Montana Midwife

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“You’re not her parent.”

“Gabriel Ranch and everything that happens here is my responsibility.”

He spoke with calm conviction as though his words were indisputable. When Aiden’s father died, he took on that mantle. The buck stopped with him. He was the protector, the caretaker and the final authority, even though his mother had taken over the day-to-day chores and the running of the ranch.

Seeing Aiden with his head bowed made her realize that he wasn’t the perfect, ideal man she’d cherished in her memories. He was real. He suffered just like any other man. Beneath his strength was a thick layer of sadness. He’d given up everything for his family. Somehow, that made him even more attractive to her. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that everything was going to be all right.

“Let me handle the sheriff,” she said. “If Misty is under too much stress, I’ll call an end to the questioning.”

He looked doubtful. “What if—”

“Stop,” she said quietly. “There’s only one thing that needs to happen. Misty has to tell the truth.”

“That’s what scares me.”

His fear touched her.

Though it seemed impossible, Misty could be involved in these dark, terrible crimes. Tab didn’t want to believe it was possible.

Chapter Six

In the downstairs office at the ranch, the decor showed a more feminine touch than the rest of the house. Sylvia spent most of her time behind the polished-oak desk, surrounded by antique wooden filing cabinets. A jar of jelly beans sat at the corner of the desk beside a bowl of fresh yellow roses. The computer screen saver showed a Degas painting of ballet dancers.

Sheriff Fielding perched on the edge of the desk facing Tab and Misty who were at opposite ends of a blue love seat. From what Aiden had told her, Tab knew that the sheriff considered Misty to be a prime suspect. But she saw hesitation and doubt in his eyes.

With a flannel robe belted above her pregnant belly, Misty couldn’t have looked less like the ringleader of a murderous gang. Under the pink velour robe, she wore striped yellow pajamas. Her freshly washed hair piled on top of her head with wispy blond curls escaping to frame her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she’d been crying.

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Misty, it’s very important for you to be honest with me and tell me everything, even if you think it might get somebody else in trouble. This isn’t like high school. People are getting killed.”