The Sheriff's Proposal. Karen Smith Rose

you very much.” His throat constricted.

      Logan absorbed all of it—the love between the couple, the soft, caring voice of the woman acting as interpreter and coach, the tears in her eyes as they all heard the first cry. And then it was over, yet in most ways it had just begun.

      The doctor suctioned the baby’s mouth, wrapped him in a towel and laid him on his mother’s stomach. Manuel kissed Carmen, and they gazed at their child.

      Doc said, “Meg, why don’t you get some fresh air?”

      “I’m okay, Doc.”

      “Yes, I know you are, but I’m not going to need you again until after I clean up the baby,” replied Doc Jacobs, who tended to act as if he were everyone’s father. “I’ll call you if Carmen and Manuel want you. Now, scoot. Go get Lily. I know she’ll want to help, too.”

      Logan waited for the woman who could speak Spanish as fluently as she spoke English and walked with her to the door. Close to her in the hay-baked heat of the barn, he smelled the faint scent of roses. Perfume? Shampoo? Whatever it was, along with her lovely smile and gentle voice, it packed a wallop.

      He let her precede him outside. His shirt stuck to his back, but except for the swath of pink on her cheeks, she didn’t look as if she’d just helped deliver a baby.

      He extended his hand to a woman whose smile could make him believe the sun would come up tomorrow. “I’m Logan MacDonald.”

      Meg had heard a little about the sheriff over the past few years from her aunt and uncle. Not much, just that he was a widower and he ran his jurisdiction with an iron hand. Yet he was well liked by the constituents who’d gotten to know him as a deputy and had elected him sheriff because of his reputation and career in law enforcement. She’d been aware of his presence as soon as he’d walked into the barn. Her experiences had led her to be acutely aware of her surroundings, the tiniest inflections and mannerisms. All were elements of communication.

      What Logan MacDonald had come upon in the barn had affected him deeply. She could tell from his expression, the huskiness in his voice.

      The birth had affected her, too. Though early, this baby had been no accident. Manuel and Carmen didn’t have much, but they already had a nurturing love for this child, the kind of love Meg had only felt from Aunt Lily and Uncle Ned.

      As Meg placed her hand in Logan MacDonald’s, she was aware that his physique in his uniform spoke of authority; the open top two buttons of his dark brown shirt told her he was impatient with the heat. He was sleek and muscled—tall with black hair and green eyes that seemed to be searching hers for something. He looked almost fierce in his concentration.

      “Meg Dawson,” she returned as he gripped her hand. The touch of his skin against hers made her that much more conscious of the intensity in his green eyes. She felt warm and more than a little bothered.

      Releasing her hand, he snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Now I recognize you. Margaret Elizabeth Dawson—the interpreter. Your picture was on the front page of most newspapers in the country not so long ago. I didn’t realize you were Lily and Ned’s niece.”

      She’d shied away from the Willow Valley Courier and their attempts to persuade her to do an interview after the initial wire-service story ran. She’d wanted to recover and forget.

      But Logan remembered the details. “You were taken hostage in Costa Rica with a diplomat and wounded when your kidnapper started shooting. Finally you talked him into letting you and Pomada go in exchange for a plane. He didn’t even get off the runway before the officials nabbed him. You should have been given a medal!”

      She could feel her face turning pink. She hadn’t even blushed when the president of the United States himself had shaken her hand. Of course, she might have still been in shock then. Part of her still was. “We got out alive. I didn’t care about a medal,” she said softly.

      Her heart rate increased as Logan studied her. Standing in the shade of the barn, she noticed the strands of silver along his temples, the slight beard shadow that she guessed would grow darker as the day progressed, the male scent of him that tightened her stomach in an exciting way. She willed her pulse to slow. She didn’t feel strong enough yet to get involved with anyone, let alone with a man like Logan, who exuded authority, intensity and a quality that told her he was hurting right now for some reason. She’d seen it on his face before Carmen’s baby had arrived. She could see it now as she looked into his eyes.

      “Did you come to Willow Valley to hibernate?” he asked with a perception that rattled her.

      There were so many reasons she’d come back. But she simply answered, “I feel safe here.”

      Before Logan could respond, Doc Jacobs emerged from the barn. “Meg, ask Lily and Ned if they can put Manuel and Carmen up for a few days.”

      Meg looked concerned. “Do you think Manuel will agree?”

      “For Carmen’s sake, I hope so. We’ll work on him. Logan, any word on Travis?”

      The same pain Meg had glimpsed on Logan’s face earlier shadowed his features again. “No.”

      “Your P.I. have any new leads?”

      “No. Nothing. But I have to believe he’s still out there somewhere.”

      Doc Jacobs grasped Logan’s arm. “I know you do. And this whole town’s praying.” He ducked back into the barn.

      Meg knew she had to talk to her aunt and uncle, yet her focus was still on Logan and the tortured look on his face. But she didn’t feel she could ask any questions.

      The next moment, Logan seemed to compose himself, only the creases on his forehead hinting something more important was on his mind. “So, tell me what happened here today.”

      Suddenly fatigue settled over Meg, fatigue that told her she was healing but wasn’t yet healed. She leaned against the rough wood of the barn. “Manuel and Carmen are migrants. Legal ones. They were on their way to Pennsylvania for the apple harvest. Manuel’s brother is already there.”

      “I can guess the rest. They didn’t expect Carmen to deliver until they arrived in Pennsylvania.”

      Meg nodded. “When Carmen’s labor pain became intense last night, Manuel knew he had to stop. He thought he could deliver the baby himself, but he got scared and, when we found them in the barn, he let us call Doc.”

      “Why wouldn’t Manuel and Carmen stay here a few days?” Logan asked, studying her carefully.

      “Because Manuel is proud and won’t take handouts. He insists he’ll pay Doc.”

      “Doc’ll cut his fee in half.”

      “Probably. But although Manuel doesn’t speak English fluently, he does understand it fairly well and knows the score. Convincing him to stay could be a problem. These two are stubborn. Manuel parked his truck on Black Rock Road last night, and he carried Carmen across the fields to the barn so no one would hear them.”

      Logan looked away, to the willow tree not far from the house with its graceful branches silent and still in the August heat. After a pause, he said, “Manuel has to do what’s best for his wife and child.”

      Something in Logan’s voice told her he’d had to make that decision. “I hope he will. He loves Carmen very much. I can feel the bond between the two of them. It’s the same kind my aunt and uncle have.”

      Logan faced her again. “How long are you going to stay in Willow Valley?”

      She was more comfortable talking about Manuel than herself. “I’m not sure. I’ve already been here a month. But it’s really hit me this time that my aunt and uncle are getting older. I think I’d like to stay until Thanksgiving, anyway.” The explanation was reasonable, but she knew her decision to stay was more complicated than that.

      Disconcerted by the sheriff’s probing green eyes, Meg pushed away from the