The Late Bloomer's Baby. Kaitlyn Rice

the paper back, his scowl deepened.

      Callie leaned forward in her chair, trying to see if she’d neglected to answer some question. When the man turned the page again with a heavy sigh, she reminded herself to be patient. She had no reason to worry. She’d analyzed every response as if it were test data.

      The worker tossed the forms on top of his sizable stack, and Callie waited for him to speak. No matter whom he was helping, he should offer some instruction now, as well as a few kind words. But he didn’t. He sighed again and sat back in his seat, glaring past her head at the waiting crowd.

      When Callie didn’t automatically vacate her chair, he repeatedly clicked his pen against the table. “‘Bout six weeks,” he said, then he clicked two more times before calling the next number.

      Callie hadn’t been dismissed so rudely in a long time. She realized she was holding her limbs stiff, bracing herself against bitter memories. Of her mother, chasing outsiders from the yard with a pellet gun. Of the whispers she’d heard during her family’s rare visits to town. To the folks in Augusta, she would probably always be one of those Blume girls—a little pitiable, a bit mysterious and different enough to be feared.

      But this man’s behavior, today, didn’t matter. Callie had returned to help her family, not to change people’s minds. She forced herself to relax, then stood and headed toward the open double doors. She’d locate her son in the nursery and get out of here.

      Luke had plopped down in the middle of a round rag rug where several other toddlers were exploring a scattering of toys. While Callie approached, she watched her gregarious son hand a colorful block to a cute blonde who looked about his age, then another to a bigger boy.

      Some days, everything Luke did reminded her of Ethan, and she spent a lot of time yearning for those wrecked hopes, and wishing that father and son could know each other.

      But the risks would be too great. Just the thought of losing Luke caused Callie’s heart to race.

      She had control, she reminded herself as she breathed slowly. Her husband had had only one contact with any of the Blumes over the past twenty-two months.

      Before she’d come to Denver for Christmas last year, Isabel had run into him at a Wichita department store. Despite her affection for Ethan, she had let him know that the Blume women stuck together. That he should stay out of their lives.

      Ethan probably wouldn’t come.

      Callie was fine.

      She picked up her son and cuddled him close, chuckling when he patted her cheeks and said, “Mum-mum.”

      After thanking the nursery attendants, Callie retrieved her portable stroller from the coat closet, wrangled it open and clipped her son inside. She looped the diaper-bag strap over her shoulder, then wheeled Luke into the hallway.

      As she prepared to enter the chill of a mid-April morning, she crouched down to zip Luke’s tiny red jacket and lift the hood over his dark brown hair. “Ready to go to Aunt Josie’s?” she asked.

      In answer, Luke stuck a finger in his grinning mouth.

      Callie smiled, happy that at least he’d have two loving aunts in his life. She stood and pushed the stroller toward the parking lot. People were too busy to pay much attention, but she didn’t want to be seen often with Luke.

      On her way to the rental car, Callie reminded herself that Ethan had chosen the estrangement, not her. Yet if he learned about Luke, she’d risk losing the baby.

      Ethan was Luke’s biological parent.

      Callie wasn’t.

      Thanks to a miracle of science, Ethan had actually left before she got pregnant. The fertility treatments had failed during the previous twenty-six cycles, so she’d held little hope for that last set of appointments at the clinic. And, after all, her husband had left her six weeks before.

      However, Ethan’s presence hadn’t been necessary, and Callie had needed only to prepare her body for pregnancy and undergo the procedure. She’d imagined how wonderful life would be if her husband came home to such happy news, and she’d tried one last time.

      She’d gotten lucky.

      A precious life had implanted itself in her womb, and she’d maintained the pregnancy. In the end, it hadn’t even mattered that she’d had to use a donor egg. Only that she carried Ethan’s child. She’d been overjoyed.

      But Ethan had never returned.

      Callie hadn’t been able to overcome her broken heart to seek him out and tell him. She’d been alone when she decided to keep those last appointments. She’d been alone when she nurtured herself through pregnancy and childbirth. She’d gone on with her life. Precious Luke was hers alone.

      Life would be easier if she thought of Ethan as an impartial sperm donor.

      By the time she’d loaded Luke into his car seat, his bottom eyelids were turning pink. He’d been a trouper through all this, but the change in routine must bother him. Maybe he’d fall asleep on the way to Josie’s place.

      After buckling him in, Callie pulled his favorite teddy bear from a diaper-bag pocket. She cranked the gear on its back that would play a tinkling version of Brahms’s “Lullaby,” then handed the toy to her son before loading the rest.

      As she drove away from the church, she wondered how much progress her sister had made with the cleanup. In addition to the house, Isabel had inherited Blumecrafts, their mother’s home-based quilt and handmades business. She had no choice but to recover quickly.

      Minutes later, Callie parked behind Josie’s building and noticed Isabel’s used two-door under the carport. Thanks to her auto insurance coverage, she’d replaced her destroyed vehicle yesterday. Unfortunately, her homeowner’s policy didn’t cover flood damage. Either her sister had dropped by to find out what Callie had learned from the financial aid people, or something had happened.

      Callie opened the rental car’s back door and released Luke from his child seat. She chuckled when he squealed and bounced in her arms. Even after his too-short nap, he’d awakened easily and happily.

      So much like his father.

      Callie shuffled Luke onto a hip, grabbed the diaper bag, decided to leave the stroller in the trunk and locked the car before heading toward the building. Seconds later, she walked straight into Josie’s apartment through the open hallway door.

      She found Isabel in the kitchen scrubbing grime from a sinkful of small craft tools. “Maybe you can leave the front door open at the house,” Callie said, “but you shouldn’t do that here. Anyone could come in.”

      Isabel didn’t turn around. She had pulled her brown hair off her neck, emphasizing a tired droop to her shoulders. “Sorry,” she said. “The kids went out to look at my car a minute ago. They thought it was new, instead of new to me. Guess they forgot about the door.”

      What kids?

      Callie frowned as a tiny girl of above five and an over-weight boy maybe twice her age, each redheaded, came running into the hallway from Josie’s bedroom. The boy yelled something about the electronic game in his hand, while the girl tried to snatch it. After pausing to check out Callie and Luke, they took their noisy argument down the hallway and back to the bedroom.

      “Who are they?” Callie asked, dropping Luke’s diaper bag on the kitchen table.

      “Roger Junior and Angie.”

      Callie had spent the past couple of days watching divorced farmer Roger Senior neglect her sister, but she hadn’t met his children until now. She frowned as the little girl’s shrieks grew louder. “Why are they here?” she asked.

      “I’m babysitting.” Isabel glanced over her shoulder and smiled, which was amazing under the circumstances. She was temporarily homeless and scrubbing her fingers raw, yet once again her boyfriend was exploiting her giving nature.

      And once again,