What had almost happened between her and Garrett yesterday? Had it been an almost kiss? If so, she had pulled away from it, hadn’t she?

Gwen gave herself a mental shake and told herself to slow down. She didn’t get infatuated with men, she reminded herself. She was picky, and a rugged face with a good body might turn her head, but it didn’t stay turned. She wanted substance.

You thought you had substance with Mark, a little voice reminded her.

She’d been so wrong about that. She’d been so wrong about a lot of things. But she was working on fixing them.

And then she opened the door to Garrett—and common sense flew out the proverbial window. She was attracted to him, plain and simple. She would have to watch every step she made….

Dear Reader,

I can’t imagine going through life without true friends. My best friend from grade school and I have kept in touch all these years. As I remember high school, I picture the group of girls I had lunch with, talked about boys with and studied with. We supported each other’s dreams. My college roommate and I have celebrated New Year’s Eve together for the past thirty years. Then there’s my husband: my very best friend. He believes he knows what I’m thinking and usually he does. But once in a while, I still surprise him!

In The Baby Trail, Gwen has relied on her friends all her life. When Garrett enters her world, she realizes she needs her friends as much as ever. Yet she discovers her attraction and deepening love for Garrett lead to a soul-mate friendship she never expected to find.

I wish my readers friendships of all kinds that last a lifetime.

All my best,

Karen Rose Smith

The Baby Trail
Karen Rose Smith

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN ROSE SMITH

read Zane Grey when she was in grade school and loved his books. She also had a crush on Roy Rogers and especially his palomino, Trigger! Around horses as a child, she found them fascinating and intuitive. This series of books set in Wyoming sprang from childhood wishes and adult dreams. When an acquaintance adopted two of the wild mustangs from the western rangelands and invited Karen to visit them, plotlines weren’t far behind. For more background on the books in the series, stop by Karen’s Web site at www.karenrosesmith.com or write to her at P.O. Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331.

In loving memory of my mom and dad—

Romaine Arcuri Cacciola and Angelo Jacob Cacciola.

I’m so grateful for your love and care as parents.

I miss you.

To my husband, Steve—

it was a trip of a lifetime I could only have taken and

appreciated with you. I’ll never forget our first sighting of

the wild mustangs in the Big Horns.

To my son, Ken—May your dreams always run free.

Thanks to my cousin Paul Arcuri, pilot and

my advisor on all things aeronautic.

For more information about wild mustangs,

visit www.wildhorsepreservation.com. For adoption

information go to www.wildhorseandburro.blm.gov.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

A baby’s cry tore through Gwen Langworthy’s small house. It only took a moment for her to realize the sound was coming from her sunroom!

Dusk had fallen and shadows were thick in the ranch-style house as she raced from the kitchen through the living room. As an obstetrical nurse practitioner, she was well aware of babies’ cries. They always ripped a corner of her heart. She longed to have a baby of her own.

The first cry whimpered into a second as she reached for the ceramic light on the wicker table inside the sunroom and saw a blue plastic bin sitting just inside her sliding glass doors. Rushing to it, she hunkered down. An infant with sparkling dark eyes, who couldn’t be more than a day or two old, stared up at her. Layers of newspaper lined the inside of the bin, but the baby was nestled in a pink blanket. A torn sheet of notebook paper lay at her feet with “Amy” written in block letters.

It was a little girl!

After pushing her auburn curls behind her ears, Gwen reflexively scooped up the child and cuddled her in her arms. Dreams of happily-ever-after and having the family she’d always wanted had evaporated like smoke after Mark had left her waiting with her dad at the white runner that was supposed to lead her to commitment and everlasting bonds. His abandonment still hurt, and she didn’t think she could ever trust a man again.

“So your name is Amy,” she murmured, the nurse in her already taking in every detail about the child’s physical condition. Her maternal instincts led her to notice the baby’s little sweater and hat fashioned of soft fuzzy yarn in variegated white, yellow and aqua. The set looked as if it had been hand-knitted. Someone had cared about this child.

And then abandoned her?

Gwen knew all about that kind of abandonment, too.

Stepping toward the glass doors, Gwen slid one open. The evening’s breeze swept in as she stared deep into her yard. A street ran to the back of it. Was that a car engine she heard coughing, then starting up? She couldn’t see between the shadowed trees. Fall in Wyoming was closing in.

Little Amy wiggled in her arms, screwed up her face and let out another wail.

Hugging Amy close, Gwen went to the phone to call one of her best friends, who was a social worker. But she already knew what Shaye would advise her to do: call the sheriff.

Thinking about a sheriff who was more focused on his impending retirement than serving the residents of Wild Horse Junction, she decided if he didn’t make progress at finding Amy’s mother within a week, she’d take matters into her own hands.

She wouldn’t let this child go through life not knowing where she came from…never knowing why her mother hadn’t loved her enough to keep her.

“Mr. Maxwell,” Gwen called above the loud banging that made her cringe.

The noise suddenly ceased. In an instant Garrett Maxwell, if that’s who he was, went from hammering a floorboard to a standing defensive stance, his hammer held almost like a weapon. With dark brown hair, he was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered in a black T-shirt, slim-hipped in well-worn blue jeans. His presence totally overwhelmed the small backyard shed and in the dim light, his gray eyes targeted and held her at the threshold.

“Can I help you?” His voice was filled with icy calm and she instantly felt like an intruder.

“I hope so,” she answered fervently and saw the interest in his eyes.

Garrett Maxwell had the reputation for being a recluse, working from his log house in the foothills of Wyoming’s Painted Peaks. She’d known about his credentials because of an article she’d read in the Wild Horse Wrangler a few months ago—he had helped locate a missing child in Colorado. Before driving up here, she’d searched for information about him on the Internet and found several articles noting how he helped search-and-rescue teams with lost children and aided in child-kidnapping cases.

When he didn’t move a muscle, when his strong jaw remained set, when he didn’t invite her to tell him her reason for coming, she plunged in, anyway.

“Are you Garrett Maxwell?”

“Who wants to know?”

Although she wasn’t sure if it was wise, she took a couple of steps forward.

His gaze raked over her lime-green blouse and khaki slacks. Even though this perusal of her took about a second, she felt as if he’d noticed every detail from the number of curls in her shoulder-length hair to her brown loafers.

Gwen was feeling as though she was poking her hand into a lethal animal’s cage but she extended it anyway. “My name’s Gwen Langworthy.”

He didn’t shake her hand; however, his grip loosened on the hammer and he dropped it onto the seat of the mower. “How can I help you?”

It had been five days since little Amy had been left in her sunroom. Gwen still didn’t know who had left her or why, but she did know the sheriff hadn’t gotten anywhere on identifying the infant. Impatient with him, she was now taking matters into her own hands. She didn’t want Amy going through life never knowing where she came from. Gwen had carried that burden on her own shoulders—she’d been abandoned in a church when she was only two. She knew all the self-doubt that went with not knowing her birth parents…the introspective questions no one could answer.

Quickly stuffing both hands into her pockets, she wondered why her stomach fluttered when she looked at the former FBI agent. Was she afraid of him? No. She was mesmerized by him. He reeked sensuality, power….

Grabbing on to her reason for coming, she explained, “I know you can find people. I need you to find someone for me.”

“I don’t find people.”

“You find children.”

Now he finally looked interested. “Did you lose a child?”

Was she imagining it or had his voice turned almost gentle? “No I didn’t, but I need to find a child’s mother.”

The gruffness returned. “I’m not FBI, anymore.”

She wasn’t about to give up without a fight. This man was good at what he did. He was the expert she needed and she would convince him that Amy needed him. “I know that. You have a security consulting business now. But you were an FBI agent and I need your help. Someone left a baby at my back door. I won’t let that little girl grow up never knowing who her birth parents were. And I know that each day that goes by the trail gets colder.”

His right eyebrow quirked slightly as if she’d finally made a dent in the shield he’d wrapped around himself. “Why do you care so much?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because I was adopted and never knew who my birth parents were. And neither did anyone else.”

The September wind whistled through the lodgepole pines and Russian olive trees, then gusted through the door of the shed, sending leaves scattering.

After a few moments of thoughtful consideration, the ex-FBI agent said, “Let’s go to the house.” He motioned outside at the granite stepping stones that led to his back deck.

Although Gwen’s surroundings might have taken her attention any other time—there was something primitively beautiful about the property—she couldn’t keep her gaze from Garrett Maxwell’s broad back or the way he fit his jeans. Something about him, maybe that innate sensuality she’d sensed, stirred a deep womanlike corner inside of her. It was a terrifically odd, exciting, confusing sensation.

They passed a gazebolike structure on the deck. At the back door, he stopped and stepped aside to let her precede him. He was scowling and she couldn’t imagine why.

Inside his kitchen, the pleasing knotty pine atmosphere surrounded her immediately. A small round wooden table and chairs stood in a breakfast nook with windows overlooking the back of the property.

When she turned her gaze back to him, he was watching her. A free-fall sensation made her catch her breath as she looked into his very gray eyes.

He broke eye contact and motioned to the counter. “Coffee?” he asked as if he was aware he had to be civil to a guest.

Her mouth had gone dry and she needed something to wet her tongue if she was going to tell her story. She nodded.

Pouring coffee into two large mugs, he motioned to the counter. “I only have powdered creamer. Sugar’s in the canister beside it.”

When Gwen opened the stoneware canister, she found her hands were shaking. She’d never found herself in quite this situation before—highly attracted to a stranger and alone with him in his secluded house.

The lid on the canister flipped and clattered onto the counter.

Garrett Maxwell picked it up, held it and pinned her with his stormy eyes. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’ll listen, but I might not be able to help.”

“I’m not nervous,” she returned defensively. She was used to handling everything that came her way—her parents’ divorce, her dad’s drinking, her attempt at intervention to make Russ Langworthy finally face reality.

“Then you’re doing a good imitation. How much sugar?”

She blinked, forgetting why she was standing at his counter.

“In your coffee.” He nodded toward the mug he’d poured for her.

“A teaspoon.” Her voice came out thready.

When he reached around her, his long arm brushed her hip. She swallowed hard, frozen for the moment.

Opening the drawer beside her, he pulled out a spoon and handed it to her. After he closed the drawer and leaned away again, she finally released her breath, took the utensil without allowing her fingers to brush his and spooned sugar from the cannister. He was watching her and she didn’t like the idea that he was trying to “read” her.

With a half smile, he took a pack of creamer from a jelly jar. “One or two?”

“One is fine.”

This time when he handed it to her, their fingers did brush. The expression on his face didn’t change, but she glimpsed a sparklike flicker in his eyes. Could he be attracted to her, too?

So what if he was. She’d come to enlist his help, not to step into another romantic quagmire.

Maxwell let her precede him to the table in the breakfast nook. When she was seated, he dropped into a ladderback chair across from her, took a few sips of his coffee and assessed her over its rim. “So…tell me what this is about.”

After her own sip of coffee, she told him how she’d found baby Amy in her sunroom.

“And you didn’t hear anyone outside?” he asked.

“No. I just heard the baby cry. After I found her, I looked out and thought I heard a car start up. But it was getting dark and I couldn’t see.”

“A smooth start or a rough start?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Think about it.”

As she tried to take herself back to that evening, she remembered holding Amy in her arms and attempting to search through the dusk. She’d heard a chug-chug, then a va-room, before the vehicle sped away. “It wasn’t a smooth start. There was chugging first.”

Maxwell seemed to make a mental note of that. “You said your friend, Shaye Malloy, who is a social worker, arrived. And then the sheriff came. What did he do with the note with the baby’s name on it?”

“He looked at it, then slipped it into his pocket.”

Garrett Maxwell shook his head and his jaw tightened. Then he asked her, “What was the baby wearing?”

The former agent’s face had lines around his eyes and mouth. Gwen guessed he was nearing forty. Had he left the FBI because the job had taken its toll? His face was so interesting, so ruggedly angular, she could look at him all day.

But that wasn’t why she was here.

“Amy was nestled in a blanket, but she had on this cute little sweater and hat and one of those one-piece terry playsuits…in yellow.”

“Why did you call the social worker? Wouldn’t the sheriff have done that?”

“Shaye and I have been friends a long time. I wasn’t about to let Amy out of my hands without knowing someone who cared was looking after her.” Before Shaye and the sheriff had arrived, Gwen had cuddled Amy, rocked her, crooned to her, and it had been very difficult to let Shaye take her.

When Garrett Maxwell’s penetrating gaze focused on her, Gwen felt turned inside out.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“In the hospital’s nursery.”

He leaned back in his chair and it creaked. “Does she need to be in the hospital?”

Suddenly Gwen decided she wouldn’t want to be interrogated by this man. He was methodical and thorough. “The doctor examined her and found she was jaundiced. She’s over that, but now they’re trying to find a family to take her. I would have liked to, but—”

“What?” Garrett asked, his gaze probing.

Gwen felt she was too close to him, though the distance of the table separated them. “I have to work, and I’d have to find someone to babysit. Besides that, I’m a firm believer a child should ideally have two parents—two parents who are going to love her forever. And it’s just me, so I couldn’t give her that. Shaye says they can easily find a couple who will…if we don’t find the mother.”

Garrett’s gaze closely appraised her again until she felt like shifting in her chair. Finally he commented, “If you do find the mother, the child will be taken away from her, anyway.”

“Maybe. But Shaye says it depends on the circumstances. It’s not like she abandoned her in a dumpster or in a cold alley. I’m racking my brain to figure out who might have known me and why they would have left the baby with me. I’ve met a lot of unwed mothers.”

“How so?” He took a long swallow of coffee.

“I’m a nurse practitioner, and I specialize in obstetrics. I help set up programs for unwed mothers.”

“In Wild Horse Junction?”

“All over the state.”

After he seemed to absorb that information, he stood. “There’s not much here to go on.”

Gwen wasn’t ready for this meeting with him to be over. Because of Amy. Because… Simply because. “I read you’re good at what you do. I know you can find her.”

“Miss Langworthy—”

“Gwen,” she corrected him, forestalling him, not wanting him to tell her he wouldn’t take the case. “I’ll pay you,” she hurried on. “I’ll pay you somehow, whatever you charge. This little girl deserves to know who her mother is. She deserves to know why her mother left her with me. If she goes through life always wondering—” Gwen stopped abruptly.

Rounding the table, Garrett Maxwell stood close by her side. “What will that do to her?” His eyes were suddenly compassionate.

“It will make her unsure of who she is and where she came from. And who she might become,” Gwen murmured, unwilling to reveal too much.

“We’re not talking about Baby Amy now, are we?” The question was rhetorical, and he was trying to make a point.

Looking him squarely in the eyes, Gwen answered, “We’re talking about any child who doesn’t know his or her roots.”

Neither of them looked away. The moment palpitated with Gwen’s passion for the search along with man-woman awareness.

Finally Gwen asked, “Will you help me find Amy’s mother?” That was the bottom line for her and all that mattered.

“I usually search for children, not parents.”

There was steel in his tone, and she had the feeling he didn’t change his mind once he made a decision.

“Can you make an exception?”

Time ticked by in interminable seconds until he assured her, “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

Her stomach sank and she stood. Pulling a business card from her pocket, she laid it on the table. “When?” she asked, aware of the we’ll-get-back-to-you line and professionals who never did.

“You need an answer soon because you’re going to find a P.I. to do this if I won’t?” he guessed.

“Exactly. I don’t give up easily, Mr. Maxwell. And I don’t have much time.”

After a few more beats of studying her, he muttered, “I guess you don’t. I’ll call you tomorrow evening with my answer.”

They were close enough to touch…close enough to breathe the same breakfast-nook air…close enough that his scent—male mixed with outdoors—was a potent fantasy generator. But Gwen didn’t indulge in fantasies anymore—not since her last vestige of trust in men had been crushed.

Garrett Maxwell’s words were an obvious dismissal. When he motioned toward the front of the house and said, “I’ll walk you out,” she went that way, illogically curious about how this enigmatic man lived.

She didn’t have time to take in every nuance, but she did spot the hall that must have led to downstairs bedrooms, the loft with a Native American blanket hanging over the railing, the stone fireplace.

At his front door now, she extended her hand to him again. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Maxwell.”

This time he took her hand and when palm met palm, she felt a jolt of attraction that was so electric her breath caught. If she had to say how long their hands were clasped, there was no way she could. Ten seconds…twenty minutes…a half hour. There was no time, only the deep gray of Garrett Maxwell’s eyes, the heat of his skin against hers. It was a moment she’d remember for a long time to come.

Suddenly he dropped his hand, and she turned to the cooler outside air so he wouldn’t see the heat burning her cheeks. She didn’t know whether to hope Garrett Maxwell took the case or didn’t. Yet she knew if he did, he’d find Amy’s mother.

Chapter Two

Garrett stared through the glass window of the hospital nursery at Baby Amy, and a lead stone turned in his gut. If everything had gone as planned, he would have been the father of a five-year-old right now. But everything hadn’t gone as planned. Cheryl had miscarried and blamed him. His divorce had made him rethink his work and his life and that’s how he’d ended up back in Wild Horse Junction, Wyoming.

Why this baby had brought up the past, he didn’t know. Maybe simply because she was a baby. It was a good reason to stay away from her and the case. An even better reason was his adrenaline-rush attraction to Gwen Langworthy. Okay, so maybe his hammering had made her approach inaudible. But nobody had ever snuck up on him like that before without his gut alerting him. On top of that, he’d been so rattled he’d let her follow him to the house. He always covered his tail. He never let anyone get behind him.

Old habits died hard.

As a nurse exited the nursery, Garrett approached her. Her name tag read Dianne Spagnola, R.N. Her gaze ran over his black jeans and snap-button shirt.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m working on the Baby Amy case with the sheriff’s department.” He and the sheriff weren’t working on it together, but they were both working on it. “How’s she doing?”

“I can’t give out any information,” the nurse said solemnly, “Not to anyone without written authorization.”

Regulations and security were much tighter than they used to be. That was a good thing.

He motioned to the little girl. “She looks healthy, and she’s not in isolation. From what I understand, she’s waiting for a family. Gwen Langworthy told me that. You know, the woman who found her?”

The woman’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “You know Gwen?”

He nodded.

“Amy’s doing okay, eating better than she was. She needs a home.”

“Can you tell me what happened to the clothes she was wearing when she was brought in?”

“Clothes?” the nurse asked, looking puzzled.

“Gwen told me she was wearing a playsuit with a sweater and hat.” She had on one of those suits now, but it was pink, not yellow. “I wondered about the sweater and hat and the blanket she was wrapped in.”

The nurse thought about it. “They might be in one of the storage closets.”

If he took the case, he’d analyze them. If he took the case, he’d need to know the baby’s blood type and whatever else her medical records could tell him. That would require a trip to the sheriff’s office and legal maneuvering, or help behind the scenes.

If he took the case.

Handing Nurse Spagnola his business card, he asked, “Can you give me a call on my cell phone if you find the clothes? I’ll be around town and can stop back.”

The nurse checked his card and nodded.

Thanking her, he headed toward the elevator. Good old-fashioned footwork paid off in a town the size of Wild Horse Junction. He’d investigate a little more, then make up his mind.

Would she ever be a mom? Did she really believe a child needed two loving parents?

On Sunday morning after church, Gwen drove straight to the hospital to visit Baby Amy. It was simple and complicated at the same time. She considered herself a progressive woman. Yet she was discovering day by day she had very traditional values. On one hand, what if she never married? Why should she deny herself motherhood because a man didn’t fit into her life…or she didn’t fit into his? On the other hand, a picket fence and a partner for life was her deepest dream.

She’d stopped in to see Amy every day since the baby had been deserted and, in spite of herself, Gwen felt a huge connection to the infant. When she held her and fed her and rocked her, she longed for her own baby as well as an ideal home for this one.

Today, instead of heading for the nursery, she stopped at the ob-gyn nurses’ desk.

Dianne Spagnola looked up. “Gwen, do you know a Garrett Maxwell?”

“I know who he is,” she answered. “Why?”

“Because he was here asking questions and gave me the impression he was working with the sheriff’s department. After he left, I wondered if I should have told him anything.”

Working with the sheriff’s department. Her heart sped up with hope that he was going to take her case. “I asked him to help me find Amy’s mother. He’s on the level. How long ago was he here?”

“About ten minutes.”

Maybe he was going to make up his mind before this evening. “Do you know which way he was headed?”

“He wanted me to see if I could find the clothes Amy was wearing when she was brought in. He gave me a card and told me to call his cell phone number. He said he’d be around town and he could stop back if I found them.”

Around town. Wild Horse Junction wasn’t that big. Maybe she could spot his SUV. It was huge and black and stark. She’d seen it in his driveway. There had been a decal on his side back window, a triangle with a small plane in its center. She’d wondered at the time if he belonged to some kind of club.

“I think I’m going to try to track him down.” She gave Dianne a smile. “I’ll be back to rock Amy in a little while.”

“On our breaks, we give her as much attention as we can, but I think she likes you best.”

After a quick goodbye, Gwen headed for the parking garage.

In her van, she decided to start with the main road in town, Wild Horse Way. As she drove south, she checked out the parking lots at the grocery store, restaurants and many shops that lined the street, catering to tourists—Flutes and Drums gallery, the Saddle Shop, the Turquoise Emporium. At the edge of town at a gas station combined with a convenience store, she spotted a black SUV. It looked like Garrett Maxwell’s.

She pulled up beside it and saw the decal on the window. Pay dirt. After she pocketed her keys and picked up her purse, her heart raced faster and she told herself the increase was simply because she was anxious about him taking the case.

However, when she opened the door to the convenience store and saw him standing at the counter with the cashier, her attraction to him slammed into her full force. She’d always liked tall men, and he was definitely tall. He looked dangerous and sexy and she knew she should run in the other direction. But she needed his professional skill right now and she was going to get it if she could.

When he saw her, there was no simple “hello.”

“This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” he asked, brows raised.

She gave him a quick smile. “No. I went to the hospital.”

“And?”

“And Dianne said you were asking questions and would be around town. Are you taking the case?”

“I’m still deciding.” He turned his attention once again to the cashier. “So you don’t remember a young couple?” he asked the teenager as if the boy had already said he didn’t.

“Nope,” the boy responded. “Who are you anyway? A cop?”

Not caring what Garrett Maxwell thought, Gwen interrupted, “Hi, Reuben. We met at the high school at the beginning of the month when I spoke to the senior class. You helped me with the screen in the auditorium.”

The boy looked at her. “I remember. Ms. Langworthy, right?”

“Right. Reuben, do you remember a story in the paper about a baby that was found?”

“I don’t read the paper much but my folks were talking about it.”

“We’re looking for that baby’s mom.”

“So you can arrest her?” he asked warily.

“No, we’re not law enforcement. We want to find her so we can help her.”

Although the teenager looked unsure for a few moments, he stared at Gwen and seemed to decide that she was sincere. Still he asked, “Help her, how?”

“We need to know why she left her baby.” More times than Gwen could count she’d wondered about her own real mother. How young had she been? How rich or poor? Had there been no one to help her or had she simply not cared enough to keep a child? Had she shirked responsibility or simply been unable to accept it?

Shaking off those questions, she went on, “If she wants to give the baby up for adoption, that’s fine. But we want to make sure she has the information she needs to make that decision. And if she really does want to be a mom, but needs help, we need to know that, too.”

His gaze went to Garrett, then back to her. “Yeah, I guess you do. I don’t know anything for sure.”

“But you know something?” Gwen asked gently.

“Maybe. I was working Monday night. I only work Monday, Wednesday and Sunday. Anyway, this guy and his girl came in. The girl, she bought acetaminophen and those…those pads girls wear when they get their period. I remember her because she didn’t look so good, really white, like she was going to pass out or something. When they left, the guy had his arm around her. You know, holding her up a little.”

Garrett’s gaze met Gwen’s. Monday night was the night she’d found Amy, and this couple sounded like “the” couple.

“Can you describe them for me?” Garrett asked.

After hesitating a few moments, Reuben finally said, “She had long brown hair. He was a blonde.”

“Did you notice what kind of car they were driving?” Garrett inquired.

The boy shrugged. “It chugged pretty much when the guy started it. I looked outside. It was a brown pickup truck—small, pretty battered up.”

“Anything identifiable on it?” Garrett asked.

“Nah. I didn’t see it up close.”

“Which way did they go?”

“They headed north.”

When Gwen exchanged a look with Garrett, he handed Reuben a business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call, okay?”

The teenager nodded, and Garrett motioned for Gwen to go outside.

Next to a vending machine, she stopped. Garrett did, too, but he remained silent.

Facing him, her arm brushed his. As a buzz of attraction hummed between them, she asked, “That’s our couple, don’t you think? What do we do next?”

“What do you mean—what do we do next?” he asked warily. “You do whatever you do on Sundays and I’ll continue what I’m doing.”

Maybe he was a loner, but two heads were better than one. “Are you going to take the case?”

Though the nerve in his jaw worked, his tone was even. “I’m just doing some preliminary work to find out if there’s a reason to take the case.”

“You only search for someone when you know you’ll be successful?” she challenged him.

His splayed fingers ran through his hair as if he were frustrated with her beyond measure. “No, of course not.”

“Then, Mr. Maxwell, why is this such a hard decision to make?”

Although his penetrating stare might have made a lesser woman crumble, she didn’t crumble, not even under the appraisal of a tough-guy former FBI agent.

Finally he replied, “It’s a hard decision to make because I’m one person and I have a limited amount of time.”

She certainly understood that. “Did you see Amy?”

His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did. “Yes, I saw her.”

“We can’t let that little girl go through life not knowing who her parents are.”

“We?” he drawled again, his brows arched.

“Mr. Maxwell—” she began.

“It’s Garrett.”

“Garrett,” she repeated, liking the sound of his name on her lips, liking the look of him, not liking the horribly exciting pull she felt toward him. “You wouldn’t have started asking questions if you didn’t want to help me with Amy.”

“I wasn’t getting very far until you came along,” he acknowledged with a bit of chagrin.

“Reuben thought you were a cop. Kids his age don’t rat on each other, not to someone in authority.”

“I have a feeling you can get your way with the male species when you ratchet up the charm,” Garrett commented.

How wrong he was about that! She hadn’t had enough charm to keep Mark. Over and over she’d asked herself what she’d lacked…where she’d gone wrong…what need of his she hadn’t satisfied.

“And if charm doesn’t get you what you want, solid determination will,” he went on, not looking happy about it.

“You’ve made this analysis when we’ve been in each other’s company a total of what? Fifteen minutes?”

“Am I wrong?” he fired back.

That he’d pegged her so well in such a short amount of time was unnerving. “No, you’re not wrong, but all my charm and all my determination won’t find Amy’s mother if I don’t know what questions to ask or where to look.”

Blowing out a breath, Garrett gazed in the direction of the Painted Peaks. The blue-shadowed, rust, gray and red mountains chased each other higher on the outskirts of town. “Did you have lunch yet?” he asked.

That question was unexpected. “No, I haven’t.”

“Let’s go to The Silver Dollar, get something to eat and talk about this.”

The hope that he was really going to help her almost made her feel giddy. “All right. That sounds good to me.”

Afraid he’d change his mind, she was starting for her car when he reached out and snagged her arm. There it was again—that snap and crackle of heat.

“Just because we look for Amy’s mom doesn’t mean we’ll find her. More often than not, leads turn into dead ends,” he warned her with the edge of experience in his statement.

“And sometimes, leads turn into other leads,” she protested quietly.

With a shake of his head, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Are you a Pollyanna?”

Because of the way she’d grown up, she was far from that. “No, but I make a conscious decision each morning to look at the brighter side of life and I think that pays off.”

When he dropped his hand to his side, she felt its absence.

“I’ll meet you at The Silver Dollar,” he said gruffly, then stepped down off the curb and climbed into his SUV. After waiting for her to start up her van, he followed her.

She found herself smiling as she drove. Since when had lunch at The Silver Dollar seemed like a main event?

Since Garrett Maxwell had extended the invitation.

Not knowing what in the hell he was going to do with Gwen Langworthy, Garrett noticed her terrifically long legs covered by her deep violet slacks, the sway of her breasts and hips under her sweater. He spotted an empty table and they headed for it.

The Silver Dollar was three-quarters full. It was a nice-sized restaurant decorated with ranch brands and lariats on the walls, alongside framed signed photographs of Roy Rogers and Gene Autry. But the western atmosphere barely registered as Garrett pulled out Gwen’s chair for her.

Damn, she got to him in a way Cheryl never had. She was pushier than his ex-wife, franker, definitely more determined. In spite of himself, he wanted to know more about her and that was a big mistake. If he took this case, he’d just have to stay away from her.

If he took this case? He was already hooked and he knew it.

Stay away from Gwen Langworthy, he repeated to himself as if he had to translate the words from a foreign language. Standing behind her, looking down at her shiny auburn curls, all he wanted to do was sink his fingers into them. Well, that wasn’t all he wanted to do.

Swiftly moving away from her perfume that smelled fruity and flowery all at the same time, he took the chair across from her and realized that his knees could too easily brush hers at the small table. It didn’t take Yoda shaking a spiny finger at him to warn him not to engage in physical contact. May the Force be with him.

Before she opened her menu, her dark brown eyes met his. “How much do you charge?”

“I don’t charge when I find children.”

“As you pointed out, this isn’t a child.”

He shrugged. “Same difference this time.”

“I can’t let you—”

He dismissively brushed her words away. “You’re not letting me do anything, and as I told you before, we might not find her.”

“If this takes your time away from your other work, I need to reimburse you…for something.”

“Let’s just see where it goes. My workload is moderate right now.” It would be until he heard the decision on the government contract he’d bid on.

She leaned forward a little. “The article I read said you do security consulting work. What exactly is that?”

“It varies.”

When her eyes were still questioning, he knew she was going to come up with another inquiry. He remembered that determination he’d pegged in her. “I develop firewalls that are hacker-proof, along with suggesting physical systems for particular needs.”

“You make Web sites secure? So that if I use my credit card number, nobody can filch it?”

“Something like that.”

“Is that what you did for the FBI?”

Now she was treading into territory where he didn’t want to go. “The skills I used in the FBI were varied.” If his job had only been concerned with Internet security maybe Cheryl wouldn’t have divorced him…maybe she wouldn’t have lost their child.

“Classified?” she asked as if she knew what that was all about.

He laughed. “Let’s just call it that and say the subject’s off-limits.”

But she didn’t stop probing. “For personal or professional reasons?”

It was time he stopped her get-to-know-you session, although at some point he hoped to turn the tables on her. He didn’t see a ring on her finger and wondered if she was involved with anyone.

“This conversation has nothing to do with Baby Amy, and that’s who we came here to talk about.”

“All right,” she acquiesced begrudgingly. “What are we going to do next?”

Gazing into Gwen’s beautiful dark brown eyes, he almost lost his train of thought. Focusing again, he answered her. “My guess is, the couple wasn’t here more than a day. The fact that they bought the supplies they did at a convenience store rather than a grocery store or drugstore tells me they might have been passing through, maybe living out of the kid’s truck. Maybe the girl even had the baby in the truck.”

“But if she wasn’t from here, why would she leave the baby with me? How did she know who I was?”

“You tell me.” He had an idea, but he wanted to see if he was right.

After Gwen fingered her menu and chewed on her lower lip—whether she knew it or not, the habit was damn sexy—she explained, “When I go to a town to set up a program, like Jackson Hole or Cheyenne, sometimes there’s an article in the paper about what I’m doing. But I don’t think anyone would see that and decide to leave a baby with me.”

“That depends. I imagine it’s clearly stated that you’re an obstetrical nurse practitioner. That would qualify you to take care of a child. My guess is, if she’s not from Wild Horse Junction, the mother met you at one of your programs. I want you to make a list of any young girls you talked to within the past year.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I’m not.”

“But I usually don’t know last names.”

“I don’t care. Just try to get down names and if you can, picture faces with the names.”

Suddenly Gwen’s serious expression was overtaken by a brilliant smile as she spotted somebody coming through the door. It was a couple with a baby who looked to be six to eight months old.

The tall, sandy-haired man carrying the child and the pretty woman beside him came straight to Gwen. The two women hugged while the man looked on patiently. Then Gwen gave him a hug, too, baby and all. “It’s so good to see you. Are you all unpacked?”

“Almost,” Gwen’s friend answered with a sideways glance at Garrett. “We have decorating to do, though. We’re using lots of Dylan’s photographs, of course, but I need some sconces and hangings.”

“She really needs them,” the sandy-haired man joked, trying to suppress a smile.

His wife playfully swatted his arm.

Before the conversation developed further, Gwen gestured to Garrett, who had stood.

“This is Garrett Maxwell. He’s helping me find Baby Amy’s mother. Garrett, this is Shaye and Dylan Malloy and their son Timmy. Shaye is the social worker I called.”

Now the puzzle pieces fit. Garrett had seen the article in the Wild Horse Wrangler about Dylan Malloy’s show at the Flutes and Drums Gallery and how successful it had been. The man was a top-notch wildlife photographer. Garrett also remembered the write-up on the accident that had taken the lives of Dylan’s sister and brother-in-law in February. Timmy had been born right before his mother had died.

Garrett shook hands with the husband and wife. Timmy was a cute little guy with blond hair and green eyes, but he was already getting itchy, squirming in Dylan’s arms.

“Okay, big fella,” Dylan said. “We’ll pick up dinner and go.”

“We called after church,” Shaye explained to Gwen. “We’re taking a meal out to Kylie.”

“I spoke to her last night,” Gwen said. “I’m worried about her. Ever since Alex’s funeral, she’s been working twice as hard as she should while she’s pregnant. Now at over five months, she should be slowing down.”

“I know.” Shaye shook her head. “That bull-riding accident didn’t just end Alex’s life, it left Kylie with a burden that’s too big to handle on her own.”

“That’s why we’re going out to Saddle Ridge,” Dylan interjected. “She has a fence down and Dix hasn’t had time to get to it. I’m no expert, but I can rig up something.”

After realizing they were keeping Garrett out of the conversation, Gwen turned to him. “We have a friend who was widowed in July. She’s taken on running the ranch with her foreman and it’s a lot to handle, especially with her being pregnant.”

The cashier near the door waved to Dylan and Shaye and motioned to the takeout containers on the counter.

As Timmy began to fuss louder, Dylan lifted him high and wiggled him a bit. “We’re going. We’re going.”

Shaye gave Gwen’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll call you later.”

After goodbyes all around, the Malloys went to the counter to pay for their dinner. Dylan’s arm curved around his wife’s waist as they waited for the cashier to ring up their food.

“They’ve only been married since July,” Gwen told Garrett as she sat down once more. “They’re still newlyweds.”

“I imagine it’s hard to be newlyweds with a baby.” Garrett kept his tone even. When he thought about the child he’d lost before it even had a chance, his insides went cold.

“Timmy brought Shaye and Dylan together,” Gwen explained. “So they cherish every day with him.”

“Timmy was Dylan’s sister’s child?”

“Right. Are you from around here? Did you know Julia, Dylan’s sister?”

“I was born here, but left when I was a teenager. Since I came back, I don’t socialize much. I didn’t know his sister.”

“How long ago did you return?”

He wondered if he was attracted to Gwen because she irritated him or in spite of the fact. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

Instead of being offended, she smiled sweetly. “How else am I going to learn what I want to know if I don’t ask questions?”

Shaking his head, he had to chuckle. “I returned five years ago.” Now he turned the beacon of questioning on her life. “How long have you and Shaye Malloy been friends?”

“Shaye and Kylie and I were pals in grade school. When Kylie skipped a grade, we kind of took her under our wings.”

“Her husband died recently?”

“Shortly after Shaye and Dylan’s wedding. We want to help her but she’s so independent. She insists on doing everything herself. As her pregnancy gets further along, I don’t know what she’s going to do.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Why can’t she hire extra help?”

“Have you heard of Saddle Ridge Ranch?”

“Nothing lately. Jack Warner owned the place when I was younger. He raised cutting horses, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but his son Alex—” Gwen abruptly stopped. “I shouldn’t say anything else.”

So Gwen wasn’t a gossip and she was loyal to her friends. Most of the women he’d known had been very competitive and a little thing like friendship wouldn’t have made a difference or gotten in the way of catching a man or achieving a higher level in a career.

The waitress came over to them and they quickly glanced at the menus and ordered. As they ate the special of the day—roast beef, mashed potatoes and a vegetable medley—Garrett noticed Gwen finished almost all of it.

“Do you work out?”

Laying down her fork, she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I work out at the Wagon Wheel Fitness Center. Why?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Because it’s been a long time since I saw a woman down mashed potatoes.”

Spots of color came to her milky white cheeks that were dotted with a few freckles. “That’s an advantage to working out, I guess. I eat pretty much what I want.”

As his gaze passed over her pale lilac sweater and the way the material clung to her breasts, his jeans got tight and not from the food he was eating.

Retreating to safer territory, he remarked, “Now that Malloy’s married, I wonder what will happen to his career.” Garrett knew all about careers ruining marriages—first his dad’s, then his own. The thing was he’d become an FBI agent for a good reason and the idea of giving up his mission had been unthinkable. If his friend hadn’t been kidnapped when they were both nine, if he hadn’t felt a moral calling to right the world’s wrongs, maybe he could have given up his vocation and put all of his passion into his marriage. Maybe.

“He’s changing how he works,” Gwen admitted. “He’s contracted for a book about the wild mustangs and another one on whales in Alaska. He’s determined not to let his work get in the way of his marriage.”

“Work can do that,” Garrett muttered softly.

“Yours got in the way of a relationship?”

“Mine ended my marriage.” It was the first he’d ever said it out loud to another living person, and why he’d said it here, now, to Gwen Langworthy, he didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing.

Picking up the bill the waitress had left on the table, he glanced at it, pulled out his wallet, left a tip, stood and said, “I’ll take care of this. I want to ask the cashier a few questions.”

The restaurant had emptied out and the cashier sat on the stool by the register, reading a romance novel. Romance might come alive in books, but that was the only place anybody would find it, Garrett decided as he made his way to her.

By the time the cashier closed the book and stood, Gwen was by his side, the fruity-flowery scent of her annoying him, her energy invigorating him, her beauty capturing him. He fought against the capture.

He was aware of Gwen watching him while he paid the bill. She was such a distraction, he wanted to put her outside while he completed his questioning. But he knew she wouldn’t stand for that.

A few minutes later, to his surprise and Gwen’s, the cashier described the couple in more detail than the teenager at the convenience store, then pointed them toward the waitress who had been on duty that night.

Mandy Jacobs remembered the couple. But foremost on her mind was batting her lashes at Garrett and flirting with him for all she was worth. “The girl had soup and the cute guy had a burger. They didn’t leave a tip, that’s why I remember them so well. That’s about all I know. I’ll ask around, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll be sure to contact you if any of the other girls saw anything or remember more than I do.”

“That would be great,” he told her, handing her his card. “We appreciate all the help we can get.”

Fluttering her lashes at him a few more times, she encouraged him, “You be sure to sit at my table next time you come in.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Garrett returned with a smile.

Gwen hadn’t said a word during the interchange and as they stepped outside, she muttered, “Talk about charm.”

“She probably does that with every man she waits on. Better tips.”

“You didn’t do anything to discourage her.”

Unreasonably, Garrett felt a bit of male satisfaction at Gwen’s comment. “She could have had information I needed, and she still could find out something. You just never know.”

Stopping, he took Gwen’s arm. “Why would it bother you if she was flirting with me?”

“It didn’t bother me,” Gwen protested quickly. “But she’s an impressionable young girl and if you give her hope…”

“The Silver Dollar doesn’t hire anybody under eighteen so she’s not so young—not the way you mean, anyway. And…I never encourage anything more than answers to my questions.”

When Gwen studied him for a very long time, he asked, “Are you involved with anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you have a marriage that went south, too?”

After a brief hesitation, she answered, “No, I didn’t get that far. My fiancé stood me up at the altar.”

“On your wedding day?” Garrett was truly astonished by that piece of background.

“On my wedding day. And I don’t intend to ever let that happen again. I’ll never again depend on a man to make me happy or trust a man the way I trusted Mark.” Moving away from him, maybe embarrassed because she’d said too much, she pointed to the decal on his SUV. “What’s that for?”

“I belong to a network of pilots who help with search and rescue. That’s our logo.”

“You’re a pilot?”

He nodded.

“Do you have your own plane?”

“I inherited my dad’s.”

“You lost him?” she asked so sympathetically he was reminded she’d known loss, too, albeit in a different way.

“Yes. Seven years ago. In some ways it seems like yesterday and in others it seems like forever.” When his parents divorced, he’d gone to live with his father. College had only been two years away and the judge had acceded to Garrett’s wishes to move to L.A. with his father rather than to Wisconsin with his mother. Losing his dad to cancer had been a blow he hadn’t expected.

“Do you still have your mom?”

“I sure do. She lives in Wisconsin now, and if I don’t faithfully call once a week, she worries.”

His gaze on Gwen, he watched as a wave of sadness passed over her face. Was it the reference to motherhood? But before he could probe a bit, she said, “You’re a complicated man.”

“No more complicated than you are.” Knowing that their conversation would soon lead to more personal territory that was better left unexplored, he asked, “Where are you going now?”

“Back to the hospital. I want to hold Amy for a bit.”

Immediately, he could envision Gwen holding that precious child and the turmoil inside him was too stormy to analyze. “I’ll follow you there. A nurse was going to see if she could find the clothes Amy was wearing the night she was brought in.”

“I wonder why the sheriff didn’t take them. He looked at them, but didn’t take them.”

“I don’t know what that was all about, but then Sheriff Thompson is near retirement age,” Garrett noted. “I’m not sure how much effort he puts into his work. We’ve butted heads a couple of times so I stay clear of him if I can. But I might have to pay him a visit.”

They stood at Garrett’s SUV by the side of the building. Nobody came and went. Once in a while a few cars traveled up and down the street as the wind whipped Gwen’s curls across her cheek. Without fore-thought Garrett reached out to stroke them away.

He should have known better than to touch her.

Her eyes became luminescent and softly deep. The urge to kiss her was so strong, he could taste it. He could feel it in every part of his body, especially the ones that mattered. He stepped even closer…bent his head…

The sun, which had been hiding behind a cloud, suddenly shone brightly and illuminated Gwen, sending firelight through her hair, giving him clarity about what he should and shouldn’t do.

As if the sun had cleared up things for Gwen, too, she took a step back and gave him a weak smile. “Amy’s waiting for me. Maybe I’ll see you at the hospital.”

While she was opening the door to her van and he was opening the door to his SUV, he realized it would be better if he didn’t see Gwen at the hospital.

It would be better if he found Amy’s mother on his own.

Chapter Three

Gwen was taking clothes from her washer and pushing them into her dryer when her doorbell rang. She was expecting Garrett.

She had intended to ignore him yesterday at the hospital but he’d poked his head into the nursery and told her the nurses couldn’t find Amy’s clothes. They were going to keep looking and notify either him or Gwen if they found anything. When Gwen had stopped to see Amy over her lunch hour today, the desk nurse had handed her a bag. Someone had found the clothes in a supply cupboard. Immediately Gwen had called Garrett.

Her heart beating harder, she pushed he dryer door closed with a bang and hurried to the door.

What had almost happened between her and Garrett yesterday? Had it been an almost kiss? If so, she had pulled away from it, hadn’t she?

Gwen gave herself a mental shake and told herself to slow down. She didn’t get infatuated with men, she reminded herself. She was picky, and a rugged face with a good body might turn her head, but it didn’t stay turned. She wanted substance.

You thought you had substance with Mark, a little voice reminded her.

She’d been so wrong about that. She’d been so wrong about a lot of things. She had taken a close look at herself and her choices since Mark left and she hadn’t liked some of the things she’d seen. But she was working on fixing them, working on breaking away from a childhood she had no control over, working on an adult, stable relationship with her dad.

As she opened the door to Garrett, common sense flew out the proverbial window. He was a hottie, plain and simple. She was attracted to him, plain and simple. She would watch every step she made, plain and simple. Tonight he wore gray dress slacks with a western-cut white shirt and a bolo tie. Her surprise must have shown.

“I clean up now and then,” he said with a dark sardonic smile that fired up the quick thrill of excitement running through her at seeing him. “I had a meeting in Cody.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” she admitted, her cheeks hot. “Come on in,” she said quickly to cover her embarrassment.

When she’d gotten home from work, she’d made a chocolate bundt cake. It was sitting in a cake holder on her table with powdered sugar sprinkled across the top. She hadn’t baked for herself.

“Would you like some coffee? I have chocolate cake, too, if you’re interested.”

Stopping short of her kitchen, he seemed to weigh whether he wanted to accept her offer or not. “I grabbed supper at a fast-food restaurant before I left Cody. But chocolate cake is hard to turn down.”

“Is that a yes? The coffee’s fresh, I made it with supper. It’s Kona,” she added, nonchalantly, knowing that would be an additional enticement for a coffee lover.

“Where did you get Kona here?”

“I have my sources.” As she gathered dishes from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer, she motioned to her mug tree. “Go ahead and pour yourself a cup. I’ll cut the cake.”

When she removed the glass cover, he looked at the cake and then glanced at her. “Did you bake that for tonight?”

She could say she always had baked goods around to nibble on, but that would be a lie. “Yes. Most men like chocolate.”

At her elbow, he capped her shoulder. “Gwen—”

“Look, it was no trouble. If you won’t let me pay you, I have to reimburse you somehow. A snack just seemed hospitable.”

Before, when she’d been close to Garrett, she’d caught the scent of man and the outdoors. Now she noticed his cologne. It was lime and musky and compelling…just as he was. His gray eyes seemed heated with an inner fire as he studied her. She wondered if they were both thinking about lips touching, tongues entwining, sex in the dark of night. His beard line was shadowed now at the end of the day. To her dismay she realized how much she’d like to touch it…how much she’d like to feel it on her skin.

Although the fire in his eyes wasn’t banked, his tone was neutral as he shifted slightly away from her and asked, “Do you have Amy’s clothes?”

The mention of the infant made her take a resigned breath and remember exactly why he was here. This wasn’t a tea party…or a coffee party.

Motioning to the cake, she suggested, “Go ahead and cut yourself a slice while I get them.”

When she would have stepped away, she heard him mutter, “Oh, hell.”

The next moment, his hand was on her shoulder, he was bending his head, and his lips came down hard on hers.

Garrett’s lips were as hot as the sizzle of attraction between them. Gwen’s hand rested against his chest, and she ran her fingers up the placket of his shirt to the taut skin of his neck. His hair was shaggy over his collar, thick and coarse. When his tongue slid into her mouth, the erotic sensation of it almost made her gasp. The hunger and desire in his kiss fired a like hunger and desire in her. Her last coherent thought was a simple one—this is pure chemistry.

When his tongue danced with hers, time was suspended and she practically melted at his feet. The passion blooming inside of her was overwhelming, and she wondered why it had lain dormant all her life until this moment.

However, as quickly as Garrett had decided to kiss her, he decided to stop kissing her.

Thank goodness his hands were on her shoulders to steady her or she might have collapsed. With a monumental effort, she took a step away from him, testing the steadiness of her knees.

“Wow!” She didn’t know exactly what else to say and that seemed to say it all.

On his part, Garrett didn’t seem to be as affected as she was. In fact…

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

He looked so composed she wanted to beat on his chest and ask him, Wasn’t that just the best kiss you ever had? She’d never experienced anything like it with Mark…or anyone else. However, just because Garrett had turned her kitchen upside down for her didn’t mean she’d done the same to him.

“Why not?” she blurted out. “Are you involved with someone?” That wouldn’t be a first. Men were notorious for wanting to sample greener grass…or nostalgic grass. Not a month after she and Mark had broken up, she’d learned he was dating his former girlfriend. Had they been in touch while he and Gwen were engaged? When they had talked after his defection, Mark had denied that anyone else had been involved. But he had gotten married six months later, so Gwen suspected otherwise.

“No, I’m not involved,” Garrett snapped. “And I don’t intend to be involved. That’s the point.”

His blunt assessment put her in her place. “I see,” she murmured. “That’s good. Because I don’t want to be involved, either. Your cologne must have fogged my brain.” Then before he could comment on that bit of nonsense, she turned away and headed for the living room. “I’ll get the clothes.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she went to the rolltop desk and lifted the lid. Garrett followed her, obviously forgetting about cake and coffee. To her dismay, her shoulder grazed his as she turned around. He was too big, too close, and too intense. Obviously too emotionally unavailable.

When she couldn’t find anything else to add to the mental list of reasons why she shouldn’t get involved with him, she thrust the grocery bag toward him. “Here.”

Eyeing her as if he wanted to ask her about something, yet didn’t want to deal with her answers after the asking, he took the white grocery bag. Spilling the contents, he first examined the blanket including the tag sewn into the hem. After he laid that across the top of the desk chair, he looked over the terry playsuit. Setting that aside, he studied the tiny knitted sweater and cap.

As he fingered them, he asked, “Do you know anything about yarn?”

She blinked. “Yarn?”

“This doesn’t look and feel like the usual acrylic.”

Taking the sweater fabric between her fingers herself, she noticed that it indeed didn’t. The yarn was fine, coated by a soft cloudy fuzziness.

“I want to take these along,” he said, stuffing everything back in the bag, plucking the sweater from her hands.

Their fingertips brushed.

When she looked up into Garrett’s eyes, they were turbulent and for the most part, unreadable.

Her doorbell rang and she jumped. That was so not like her. Composure was her middle name. This man shook her up and flustered her and she didn’t like that at all.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.

“No. But it could be Kylie or Shaye. We drop in on each other.” Then glad to put some space between them, she went to her door and opened it.

Her father stood there.

“Hi, Dad. This is a surprise.” She stepped back so he could come inside.

When he did, she studied him for the telltale signs he’d fallen off the wagon. It was a habit with her.

To her relief he was dressed neatly in jeans and a denim jacket. His eyes were clear. With his burnished red hair streaked with gray and his blue eyes, he’d once been a charmer and a very handsome man. That was before alcohol, regret and guilt had added lines to his face that had aged him at least ten years. He was fifty-eight now and selling insurance. Although he’d once been an accountant, after Gwen had left and he sobered up, he decided he liked being out and around people.

Seeing Garrett, her dad flushed slightly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. If you want me to go—”

Bag in hand, Garrett came over to where they were standing. “No need for that. I was just leaving.”

The two men could have passed like the proverbial ships in the night, but Gwen felt the need to introduce them to each other. “Garrett Maxwell, this is my father, Russ Langworthy. Dad, Garrett is helping me find Amy’s mother.”

Garrett’s brow arched as if she should have put that a different way, but she didn’t care. They were working together on this whether he liked it or not.

“I’ve heard about you,” Russ said, extending his hand.

Garrett shook it with a smile. “Do I want to know what you’ve heard?”

Her father laughed. “Mostly rumors. That you live in the hills, stick to yourself, and you used to be FBI. This is Wild Horse Junction, boy. A kernel of truth gets embellished and goes a long way.”

“What you heard is true.”

“Besides the gossip, I remember your parents. Your dad was a commercial pilot. How are they? I heard after they divorced, your mom moved to Wisconsin and you and your dad to California.”

“Dad passed away some years back. Mom’s still in Wisconsin.”

“Dad, Garrett has to be going,” Gwen intervened. She suspected Garrett wasn’t the type of man to talk about his personal life easily.

“It’s okay,” Garrett assured her, but his body was a little more rigid than it had been a few minutes before.

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” After an awkward pause, Russ said, “Divorce is tough on kids. It was tough on Gwen, especially her mother’s move to Indiana,” he explained. “How old were you when your parents separated? Around fifteen?”

“Dad,” Gwen protested fiercely before Garrett could answer.

That wasn’t a subject Gwen wanted to discuss with either Garrett or her father. Long ago she’d dealt with the abandonment by her biological parents, but her adopted mother’s defection had been much harder. Not only had Myra Langworthy divorced her dad, but she’d divorced Gwen, too. All she’d cared about was the man she’d fallen in love with and the new family she’d begun with him in Indiana. Gwen had felt like an outsider on her few visits there, and had lived in quiet misery with her dad, wondering why her adoptive mother hadn’t loved her enough to want her in her life in a meaningful way.

Rerouting her father’s frame of mind, Gwen said to him, “I have cake and coffee if you’re interested.”

“I’m always interested in cake and coffee.” Letting the subject stray from Garrett, he lifted a pamphlet in his hand. “I brought a brochure about a cruise I’m thinking of taking. I’d like your opinion on it.” To Garrett he said, “It was good to meet you.” With a glance at the kitchen, he told her, “I’ll go start on that cake,” and then he left them alone while he ambled into the other room.

“I’m sorry about the questions,” Gwen said as soon as her dad was out of earshot.

“Your father was just making conversation.”

“Maybe.” She never knew exactly what her dad was thinking, let alone what he’d do next.

After studying her for a few moments, Garrett asked, “How old were you when your parents divorced?”

Did she want to talk about this with Garrett? She only hesitated a few moments. “I was six—too young to understand, yet old enough to know my life was changed irrevocably…just like Dad’s.”

Shaking off the melancholy she often felt when examining memories of those years after the divorce, she gestured to the bag in Garrett’s hand. “Let me know what you find out about that, okay?”

“How do you know I’m going to find out anything?”

“Because you already have an idea about the yarn.”

“Were you a private investigator in your past life?” he asked sarcastically.

“Nope, but I watch CSI.”

When he laughed, she liked the sound of it. She liked way too much about him.

“I’ll let you know what happens.”

Their gazes locked for a few interminable moments and she vividly remembered everything about their kiss, about him holding her, about him backing away. The chemistry between them was so hot, it had burned away memories of Mark’s defection. Even so, in another few moments, she would have ended the kiss and backed away. At least that’s what she told herself.

Garrett opened the door and without a goodbye, he stepped into the cloudless night. Deep down Gwen knew he was a much different kind of man than her ex-fiancé. Garrett was intense…focused…and passionate. She closed the door behind him.

Maybe cake and coffee with her dad would help her find her equilibrium. Maybe it would help alleviate the worry that was always with her that he would fall off the wagon again.

“We shouldn’t have come,” Gwen said. “You’re tired.”

On Thursday evening, Gwen and Shaye sat in Kylie’s living room while she brought them glasses of iced tea. She’d insisted on getting it herself. Almost six months pregnant now, she was wearing a maternity top with her jeans. She looked tired and Gwen couldn’t imagine her friend trying to keep up with the chores on the ranch, work a job in town and take care of herself, too.

Sitting on a teal-and-wine striped chair with huge rolled arms that seemed to swallow her, Kylie protested, “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” Shaye suggested gently, “and the baby.”

“I’m doing that. I try to be finished in the barn by nine, so I’m getting a good night’s sleep.” Kylie had pulled her long, straight blond hair back into a ponytail and her blue eyes under her bangs seemed to hold constant worry now.

“I hope you’re not doing any heavy lifting,” Gwen scolded, noticing that the plasma screen TV Alex had bought to study his rodeo technique was gone.

“Dix won’t let me. You know that.”

Dix Pepperdale had been foreman of Saddle Ridge Ranch since long before Jack Warner, Kylie’s father-in-law, had died. He looked on Kylie as a daughter and was protective of her.

“How’s the new mustang?” Gwen asked.

“Great.” Suddenly Kylie brightened. “Feather isn’t afraid of me now, at least not as afraid as she was. I hope this week I can get her to eat out of my hand.”

Kylie had adopted a wild mustang from those that ran free in the Big Horn Mountains. When the Bureau of Land Management thinned the herd, they sold them at auction.

“She’s really helping me cope…with Alex being gone,” Kylie added. “It’s so odd. I do miss him. Even though I was thinking about leaving him, before we were married we were friends for so many years.”

When Gwen thought about Alex, she pictured a charming cowboy who’d never grown up. His parents had pampered him. He’d pampered himself. He hadn’t been ready for marriage, not a real marriage where commitment was all-important. Kylie had found that out too late.

“Have you heard from Brock?” Shaye asked.

Kylie hesitated a few moments. “He called a few days after the funeral.”

It was unusual that Kylie hadn’t told them that before now.

“I had his address in Texas and I called there, leaving a message for him to phone me,” Kylie went on. “He didn’t get it until after the funeral. He was in some jungle looking for oil. It wasn’t until he got back to base camp that he found my message.”

“Did you tell him you were pregnant?” Gwen asked. Kylie had taken the job as horse trainer at Saddle Ridge when she was seventeen. Since she lived on-site she had run into Alex’s older half brother Brock whenever he had come home from college. Gwen knew that when Kylie was younger, she’d thought Brock Warner had walked on water.

After a few moments of hesitation, Kylie answered, “Yes, I told him I’m pregnant, and I learned something Alex hadn’t told me.”

Suspecting there were lots of things Alex hadn’t told his wife, Gwen asked, “What?”

“Brock’s been divorced for over a year.”

The silence in the room was filled with Kylie’s sadness. Brock had an Apache heritage and had felt like a second-class citizen at the ranch, especially since Jack Warner had always treated Alex like the golden son. Brock had made his own way as a geologist in Texas.

“I told Brock everything here was fine. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I need time. I have to get the ranch built up again. It’s my child’s future.”

“What are you going to do if Brock comes back here and wants you to sell it?” Always the realist, Gwen knew Jack Warner’s will had put Kylie in a pickle. He’d left the ranch to Alex as long as Alex lived there and ran it. If he ever sold it, half the proceeds went to Brock. The same would now apply to Kylie.

“I really can’t think about that now. I sold the TV,” she said, her hand fluttering toward the place where the screen had once hung. “I’m using that for expenses. I listed the mechanical bull on eBay and I’m hoping I’ll get a good price on it. If I can sell that, it will help me pay the back taxes. The cattle won’t bring in enough this year.”

“Maybe I can take my vacation after the baby’s born and come out here and help you,” Gwen offered.

Kylie’s eyes misted with tears and she brushed them away. “Thank you, but we’ll wait and see. If I get a few more horses to board that could make up for the training money I’m losing while I’m pregnant. I can’t risk a fall with this baby to think about.”

“You still have a stockpile of quilts. You could sell more of those.”

“I sold a few to buy Feather and to use for vet bills. I’m saving the others for emergencies.”

One of Kylie’s quilt designs hung on the wall along with photo collages of the Warner family and a…dream catcher. Gwen hadn’t seen that before.

Taking out a tissue and blowing her nose, Kylie re-pocketed it in her jeans. “So how’s your FBI agent working out?” she asked, obviously tired of being the center of attention.

“That’s a good question,” Gwen joked. “I haven’t heard from him since Monday and I don’t know if he’s made more progress. I left a message yesterday but he hasn’t returned my call.”

“And you’re not going to stand for that,” Shaye said with a smile.

Gwen laughed. “Actually, no, I’m not. I think I’m going to drive out there tonight after I drop you off.”

“We know you don’t let grass grow under your feet,” Kylie teased.

No, she didn’t. Tonight she’d be seeing Garrett Maxwell whether he was ready to see her again or not.

Gwen was hopeful when she spied a small light burning in Garrett’s loft. It had to be the loft from the way the first floor looked simply fuzzy with light. She supposed he could leave it on when he was away. Did men care about walking into a dark house? Maybe if she could understand questions like that, she could understand men.

She obviously hadn’t understood Mark or she would have seen the signs that he was going to cut and run. The problem was—she’d had a lot of people cut and run from her, without any signs.

Casting those thoughts aside, she stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. A few moments later she rang it again.

Suddenly there Garrett was—rumpled, hair tousled, shirt open down the front. He looked as if he’d been…sleeping? The stubble of his beard told her he hadn’t even shaved today.

At a loss for words, she just stood there and stared.

“I fell asleep on the couch.”

Although he might have been asleep when she rang the bell, he was fully alert now.

“I…uh…you didn’t return my calls.”

He ran his hand over his face. “I was going to. I got back from a search and rescue around six. I intended to rest on the sofa for a couple minutes, but…” He checked his watch with a luminescent dial. “I guess it’s more like hours than minutes. Come on in.”

She’d been right about the light in the loft. The living room was hazy with shadows.

When he strode to a side table, Gwen noticed his feet were bare. He switched on the wrought-iron based lamp. A yellow glow splashed over the rust-colored leather sofa where a wool throw was twisted into a ball.

Opening her suede jacket, but leaving it on, she sat in the nubby-textured recliner. “Where were you searching?”

“Near Yellowstone. A boy camping with his family. We found him late this afternoon.”

“He’s all right?”

“Shaken up, thirsty and hungry, but he was okay. He’d been missing twenty-four hours and his parents were crazy with worry.” Garrett’s fingers went to his jawline. “That’s why I look like I just stepped out of the wilderness.”

He looked exactly like that and so sexy her stomach was jumping all over the place. Deciding honesty was the best policy, especially with Garrett, she admitted, “I’m sorry I bothered you. But when you didn’t answer my calls, I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I was,” he answered tersely. “I didn’t have any news about Amy’s mother, and after that kiss, I knew things would be strained between us.”

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling was “strain.” It was more like a humming that affected her whole body. The question was—did Garrett feel the humming, too? But even if he did, he wasn’t the type of man she wanted to get involved with. She wanted an open book. She wanted someone who could share and communicate and be affectionate and not hide his innermost thoughts. She suspected this man had a lot of practice hiding feelings, thoughts, and maybe even who he was.

“Whether there’s a strain between us or not, I need to know if you made any progress,” she assured him.

He was still standing and he seemed to debate with himself. “Why don’t you make yourself at home in my kitchen. There’s hot chocolate in one of the canisters beside the mugs. I’ll get a quick shower, then we can talk. Unless you don’t have time.”

“I have time,” she said softly, eager to hear what Garrett had to say, eager to get to know just a little bit more about him…just a little bit more.

Ten minutes later Garrett was back downstairs, picking up the mug of hot chocolate she’d prepared for him. “Thanks,” he said, a half smile curving his lips. With his damp, wavy hair and in his tan knit shirt and jeans, she wanted to dive into his arms. She had to get a grip.

Taking their mugs into the living room, he tossed aside the throw and sank down beside her on the sofa. The humming was definitely still there.

After he set his mug on the coffee table, he leaned back. “I did find out some information. Not enough to move on, though, yet. I sent the yarn to a fiber specialist to be analyzed and identified. I’ve made contacts who owe me,” he explained. “The good news is—only one store in Wyoming ordered it…in Laramie. The bad news is—the owner of that store is overhauling her computer system and it won’t be up and running again until next week. She’s going to e-mail me when she finds the names of the purchasers.”

In spite of herself, Gwen had been hoping for more. “Meantime, Amy might be placed with a family. Shaye is having an interview tomorrow with a couple.”

Gwen had taken off her jacket in the kitchen and left it over a chair. Now her shoulder was almost brushing Garrett’s. Neither of them moved away from the close contact.

When he shifted toward her, his body tensed. “This isn’t science, Gwen. Sometimes I have to count on sheer luck. The best situation for that child might be to place her with a couple.”

“I know that. It’s just—”

“You identify with this baby,” he suggested gently. “Your birth parents abandoned you, and from what your father said, I gathered your adopted mother did, too.”

“She didn’t abandon me, exactly. She left me with my father.”

“She didn’t take you along, and that’s what a mother should do. When my parents divorced, I was old enough to make a choice. I decided to go to California with my dad. But at six, I imagine you wanted to be with your mother.”

“What Dad and I wanted didn’t matter. All that mattered to her was the new man she fell in love with.”

“Your dad said she moved to Indiana.” Again his voice was quiet, almost kind.

“Peter, her new husband, had family there. They decided a fresh start was best for everybody. But it wasn’t. The night she left, Dad started drinking and didn’t stop until three years ago.”

“Whatever happened three years ago must have been earth shattering to him if he stopped.” Garrett’s interested statement urged her to go on.

“I’d never realized it, but all those years I took care of him, I was enabling him. Shaye and Kylie encouraged me to get counseling, so I finally went to a few Al-Anon meetings. I learned I had to change as much as he did. So, I did my own intervention of sorts. I told Dad I was moving out and buying a house and he was going to have to take care of his own bills. That meant he had to work regularly. He’d been an accountant up until then. He just took on work when he felt like it, or when he needed the money. I don’t think he thought I was serious until I put a contract on a house, packed my things and then moved out. I had a neighbor check on him and for about a week, he drank even more. Then he checked himself into the rehab program at the hospital and started going to AA meetings. All those years he drank, he’d stop now and then for a few weeks at a time, but then he’d pick up the bottle again. So now, I hold my breath and hope for the best. But I guess I’m always preparing myself for the worst.”

“You did the right thing—making him responsible for his own life.”

There was admiration in Garrett’s voice. Kylie and Shaye had supported her through it all, but in the dead of night when she worried about her father, she felt alone. “I was so scared when I told him I was moving out. Afterward, I think my dad actually respected me more. The problem is with all those years of me taking up the slack between us, I think he knows I don’t trust him to stay sober. We have surface conversation and walk on eggshells a lot of the time.”

“Do you hear from your adoptive mother?”

“I get a Christmas card once a year,” she said lightly as if it didn’t hurt that her own mother didn’t send letters or birthday cards. Except it wasn’t her own mother. It was her adoptive mother.

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