A Cold Creek Baby. RaeAnne Thayne

was by far the most sweet-natured baby Easton had any experience with. Until the last fifteen minutes when she started getting sleepy, she had been happy and smiling, content to play with a few of the other babies’ toys Easton dragged into her office.

      With those black curls, tawny skin and the shocking blue of her eyes, she was also remarkably lovely.

      For three hours, Easton had struggled valiantly to tamp down the tangled emotions this little girl stirred. She had forced herself to focus on her care—changing her, playing with her, finding age-appropriate things in the house for Belle to explore.

      She hadn’t allowed herself a moment to think about the what-ifs that haunted her.

      Now that the baby was asleep—or close enough to it—all those memories and regrets hovered just on the edge of her heart and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep them at bay.

      She tightened her hold on the baby and headed in the direction of the makeshift nursery. Belle’s long lashes fluttered when Easton began ascending the stairs, but then her eyes drifted closed again. They stayed that way when Easton carefully laid her on her back in the nursery crib. Easton pulled the bottle out carefully and watched Isabella’s mouth continue to suck air for a moment before it went still.

      She really was a beautiful baby, she thought as she pulled the baby quilt up and over her. What had happened to her mother? she wondered. Cisco said she was dead. How was he involved? He claimed the baby wasn’t his, but with those long, inky eyelashes and the black hair with the tendency to curl, she could be.

      After a moment spent gazing in adoration at the perfection of a nine-month-old baby, Easton forced herself to turn away. She checked the intercom Quinn had installed so he and Tess could hear their precious little boy in any room of the rambling house.

      When she was sure it was on and transmitting any sound coming from the room, she closed the door behind her and walked across the hall. She stood outside Cisco’s door, her stupid stomach jumping at the prospect of seeing him again.

      She hated this awkwardness, but didn’t know how to change it. The events of the past were too deeply entrenched between both of them. After a moment of standing there like an idiot, she forced herself to knock sharply—only to be met by silence.

      When he didn’t answer, she knocked with a little more force. Still no answer.

      She frowned. Cisco had never been a particularly sound sleeper. He always seemed to be on the edge of something fun and exciting. Jo used to shake her head and say he didn’t sleep well because he was too afraid of missing something.

      Even on roundup, when the rest of them would sink with exhaustion into their sleeping bags at the end of a long day, Cisco would be edgy and alert and would wake at the slightest distraction, even the wind rattling the tent.

      She wrapped her fingers around the metal of the doorknob feeling foolish. Maybe he wasn’t even in there. Maybe he had seized the chance to escape his obligations and climbed out the window. Wouldn’t be the first time he had made use of the exit route along the porch roof and down the old maple that grew next to the house on the other side.

      No. She couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t just dump the baby on her and run. Cisco might be many things, but deliberately irresponsible wasn’t one of them.

      After a moment, she knocked harder. “Cisco? Everything okay in there?”

      She thought she heard something inside and she strained her hearing. Weird. She could swear she heard a moan coming from inside.

      Was he in the depths of some kind of nightmare? Even as disjointed as he tended to sleep, he hadn’t ever been much to toss and turn. But what did she know? He wasn’t the same person anymore, not with the hardness around his mouth, the secrets in his eyes.

      The low moan sounded again from inside the room, unmistakable this time and Easton screwed her eyes shut, knowing in her heart she had no choice except to check on him. Either he was having a bad dream or he was in pain. Either way, she had to check out the situation, whether she wanted to or not.

      She pushed the door open with caution and found the room dim, the curtains closed against the morning sunshine.

      Her gaze flew to the bed and when her eyes adjusted she discovered he hadn’t climbed out the window at least. He lay on the bed, a sheet covering his lower body, but he was bare from the waist up—bare except for a wide bandage wrapped around his stomach, a pristine white except for a kiwi-sized spot that was soaked through with blood.

      His skin seemed even more pale and she could almost feel the heat radiating off him from here. On closer inspection, she could see his hair was damp with sweat and more drops of perspiration dotted the shadow above his upper lip.

      She hurried to the bed and pushed back the hair flopping across his forehead. Even before she touched his skin, she could feel the fever pouring off him.

      “Oh, Cisco. What kind of trouble are you in?” she whispered. She didn’t know whether to be scared or angry or worried sick.

      “Can’t. Oh, cara. Don’t ask me,” he muttered, his head tossing on the pillow. He said something quickly in Spanish she didn’t catch.

      She touched his shoulder and was seared by the heat of his skin. Had he driven here all the way from Salt Lake International, a good four hours away, in this condition?

      “Cisco? Wake up. You’re sick. We need to get you to a doctor.”

      He opened his eyes halfway, his lashes as ridiculously long and lush as Isabella’s, then he uttered a long string of melodious words before he closed his eyes again. He had taught her enough gutter Spanish when they were kids that she caught the gist.

      “Yeah, right back at you,” she muttered. “Come on, wake up.”

      She looked at the bandage around his waist. Was it her imagination or had the red spot spread in just the few moments she had been in here trying to wake him?

      She felt frozen with indecision. Should she continue to try rousing him or should she call the volunteer ambulance?

      What if he had a gunshot wound? Weren’t the medical authorities required to report those? What if he was tangled up in something illegal?

      Drat him for coming here and complicating her world like this, forcing her to make decisions without any information to back them up. She had a deep, fervent wish that Quinn or Brant were here. They would know what to do.

      “Cisco, come on,” she pleaded.

      Jake Dalton seemed her best bet instead of calling the volunteer paramedics. He ran the medical clinic in Pine Gulch and she knew he would be carefully discreet without breaking any laws. Only trouble was, she had no way to get Cisco into the clinic without a little cooperation on his part.

      If she couldn’t rouse him, she was going to have to call for an ambulance and if she had to guess, she figured they would probably opt to take him to the nearest hospital in Idaho Falls, about thirty miles away.

      “Come on,” she begged again, her hand on the hot skin of his biceps. “Please wake up, Cisco.”

      Those hot cocoa eyes drifted half open again. “Sweet, Easton,” he murmured. “Smell so good. Like spring.”

      Some silly part of her wanted to stand here beside the bed and bask in his words like a wildflower opening to the morning sun.

      Unfortunately, the rest of her still had to deal with their current predicament.

      “Wake up, you idiot, unless you want me to call the paramedics.”

      Lines furrowed between his dark brows as if he couldn’t quite make sense of her words. She opened her mouth to urge him a little further to this side of Sleepy Town, but before she could speak, one hard muscled hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

      “Hey!” she exclaimed, just before he tugged her across his chest, wrapped both arms around her and kissed her.

      For