Son of a Gun. Joanna Wayne

“That would have to be a mean son of a bitch to toss a woman and a baby out on a night like this,” Blake said.

       “Or someone so high on booze or drugs that he didn’t realize the seriousness of his actions.”

       “Emma seems too classy to hang out with trash like that,” Blake said. “Good manners, better grammar than me, a lady all the way. Mysterious and damn good-looking.”

       “You noticed.”

       “I’m married, not dead.”

       “I’m not dead, either, but I’m not buying her story.” He was intrigued by Emma, though, and not sure why. In his book, lying was one of the biggest turnoffs around—unless she had a very good reason. Like fear of the man who had sliced his brand into her arm.

       “One thing for sure, Carolina is taken with that baby,” Blake said. “She even called Sylvia and asked her to send over some of Jenna’s outgrown baby clothes. Sylvia had me bring a boxful with me.”

       “You know Mother. She can’t resist a good charity case—or a baby.”

       Blake opened the truck door and tossed his black satchel to the passenger seat. “I don’t look for Emma to have any trouble with the arm, but she should probably get it checked out tomorrow just in case. She might even appreciate a people doc.”

       “I’ll take her into urgent care out on the highway once the roads clear up.”

       “And keep me posted on the continuing saga of Cowboy Rescues Mysterious Woman and Child.”

       “You mean, like whether or not there really is a car in a ditch on a road Emma should have never been on?”

       “That, and what it’s like sleeping with a beautiful stranger.”

       “You are into fantasies tonight.”

       “Snow makes me a romantic, which is why I’m heading straight home to my own gorgeous wife.”

       Damien stood in the falling snow as Blake drove away, his mind cluttered with the strange turn the evening had taken. The birth certificate that created troubling doubts. A rescue in the snow.

       The first could hopefully be cleared up with a conversation when things settled down and he had some time alone with his mother. As for the mystery surrounding Emma Smith, that wasn’t really his concern.

       He’d brought her and her baby to the house. They were warm and safe. That should be the end of his involvement.

       So why couldn’t he shake her and her problems from his mind?

      * * *

      CAROLINA OPENED THE DOOR and ushered Emma into the first-floor guest suite. It was in the west wing of the sprawling house, away from the living area and the noise that entailed, and with a terrific view of the swimming pool and its surrounding gardens.

       The suite had been two small rooms when she’d married Hugh, and the pool had been an ugly concrete hole in the ground with no redeeming features. Still, the house and everything about the Bent Pine Ranch had seemed incredibly luxurious to Carolina.

       Emma paused in the doorway, a sleeping Belle cradled in her arms. “This is where you want me to spend the night?”

       “Is something wrong, dear?”

       “No. I’m awed. This is like something from a home-decorating magazine—only far more inviting.”

       “I like to make my guests comfortable,” Carolina said, pleased that Emma appreciated the efforts she’d put into creating the hideaway.

       “I’m afraid I’m more an intruder than a guest,” Emma said.

       “Nonsense. You were unexpected, but you and Belle brightened a cold, snowy night. I shudder to think what might have happened if Damien hadn’t gone out one last time and run into you. It was meant to be.”

       Carolina crossed the room and touched the back of the antique cradle that had been handed down through three generations of Lamberts. “I hope Belle likes her accommodations.”

       Emma stared at the cradle, obviously noticing it for the first time. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and Carolina could see the moisture glistening in her soft violet eyes.

       “I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s fit for a princess.”

       “My husband’s grandfather made it for his children, and every Lambert offspring since has slept in it. It’s had to be repaired and refinished a time or two over the years, but it’s held up amazingly well. I thought it would be perfect for Belle.”

       “You surely didn’t get it out of storage just for one night?”

       “No. I have a room upstairs where I keep some of the family heirlooms on display. Hugh’s grandfather was a master craftsman, and some of the toys he made his children are not only inventive but amazing. There’s a giant rocking horse that almost looks like a real pony. Damien spent hours on it long before he was able to ride a real horse on his own.”

       “I’d love to see it.”

       “I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow morning. Now you probably need some rest. Your private bath is through this door,” Carolina said, opening the door to reveal the curtained claw-foot tub and the dressing table.

       “The cabinet is stocked with staples, but if you need anything else, just let me know. And I hung your freshly laundered clothes in the closet and put Belle’s dress in the chest along with the extra outfits Sylvia sent over and a supply of diapers.”

       “You think of everything.”

       “I’m a stickler for details. It’s the curse that causes me to sit on far too many committees. Oh, and feel free to use the phone. I know you’ll want to connect with your aunt in the morning. There’s a phone book in the bedside table if you need it.”

       “Thanks. In case I do get in touch with my aunt and she wants to pick me up, how would I tell her to get to the ranch?”

       “She can ask anyone in the area where Bent Pine Ranch is. They’ll be able to give her directions. Or…” Carolina opened the top drawer of an antique chest and took out a box of stationery engraved with the Bent Pine brand and a small-scale map showing directions to the ranch from I-35 and I-45. The ranch fell about halfway between the two interstate highways. “The address is on this stationery, along with easy-to-follow directions.”

       Emma lay Belle in the cradle atop the clean, specially made sheet. Belle barely stirred. She looked like an angel in the pink footed onesie that Sylvia had sent over.

       Carolina touched the tiny hand and memories flooded her mind. The night she’d placed Damien in this same crib for the very first time—the night she and Hugh had married. She’d had tears that night. Her heart had been so full.

       Hugh had laughed at her, but he’d quickly become as attached to their miracle son as she was.

       Hugh. The only man she’d ever loved. She missed him so, but she treasured every second they’d had together. He’d been a hardheaded man, never comfortable showing his emotions—except with her. She’d been his one weak spot. He’d been her strength.

       “I should go and let you get some sleep,” Carolina said.

       “I am tired,” Emma admitted. “And that bed looks so tempting I can’t wait to crawl between the sheets. I know I’ve said it a half-dozen times tonight, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”

       Carolina’s hand closed around the doorknob, but she hesitated. “You know, Emma, I have this feeling that God sent you to us tonight—as much for us as for you. Sleep tight.”

      * * *

      EMMA DROPPED TO THE BED as the door closed behind Carolina. She’d never met a family like the Lamberts. That would make it doubly hard to leave in the morning. But