The Baby Trail

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After a few moments of hesitation, Kylie answered, “Yes, I told him I’m pregnant, and I learned something Alex hadn’t told me.”

Suspecting there were lots of things Alex hadn’t told his wife, Gwen asked, “What?”

“Brock’s been divorced for over a year.”

The silence in the room was filled with Kylie’s sadness. Brock had an Apache heritage and had felt like a second-class citizen at the ranch, especially since Jack Warner had always treated Alex like the golden son. Brock had made his own way as a geologist in Texas.

“I told Brock everything here was fine. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I need time. I have to get the ranch built up again. It’s my child’s future.”

“What are you going to do if Brock comes back here and wants you to sell it?” Always the realist, Gwen knew Jack Warner’s will had put Kylie in a pickle. He’d left the ranch to Alex as long as Alex lived there and ran it. If he ever sold it, half the proceeds went to Brock. The same would now apply to Kylie.

“I really can’t think about that now. I sold the TV,” she said, her hand fluttering toward the place where the screen had once hung. “I’m using that for expenses. I listed the mechanical bull on eBay and I’m hoping I’ll get a good price on it. If I can sell that, it will help me pay the back taxes. The cattle won’t bring in enough this year.”

“Maybe I can take my vacation after the baby’s born and come out here and help you,” Gwen offered.

Kylie’s eyes misted with tears and she brushed them away. “Thank you, but we’ll wait and see. If I get a few more horses to board that could make up for the training money I’m losing while I’m pregnant. I can’t risk a fall with this baby to think about.”

“You still have a stockpile of quilts. You could sell more of those.”

“I sold a few to buy Feather and to use for vet bills. I’m saving the others for emergencies.”

One of Kylie’s quilt designs hung on the wall along with photo collages of the Warner family and a…dream catcher. Gwen hadn’t seen that before.

Taking out a tissue and blowing her nose, Kylie re-pocketed it in her jeans. “So how’s your FBI agent working out?” she asked, obviously tired of being the center of attention.

“That’s a good question,” Gwen joked. “I haven’t heard from him since Monday and I don’t know if he’s made more progress. I left a message yesterday but he hasn’t returned my call.”

“And you’re not going to stand for that,” Shaye said with a smile.

Gwen laughed. “Actually, no, I’m not. I think I’m going to drive out there tonight after I drop you off.”

“We know you don’t let grass grow under your feet,” Kylie teased.

No, she didn’t. Tonight she’d be seeing Garrett Maxwell whether he was ready to see her again or not.

Gwen was hopeful when she spied a small light burning in Garrett’s loft. It had to be the loft from the way the first floor looked simply fuzzy with light. She supposed he could leave it on when he was away. Did men care about walking into a dark house? Maybe if she could understand questions like that, she could understand men.

She obviously hadn’t understood Mark or she would have seen the signs that he was going to cut and run. The problem was—she’d had a lot of people cut and run from her, without any signs.

Casting those thoughts aside, she stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. A few moments later she rang it again.

Suddenly there Garrett was—rumpled, hair tousled, shirt open down the front. He looked as if he’d been…sleeping? The stubble of his beard told her he hadn’t even shaved today.

At a loss for words, she just stood there and stared.

“I fell asleep on the couch.”

Although he might have been asleep when she rang the bell, he was fully alert now.

“I…uh…you didn’t return my calls.”

He ran his hand over his face. “I was going to. I got back from a search and rescue around six. I intended to rest on the sofa for a couple minutes, but…” He checked his watch with a luminescent dial. “I guess it’s more like hours than minutes. Come on in.”

She’d been right about the light in the loft. The living room was hazy with shadows.

When he strode to a side table, Gwen noticed his feet were bare. He switched on the wrought-iron based lamp. A yellow glow splashed over the rust-colored leather sofa where a wool throw was twisted into a ball.

Opening her suede jacket, but leaving it on, she sat in the nubby-textured recliner. “Where were you searching?”

“Near Yellowstone. A boy camping with his family. We found him late this afternoon.”

“He’s all right?”

“Shaken up, thirsty and hungry, but he was okay. He’d been missing twenty-four hours and his parents were crazy with worry.” Garrett’s fingers went to his jawline. “That’s why I look like I just stepped out of the wilderness.”

He looked exactly like that and so sexy her stomach was jumping all over the place. Deciding honesty was the best policy, especially with Garrett, she admitted, “I’m sorry I bothered you. But when you didn’t answer my calls, I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I was,” he answered tersely. “I didn’t have any news about Amy’s mother, and after that kiss, I knew things would be strained between us.”

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling was “strain.” It was more like a humming that affected her whole body. The question was—did Garrett feel the humming, too? But even if he did, he wasn’t the type of man she wanted to get involved with. She wanted an open book. She wanted someone who could share and communicate and be affectionate and not hide his innermost thoughts. She suspected this man had a lot of practice hiding feelings, thoughts, and maybe even who he was.

“Whether there’s a strain between us or not, I need to know if you made any progress,” she assured him.

He was still standing and he seemed to debate with himself. “Why don’t you make yourself at home in my kitchen. There’s hot chocolate in one of the canisters beside the mugs. I’ll get a quick shower, then we can talk. Unless you don’t have time.”

“I have time,” she said softly, eager to hear what Garrett had to say, eager to get to know just a little bit more about him…just a little bit more.

Ten minutes later Garrett was back downstairs, picking up the mug of hot chocolate she’d prepared for him. “Thanks,” he said, a half smile curving his lips. With his damp, wavy hair and in his tan knit shirt and jeans, she wanted to dive into his arms. She had to get a grip.

Taking their mugs into the living room, he tossed aside the throw and sank down beside her on the sofa. The humming was definitely still there.

After he set his mug on the coffee table, he leaned back. “I did find out some information. Not enough to move on, though, yet. I sent the yarn to a fiber specialist to be analyzed and identified. I’ve made contacts who owe me,” he explained. “The good news is—only one store in Wyoming ordered it…in Laramie. The bad news is—the owner of that store is overhauling her computer system and it won’t be up and running again until next week. She’s going to e-mail me when she finds the names of the purchasers.”

In spite of herself, Gwen had been hoping for more. “Meantime, Amy might be placed with a family. Shaye is having an interview tomorrow with a couple.”

Gwen had taken off her jacket in the kitchen and left it over a chair. Now her shoulder was almost brushing Garrett’s. Neither of them moved away from the close contact.

When he shifted toward her, his body tensed. “This isn’t science, Gwen. Sometimes I have to count on sheer luck. The best situation for that child might be to place her with a couple.”

“I know that. It’s just—”

“You identify with this baby,” he suggested gently. “Your birth parents abandoned you, and from what your father said, I gathered your adopted mother did, too.”

“She didn’t abandon me, exactly. She left me with my father.”

“She didn’t take you along, and that’s what a mother should do. When my parents divorced, I was old enough to make a choice. I decided to go to California with my dad. But at six, I imagine you wanted to be with your mother.”

“What Dad and I wanted didn’t matter. All that mattered to her was the new man she fell in love with.”

“Your dad said she moved to Indiana.” Again his voice was quiet, almost kind.

“Peter, her new husband, had family there. They decided a fresh start was best for everybody. But it wasn’t. The night she left, Dad started drinking and didn’t stop until three years ago.”

“Whatever happened three years ago must have been earth shattering to him if he stopped.” Garrett’s interested statement urged her to go on.

“I’d never realized it, but all those years I took care of him, I was enabling him. Shaye and Kylie encouraged me to get counseling, so I finally went to a few Al-Anon meetings. I learned I had to change as much as he did. So, I did my own intervention of sorts. I told Dad I was moving out and buying a house and he was going to have to take care of his own bills. That meant he had to work regularly. He’d been an accountant up until then. He just took on work when he felt like it, or when he needed the money. I don’t think he thought I was serious until I put a contract on a house, packed my things and then moved out. I had a neighbor check on him and for about a week, he drank even more. Then he checked himself into the rehab program at the hospital and started going to AA meetings. All those years he drank, he’d stop now and then for a few weeks at a time, but then he’d pick up the bottle again. So now, I hold my breath and hope for the best. But I guess I’m always preparing myself for the worst.”

“You did the right thing—making him responsible for his own life.”

There was admiration in Garrett’s voice. Kylie and Shaye had supported her through it all, but in the dead of night when she worried about her father, she felt alone. “I was so scared when I told him I was moving out. Afterward, I think my dad actually respected me more. The problem is with all those years of me taking up the slack between us, I think he knows I don’t trust him to stay sober. We have surface conversation and walk on eggshells a lot of the time.”

“Do you hear from your adoptive mother?”

“I get a Christmas card once a year,” she said lightly as if it didn’t hurt that her own mother didn’t send letters or birthday cards. Except it wasn’t her own mother. It was her adoptive mother.