Someone's Baby

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t. And if you’d had the decency to pick someone else’s truck to hide in, I’d have been a whole lot happier. But you didn’t, so I’m stuck with the situation.”

Jayne blinked in surprise at this grumpy discourse. “And here I was thinking you were a nice person.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” he growled.

“I have no idea,” she snapped weakly. “I suppose I could have just stood there and let him shoot me, but I assure you, he probably would have shot you, too. He’s even nastier than you are and he’s not apt to leave witnesses. He just wants the baby.”

“Good.”

“What?”

“If she’s what he wants it gives us an advantage.”

New fear washed over her. “I am not giving him the baby!”

“Of course not, but it means he won’t start shooting indiscriminately into the cabin.”

Jayne tried to hide a shudder. She closed her eyes and attempted to think. Her uncooperative brain was sluggish with pain and fear and exhaustion.

“Why would he take your truck? That doesn’t make sense. He could have walked in the door and shot us both when you weren’t expecting him. He doesn’t need your rifle. He’s already got a gun.”

Silence filled the cabin.

“Good point,” the man called Cade finally said thoughtfully.

“And why don’t we have anywhere to go?” she asked, opening her eyes again. Cade wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the wall apparently deep in thought.

“This is a line shack,” he said after a long pause. “We put them in places that are far from the main house. After a day roping cattle or riding fence it’s a roof over your head instead of a bedroll on the ground. Especially during bad weather.”

She knew that. “So walking for help isn’t an option?”

“Not at the moment.” He pulled a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Grimly, he stood and began packing supplies away. “You can breast-feed, can’t you?” he asked again.

“No!”

He suddenly eyed her with an expression of disdain. Did he believe she felt such a natural process was beneath her?

“There’s milk in the diaper bag.”

“She already drank two of the six bottles. They’re really little bottles.”

“There’s an unopened can of formula. We’ll have to mix up more formula when we run out.”

He turned and began rummaging through the bag. He pulled out the can and gave her an acerbic look. “This won’t last forever. Then what?”

“I don’t know! Are we going to be stuck here forever?” She tried to sit up, but her shoulder hurt and the action made her feel weak and dizzy. Her stomach lurched appallingly. She tried to cover her helplessness with a glare. “You can wipe that expression right off your face. I’d feed her if I could, but it isn’t possible.”

Her head began to ache in tandem with the burning throbbing of her shoulder. Jayne closed her eyes against the pain and vowed not to be ill. “I don’t know what to do,” she said trying not to panic. “I can’t seem to think right now.”

“Okay,” he said more kindly. “I’ve got powdered milk. I can add it to the formula to stretch it out a ways if we need to. It may not be great, but it should get us through until help arrives.”

She opened one eye and immediately closed it again. She was very tired and it was cold in the cabin.

“So help will arrive?” she asked.

“Let me worry about that. When’s the last time you ate?”

She thought about the bag of cheese curls and the diet soda she’d been eating in her car right before everything went crazy. Her stomach tightened alarmingly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll fix us something while you rest.”

“The baby—”

“Will be just fine. She’s still sleeping. What’s her name?”

Name? Of course he’d expect her to have a name. He thought this was her baby.

“Heather. I call her Heather.” Her mother’s name was the first one to pop into her head.

“Yeah?”

She squinted carefully and found him scrutinizing the sleeping infant.

“I guess I can see that. It’s soft. Sort of pretty.”

“My mother will be glad you approve.”

Cade glanced at her. “Why? Did she name the kid?”

“No. It’s her name.”

“Oh. Are you cold?”

“What gave it away, the shivering or the chattering of my teeth?”

He shook his head and walked over to the table. “Here.” He came back with two blankets which he spread over her. But when his hand reached out to brush the hair from her forehead she tried to draw back.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold still, I want to see if your head is warm. We don’t want you getting a fever.”

“And just how are you going to prevent that?”

He didn’t bother to respond. His hand was large and rough. The hand of a workingman. Yet his touch was somehow reassuring against her skin. She didn’t want to be drawn to this surly cowboy, but she was. At the moment, he represented safety and security.