scene came a fourth image. Three plus one, after all, always equaled four. Marla. The mother of Sloan’s children. The beautiful woman Sloan had never stopped dating during the entire time he’d known Ellie. The woman he’d been out with after he’d kissed Ellie so passionately.

      She’d be a fool to open herself up to that kind of pain again. And Ellie Maitland was no fool.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SLOAN HID OUT in the barn the next morning. Mary had come to work with Charlie again, wanting, she claimed, to spend as much time with her brother as she could before leaving. But instead of staying in the house with Charlie, she was watching Sloan’s girls. Sloan half wondered if maybe the woman wasn’t trying to figure out a way to take his daughters home with her.

      Damn thing was, the way the girls responded to her, he wasn’t sure that wasn’t what they’d want, too, if they’d been old enough to have a say in the matter.

      From his position inside Ronnie’s stall, he could hear them outside in the yard, giggling as they chased a butterfly. He stopped mucking long enough to peek out the door of the barn. Smiling, he watched his daughters play. Sloan was itching to join them, but forced himself to return to his mare’s stall, instead. If he gave in to his desire, if he went out into the yard, the happy little imps tumbling over their feet and laughing so delightfully would turn into demanding, whiny little patoots.

      “You’ve got time to waste mucking out a clean stall?”

      Sloan turned when he heard Charlie’s voice. The old man had been with Sloan since before he’d married Marla. Charlie’d lost a leg riding the rodeo circuit and had been wandering around the circuit drunk all the time, making what money he could as a bookie, when Sloan first hit the scene. But in spite of his own problems, Charlie had taken the teenaged Sloan under his wing, become a crotchety but caring father figure, and had coached Sloan all the way to the top. And when Sloan had made enough money to turn his parents’ dilapidated excuse for Texas farmland into the four-thousand acre growing cattle concern it was now, Charlie had gladly turned in his bottle and betting tallies for a dishrag and washing machine. Lucky for Sloan, the old man had turned out to be a halfway decent cook, too.

      “Not really,” Sloan finally said, resuming the work he’d begun after checking the cattle’s salt and mineral supplements that morning. Though he hired part-timers to help with vaccinating and shipping calves, Sloan usually worked the ranch alone.

      Charlie watched silently for a couple more minutes, and Sloan waited. Charlie must have something more on his mind than Sloan’s chores, to have made the trek out to the barn in the first place.

      “Mary’s got the name of a woman who can come in every day during the week to watch those mites for ya.”

      The old man could have saved himself the trip out if that’s what he’d come to say. “Thanks.”

      “I’ll give her a call if you like—get her out here