The Cowboy Seal's Christmas Baby

He unlatched his saddlebags, hanging them over his shoulder to carry back to the tent. Inside were dry clothes, a few first aid basics and fire-starting materials. There was also plenty of food and water, but no baby formula or bottles.

Back outside, he found another towering pine that was out of the horse’s view, then assembled a small fire. His grandfather taught him the secret to making all-weather starting blocks that never failed to produce instant heat. Since the wood he’d dragged beneath the tree was wet, it took longer to catch, but soon enough crackling flames banished the cold.

For further insurance, he constructed a small lean-to made of sticks and pine boughs to put another layer of protection between his only heat source and the sleet.

The baby’s wails drove him at a furious pace.

When they stopped, the silence, save for the sleet’s clatter, came as a relief, but then terror struck. Had the infant died?

He charged into the tent, then froze.

The woman not only was awake, but held the infant to her breast.

* * *

SHE WAS BEYOND GROGGY.

Her eyes didn’t want to open, but a primal instinct told her that if only for a short while, she had to tend to her son. After assuring herself of his safety, she could sleep, but he came first. Would always come first.

His cries ripped at her heart.

Though she barely had strength to draw her next breath, she somehow knew he was hungry. She fumbled with her jogging suit’s zipper, and then raised the hems of her T-shirt and sports bra. Breast bared, she guided her baby to his first meal. Luck was with her when he greedily latched on.

Relief brought tears.

Eyes closed, she finally found the energy to wonder where she was. And why. How come she couldn’t remember anything other than the most basic of all urges to stay alive?

She licked her lips, desperate for water, when the tent flap that had been fluttering in the storm’s wind opened farther.

A giant of a man stepped in.

She screamed.

He kept coming.

He wore a black cowboy hat and boots and a long duster-style coat of the sort she’d only seen in old Westerns. Could he be a hallucination?

He held up his hands. “I’m here to help.”

Could she believe him? She didn’t know, and clutched her newborn closer. What was wrong with her? Why was her mind blank?

“Woman, you gave me a helluva scare. What landed you all the way out here? How’d you get that nasty bump to your head?”

So many questions. She had answers for none. “I—I don’t know.”

Brow furrowed, he knelt alongside her. “What do you mean you don’t know? What’s your name? Where’s your baby’s father? What kind of man lets the mother of his child go camping in this weather?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Fighting back tears, she shook her head. “D-do you have water?”

“Of course. Be right back.”

Sleet fell so hard on the flimsy tent that it was collecting on the sides, causing the nylon to bow. Moments later, when the cowboy stooped to enter, he punched at both sagging sides before unscrewing the lid on a gallon jug of water. He handed it to her, but then understanding dawned on his whisker-stubbled face when her arms proved too weak to leave her baby.

He got down next to her, holding the jug to her lips. In the process, the backs of his fingers touched her chin. For an instant, they warmed her cold skin. The sudden heat made her shiver.

She then grew hyperaware of the man’s size.

And the vulnerable position she and her newborn son were in.

How had she landed herself in this predicament? Nothing made sense. The man raised valid questions. Where was her baby’s father? Why did her mind feel numb?

She drank deeply of the cowboy’s gift.

The water might as well have been liquid ambrosia sliding down her throat. Never had anything tasted so good.

Eyes closed, she drank until feeling as if she couldn’t hold any more. The whole while, the man patiently knelt beside her, holding the heavy jug.

“Can’t recall ever seeing a woman drink that much,” he said. “Guessing you were dehydrated?”

“I’m sure.” She shivered.

Her baby unlatched and cried, kneading tiny fists against her right breast. Maternal instinct had her shifting him to her other side. When he drew milk, a hormonal flood raised a knot in her throat and had her eyes tearing.

What could have landed her in this situation? Why did her head feel like a blank sheet of paper?

“Since it’s not getting any warmer,” he said, “once you finish with—” the man gestured to her nursing baby “—you know, give me a holler and I’ll bring you a rag and pot of hot water. We need to get you both cleaned up, then cut the baby’s cord.”

“You know how?”

“Had some EMT training. Not much, but you’ve already tackled the worst. As soon as this weather clears and you feel able, we’ll get you to a hospital.”

She nodded. Something about his take-charge demeanor, the gentle yet confident note in his voice, eased her worry. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve it, but by what could only be the grace of God, she and her baby were in capable hands.

* * *

“HOW ARE YOU DOING?” Gideon stroked Jelly Bean’s cheek.

For the past hour, he’d prepared pot after pot of melted sleet that he’d then delivered to the mystery woman—along with a T-shirt for her to use as a rag. While waiting for the latest batch to boil, Gideon tended to the horse.

“Bet you never thought we’d encounter a newborn and her momma, huh?”

The horse snorted, then stilled, closing her eyes while appreciating his affection.

“Damned if this doesn’t beat anything I’ve ever seen.” Gideon kept his voice a low murmur for only the horse to hear. Over the past months, he’d learned Jelly Bean calmed whenever he was speaking. Maybe her former young owner had been a chatterbox? Regardless, since he rarely had anyone around his place besides his nearest neighbor, Mrs. Gentry, it was good to have someone to talk to—even if that someone was a horse.

He continued stroking, combing her mane.

Did the mystery woman need help with her long hair?