Sara Orwig - A Baby For Mommy

“I won’t question her about it,” Micah promised, knowing it was best. He wouldn’t scare the child or dredge up bad memories, but Sophie might hold answers if they could get them from her. “There’s room for you with the girls,” he said, scooting to a tree to lean back against it and stretch out his legs.

She moved beside the children, and when he glanced at her again, his pulse jumped. She had unfastened the thick braid of hair and was combing her fingers through it. A cascade of auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders. She shook her head, brushing her hair back. It was a dark cloud around her head and he could imagine its silkiness. For an instant his gaze raked over her, and then he looked away.

Mrs. Raffaela Granillo. He was taking her home to her husband. And if there was a chance she was the unmarried twin—he reminded himself to wait until they were in Texas to even consider the possibility.

Night came swiftly, and his eyes adjusted. He stared into the darkness, listening to the screech of birds and night sounds, reassured by the noise around him that they were alone. He was far more concerned about rebels than wild animals or snakes.

He leaned back against the palm and closed his eyes, knowing he would only take catnaps until they reached safety. Pockets of rebel insurgents infested all this part of the land, and he wanted to avoid close encounters with any of them. If a band of the wrong kind of men found them, the lady was pretty enough to cause all kinds of trouble. She moved restlessly, and he studied her a moment. What was disturbing her sleep? The crash, the amnesia, the wilds?

Raffaela shifted. She lay on her stomach because her legs and back stung and hurt from the cuts and bruises. Staring into the night, she wished she could remember, trying to envision the husband in her background. With a hollow feeling she thought about her twin sister who had died in the crash. Mourning the loss of her sister would come when memory returned. Right now she felt numb and blank and had no memory of a sister. What she had was a vivid and intense recollection of Micah Drake’s fingers moving over her to give first aid. He had caused her pain, but she knew it had been unavoidable. The rest of the time, his hands were gentle. And she remembered that he was no longer married. He had answered her gruffly, so he must have bad memories.

He thought she was Raffaela, the married one. She didn’t feel married. But she guessed he was right. She knew without a doubt that she loved the little girls.

As she fell asleep, memories taunted her of Micah’s dark eyes.

In early morning Micah opened his eyes and glanced across their campsite. His heart missed a beat.

Raffaela was nowhere to be seen. He came to his feet swiftly, swinging the M-16 over his shoulder, dropping his hand to check the pistol on his hip. He looked around, wondering if she was answering a call of nature or if she had gone to the stream to wash. The only other choices were not good. He glanced at the girls who were both asleep. He hated to leave them alone, but the stream was only yards away.

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