His Bundle of Love. Patricia Davids

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      “Stay with Beth. Watch over her for me.”

      Mick patted her hand. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

      Nodding, Caitlin whispered, “Thank you,” and watched him hurry out the door.

      The nurse beside her claimed her attention. “Are you allergic to any medication?” Caitlin shook her head at each question the nurse fired at her. The room grew dark around the edges.

      So this was what it was like to die. She wanted to cry because she knew what would happen to her daughter—she’d be thrust into the foster-care system as she’d been. It wasn’t fair.

      “Is the man who came in with you the baby’s father?”

      Would Mick see that her daughter was taken care of? She could say he was the father, then he’d have the right to look after her. Would he understand? It didn’t matter—she was out of time. She whispered, “Yes.”

      PATRICIA DAVIDS

      was born and raised in the farm and ranch country of central Kansas. As a tomboy with four brothers, Pat spent an idyllic childhood where horses, softball, church activities and books formed the foundations of her rich imagination. Today, Pat works as an R.N. in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), spoils her grandkids and tries to find time to write down the stories roaming around in her head. She is president of her local RWA chapter and believes that helping new writers learn the craft is the best way to repay the people who helped her. After seven years of writing, she sold her first book to Steeple Hill in June of 2004. Dreams do come true—as long as you chase after them with hard work, determination and faith.

      His Bundle of Love

      Patricia Davids

      And whoever welcomes a little child like this in My name welcomes Me.

      —Matthew 18:5

      For David, who always believed

      I could do anything I set my heart on. And for my mother, Joan. “Look Mom! No sleaze!”

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Chapter One

      “Hey, wait! Mister, you gotta help us!”

      Mick O’Callaghan stopped at the sound of the frantic shout. He turned to see a grubby, bearded derelict emerge from the doorway of an abandoned building, one of many that lined the narrow Chicago street. As the man stumbled down the dilapidated steps, Mick recognized Eddy Todd. Eddy, in his stained and tattered overcoat, was a frequent flyer at the Mercy House Shelter where Mick volunteered two days a week.

      Staggering up to Mick, Eddy grabbed the front of his brown leather jacket. “Please. You gotta help. She’s havin’ a baby! I don’t know what to do. You gotta help her.”

      “Take it easy, Eddy. Slow down and tell me what’s wrong.”

      Eddy squinted up at Mick’s face, and some of the panic left his watery, gray eyes. “That you, Mick?”

      “Yeah, it’s me.” He kept the old fellow from falling by catching his elbows. The sour odors of an unwashed body and cheap whiskey assaulted Mick. No doubt Eddy had been out panhandling, and some well-meaning Samaritan had given him money for a meal, but he had spent it on a bottle instead.

      Eddy regained his balance and tugged at Mick’s arm. “Come on. You’re a fireman. You can deliver a baby, can’t ya?”

      Mick cast a doubtful eye at the old tenement. What would a pregnant woman be doing in there? Only broken shards of glass remained in the few windows that weren’t boarded over. A section of the roof had collapsed, and debris littered the area. The only signs of life were a few weeds that had sprouted in the sidewalk cracks and struggled to survive in the weak April sunshine. It wasn’t the kind of place he wanted to go searching through—especially for an old drunk’s hallucinations.

      With a gentle tug, Mick tried to coax Eddy away. “Why don’t you come down to the mission. Pastor Frank can get you a hot meal. It’s meat loaf tonight. You like meat loaf, don’t you?”

      “Sure, sure, I like meat loaf.” Eddy allowed himself to be led for a few steps, then he stopped. “But what about the girl? She shouldn’t have her baby in there. It ain’t clean, or nothing. Come on, I’ll show ya where she is.”

      Mick studied the building again. What if Eddy wasn’t imagining things? He glanced at his watch. Normally, it didn’t matter how he spent his days off, but since his mother had moved in for an extended stay after her accident, he tried to make sure she didn’t spend much time alone. Tonight was the nurse’s night off. Naomi would be leaving in an hour. Perhaps if he hurried, he could check the place out, take Eddy over to the mission and get home before she left.

      He turned back to the old man. “I’ll take a look, but I want you to stay here,” he insisted.

      “Sure, sure. I’ll stay ri-right here.” Eddy nodded, lost his balance and staggered back a step. He wavered on his feet but stayed upright. “You want I should call an ambulance?”

      Mick shook his head and hid a smile. “I’ll do that if we need one. You just stay put.”

      Walking carefully up the broken steps, he ducked under crisscrossed boards someone had nailed over the doorway in a vain attempt to keep people out. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust in the gloomy interior. He faced a long hall with a dozen doors down its length. The first one stood open, and he looked in.

      A tattered mattress surrounded by heaps of cardboard boxes lay in one corner. Old clothes, tin cans and trash covered the floor. The place reeked of stale sweat and rancid garbage. As he stepped back, his foot struck an empty bottle of whiskey and sent it rolling across the warped floorboards. Apparently, Eddy had been holed up in there for some time. At least there was no sign of a pregnant woman. Mick turned to leave, but the sound of a low moan stopped him.

      It came again, and he moved down the hall to investigate, skirting a pile of broken furniture and fallen ceiling plaster that all but blocked the dark hall. The last door on the left stood open a crack. He hesitated beside it. Four years as a firefighter had taught him caution. Plenty of unsavory characters inhabited these slums, and some of them could be very unpleasant if he’d stumbled onto a meth lab or another equally illegal operation.

      Another moan, louder this time, issued from the room. Someone was in pain. He couldn’t ignore that. Standing with his back to the wall, he stretched out his arm and eased open the door. From behind, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Mick’s breath froze in his chest.

      “What ya doin’?” a slurred voice wheezed.

      Relief surged through Mick as his heart began beating again. He turned and whispered, “Eddy, you scared the life out of me! Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

      “Yeah—yeah,