The Baby Season. Alice Sharpe

      Well, as Roxanne knew, there was more than one way for a mother to absent herself. Her own upbringing had been adequate but formal. Her mother was fond of saying she just wasn’t demonstrative, as though being aloof was a commendable character trait. Roxanne had known she was an “accident” before she had the slightest idea what that meant.

      If she ever got married and decided on having children, what kind of mother would she make? Would she be like her own mother or might she be more like her grandmother? The two of them represented opposite ends of the parenting spectrum. One was perpetually annoyed at any inconvenience, one was full of serendipity. One threw money at any problem, the other gave love. How could Roxanne tell what she would be like?

      After downing the tea, she rinsed out the glass in the copper sink. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

      Carl shook his head as he moved his operation to a large metal kettle filled with cans of soft drinks. Grace said, “No, really, everything is under control. Why don’t you go on out? People are beginning to arrive.”

      Roxanne turned in the direction Grace gestured and saw double French doors. Peering through the glass, she saw a large, enclosed courtyard paved with brick in a herringbone pattern, boasting a bubbling fountain and haphazard pots of flowers. Chairs were clustered around tables heaped with nonperishable food and piles of presents. Two huge creamy umbrellas created shade over half the area. The perimeter was dotted with more doors leading into other rooms and an arch open to the outside. A few people had arrived, and Roxanne searched for a sign of Jack.

      Face it, she thought in a moment of truth, she’d been straining for a sight of him or the sound of his voice ever since entering the kitchen. She’d been pleased he’d thought about her sunburn, though she supposed that kind of concern went with being a doctor. Now she scanned the few assembled people. Jack wasn’t among them and she fought to hide her disappointment, even from herself.

      Was she anxious to show him what lay beneath all the dirt and grime? Did she want to surprise him, intrigue him, the way he’d been surprising and intriguing her from the first moment he rumbled into her life?

      “Now, who are you?”

      Roxanne turned to find a small woman peering at her. She wore her silver hair cut short around a heavily lined face to which the sun and passing years hadn’t been kind.

      “I thought I knew all of Jack’s friends, but you’re a stranger,” the woman added.

      Roxanne introduced herself.

      “I’m Sal. Glad to meet you, Roxy.”

      Roxanne shook hands as she smiled at the friendly, wrinkled face of the woman staring back at her. All she could think was that this woman had to be close in age to the missing Dolly Aames. If she’d lived here long enough, they would have been peers, maybe even friends. Her mission, which had begun to seem daunting, suddenly came into focus. In a few minutes, she’d hopefully know more about Dolly.

      Roxanne explained about her car. “I’m waiting for Oz to call,” she added.

      “He won’t call this afternoon,” Sal said, shaking her head. “Lisa is in a state. The twins have colds.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

      “Jack will have to go see them tomorrow.”

      “You call him Jack? Everyone else seems to call him Doc.”

      “I helped raise him,” she said proudly. “Once you wipe a kid’s nose, it’s hard to start thinking of him as a grown man.”

      Roxanne smiled at the image that suddenly sprung before her eyes, of Jack as a child, with a runny nose. Had he looked like his daughter or did his daughter look like his wife? Why did she care? Anxious to get the conversation—and herself—back on track, Roxanne added, “Jack said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for someone.”

      “Glad to help. I know most everyone in these parts. Bound to after all these years.”

      “Great. The woman I’m looking for moved to California almost forty years ago. I think she ended up right here or very close by. Of course, she might have married and taken a new last name or moved away entirely. Anyway, I’m trying to find her. Her name is Dolly Aames.”

      There was a heartbeat when the scant ten inches between the two women suddenly seemed to close to millimeters, then just as abruptly crack open like the Grand Canyon.

      Sal blinked rapidly and said, “I’ve never heard that name. I can’t help you.” With a decisive nod, she let herself out into the courtyard.

      Roxanne narrowed her eyes.

      That hesitation had spoken as loud and clear as the sudden blanching of Sal’s face.

      Sal knew something about Dolly Aames.

      Chapter Three

      “Duck,” Jack said as he entered the courtyard through his bedroom door, Ginny on his shoulders. Ginny giggled as she lowered her head, and once outside, Jack paused for a moment to scan the few faces that had already gathered. No Roxanne.

      Good. He wished she had quietly accepted his offer of an out-of-the-way room until Oz got back to her. He toyed around with the idea of having Carl drive her into town, to the motel, where she would be out of sight, out of reach, but he needed Carl here. It’s just that he didn’t want to see Roxanne Salyer again.

      That was the biggest lie he’d told himself in months, and he knew it. The truth of the matter was that he was aching to see her. He could tell himself it was to check on her sunburn, but again, that was a lie. He just wanted to see her, that was all. Cleaned up, he wondered if she’d look all professional like a big-city television producer. Maybe she’d lose that waiflike appearance the desert had forced on her. Maybe she’d be so different that he could find a way to forget he’d ever met her.

      After all, she wasn’t his type.

      Only, what type was she? Sure, her looks were different than the kind of woman who usually got under his skin. But what did looks have to do with anything?

      The purely male part of him knew looks had a lot to do with everything. Not just height and weight and coloring, but that inner something that glowed in some women, that seeped through their every little pore and made them iridescent.

      Even if their pores were clogged with desert sand?

      Even then. Some women had it. Roxanne had it.

      Jack mentally slapped himself upside the head. He was thinking like a fool. Still, he couldn’t imagine his ex-wife, Nicole, taking the time or trouble to track down a family friend unless there was something in it for her.

      Family meant everything to him. Perhaps it came from being an only child, raised out on a ranch, away from town, with parents who doted not only on him but on each other. Some of Jack’s first memories were of being about Ginny’s age, sitting in the saddle in front of his dad, his mother on her own horse. They’d head up to the mountains where there were a zillion places to picnic with a view as big as the world. Or so it seemed to him.

      This memory always flooded him with emotion as it was on this very ride, years later, that his mother’s horse had bolted, then stumbled, throwing her to the rocky ground. She’d died within hours. Jack was eight years old at the time, but he could still remember the numbing grief.

      Eventually, however, life on the ranch had resumed its contented pace mainly because of Sal. She’d started working at the Wheeler place as a housekeeper. After his mother died, she’d become more important.

      After losing his wife, Jack’s father had rededicated himself to his role as town doctor. Jack had decided early on to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d envisioned the two of them practicing side by side, and they had for a few years until a stroke claimed his dad. Still, smack in the middle of his career, Jack felt with all his heart that he was doing what he was meant to