Colton Family Showdown. Regan Black

didn’t answer, just kept staring up at him. Fox studied the tiny face, unable to see any obvious resemblance between the baby and anyone he knew.

      He’d just seen Wyatt’s newborn. This little guy was too big to be brand-new. Weren’t people supposed to abandon newborns at fire stations or orphanages? How old was the baby? And how had he wound up on Fox’s doorstep? He called the bunkhouse, but no one there had seen any vehicles that didn’t belong to the Crooked C.

      “Whoever you belong to, you can’t stay here.” Fox had no intention of having fatherhood forced on him. Considering his troubled childhood, he’d ruled it out way back in college. Possibly even before that. Not that the baby cared.

      He locked the front door again and started upstairs. Should he leave the little guy alone? His sister would know. He pulled out his phone and started to call and remembered she was out of town with her family. Checking the straps, Fox decided the baby was secure in the seat. It would only take him a minute to change. “Wait here.” He darted up the stairs, found a pair of jeans and came back to find the baby, eyes wide, calmly taking in the change of scenery.

      What did babies see?

      He knew how and when horses developed vision, but he’d never bothered to think about the same growth and development in humans.

      He sat on the bench next to the door and pulled on his boots. “Come on.” He picked up the car seat. “Oof, you’ve got some heft. Good for you.” Slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder, he picked up his keys. “The police will know what to do with you.”

      Tucking the diaper bag behind the front passenger seat, he wrestled the car seat into place in the back, securing it with the seat belt. He didn’t think he had it quite right, but it should do for the short, careful drive into town.

      The baby was quiet on the ride and seemed happy enough when Fox carried him, seat and all, into the police department looking for his cousin, Sheriff Trey Colton. If this was a prank, someone was about to get busted.

      “Is Trey around?” he asked the officer manning the front desk.

      “Come on back, Fox.” Trey waved him into his office, then did a double take when he saw what his cousin was carrying. “Whoa. Who’s this?”

      “That’s what I’d like to know.” Fox set the carrier on the sheriff’s desk and the diaper bag in the chair. “I found him on my porch.”

      “When?”

      “Less than half an hour ago. I loaded him up and came straight here.”

      “Why?”

      Why? Fox gawked at Trey. His cousin was clearly overtired if he couldn’t come to his own conclusions on that score. “So you could handle it. Bringing him here seemed better than calling you out to the ranch.”

      Eyes trained on the baby, Trey rocked the baby seat. “No one’s reported a missing child.”

      “Well, let me be the first,” Fox muttered, planting his hands on his hips. “He isn’t mine.”

      The sheriff arched an eyebrow and pinned his cousin with a hard stare. “Why else would he be on your porch?”

      “Your guess is as good as mine,” he retorted. “I haven’t been with anyone.” He could feel his cheeks burning with the admission. “Not in a time frame that would have this result.”

      He should’ve just had that vasectomy a few years ago after his sister had gotten pregnant. Sure she was happy now, but all her talk of cousins and playdates had terrified him. He was not father material. Fox didn’t expect her to remember that part of their childhood. Better if she didn’t. If only he’d followed through then, he wouldn’t have to endure the judgment on Trey’s face now.

      “It’s not my kid,” he insisted.

      “He’s a cute little guy.” With a put-upon sigh, Trey unbuckled the baby and lifted him from the seat. “Look for a note,” he told Fox.

      Why hadn’t he thought of that? “No note here.”

      “Check the diaper bag,” Trey said patiently, cuddling the baby like a pro. That too was empty of anything as helpful as identification or a note. “Was there anything else with him?”

      “No.”

      “Sounds like you’ve got a real mystery on your hands,” the sheriff said.

      “No.” Fox stepped back. “You do. He isn’t my kid. I can’t keep him.” Just the thought of having a child in his care made his palms sweat. “I can’t keep him,” he repeated.

      The baby wriggled in Trey’s arms, making happy gurgling sounds that made the sheriff smile. “Your front doorstep isn’t exactly well-known or easy to get to,” he said.

      “Oh, my.” Deputy Sheriff Daria Bloom walked in. “What a sweet face.”

      Was everyone on the graveyard shift tonight? With her athletic grace, striking features and golden-brown eyes framed by a cap of short dark hair, she always struck Fox as more of a model than a law enforcement officer. Of course, her real career choice was more than evident since she’d taken the lead on the Avalanche Killer case.

      She stepped closer to the baby. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” she crooned.

      The baby smiled at her and his pacifier fell out of his mouth to the floor. She picked it up. “What’s his name?”

      “I wish I knew,” Fox said.

      “What are you talking about?” Daria frowned, but the expression melted into a smile when the baby reached for her. She let him catch her finger in his tiny hand.

      “Fox found him on his doorstep and is certain he isn’t the father.”

      “Your house isn’t exactly easy access,” Daria replied.

      “I said the same thing,” the sheriff murmured. The baby’s attention went to the star on his navy blue uniform shirt. “Someone went out of their way for you to have him, Fox.”

      “But he cannot possibly be mine,” Fox insisted. “Isn’t there someone you call when this happens?”

      Daria backed toward the door, the pacifier clutched in her hand. “I’ll go wash this.”

      “I can call child services,” Trey offered. “If you’re sure that’s the route you want to go.”

      Child services. “Foster care?” Fox rolled his shoulders, trying to release the sudden pinch between his shoulder blades. “Is that the only option?”

      “No note, no identification, no reported lost baby.” Trey shrugged as he nestled the baby back into the car seat. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” he said. “It’s standard procedure.”

      Fox stared at the baby. Standard procedure would have landed him and his sister in foster care after their parents died. At that time, his family had stepped up and his aunt and uncle adopted them, given them family roots and the Colton name.

      He rubbed at his forehead. “No.” The sheriff was right, his house wasn’t easily accessible, which meant someone had gone to some trouble to leave the baby with him. And been careful enough not to be seen.

      “No what?” Trey asked.

      “No foster care,” he said, making the decision as the words left his mouth. “There’s been a mistake, clearly.” This was not his child. “But I’ll take care of him until I can track down the person he belongs to.” Maybe one of the hands at the Crooked C was the father and whoever had dropped off the baby chose Fox’s porch in an effort to be discreet. His red barn was certainly easier to find in the dark and fewer people would be around.

      “We’ll keep an eye out here, too,” the sheriff promised.

      Daria returned with the pacifier. “All clean.