Teresa Carpenter - The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby

When she put her finger in her mouth to clean off a smudge of gravy, he had to disguise a groan with a cough.

That brought her attention up from the food.

“You’re not catching a cold, are you?”

Was that real concern in her voice?

“Because you’re a parent now, you have to take better care of yourself.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He should have known better.

“Thanks for your concern.” The sarcasm slid off his tongue before he could rein it in. Damn, now he’d have to put up with the sulks for an hour while she pouted around. He moderated his tone. “But I’m fine.”

Unoffended, she flashed him a dimpled grin. “I’m just saying. No more wandering around in the cold without a jacket.”

Surprised by her easy response, Nate felt some of the tension in his shoulders lessen. Maybe the woman had a few redeeming qualities.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh.” Her green eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously. “You didn’t go there.”

He had. And her huff made him add, “You want a cap and slippers to go with that advice?”

“You’re going to pay for that, buster.” She promised retribution. “Now you get to play chef.”

She pushed the heavy pot into the flames of the fire. And to punctuate her point she stood, dusted off her curvy butt and hobbled back to the couch, where she claimed her seat in the corner. Arms crossed over her chest plumped up her breasts, pushing pink lace and considerable cleavage into view.

“I like it steaming hot,” she said with a slow lick of her lips.

Oh, devious, devious woman. The wanton knew exactly how to make a man pay. And it had nothing to do with cooking supper.

Determined to keep his composure, he put his back to the tempting sight of the contrary female.

“You’re fickle, Ms. Ross. First I’m your hero, then I’m a sorry fellow tasked with heating your stew.”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the cozy scene backlit by the encompassing darkness. Baby sleeping, a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle; smug woman, pretty in pink flannel. As she caught his gaze, she flipped her hair in a gesture no doubt learned in the cradle. The long tresses looked like flowing gold in the firelight.

“Cooked steaming hot,” he emphasized.

She lifted a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the stew.”

Michelle bit back a laugh. She swore the man almost swallowed his tongue.

Served him right. Calling her mother . The nerve.

Stew was good, though. As if on cue, her stomach growled. Not loud enough to be heard, thank goodness, but a definite reminder it had been close to nine hours since she last ate.

“But it’ll do for now,” she purred, taking satisfaction in seeing his shoulders brace as if ready for a fight. Better prepare, big boy, she was here to fight for her inheritance, and she wouldn’t let a massive he-man stand in her way.

Flirting came as natural to her as breathing. And if a little harmless seduction threw him off his stride, good. It might get her what she wanted and no way would she fall for River Run’s newest lawman.

“You’ll mind your manners if you want a serving,” he calmly responded.

Ah. A challenge.

“You’d really deny an injured woman a simple meal?” she chastised in a wounded voice, soft and just a little accusatory.

He just shook his head without turning and dished up two bowls of the savory stew. Then he opened a foil-wrapped loaf of bread and cut two big slices, putting one in each of the bowls. Walking over, he handed one of the bowls to her.

“Thank you.” She reached eagerly for the meal, too hungry to pretend otherwise. The first bite tasted divine and she moaned in pleasure. “Excellent. Did you make this?”

“No,” he said from the brown corduroy recliner next to her. “A friend cooked it for me.” He eyed her over his steaming bowl. “You’re going to be trouble.”

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. She didn’t usually reveal her weaknesses, especially to strong competitors, but weariness and desperation drove her to the point of honesty.

“I need to stay here,” she said bravely.

“And if I say no?”

She chewed carefully, the yummy stew suddenly sitting heavy in her stomach. “You can’t.”

“We both know I should.”

“I don’t know that,” she denied. “I think we can help each other out here.”

That stopped him midbite. He lifted one dark eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“I need a place to stay.” She choked out the words, then cleared her throat and put determination in the rest. “And you need help with little Jack.”

“Hmm. Seems I could hire someone who won’t cause trouble to do that.”

“But you don’t have to pay me.” Hmm. “Much.”

He laughed. A hearty, rusty-sounding bark that came from deep inside him and startled the baby awake.

Michelle immediately reached for the baby, her first instinct to soothe and settle him, and then her healthy sense of self-preservation kicked in. So instead she cooed to little Jack on her way to handing him to Nate.

Let him see what he’d be dealing with without inhouse assistance.

“Here you go.” She held the crying child out to Nate.

“Humph.” He set his bowl on the coffee table and took the squalling baby into his arms.

The trick worked because the baby continued to cry no matter what Nate did to soothe him. Then she felt bad because Jack refused to be mollified. Nate patted him, talked to him, put him over his shoulder and held him in his lap. Actually he was very good with the baby, holding him well and confidently.

But nothing made Jack happy.

Once she finished eating she set her dishes aside and took him so Nate could finish his meal.

She thought she’d be able calm the child, even hummed a little song for him, which seemed to be working and then it wasn’t. Instead he worked himself into a full screaming fit. So much for her plan. And her ego.

“I changed his diaper,” she said even as she checked him again to make sure he was still dry. “And he just had a bottle. I don’t know why he’s so upset.”

“Maybe he’s still hungry,” Nate offered. “Do you think he’d like some stew?”

“He’s too small to eat that. Or any solids. How old did you say he was?”

“Four months.”

Did that mean Jack could have food? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. I had a coworker with a new baby. I think she started feeding her little girl about this age. But if so, it was only soft cereal or pureed fruits and vegetables.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have any of that. I’m going to give him a little of the broth.”

Michelle hesitated, still unsure, but the frantic crying wore at her nerves. At this point she was willing to give it a try. She gratefully released the baby into Nate’s care.

“Be careful,” she urged him. “Make sure you don’t get any chunks of food. And don’t give him too much. It’s rich and his system won’t be used to it.”

“Let’s see if he even likes it.” Nate dipped the tip of his spoon in the thick broth and brought it to the shrieking baby’s mouth, touching the tiny tongue with a small taste. For a moment there was no change, but Nate tried it again. This time the crying stuttered as Jack worked his tongue against his lips, but his little body still shuddered with the force of his sobs.

“That’s promising.” Nate fed him another small sip.

“Not too fast,” she cautioned as blessed silence surrounded them.

“He likes it.”

“I’m sure he does. It’s got more flavor than anything else he’s ever eaten.”

“It shut him up.” Nate sent her a superior look as he continued to feed the baby. “You can’t argue with the results.”