“Where are you staying?” Nate asked.

Michelle frowned. “What do you mean? This is my home. I’m staying here.”

“I have a contract that says you’re not.”

“You can’t throw me out of my own house.” Dread tightened like a fist in her gut.

“This badge says I can.”

“Before we continue this argument, can you go feed your cat? The distressed cries are driving me crazy.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a cat.”

She blinked in surprise. “Don’t you hear that? It’s been crying for the last five minutes.”

He cocked his head as he listened. The plaintive wail came again, weaker now.

“That’s not a cat.” He moved to the front door, flung it open, and charged coatless into the blizzard. “It’s a—”

The wind grabbed his last word and garbled it, but it sounded as if he’d said baby.

Dear Reader,

Every little girl dreams of being a princess. Fairytales foster the fantasies of life—peril, humour, love and happily-ever-after. It’s my joy to bring you three stories based loosely on three fairytales. This is Sleeping Beauty’s story.

This book is dedicated to my nieces, and I’ll share a story about Ashley. When she was in high school she and three of her friends decided to dress up as princesses for Halloween. She chose Cinderella, and her mother helped her find a pretty blue dress that was full and swished when she moved. She put her blonde hair up in a bun and wore long white gloves. She looked as if she’d walked from the pages of the fairytale.

Sadly, she arrived on Halloween to find not one of her friends dressed up as promised. It could have been a disaster. Instead Cinderella became the belle of the ball. Everyone made a big deal of her all day long. And that evening, when she went trick or treating with her younger sisters, people praised her and asked if they could take her picture. That day she was a true princess.

Do you have a princess moment? I hope so.

Happy reading!

Teresa Carpenter

About the Author

TERESA CARPENTER believes in the power of unconditional love, and that there’s no better place to find it than between the pages of a romance novel. Reading is a passion for Teresa—a passion that led to a calling. She began writing more than twenty years ago, and marks the sale of her first book as one of her happiest memories. Teresa gives back to her craft by volunteering her time to Romance Writers of America on a local and national level.

A fifth-generation Californian, she lives in San Diego, within miles of her extensive family, and knows that with their help she can accomplish anything. She takes particular joy and pride in her nieces and nephews, who are all bright, fit, shining stars of the future. If she’s not at a family event you’ll usually find her at home—reading, writing, or playing with her adopted Chihuahua Jefe.

The Sheriff’s
Doorstep Baby
Teresa Carpenter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my nieces Amanda, Ashley, Sammy, Erika,

Michelle, Gabrielle and Rachel.

You are everything a heroine should be: beautiful,

smart, talented and loving.

I’m proud of you all.

PROLOGUE

“DADDY! Daddy! You’re here.”

“Mama! Hi! Over here.”

Arms flung wide, ten-year-old Michelle Ross twirled in a wide circle, her long blond curls and wide pink skirt flowing out around her. She determinedly ignored the excited calls of her friends as their parents arrived to visit.

For the first time ever she felt beautiful.

She loved Princess Camp, even if her dad didn’t come to parents’ day. He said he would, but he promised lots of things that didn’t happen. Duty first.

She begged and begged Daddy to be able to come. And of course, he said no. And continued to say no until Aunt Yvonne finally stepped in to plead Michelle’s case. She had to behave all of June and July—which had been torture—but come August she’d been off to camp. And all that boring good behavior paid off.

She shared a cabin with Elle and Amanda. They instantly became BFFs and did everything together. And Michelle loved it all, even the etiquette classes. A princess needed to know how to conduct herself!

“Michelle, these are my parents.” Dragging a dark-haired man by his hand, Elle proudly presented her father. “Daddy, Mama, Michelle is in my cabin. She’s Beauty. I’m Belle and Amanda is Rapunzel. We’re going to do a dance for the talent show. Sleeping Beauty had the gift of song, so Michelle’s going to sing.”

“Hello, Michelle.” Elle’s father greeted her and shook her hand. “What a lovely young woman you are. I can see why you’re Beauty.”

She giggled and dropped into a shallow curtsy. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“What lovely manners,” Elle’s mother said with a kind smile.

“The pleasure is all ours.” Her dad tugged on Elle’s dark red ponytail. “I can’t wait to see you girls dance. And to hear you sing, Michelle.”

“The talent show isn’t until after dinner,” Elle advised him. “Come on. I want to show you my cabin, and the pool, and the gazebo.”

He laughed indulgently. “We’re coming, Elle. But what about your friend?”

“Oh. Michelle’s waiting for her dad. Right?”

“Yes—” Michelle nodded and put hope into her voice “—he should be along anytime.”

Elle’s mom looked down the empty drive and frowned. “I don’t like leaving you alone out here.”

“I have to stay in the courtyard,” Michelle reassured her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Elle, I think we should ask your friend to keep us company until her dad comes along.”

“Yeah.” Elle grabbed Michelle’s hand, swung it back and forth. “Come with us. Your dad can find us when he gets here.”

“Maybe.” Michelle bit her lip. She should wait for Daddy. She was excited to show her dad around camp, to tell him what she’d learned, and how much she loved her time here. More than anything she wanted him to hear her sing and to impress on him that she should come back next year. But the truth was he probably wouldn’t even show. He meant his promises when he made them, yet the need to protect and serve took first place every time.

But Elle’s daddy thought Michelle was pretty and she wanted to go with them.

“I guess I can look around with you until he gets here.”

“Yippee!” Elle smiled and together they skipped ahead.

They showed Elle’s parents the cabin and the pool. And when they headed back to the main cabin, The Castle, Michelle looked around hopefully and glanced toward the parking lot, but saw no sign of her dad.

She got ready for the talent show with Elle and Amanda and pretended not to be nervous as she checked the audience repeatedly for her father.

“Come on, Michelle.” Amanda grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the wings. “It’s our turn.”

Michelle frantically searched the crowd one last time but there was no denying the inevitable. Another promise broken. Daddy wouldn’t see her sing. She sighed her disappointment and followed her friends onstage.

CHAPTER ONE

HANDS braced on his hips, Sheriff Nate Connor stood looking down at the strange beauty sleeping on his couch. Rolled up in his fleece throw, purple-and-pink-striped socks peeked out from one end and sunshine-yellow hair cascaded from the other.

With a muffled curse he holstered the nine millimeter he’d palmed when he found his front door unlocked. Not that he’d really expected to need it, but a soldier was always prepared. Even in River Run, where the population was less than five thousand.

Luck and skill had kept him from shooting himself when he tripped over the guitar case negligently left in the entry hall.

He considered reaching for his handcuffs, but the woman wasn’t a complete stranger. He’d seen sufficient pictures here in this house and on his predecessor’s desk to recognize the pretty flow of hair. He was enough of a lawman to figure out she was his new landlord.

And they’d met briefly at her father’s funeral seven months ago.

Yeah, he knew who sleeping beauty was. The question was why?

Why was she here and why did she think she could make herself at home on his couch?

He’d had his own plans for that couch. Today was supposed to have been his first day off in over a month. The storm changed that. An overnight delivery truck had skidded on ice and ended up on its side in the pass, blocking traffic in both directions. By the time they got it cleared up, they were in the middle of a full-blown blizzard, and he’d given up any hope of regaining his day off.

A surge of wind knocking branches against the house punctuated the thought.

After a ten-hour day, he’d planned to come home, heat up a frozen dinner and watch the game he’d recorded earlier.

Plans delayed by his uninvited guest’s possession of said couch.

A soft snore came from the fleece-wrapped bundle. Nate’s dark brows slammed together in a scowl. Now that was irritating. Not because the sound annoyed him, but because it didn’t. It had been cute.

He had no room in his life for soft and cute, no patience for trespassing blondes interrupting the last of his day off.

In the past seven months he’d heard nothing from Michelle Ross. Now she slept tucked up on his couch. She may own the place but he had a contract stating it was his for the next four months. He didn’t know what brought her to town, but she wasn’t staying here.

A matter he meant to take up with her right now.

“Ms. Ross.”

No response.

“Ms. Ross.” Advancing on the couch, he repeated the demand for her attention, and then again, louder each time. She stirred and then settled against the cushions, sighing as she pulled the throw tighter around herself.

Finally he leaned down and shook her shoulder. “Come on, beauty, wake up.”

She stirred and mumbled something.

Instinctively, he leaned closer to hear what she said.

But suddenly she turned and her lips brushed his. That’s when her eyes opened. Lovely eyes that brought the green of spring to a late-winter’s storm. And that thought distracted him long enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him down for a deeper kiss.

Questions of who and why and what disappeared in a rush of sensation. She felt warm and soft, and tasted oh, so sweet. This was what home should feel like, what a welcome should taste like.

Nate threaded his hands in all that hair and sank into the moment. After the day he’d had, he let the heat of the kiss sweep him away.

Michelle dreamed of a man on a white horse riding through the forest. Tall and strong, he carried a sword and sought a beautiful princess, ready to save her from all her woes. Michelle was both the princess and not. She liked the safety the knight represented, but it never came free and she wanted to save herself.

Only fools and optimists believed in love. Which left her out. She was nobody’s fool. And she’d given up on optimism early in life. She preferred to control her own destiny than hope for the best.

Now the knight was on top of her, holding her gently, his hands fisted in her hair, broad shoulders blocking out the world. He smelled like the fleece that held her in warmth and comfort, of the woods and man. But he was heat and power and his lips were on hers and she didn’t care if there was a price. Safe had never felt so good.

She arched into the kiss, opening her lips at the demand of his, welcoming him in, savoring the spicy taste of the man who held her so securely.

His hand moved in a sweeping caress from her head to her waist, where skin met skin. The shock of his cold fingers reached beyond Michelle’s lethargy.

Her eyes flew open and she realized this was no dream, no Prince Charming of childish imaginings, but a flesh-and-blood man with a bold kiss and cold hands.

She broke off the kiss, planted both palms flat against his chest and pushed. “Back up, buddy!”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, he held the embrace, and then he released her and surged to his feet.

“Hell. I must be more tired than I thought.” He scrubbed both hands over a face a shade too ordinary to be considered handsome. Straight dark eyebrows topped fierce gray eyes. Cut military-short, his hair was a tawny blend of brown, blond and red. Temper, or maybe it was passion, brought a ruddy hue to his cheeks.

The khaki uniform so like her father’s had her narrowing her eyes on him as she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. Pain throbbed in her ankle, but she ignored it.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” she demanded. “Besides accosting me?”

“You mean my home?” His hands went to his hips, and he met her glare for glare. “And you kissed me.”

She raised brows at him. “A neat trick for someone asleep. I inherited this house from my father.”

“And I rented it from him.”

That surprised her. “He didn’t tell me anything about renting the house. When did that happen?”

“Ben rented me a room when I first moved to town and I continued to rent the place when he moved in with his lady friend almost a year ago.”

“Dad had a girlfriend?” She’d been dreaming of princesses and white knights, but clearly she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. As far as she knew, Dad had never had a lady friend.

“I remember you now, from my father’s funeral.” Usually great with names, she reached for his and came up short. The funeral had been hard for her. She took a stab. “Gabe?”

“Nate.” He corrected. “Nate Connor.”

“Well, Nate, it seems you took over Dad’s job, and you took over his house.”

His expression frosted over. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing nefarious.” She waved off his paranoia. “I’m just saying this is my house.”

She’d only come back to River Run to sell the house so she could move to Los Angeles and pursue her songwriting career.

She’d escaped this town when she graduated from high school—couldn’t leave the little burg fast enough—and nothing had changed since. With her dad’s passing the small town had even less going for it now than it had when she was a kid.

So no, she hadn’t crept through Dead Man’s Pass praying to a deity she hadn’t spoken to in way too long to be kicked out of her own home.

“It’s your house, but it’s rented to me. I have a contract if you’d like to see it.” Nate crossed his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to pop. “You didn’t talk to your dad much, did you?”

The truth she’d come to acknowledge since her dad’s passing hit her hard. Hearing the censure from the current sheriff didn’t help.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship with my father.” Anger had her pushing to her feet. The ankle she’d injured walking up the snow-covered path from the car to the front door protested at the sudden motion, at the sudden weight, and gave out on her.

He caught her before she could fall, putting those impressive biceps to work, his grip under her elbows easily holding her weight off the sore foot.

“Are you okay?” Exasperation sat alongside concern in the question.

“Fine.” She attempted to shrug off his touch, but he held firm until she was seated once again. “I tripped on something on the way up the walk.”

He frowned. “I’ll check it out tomorrow. Do you need ice for your ankle?”

It irked to hear him playing host in her house. She shook her head. “I’m fine. How long did you know my dad?”

“Three years,” he said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the newel post.

She waited, hearing the cry of a kitten in the lull, but that was all he shared. Great. Her father had been the same all her life, bound by duty, determined to steal all the joy from her life. Now it seemed there’d been more to him than she remembered, but the bearer of the news was no more talkative than her father had been.

“Not very long,” she challenged.

“Not compared to twenty-five years, no. But I talked to him, worked with him, spent time with him. You let a complete stranger make funeral arrangements.”

Shame burned in her. That had been the lowest time in her life. A bad week capped off by the loss of her father. Yeah, she should have come home and taken care of the details of Dad’s funeral, but she’d been trying to save her job, trying to hold together the fraying edges of her life.

In the end she’d only been delaying the inevitable.

“I thanked you for your help.” She tried to find a smile and a little of her patented charm to ease the way with him. She’d learned early in life that a pretty girl had power, and she wielded the tool of her looks like any other talent.

But she was too weary, too annoyed with him and the crying of his cat, to bother. Or maybe she was too unsettled by the taste of him still in her mouth to summon a smile.

And what had that been about anyway? She was supposed to have kissed him in her sleep? Right.

So okay, she’d been kissing the knight in her dream. Coincidence. By no means did that translate into smooching a stranger in her sleep.

“Huh.” He dismissed her claim of gratitude. “Where are you staying?”

She frowned. “What do you mean? This is my home, I’m staying here.”

“I have a contract that says you’re not.”

“You can’t throw me out of my own house.” Dread tightened like a fist in her gut. She couldn’t afford to pay for alternative accommodations.

“This badge says I can.”

“Please.” She gestured to her swollen foot. “I couldn’t leave if I wanted. I can’t drive.”

He drew a set of keys from his pants pocket. “I can take you wherever you need to go.”

Sleet blew against the window as the wind roared, a timely reminder of the harsh weather.

“I’m not leaving.” Defiant, she crossed her arms over her chest and made a show of settling back into the couch. The tension from the long trip was back as she faced being expelled from her own home, the stress aggravated by the cries of distress from the kitten deep in the house.

“Oh, you are.”

She shook her head, holding up a staying hand. “Before we continue this argument, can you go feed your cat? The distressful cries are driving me crazy.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a cat.”

She blinked in surprise. “Well, then one is trying to get in. Don’t you hear that? It’s been crying for the last five minutes.”

This should be interesting. Would the big bad sheriff help the stray or leave it to fend for itself in the storm he was so ready to toss her out into?

He cocked his head as he listened. The roaring wind covered the sound for a moment and then the plaintive wail came again, weaker now. Poor kitty.

“That’s not a cat.” Suddenly his expression changed, became harder—something she couldn’t have imagined—and determined. Urgent now he moved to the front door, flung it open, and charged coatless into the blizzard. “It’s a—”

The wind grabbed his last word and garbled it, but it sounded like he’d said baby. Unbelieving, she hobbled over to the door, righted her suitcase, which had fallen, and set it and her guitar case against the wall.

Using the door for support, she peered into the darkness and screamed when Nate loomed up in front of her. He carried a baby seat. The howling she’d mistaken for a cat’s yowls had turned to faint whimpers.

“My God. Hurry,” she urged him. “A baby! What if I hadn’t heard him crying?” She slowly followed Nate to the couch, where he set the carrier down. “Poor thing, he’s shivering. And look how red his skin is.”

“Hypothermia. Get him out of the seat and his clothes,” Nate ordered. “Put him inside your shirt and wrap up in the fleece. Don’t rub his skin. I’ll get the fire going.”

Michelle sat down and pulled a damp blue blanket away to get at the straps holding the baby in the seat. Quiet now, eyes closed, the infant shook so hard the seat moved. A dingy white cap covered the child’s head, but he wore no socks and his thin outfit offered little protection against the elements, including his own blanket.

Next she unbuttoned her pink-and-purple plaid flannel shirt and pulled her T-shirt from her jeans. Her heart broke as she lifted the tiny body, quickly stripped him down to his diaper and then cuddled him to her chest under her shirt. Teeth chattering at the chill he brought with him, she wrapped them both in the warm fleece blanket.

“His hands and feet are freezing cold,” she reported, happy to see the fire going. Already the room felt warmer. “How could anyone leave a baby out in a storm like that? It’s inhumane.”

“Yes, it is.” Ice dripped from the words as Nate came to stand over her. “It’s neglect and child endangerment. I hope you have a good lawyer.”

CHAPTER TWO

“THAT’S not funny.” Glaring up into the sheriff’s cold gray eyes, Michelle carefully shifted the baby so his nose wasn’t pressed into her.

“It’s not meant to be.” He tapped his badge. “I don’t joke about the law.”

“And I don’t abandon defenseless babies.”

“No, you just break into houses.”

“It’s my house,” she reminded him through gritted teeth. “So there’s no reason I wouldn’t have brought the baby inside.”

“You knew it was a boy,” he said, arms braced across his broad chest.

“A guess from the blue blanket. And it hasn’t been substantiated yet. You called him a boy, too.”

“He arrived at the same time you did.”

“You don’t know what time I got here.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Seems to me he arrived at the same time you did.”

How dare he accuse her of such an atrocious act? She fully admitted she looked out for number one. You had to put yourself first when no one else did. But she had a soft spot for kids, got along with them better than a lot of adults.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And as you’re so quick to claim, it’s your doorstep.” She made a point of pulling open the neck of her shirt and looking from the baby to the man. “I think he has your eyes.”

His frown turned ferocious. “That’s not my kid.”

“Are you sure?” she persisted just to aggravate him. “He looks about three or four months old. Think back about a year, something will come to you.”

“There is no possibility the child is mine.”

“How can you be so sure? A lot of men have vague memories when it comes to things like this.”

“I know.”

“Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes at his arrogance. “You know.”

“I haven’t been with a woman since I moved to River Run.” Acknowledgment of what he’d revealed came sharp on the heels of his outburst. “Ah, hell.”

“Why?” The word burst from her. Shocked, she ran her gaze over him. “You’re not bad-looking and your body is smoking hot.”

“I have my reasons, which are none of your business.” The grimness of his tone warned her the topic was closed.

“Okay.” She valued her own privacy too much to disrespect other people’s rights to the same. “We’ve established he’s not mine and not yours, so who is he? Was the seat all that was with him? Was there a diaper bag? Maybe there’s a note.”

“I’ll check.” Happy for action, he headed for the door.

While he was gone she went through the seat. She found a pacifier and a soggy piece of paper. She was trying to shake it open when Nate returned with a diaper bag.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“It was in the seat.” She handed the paper to him. “I think it’s the note we’re looking for.”

Sitting beside her, he carefully unfolded the paper and spread the note. He took up a good portion of the couch and Michelle would have moved away from the large bulk of him, but she wanted to see the note.

Plus he was warm. And he smelled good.

So instead of sensibly moving away, she scooted closer and peered over his large arm. Pretending not to notice his big hands and the thick width of his wrist, she read the note.

Nate,

This is your cosin Jack. I never wanted a kid. Im too old and I cant take care of him and work. I gotta work to stay outta the joint. Jack talked good about you. He was good to me so Im giving his kid to you. If you don’t want him giv him to some body to giv him a good home.

“Well, I’m off the hook. Too bad for you,” Michelle muttered. The letter offended her. She knew desperation, knew self-absorption, and she could never abandon a child. She suddenly had new respect for her father, who’d at least accepted the responsibility of raising her.

“Joint?” she sneered.

“She means jail.”

“I know what joint means. She’s barely literate, but that’s no excuse for abandoning her baby. How could she give her son away? What about your cousin Jack? Where is he?”

“Dead.”

Oh, man. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“He was killed in a bar fight five months ago.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say it like that.” The eyes he turned on her were grieving. “Like he was a lowlife drunk. Jack was a nice guy, but he was troubled. He should never have followed me into the service. Some men aren’t meant to be killers. A stint on the front line messed him up good, and then they sent him home. But the damage was done. He began drinking, had a hard time keeping a job.”

Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “He was excited about the baby. Becoming a father was the first thing he cared about in a long time. And then he was gone. He didn’t even get to see his son.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, with more feeling this time. It was a sad story. She looked down at the lump of the baby under her shirt and thought he had a hard time ahead of him. She didn’t remember her mother, she’d died when Michelle was two, but she had been loved, coddled during those first formative years. Little Jack didn’t even have that.

When she looked up, she found the sheriff watching her.

“You need to call Child Services.”

“Why?”

Her eyebrows lifted, giving away her surprise. “So they can come get Jack, of course.”

He shook his head. “They’d only try to locate his next of kin, and that’s me, so there’s no need to call them.”

“But you aren’t equipped to take care of him.”

“No,” he said grimly, “but it looks like I have little choice.”

“So what does that mean? What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Raise him.”

She blinked at him. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” What did it say about him that he hadn’t even hesitated? That he was honorable? Responsible? Both fit with him being a sheriff. “You’re not even going to think about it?”

“My uncle took me in, taught me what it meant to be a man. Jack was like a brother to me. Of course I’m going to take care of his kid.”

“That’s huge. There aren’t many men I know who would just take a baby in like that.”

“Then they aren’t men.”

That was a pretty tough stance. But after a moment’s thought, Michelle nodded. He was right. One thing she could say about her dad, he’d never tried to give her away.

“Do you have to start tonight? Couldn’t you call Child Services to take him until you move into your new place and get all the gear you’ll need?” How could she work on the house with a baby around? They required care and feeding, and quiet.

His hands went to his hips and he shook his head, his expression forbidding.

“Ms. Ross, if anyone is leaving tonight, it’s you. As it is, you’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Because this is my place for the next four months.”

“But I need to sell the house. And I need to make improvements.”

“Not my problem.”

“But it’s my house.”

“And I have a lease. We’ve been over this.”

“But—”

He held up a hand. “There are rental laws. Read them. Then we’ll talk.”

Michelle wanted to bite the offending hand. Arrogant jerk. It wasn’t her fault her father rented the place without letting her know. She had the right to move on with her life and selling this house was a big part of that.

But she was smart enough to know pressing the issue wouldn’t gain her any points, so she retreated.

She nodded at the note. “What about the mother? She didn’t sign the note. Do you know her?”

“I met her. Wasn’t impressed.” The very flatness of his tone spoke volumes. “She has a criminal record so she won’t get another chance to hurt Jack.”

“Understand I have no sympathy for the woman, but it’s possible she knocked. We were arguing and the storm is loud.”

“Then she should have knocked harder—” there was no give in his response “—waited for me to open the door and talked to me.”

“You might have said no.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“No, but it’s a possibility she wasn’t willing to risk. Wait …” Michelle suddenly noticed something was different. “He’s stopped shivering. I heard that’s bad.”

“Maybe not.” His calm response took the edge off her panic. “If he were still in the cold, yes. But he’s been warming up. The need to shiver is gone. Is he still breathing?”

She froze, worried for a moment he’d stopped, but she felt the soft heat of his breath against her chest.

“Yeah.” She glanced down at her misshaped T-shirt. “I’d feel better if I could see him.”

Nate stepped over, grabbed the neck of her undershirt in both hands and effortlessly tore an eight-inch rip down the front. Michelle gasped, shocked by his outrageous action.

“Hey!” she protested, glowering at him.

“You said you wanted to see the baby. Now you can.”

Yeah, and the swell of her breasts and the pink lace of her bra. She pulled her flannel shirt closed over herself and the baby.

“I thought the point was to keep the baby warm.”

“Right. And skin-to-skin is the best way. Warm fluids would be good, too.”

She nodded toward the diaper bag. “There’s probably stuff to make a bottle in there. Do you think you can handle it or should we trade places?”

“If I’m going to raise him, I may as well learn how to feed him now.” He grabbed a bottle and a tin of formula from the diaper bag and headed for the kitchen.

Michelle frowned after him. Most people would probably find that admirable. She just found it annoying. It was just as much a fault to have to do everything yourself as to want everyone else to do it for you.

Then again she may just be reacting to her disappointment in not getting to see the baby pressed to Nate’s bare chest.

She imagined it would be a pretty impressive sight.

Thinking about it, she decided, no, her annoyance had nothing to do with being denied an erotic peek and everything to do with Sheriff Nate Connor being an arrogant pain in the butt.

In the kitchen Nate leaned against the counter and curled his shaking hands into fists.

How righteous he sounded when he told her he’d be raising Jack. Little did she know the internal fight he went through.

What did he know about raising a kid? Nothing. Sure his uncle had taken him in, but he’d been a stupid teenager and Uncle Stan already had a kid, so taking on Nate had been nothing new. And the Lord knew Nate was already messed up so there was little Uncle Stan could do to damage him.

Not so with Jack. He was an infant with his whole life spread out before him. The damage Nate could do encompassed everything from the baby’s health to his spiritual upraising. Nate groaned. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he went to church, the last time he’d done more than take the Lord’s name in vain.

New rule—no cursing.

Because he was a father now, no matter how freaked the notion made him. Because he was no coward and no quitter. He owed Uncle Stan and Jack, so Nate reached for the can of formula and began to read.

He would learn and he would adjust. And he and baby Jack would be just fine.

The baby stirred against Michelle and she looked down into frowning gray eyes. Jack was awake.

“Hey, little guy, how are you doing?” She smiled in relief and to assure him she was a friend. His color had improved and she cuddled him close and rubbed a finger over the downy softness of wispy wheat-colored hair. “Are you feeling better?”

He blinked at her, which she took as a yes.

“Bad news, buddy, your mom, the lowlife witch—” Michelle’s sweet tone never changed as she dealt the insult “—dropped you on Cousin Nate’s doorstep in the middle of the biggest storm of the season.”

He stared at her with sober eyes, taking in every word she spoke.

“Hopefully, your daddy was smarter than your mommy.” She nodded at the alertness in his gaze. “The good news is your cousin Nate says he’s going to raise you.” Chewing the inside of her cheek, she sighed. “Actually, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s a good news-bad news thing. He’ll be a rock for you, but he’ll have impossible expectations. At least that’s how it was with my dad.”

His little face crumpled and he began to whimper.

“Oh, shoot.” Michelle gently bounced Jack, trying to calm him. “No, baby, don’t cry. Shh. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Nate is different.”

“Different from what?” a deep voice demanded.

Flinching internally, she carefully controlled her expression when she met Nate’s challenging gaze.

“I was warning him how difficult it can be to live with a sheriff.”

He lifted one dark brow, silent reproach in the gesture. “Thanks for undermining me before I’ve even met the kid.”

“The truth is the truth.”

“Being sheriff is what I do.” He handed her the full bottle. “It’s not who I am.”

“I was raised by a lawman.” The warm bottle felt good in her hand. She checked the temperature of the formula on her wrist. Perfect, of course. She fed it to Jack, who latched onto the nipple and sucked, his little hands coming up to rest on the bottle. “I know what wearing that uniform means. Long hours, community service, duty first. Family a far and distant second.”

“You don’t know anything about me. I won’t be judged by the actions of another.”

“Fine. Prove me wrong.”

“I would.” Nate settled into the corner of the couch. “But you won’t be around to see. You just want to sell this house and head back to the city.”

He was right. And she wouldn’t apologize for wanting to move forward with her life. “I’m not going back to San Francisco. I’m moving to Los Angeles.”

“Really?” He lifted one dark brow. “Following some guy south?”

She snorted. As if she’d move across town for some guy. “My agent thinks it’ll be better for my songwriting career. And now who’s judging?”

“I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“There’s nothing in this town for me anymore.”

“You’ve never believed there was anything here for you,” he said.

Michelle glanced up from the sweet baby to study the stoic sheriff. How did he know her so well when they’d only met briefly at the funeral before today? She didn’t think Dad had been the type to talk about his absent daughter. Maybe she’d been wrong about that.

“You were wrong then and you’re wrong now.”

“Wrong?” Could he read minds now?

“About what the town has to offer.”

“I don’t have anything in common with the people here. I want more.”

“More what?”

The same question her dad had always had for her. She didn’t know! She just knew this town lacked what she needed.

“More everything. More music, more options, more money, more entertainment, more men, more people who want more.”

And Dad had never understood, never accepted how important music was to her, that songwriting wasn’t just a dream but what drove her.

“Shallow. I guess you’re right after all. River Run has character, people with heart and integrity who care about their neighbors, where life is more important than entertainment and meeting strangers in the street.”

No surprise, Sheriff Nate Connor didn’t understand, either. Why that hurt she couldn’t say.

She ran the back of her finger over baby Jack’s powder-soft cheek, wishing him a better life in River Run than she’d had. “He’s asleep again.”

“Good. Hypothermia is hard on the system.”

“Is the storm going to get better or worse tomorrow?”

“Why? You have somewhere you gotta be?” he mocked her.

“Just answer the question.”

“Worse. This was only supposed to be a light snow flurry, but a massive cold front pushed down from Alaska causing blizzard conditions. It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better. We’ve battened down the town and advised people to stay inside except for emergencies.”

Nodding, she tucked the fleece-wrapped baby in the crook of the couch and set his bottle on the oak coffee table.

“Then I should get at least one of my other suitcases tonight.” She reached for her shoes.

Nate didn’t move. “You’re not going out in the storm. Didn’t you hear me say I advised the townspeople to stay inside?”

“This is an emergency.”

“You’re safe and sound inside a warm house. There’s food and water, and a flushing toilet. How is this an emergency?”

His long-suffering expression made her grit her teeth.

“I need clothes. I have a change of underwear in my overnight case, but not clothes.” She tugged at her ripped T-shirt. “And the ones I have on came into contact with a Neanderthal.”

“You can borrow something of mine.” He shrugged off her sarcasm. “Nobody is going back out into the storm.”

Shooting daggers at him, because she’d hoped he’d offer to get the cases for her, she made her way around the table to the middle of the room. Her ankle throbbed but held her weight.

“Ten minutes ago you were ready to send me on my way.”

“That was before I’d been back outside. The storm has worsened.”

“All the more reason to go now. I’m going to get my suitcase and you can’t stop me.”

He laughed. And pushed to his feet with a lithe grace that spoke of muscle and discipline and the easy strength to make her do anything he wanted her to.

Aggravating man.

“You don’t scare me.” Still she couldn’t prevent taking an instinctive step back. And immediately felt her ankle turn. Pain streaked through her foot and she started to fall.

She screamed.

The baby cried.

And the lights went out.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’VE got you.” Nate caught a bundle of soft female curves in his arms. She smelled of something fruity, clean and tart … and good enough to eat.

Too bad she was prickly as a porcupine. Because it looked as if he was stuck with her for a couple of days.

“I’m fine.” She twisted against him, seeking release. “You’ve made your point. I’m not going outside.”

“Stay still.” He shifted his hold from her arms to her waist, practically spanning the narrow width with his hands. She was tinier than he’d thought. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse than you already have.”

“The baby is crying.”

“We’ll get to Jack in a minute.” For some reason Nate couldn’t let Michelle go. She’d untucked her shirt when she stuck the baby under the hem and the thumb of his right hand rested on the silky warmth of her skin. It wasn’t personal, he assured himself. It wasn’t Michelle he wanted.

It just felt so good to hold a woman in his arms.

But he had enough common sense to know the landlord who wanted to sell his house out from under him was not the place to kick-start his libido.

He had no choice but to let her stay for a couple of days, but after that she’d be gone. Either to a place in town or preferably back to the city to stay until his lease ended and she could return to do her thing without his bumping into her.

She stopped struggling, going totally still. The lights were out but the fire gave off enough light for him to realize the dark shook her.

He could handle a woman’s tears. When your mother cried at the drop of a hat, you learned to cope or became an emotional wreck yourself. Still the long day—days—and the baby must have him off his game, because he really didn’t want to see the tears sparkling in Michelle’s emerald-bright eyes fall. Already he knew enough about her to know she’d hate putting on a tearful display for him.

“What’s wrong, Michelle? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Anger instantly sparked, wiping the distress from her face, replacing it with haughty distain.

“Of course not.” Her chin lifted and instead of pulling away from him she stepped forward until her pink flannel shirt brushed against the khaki of his uniform. “I’m at my best in the dark.”

His body reacted with a rush. Holy sh—Moly.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Round one to Michelle.

A warrior knew the advantages of a timely retreat. He quickly released her and took two steps back, narrowly missing the coffee table and a fall of his own.

She flipped her hair and flashed him a glance of triumph as she moved to pick up the baby and coo at him. Not a tear in sight, and she seemed to have forgotten her missing suitcases.

Mission accomplished. So it hadn’t been a total defeat.

“Good. Then keep an eye on Jack. I’m going to go get some flashlights and candles. Plus I have to make some calls. I may be a few minutes.”

“Okay.” But she couldn’t prevent a flinch of uncertainty.

“Don’t let the fire go out.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can and we’ll get some light in here.”

“Thanks. I think the dark upsets Jack.”

Nate stared down at Jack held snuggly in her arms and an unexpected rush of emotion swelled up in him. The baby had Nate’s uncle’s eyes, the resemblance especially strong with Jack scowling like he was doing now.

How Nate had loved that old man.

Funny, he’d always thought of Uncle Stan as old, but hell, at forty-two his uncle had only been ten years older than Nate was now when he took in a wild fourteen-year-old.

He’d been in a bad place but Uncle Stan took no guff from him. There’d been no bluff in the man, but he’d cared. He’d been as free with his affections as he’d been with his disciplines. Nate had needed both.

He’d learned how a real man acted.

How proud Uncle Stan would be of baby Jack. Though it hurt Nate to admit it, he was glad his uncle hadn’t seen Jack Sr.’s spiral into drunken obscureness. He wouldn’t have blamed Nate—Stan believed a man was responsible for his own choices—but it would have killed him to see Jack’s pain, and the weakness that took him over.

The baby, the continuance of the Connor family, would have thrilled Uncle Stan. Michelle was surprised by Nate’s willingness to take the baby on, but Nate owed Uncle Stan and Jack too much, loved them too much, to shame them by turning away baby Jack.

Which meant for the time being he needed Michelle. At least for tonight; beyond that, he’d see.

“Right.” He mocked her claim that Jack was the one afraid of the dark.

She hit him with a scorching glare, but all she said, was “Food would be good, too.”

Her bravado and the underlying vulnerability got to him. He called himself a chump but once he’d gathered the flashlights, candles and a battery lantern he returned to the living room.

He lit candles and placed them on the mantel, handed her a flashlight and set the blazing lantern on the coffee table. But it was her smile that lit up the room.

“Double chump,” he muttered as he escaped to the kitchen. The phones were out, too, so he used his cell to call the county supervisor’s office to get the status of the utilities. He learned the storm had taken out several major hubs. And then the line went dead as his phone beeped and informed him he was out of service.

“Great.”

The need to fix the problems pressed at him, but there was literally nothing he could do except prepare for the cold night ahead. The loss of electricity meant they’d have no working heater.

He grabbed a box from the utility room and piled in his stash from the refrigerator and cupboard, tossed in utensils and topped it with plates, mugs, a pan and napkins. Next he used the flashlight he’d kept to find two sleeping bags in the attached garage.

Why he bothered to go to so much trouble for a woman so self-absorbed she rarely contacted the father who obviously adored her, Nate didn’t know. And sure she was watching the baby, but she hadn’t even offered to help. No doubt she expected to be waited on hand and foot. Well, that wouldn’t wash here. He expected people to pull their own weight and since her temporary stay was on his dime, she’d just have to meet his expectations.

He frowned, remembering what he’d overheard her telling Jack. That kids of sheriffs had to live with high expectations and little freedom. It made him recall the early days with his uncle Stan. That’s exactly how he’d felt. The restrictions had chafed badly, but it had also felt good to know someone cared about where he was and what he was doing. To have someone who checked up on him and made sure he had something to eat.

It took two trips to get everything to the living room and Michelle was sitting on the hearth pawing through the food box when he came back with the sleeping bags.

“Big boy, you are my hero.” The sultry look of anticipation on her face made him wish she were gazing at him instead of the stew she was transferring from plastic container to cast-iron pot. “I’m starved, and this smells really good.”

When she put her finger in her mouth to clean off a smudge of gravy, he had to disguise a groan with a cough.

That brought her attention up from the food.

“You’re not catching a cold, are you?”

Was that real concern in her voice?

“Because you’re a parent now, you have to take better care of yourself.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He should have known better.

“Thanks for your concern.” The sarcasm slid off his tongue before he could rein it in. Damn, now he’d have to put up with the sulks for an hour while she pouted around. He moderated his tone. “But I’m fine.”

Unoffended, she flashed him a dimpled grin. “I’m just saying. No more wandering around in the cold without a jacket.”

Surprised by her easy response, Nate felt some of the tension in his shoulders lessen. Maybe the woman had a few redeeming qualities.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh.” Her green eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously. “You didn’t go there.”

He had. And her huff made him add, “You want a cap and slippers to go with that advice?”

“You’re going to pay for that, buster.” She promised retribution. “Now you get to play chef.”

She pushed the heavy pot into the flames of the fire. And to punctuate her point she stood, dusted off her curvy butt and hobbled back to the couch, where she claimed her seat in the corner. Arms crossed over her chest plumped up her breasts, pushing pink lace and considerable cleavage into view.

“I like it steaming hot,” she said with a slow lick of her lips.

Oh, devious, devious woman. The wanton knew exactly how to make a man pay. And it had nothing to do with cooking supper.

Determined to keep his composure, he put his back to the tempting sight of the contrary female.

“You’re fickle, Ms. Ross. First I’m your hero, then I’m a sorry fellow tasked with heating your stew.”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the cozy scene backlit by the encompassing darkness. Baby sleeping, a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle; smug woman, pretty in pink flannel. As she caught his gaze, she flipped her hair in a gesture no doubt learned in the cradle. The long tresses looked like flowing gold in the firelight.

“Cooked steaming hot,” he emphasized.

She lifted a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the stew.”

Michelle bit back a laugh. She swore the man almost swallowed his tongue.

Served him right. Calling her mother. The nerve.

Stew was good, though. As if on cue, her stomach growled. Not loud enough to be heard, thank goodness, but a definite reminder it had been close to nine hours since she last ate.

“But it’ll do for now,” she purred, taking satisfaction in seeing his shoulders brace as if ready for a fight. Better prepare, big boy, she was here to fight for her inheritance, and she wouldn’t let a massive he-man stand in her way.

Flirting came as natural to her as breathing. And if a little harmless seduction threw him off his stride, good. It might get her what she wanted and no way would she fall for River Run’s newest lawman.

“You’ll mind your manners if you want a serving,” he calmly responded.

Ah. A challenge.

“You’d really deny an injured woman a simple meal?” she chastised in a wounded voice, soft and just a little accusatory.

He just shook his head without turning and dished up two bowls of the savory stew. Then he opened a foil-wrapped loaf of bread and cut two big slices, putting one in each of the bowls. Walking over, he handed one of the bowls to her.

“Thank you.” She reached eagerly for the meal, too hungry to pretend otherwise. The first bite tasted divine and she moaned in pleasure. “Excellent. Did you make this?”

“No,” he said from the brown corduroy recliner next to her. “A friend cooked it for me.” He eyed her over his steaming bowl. “You’re going to be trouble.”

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. She didn’t usually reveal her weaknesses, especially to strong competitors, but weariness and desperation drove her to the point of honesty.

“I need to stay here,” she said bravely.

“And if I say no?”

She chewed carefully, the yummy stew suddenly sitting heavy in her stomach. “You can’t.”

“We both know I should.”

“I don’t know that,” she denied. “I think we can help each other out here.”

That stopped him midbite. He lifted one dark eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“I need a place to stay.” She choked out the words, then cleared her throat and put determination in the rest. “And you need help with little Jack.”

“Hmm. Seems I could hire someone who won’t cause trouble to do that.”

“But you don’t have to pay me.” Hmm. “Much.”

He laughed. A hearty, rusty-sounding bark that came from deep inside him and startled the baby awake.

Michelle immediately reached for the baby, her first instinct to soothe and settle him, and then her healthy sense of self-preservation kicked in. So instead she cooed to little Jack on her way to handing him to Nate.

Let him see what he’d be dealing with without inhouse assistance.

“Here you go.” She held the crying child out to Nate.

“Humph.” He set his bowl on the coffee table and took the squalling baby into his arms.

The trick worked because the baby continued to cry no matter what Nate did to soothe him. Then she felt bad because Jack refused to be mollified. Nate patted him, talked to him, put him over his shoulder and held him in his lap. Actually he was very good with the baby, holding him well and confidently.

But nothing made Jack happy.

Once she finished eating she set her dishes aside and took him so Nate could finish his meal.

She thought she’d be able calm the child, even hummed a little song for him, which seemed to be working and then it wasn’t. Instead he worked himself into a full screaming fit. So much for her plan. And her ego.

“I changed his diaper,” she said even as she checked him again to make sure he was still dry. “And he just had a bottle. I don’t know why he’s so upset.”

“Maybe he’s still hungry,” Nate offered. “Do you think he’d like some stew?”

“He’s too small to eat that. Or any solids. How old did you say he was?”

“Four months.”

Did that mean Jack could have food? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. I had a coworker with a new baby. I think she started feeding her little girl about this age. But if so, it was only soft cereal or pureed fruits and vegetables.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have any of that. I’m going to give him a little of the broth.”

Michelle hesitated, still unsure, but the frantic crying wore at her nerves. At this point she was willing to give it a try. She gratefully released the baby into Nate’s care.

“Be careful,” she urged him. “Make sure you don’t get any chunks of food. And don’t give him too much. It’s rich and his system won’t be used to it.”

“Let’s see if he even likes it.” Nate dipped the tip of his spoon in the thick broth and brought it to the shrieking baby’s mouth, touching the tiny tongue with a small taste. For a moment there was no change, but Nate tried it again. This time the crying stuttered as Jack worked his tongue against his lips, but his little body still shuddered with the force of his sobs.

“That’s promising.” Nate fed him another small sip.

“Not too fast,” she cautioned as blessed silence surrounded them.

“He likes it.”

“I’m sure he does. It’s got more flavor than anything else he’s ever eaten.”

“It shut him up.” Nate sent her a superior look as he continued to feed the baby. “You can’t argue with the results.”

“I can if he gets sick later,” she shot back. “I think that’s enough.”

“Okay. One more.” He talked to the baby, explained this was the last bite, but he could have another bottle later. And Nate continued to talk to Jack after he lifted him to his shoulder, telling him about the storm and how Jack had to do his part to help them all have a good night under the trying circumstances.

He talked until Jack fell asleep.

“Good job.” She applauded. “Hopefully he’s out for a while.”

“I guess it’s too much to hope he’s out for the night?”

“Afraid so. Speaking of which, who gets him for the night? Are you ready to agree to my terms?”

He sighed, the baby lifting and falling with the movement of his broad chest. “Trouble with a capital T.”

She grinned at the resignation in his voice. “Just saying. Life will be so much easier with me around.”

“Huk.”

What kind of noise was that?

“You okay?” She couldn’t tell if he was choking or trying not to laugh. Maybe a little of both?

He reprimanded her with the flash of diamond-sharp eyes as he fought to get himself under control.

“Witch. Lucky for me I don’t need to make a decision tonight.” He nodded at a couple of sleeping bags she hadn’t noticed before. “We’ll be sleeping together down here next to the fire.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MICHELLE’S spine snapped straight. “What do you mean sleep together? Why do we have to sleep down here?”

“The heater is electric,” Nate stated calmly. “That means there’s no heat upstairs.”

“Surely we’d be warm enough under our blankets? I don’t remember sleeping down here as a kid.”

“Your dad told me he changed from gas to electric some years ago. Probably felt it was safer.” He stood and set the baby in the seat. “But if you want to try finding enough blankets to huddle under, be my guest. Jack and I are sleeping down here next to the fire.”

As if he cared less what she chose to do, he gathered the dirty dishes and pot of stew and carried it all into the kitchen.

Obviously no help would be coming from that direction. Michelle bit her lip and eyed the distance to the stairs. The twelve feet seemed daunting enough considering her foot had given out when she’d barely passed the coffee table before the lights went out. Add in the stairs and the walk down the hall while carrying her overnight bag and gathering extra blankets along the way, and she saw the impossibility of the challenge.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she announced when Nate returned to the room.

“Suit yourself.” He offered no argument. But he stood and surveyed her with his hands braced on his hips. “It’ll be a little lumpy once I remove the mattress from the Hide-A-Bed, but you can keep the cushions.”

Though it seemed an obvious question, she didn’t ask why he didn’t just pull out the Hide-A-Bed and use it as is. He’d already stated his intent to be close to the fire.

Plus she didn’t want to share a bed with Nate Connor. He was too big, too gruff, too dominating to share such a small space with. There’d be no getting away from him.

She could still feel the imprint of his body on hers, remember the taste of him on her tongue. The memories made sharing a bed with him too tempting and way too dangerous.

Nope, not going there. The couch made total sense. She wouldn’t have to walk up the stairs. She’d be near the fire. And she’d have the necessary distance from the sexy but aggravating sheriff.

Her game plan set, she glanced up to see Nate zipping the two sleeping bags together.

“Hey, I need one of those over here.”

“Nope,” he said without looking up. “I’m too big to share one sleeping bag with the baby.”

Measuring the width of his shoulders, she really couldn’t argue with the statement. “Then he can sleep with me.”

“Nope.” He finished with the bags and draped them over the back of the chair. Next he picked up the heavy coffee table and easily moved it across the room, opening up the space in front of the fire. Then he turned toward the couch. “I’m going to need you to move.”

“Why not?” She held out a hand, silently asking for assistance in rising.

“Because you’re going to get cold and end up down on the mattress with us.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

She practically flew off the couch, ending up way too close to him. She looked into his eyes, pretended to be unaffected by the show of strength. The man was solid as a rock and warm as sun-baked stone.

“That seems easy to predict since you won’t give me a sleeping bag.” Making no attempt to move out of his way, she lazily twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m disappointed in you, Nate. Trying to maneuver me into sleeping with you on our first date.”

A ferocious scowl crashed over his brow, making him look like an angry lion.

“Woman, are you crazy? We’re snowed in. We are not, nor will we ever be, dating.”

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