Karen Rose - The Baby Trail

Gwen gave herself a mental shake and told herself to slow down. She didn’t get infatuated with men, she reminded herself. She was picky, and a rugged face with a good body might turn her head, but it didn’t stay turned. She wanted substance.

You thought you had substance with Mark, a little voice reminded her.

She’d been so wrong about that. She’d been so wrong about a lot of things. But she was working on fixing them.

And then she opened the door to Garrett—and common sense flew out the proverbial window. She was attracted to him, plain and simple. She would have to watch every step she made….

Dear Reader,

I can’t imagine going through life without true friends. My best friend from grade school and I have kept in touch all these years. As I remember high school, I picture the group of girls I had lunch with, talked about boys with and studied with. We supported each other’s dreams. My college roommate and I have celebrated New Year’s Eve together for the past thirty years. Then there’s my husband: my very best friend. He believes he knows what I’m thinking and usually he does. But once in a while, I still surprise him!

In The Baby Trail, Gwen has relied on her friends all her life. When Garrett enters her world, she realizes she needs her friends as much as ever. Yet she discovers her attraction and deepening love for Garrett lead to a soul-mate friendship she never expected to find.

I wish my readers friendships of all kinds that last a lifetime.

All my best,

Karen Rose Smith

www.millsandboon.co.uk

read Zane Grey when she was in grade school and loved his books. She also had a crush on Roy Rogers and especially his palomino, Trigger! Around horses as a child, she found them fascinating and intuitive. This series of books set in Wyoming sprang from childhood wishes and adult dreams. When an acquaintance adopted two of the wild mustangs from the western rangelands and invited Karen to visit them, plotlines weren’t far behind. For more background on the books in the series, stop by Karen’s Web site at www.karenrosesmith.com or write to her at P.O. Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331.

In loving memory of my mom and dad—

Romaine Arcuri Cacciola and Angelo Jacob Cacciola.

I’m so grateful for your love and care as parents.

I miss you.

To my husband, Steve—

it was a trip of a lifetime I could only have taken and

appreciated with you. I’ll never forget our first sighting of

the wild mustangs in the Big Horns.

To my son, Ken—May your dreams always run free.

Thanks to my cousin Paul Arcuri, pilot and

my advisor on all things aeronautic.

For more information about wild mustangs,

visit www.wildhorsepreservation.com. For adoption

information go to www.wildhorseandburro.blm.gov.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

A baby’s cry tore through Gwen Langworthy’s small house. It only took a moment for her to realize the sound was coming from her sunroom!

Dusk had fallen and shadows were thick in the ranch-style house as she raced from the kitchen through the living room. As an obstetrical nurse practitioner, she was well aware of babies’ cries. They always ripped a corner of her heart. She longed to have a baby of her own.

The first cry whimpered into a second as she reached for the ceramic light on the wicker table inside the sunroom and saw a blue plastic bin sitting just inside her sliding glass doors. Rushing to it, she hunkered down. An infant with sparkling dark eyes, who couldn’t be more than a day or two old, stared up at her. Layers of newspaper lined the inside of the bin, but the baby was nestled in a pink blanket. A torn sheet of notebook paper lay at her feet with “Amy” written in block letters.

It was a little girl!

After pushing her auburn curls behind her ears, Gwen reflexively scooped up the child and cuddled her in her arms. Dreams of happily-ever-after and having the family she’d always wanted had evaporated like smoke after Mark had left her waiting with her dad at the white runner that was supposed to lead her to commitment and everlasting bonds. His abandonment still hurt, and she didn’t think she could ever trust a man again.

“So your name is Amy,” she murmured, the nurse in her already taking in every detail about the child’s physical condition. Her maternal instincts led her to notice the baby’s little sweater and hat fashioned of soft fuzzy yarn in variegated white, yellow and aqua. The set looked as if it had been hand-knitted. Someone had cared about this child.

And then abandoned her?

Gwen knew all about that kind of abandonment, too.

Stepping toward the glass doors, Gwen slid one open. The evening’s breeze swept in as she stared deep into her yard. A street ran to the back of it. Was that a car engine she heard coughing, then starting up? She couldn’t see between the shadowed trees. Fall in Wyoming was closing in.

Little Amy wiggled in her arms, screwed up her face and let out another wail.

Hugging Amy close, Gwen went to the phone to call one of her best friends, who was a social worker. But she already knew what Shaye would advise her to do: call the sheriff.

Thinking about a sheriff who was more focused on his impending retirement than serving the residents of Wild Horse Junction, she decided if he didn’t make progress at finding Amy’s mother within a week, she’d take matters into her own hands.

She wouldn’t let this child go through life not knowing where she came from…never knowing why her mother hadn’t loved her enough to keep her.

“Mr. Maxwell,” Gwen called above the loud banging that made her cringe.

The noise suddenly ceased. In an instant Garrett Maxwell, if that’s who he was, went from hammering a floorboard to a standing defensive stance, his hammer held almost like a weapon. With dark brown hair, he was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered in a black T-shirt, slim-hipped in well-worn blue jeans. His presence totally overwhelmed the small backyard shed and in the dim light, his gray eyes targeted and held her at the threshold.

“Can I help you?” His voice was filled with icy calm and she instantly felt like an intruder.

“I hope so,” she answered fervently and saw the interest in his eyes.

Garrett Maxwell had the reputation for being a recluse, working from his log house in the foothills of Wyoming’s Painted Peaks. She’d known about his credentials because of an article she’d read in the Wild Horse Wrangler a few months ago—he had helped locate a missing child in Colorado. Before driving up here, she’d searched for information about him on the Internet and found several articles noting how he helped search-and-rescue teams with lost children and aided in child-kidnapping cases.

When he didn’t move a muscle, when his strong jaw remained set, when he didn’t invite her to tell him her reason for coming, she plunged in, anyway.

“Are you Garrett Maxwell?”

“Who wants to know?”

Although she wasn’t sure if it was wise, she took a couple of steps forward.