Special Delivery Baby

* * *

Tomasina Stone extended her arm, presenting the handsome stranger with a hand encased in a fringed leather glove. “Miss Stone, if you’re looking for a cap to that question.”

She’d seen some peculiar sights in her time. She’d seen a cowboy so lonesome he’d howled at the moon. She’d seen a dog raise an abandoned skunk baby alongside her own pups. Once she’d even seen a river in the Colorado Territory run uphill atop the continental divide. However, never in her twenty-two years had she ever seen a sight this odd.

The man standing on the boardwalk in front of her was holding a baby in one arm and an expensive-looking, silver-handled cane in the other. Despite his peculiar circumstances, the man appeared strangely calm and in charge. As though he’d just finished adding a column of numbers instead of dodging a near mauling beneath the deadly hooves of a longhorn steer.

“Was anyone hurt?” he demanded.

“No one was hurt,” Tomasina assured the man. “No thanks to that fool woman who tried to cut across the street. She turned back soon enough. Disappeared into the crowd, so I expect she’s fine.”

The man anchored his cane beneath his arm and clasped her hand in greeting. His touch was firm without being crushing.

“The name is Will Canfield,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Stone.”

“You sure picked a dangerous place to take your baby for a walk, Daddy Canfield. Might want to reconsider your route next time.”

The measured expression on his face faltered a notch. “Oh, this isn’t my baby.”

Having been raised around men her whole life, Tomasina had never given their looks too much thought. This fellow stood out. He wasn’t overly bulky, like some of the cowboys she rode with, or reed-thin, like the bankers in town, but something in between. His beard was trimmed in a precise goatee and his head was bare, revealing his neatly clipped brown hair. He was polite, but there was a clever edge in his dark eyes. This wasn’t a man easily crossed.

He reminded Tomasina of her first impression of Cowboy Creek; a mixture of the wild, untamed West with the appearance of cultivation brought by the easterners after the war. There was something more about him, though; an inherent air of authority. She’d give her eyeteeth if he hadn’t once been a soldier, and an officer, by the way he carried himself.

She hoisted an eyebrow. “Reckon who that baby belongs to is none of my business one way or the other.” She gestured toward the child. “Judging by how that little fellow’s mouth is working, you’d best find his mama soon. Looks like he’s getting ready for feeding time”

“It’s a girl,” Will corrected. “She’s wearing pink booties. I checked earlier.”

“Is that a fact?” Their exchange was turning into a real doozy. Tomasina tucked away the conversation for the next time the boys were telling tall tales around the campfire. “I think your girl is getting hungry. Better get mama.”

“That’s the whole problem.” The man spoke more to the infant in his arms than to her. “Someone abandoned her. I found her on my doorstep just now.”

Yep, Tomasina had seen a lot of strange things in her life, but this spectacle topped them all. “I can’t help you there. Any reason the baby’s mama picked you in particular? Maybe you should start with all the ladies of your acquaintance.”

His face flushed. “I can assure you this child’s origins are a mystery.”

Oddly enough, she believed him. He had the sharp look of a man who didn’t miss a detail. Probably someone had left the baby with him because of his wealth. He definitely appeared well-off. Even Tomasina recognized the expensive cut of his charcoal gray suit and the fine workmanship of his crisp, white shirt.

He glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. “The woman—the one who spooked the cattle. Did you see which way she ran? I think this child belongs to her. If not, then she might have seen something. She was hiding in the shadows when I discovered this little bundle.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did you get a good look at her?” he persisted. “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

“Nope,” Tomasina said with a slow shake of her head. Much as she’d enjoy assisting the gentleman, her attention had been directed elsewhere at the time. “Everything was a blur. Like I said before, I was focused on the cattle.”

Clearly frustrated by her answers, Daddy Canfield muttered something unintelligible.

He grimaced and held the bundle away from him, revealing a dark, wet patch on his expensive suit coat.

Tomasina chuckled. Oh, yeah, the boys were going to love this one. They’d never believe her, but they’d love the telling. Her pa always liked a good yarn, as well. At the thought of her pa, her smile faded. He’d died on the trail a few weeks back, and they’d buried him in the Oklahoma Territory. The wound of his loss was still raw, and she shied away from her memories of him.

“Fellow...” Tomasina said. “As much fun as this has been, I’d best be getting on.”

“Thanks for your help back there,” Will replied, his tone grudging. “Your quick action averted a disaster.”

The admission had obviously cost him. He struck her as a prideful man, and prideful men sometimes needed a reminder of their place in the grand scheme of things.

“Baby or not,” she offered with a wide grin, “it wasn’t your life I was saving. I was looking out for the bull. My job isn’t protecting greenhorns who don’t have the sense to stay out of harm’s way. It’s getting four thousand head of longhorn cattle safely to market.”

“Point taken.”

Tomasina smothered her disappointment. His easy capitulation had neatly dodged her goading. She’d best watch herself around Will Canfield. He didn’t play by the rules.

His gaze settled on the holster strapped around her hips. “You can’t carry your guns in town. There’s a sign on the outskirts stating the policy of Cowboy Creek.”

“I saw it.”

“Then you know you need to check your guns with the sheriff during your stay.”

“That’s what the sign says, all right,” she answered evasively. There was no way under the sun she was relinquishing her guns. She’d encountered this sort of policy before, though, and she had a few tricks up her sleeve. “Who’s the sheriff?”

“Quincy Davis.”

“You pay him by the arrest?” she asked.

“That’s how it’s done around here.”

“Excellent.” A sheriff paid by the arrest was a sheriff willing to make a deal. “We’ll see what Quincy Davis and I can work out.”

As a lone woman in a man’s profession, she was constantly on guard. Her guns ensured her safety. Especially now that Pa was gone. He’d warned her it was time to hang up her drover’s boots and settle into a regular job fit for a female. She wasn’t having any of it—then or now. Driving cattle was all she knew. She’d never worn a skirt in her life, and she had no intention of starting now. Her pa’s reputation hadn’t been the only thing protecting her all these years. She’d built up her own name. Once this herd was safely delivered to market, she’d carry on as usual.

Her heartbeat stuttered and her eyes burned. Not exactly the same. Pa was gone. She fisted her hand on her knee and straightened. Swallowing hard a few times, she corralled her emotions. The first rule of being a lone female in a man’s domain was to stay tough.

Will Canfield frowned. “You all right, Miss?”

“Right as rain.”

She hadn’t planned on staying in Cowboy Creek long, but the man standing in front of her piqued her interest. If he didn’t like guns in town, he’d probably balk at the idea of a rodeo show. For reasons she couldn’t explain, the thought of provoking him cheered her.

The baby fussed, and Daddy Canfield awkwardly bounced the bundle in his arms.

Tomasina had to give the man credit. He was clearly out of his element but doing his best all the same. A sentiment she understood all too well. Her pa’s death had left her in charge of the cattle drive, but the position was as hollow as it was temporary. The boys had only stayed on this long because of loyalty to her father. Although they’d finish the job, they’d made it clear they weren’t taking orders from a woman. That meant she’d have to join up with another outfit.

She was a drover by trade and a drover by blood. She’d stay a spell and then hire on with another outfit. Same as always. First she’d stage the rodeo show she and her pa had performed dozens of times before. Let the boys blow off some steam after the long, demanding ride. Same as always.

“Daddy Canfield,” she declared. “Since you don’t like guns, how do you feel about rodeo shows? You know, trick riding and fancy target shooting?”

“Not in my town. Too dangerous.”