A Cold Creek Baby

But he did tend to be sulky and impatient when his plans went awry.

“Yeah, I know. It’s a pain. I can’t help it. Just start the immunizations and I’ll be there when I can. Can you and Luis handle it without me for a while?”

“I s’pose.” She could swear she almost heard the glower in his voice.

“You be careful up there,” he went on in his gravelly voice that always sounded like he was choking on trail dust. “I don’t like the idea of that boy being back in the house. I know Jo and Guff loved him just like the others, but in my book, that one has always been nothing but trouble.”

She fought the impulse to jump to Cisco’s defense. Yes, he had been fast-talking and imaginative and as a result he had managed to land himself—and the others—in plenty of mischief when he was a teenager.

Burt had never quite forgiven Cisco for a prank he’d pulled at their grazing allotment up in the high country when he had somehow convinced the prickly, proud ranchhand that he thought a black bear might be stalking their camp.

Burt had been deep in the woods early one morning answering the call of nature when Cisco had sneaked around behind him making appropriate bear grunting noises and Burt had come running back to camp in a panic, his pants half-down and biodegradable toilet paper flying out behind him.

For the most part, Easton would have to agree that Cisco was trouble. Except Burt was wrong about one thing: He was far from a boy.

“He would never hurt me,” she blatantly lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. “You know that. He’s family.”

He harrumphed over the cell phone he abhorred almost as much as he did Cisco del Norte. “I still don’t like it. Doesn’t he know we have work to do around here? Maybe he’s been gone from these parts so long he doesn’t remember how busy this time of year can be on a cattle ranch.”

She contained her sigh. “I’m sure he remembers, Burt. He lived here for a long time. But he needed a place to stay for a few days and this was his best option. He owns a good share of the ranch, don’t forget.”

“As if I could,” he muttered. Easton would have smiled if not for the fretful baby in her arms.

“Look, I have to go. I appreciate you and the boys stepping up without me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, okay. Be careful,” he warned again before ending the call.

Too late, she thought as she turned once more to the baby, who looked at her with huge blue eyes that swam with tears.

“I know, sweetheart. Let’s get you a bottle and then we’ll go see what’s going on with that rascal Burt was just talking about.”

She headed into the kitchen and found the can of powdered formula Cisco had left on the countertop. Easton was grateful she’d had a little practice the last few months as honorary aunt to Joe and Abby or she would have been all thumbs with things like changing diapers and mixing formula.

She tested the temperature of the formula on her forearm, feeling a great sense of accomplishment at her own competence, then handed the bottle to the baby, who clutched it in her chubby hands and began sucking greedily, her darling cupid’s bow of a mouth pursed around the nipple.

Something soft and tender tugged hard at Easton’s insides. She settled the baby a little closer to her, trying not to look at the clock.

Three hours.

Cisco had promised he would be back downstairs in one. He lied, something he seemed to do with consummate skill.

Three hours and counting, actually, and Easton had work to do.

Not that there weren’t compensations to this. Belle sucked her bottle a little more vigorously and snuggled her head closer to Easton’s chest. Her eyes drifted shut, her eyelashes so long and curly that they looked almost fake.

She smelled of warm milk and baby shampoo, an intoxicating combination, and Easton inhaled like a wino fighting off the DTs.

Belle was by far the most sweet-natured baby Easton had any experience with. Until the last fifteen minutes when she started getting sleepy, she had been happy and smiling, content to play with a few of the other babies’ toys Easton dragged into her office.

With those black curls, tawny skin and the shocking blue of her eyes, she was also remarkably lovely.

For three hours, Easton had struggled valiantly to tamp down the tangled emotions this little girl stirred. She had forced herself to focus on her care—changing her, playing with her, finding age-appropriate things in the house for Belle to explore.

She hadn’t allowed herself a moment to think about the what-ifs that haunted her.

Now that the baby was asleep—or close enough to it—all those memories and regrets hovered just on the edge of her heart and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep them at bay.

She tightened her hold on the baby and headed in the direction of the makeshift nursery. Belle’s long lashes fluttered when Easton began ascending the stairs, but then her eyes drifted closed again. They stayed that way when Easton carefully laid her on her back in the nursery crib. Easton pulled the bottle out carefully and watched Isabella’s mouth continue to suck air for a moment before it went still.

She really was a beautiful baby, she thought as she pulled the baby quilt up and over her. What had happened to her mother? she wondered. Cisco said she was dead. How was he involved? He claimed the baby wasn’t his, but with those long, inky eyelashes and the black hair with the tendency to curl, she could be.

After a moment spent gazing in adoration at the perfection of a nine-month-old baby, Easton forced herself to turn away. She checked the intercom Quinn had installed so he and Tess could hear their precious little boy in any room of the rambling house.

When she was sure it was on and transmitting any sound coming from the room, she closed the door behind her and walked across the hall. She stood outside Cisco’s door, her stupid stomach jumping at the prospect of seeing him again.

She hated this awkwardness, but didn’t know how to change it. The events of the past were too deeply entrenched between both of them. After a moment of standing there like an idiot, she forced herself to knock sharply—only to be met by silence.

When he didn’t answer, she knocked with a little more force. Still no answer.

She frowned. Cisco had never been a particularly sound sleeper. He always seemed to be on the edge of something fun and exciting. Jo used to shake her head and say he didn’t sleep well because he was too afraid of missing something.

Even on roundup, when the rest of them would sink with exhaustion into their sleeping bags at the end of a long day, Cisco would be edgy and alert and would wake at the slightest distraction, even the wind rattling the tent.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal of the doorknob feeling foolish. Maybe he wasn’t even in there. Maybe he had seized the chance to escape his obligations and climbed out the window. Wouldn’t be the first time he had made use of the exit route along the porch roof and down the old maple that grew next to the house on the other side.

No. She couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t just dump the baby on her and run. Cisco might be many things, but deliberately irresponsible wasn’t one of them.

After a moment, she knocked harder. “Cisco? Everything okay in there?”

She thought she heard something inside and she strained her hearing. Weird. She could swear she heard a moan coming from inside.

Was he in the depths of some kind of nightmare? Even as disjointed as he tended to sleep, he hadn’t ever been much to toss and turn. But what did she know? He wasn’t the same person anymore, not with the hardness around his mouth, the secrets in his eyes.

The low moan sounded again from inside the room, unmistakable this time and Easton screwed her eyes shut, knowing in her heart she had no choice except to check on him. Either he was having a bad dream or he was in pain. Either way, she had to check out the situation, whether she wanted to or not.

She pushed the door open with caution and found the room dim, the curtains closed against the morning sunshine.

Her gaze flew to the bed and when her eyes adjusted she discovered he hadn’t climbed out the window at least. He lay on the bed, a sheet covering his lower body, but he was bare from the waist up—bare except for a wide bandage wrapped around his stomach, a pristine white except for a kiwi-sized spot that was soaked through with blood.

His skin seemed even more pale and she could almost feel the heat radiating off him from here. On closer inspection, she could see his hair was damp with sweat and more drops of perspiration dotted the shadow above his upper lip.

She hurried to the bed and pushed back the hair flopping across his forehead. Even before she touched his skin, she could feel the fever pouring off him.

“Oh, Cisco. What kind of trouble are you in?” she whispered. She didn’t know whether to be scared or angry or worried sick.

“Can’t. Oh, cara. Don’t ask me,” he muttered, his head tossing on the pillow. He said something quickly in Spanish she didn’t catch.

She touched his shoulder and was seared by the heat of his skin. Had he driven here all the way from Salt Lake International, a good four hours away, in this condition?