Sam?

He stood with his back to her, but she knew him by the impossible length of his back and breadth of his shoulders and the way he stood legs shoulder-width apart, one hand tucked against the small of his back. Any true military brat like Maggie would recognise the stance, if not the man.

But she recognised the man. She’d admired him from this angle before, watched him when he didn’t know it. She’d hoped he didn’t. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would take advantage, but seeming and being were worlds apart. She’d learned the hard way, and now she had a child to consider.

By now he surely knew she was watching him. He allowed her the time. In spite of the light, he waited until the door opened before making his about-face. He nodded, unsmiling, as though she’d sent for him.

She smiled wordlessly.

Like it or not, Sam, it’s your move.

Available in May 2010 from Mills & Boon® Special Moments™

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The Midwife’s Glass Slipper by Karen Rose Smith & Best For the Baby by Ann Evans

Seventh Bride, Seventh Brother by Nicole Foster & First Come Twins by Helen Brenna

In Care of Sam Beaudry by Kathleen Eagle

A Weaver Wedding by Allison Leigh

Someone Like Her by Janice Kay Johnson

A Forever Family by Jamie Sobrato

In Care of Sam Beaudry

by

Kathleen Eagle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Kathleen Eagle published her first book, an RWA Golden Heart Award winner, in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single title, earning her nearly every award in the industry, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and RWA’s RITA® Award. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the New York Times extended bestseller list.

Ms Eagle lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux and a public school teacher. They have three children.

For my grandchildren

Chapter One

Sheriff Sam Beaudry knew when he was being watched. He could feel it on his skin, surpassing the threat of an itch from his overstarched brown and khaki shirt. Some people called it the creeps. For Sam it was the eyeball crawl, and it was taking place on the back of his neck, causing an increase in the pain his paperwork always caused him. This was what he got for sitting with his back to a window. But the square footage of the Bear Root County sheriff’s office permitted only two ways to arrange a desk, and putting his back to the door was never an option. That was how Wild Bill had gotten himself plugged, as every fan of Western lore knew well.

The chair’s casters squealed as Sam pushed back from the dependable old typewriter, reached for his brown stoneware mug and rose with deceptive ease. The stiffness in his left knee would be walked off by the time he caught up with the eyeball’s owner. Never let ’em see you limp. One corner of his mouth twitched as he took a moment to will the joint’s battered ball to cozy up to its warped socket. Or smile.

The mug was another deception. Coffee wasn’t what he was going for. It was bug-eyed surprise. He went out the front door, peered around the corner of the two-story brick building and silently drew an imaginary bead.

“Freeze!”

The boy sprang to attention, lost his grimy grip on the windowsill, his rubber-soled footing on the ledge, and tumbled backward into Sam’s waiting arms.

“That means don’t move, Jim.” Sam lowered the sandy-haired spy to the ground and turned him around by his bony shoulders. “’Fraid I’m gonna have to take you in.”

“How could I freeze?” Jimmy Whiteside looked up, tipping his head way back. He squinted one eye, even though Sam’s shadow shielded him from the sun. “You ’bout scared the crap out of me.”

“You keep that much under control, I might go easy on you.” Sam checked his watch. “School ain’t out yet. You’re breakin’ the law, boy.”

“I didn’t feel like going back inside after recess. It’s hot in there.”

“It’s gonna be a lot hotter this afternoon when you’re sittin’ in detention.”

The boy frowned. “What’s detention?”

“What do they call it these days when you stay after school for punishment?”

“Staying after school. But mostly I get time out in the principal’s office.” Jimmy grinned. “I’m only in fourth grade.”

“So you’re what, nine?” Sam laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder again. “In another year you’ll be old enough to do hard time in Miles City, you keep on peekin’ in people’s windows. Especially when you’re supposed to be in school.” He squeezed slightly, gave the small shoulder a friendly shake. “Hard time, Jim. You know what that means?”

Jim rolled his shoulder and backed away. “It means you’re trying to scare me.”

Sam chuckled. He’d learned the art from his father’s side. An Indian kid would know Sam’s line for what it was—teasing with a blunt edge—and wouldn’t have such a quick comeback. “Don’t look now, but your mom’s comin’.”

The boy had ball bearings in his neck. Sam wanted to laugh, but with both of them watching the little woman in white take a little hop-skip across a curbside puddle and hit the Main Street pavement with pure purpose, he worked against it. “I warned you, Jim. Talk about scary.”

Jim’s head swiveled again, sporting a scowl this time, all for Sam. “What do you mean by that?”

“That woman means business. If I were you, I’d go quietly.”

“Where?”

“Wherever she says.” Sam nodded, keeping it serious. “Hey, Maggie. We were just—”

“Sam, I’m so sorry.” She tucked a damp strand of honey-blond hair—which had escaped from her bobbing ponytail—behind her pixie ear. Her face was coated with a fine sheen, a testament to the workout her boy was given to putting her through. “Jimmy, I’m so upset. I thought we had an agreement.” She drew a deep breath and treated Sam to an apologetic smile. “He’s really interested in what you do. Everything you do.” Hair secured, she planted small hand on sweet hip and drew down on the smile. “Mr. Cochran called me at work again, Jimmy. You can’t just wander off the school grounds like that. Now you’re in trouble with him and with me. And the sheriff, too.” She glanced up with that uncomfortable smile. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“What about you, Jim?” he asked.

“Sorry.” His face went down all hangdog, but it bobbed right back up guilt-free. “Carla Taylor said you shot a burglar in the shed behind the Emporium this morning. She saw you from the bus, and Lucky was barking like crazy.”

“Yep. That dog comes by his name honestly. He was lucky he didn’t get snakebit this morning.”

“Carla said she heard you tell somebody to give himself up.”

“Even a rattlesnake has rights.”

Maggie laughed softly—a warm sound Sam would have gladly kept going if he could think of another good line.

But disappointment claimed the boy’s freckled face. “I thought maybe you had a prisoner in there. Or a dead body.”

“Nope.” Disappointment all around. “But I got a nice set of rattles, which I’d be glad to show you next time you come around to the office. But not if you’re climbin’ around the window. And not when you’re supposed to be in school.” He laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “You got yourself a double jeopardy situation here, Jim. I’m bowin’ out. Apologies accepted.” He nodded, reflexively raising his hand to the brim of the tan Stetson he wasn’t wearing. “Maggie.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Safe on the steps of the old county building, which housed his office downstairs and his second-floor apartment, Sam watched little Maggie Whiteside march her big-for-his-britches son across the street. The boy deserved credit for silently suffering a mother’s hand-holding and hair-smoothing in full view of two stories of classroom windows, nodding dutifully in response to her words. Sam didn’t know anything about Jim’s father, but there must have been a father somewhere, and he must have been tall. Already a handful for a single mom, Jim didn’t get his height from Maggie. But she had the upper hand.

A nurse at the Bear Root Regional Medical Clinic, Maggie was the kind of woman who talked like she knew you when she didn’t, acted interested when she wasn’t, and laughed like she was enjoying herself most of the time. It was cute, but mostly for show. Sam didn’t know where she was from exactly—outside Montana there was only Back East and The Coast—but she’d only been living in Bear Root for about two years. Given time, she’d learn to cut the crap. Unfortunately, her kind of woman generally didn’t take the time in Bear Root. Two years was stretching it.

Sam reached for the old brass knob on the front door just as one of the town’s two sirens shattered the calm mountain air. Distant, coming this way. Either alarm served to galvanize every resident, but the Rescue Squad hit home hard and fast.

Is it my kid? My wife? My brother?

Sam was still watching Maggie, feeling the alarm along with her, the call to duty. She lifted her head as though there was an odor in the air, and she glanced back at him. You smell that? It’s big. It’s bad. They connected on the shared instinct.

Sam pulled his keys out of his pants pocket as he headed for the brown car emblazoned with a big, gold star. He felt a little light-headed, but it was only because he wasn’t wearing his Stetson. Which meant he was out of uniform.

He started the car, flipped on the radio, noted Maggie’s quick pace cutting across the schoolyard grass and mentally gave himself a demerit.

Lucky the Wonder Mutt learned fast.

It was his mistress who was a little slow on the uptake sometimes. But once Hilda Beaudry had the logistics figured out, Lucky’s new trick was all but in the bag.

“Lucky, hit the lights.”

The little black-and-white terrier—always a hit at Allgood’s Emporium—jumped on cue, landed on the strategically placed footstool, and then sprang for the wall switch, hitting the target with his only front paw. Lucky could do more with three legs than most mutts could achieve on four. He didn’t even need a command for the follow-up sit on the footstool. He perked his ears and waited prettily for his reward. Liver treats were his favorite. His long tongue curled around his nose as he whimpered.

“No, thank you. You’re the one—”

“Yip!” Lucky’s ears stood at attention. He tipped his head and stared past Hilda.

She turned. A small shadow darkened the bottom of the general store’s old-fashioned screen door. “Do I have a customer, Lucky, or do you have an audience?”

“Yip!”

“Boy or girl?”

“Yip!”

“Oh, good. Your favorite.” The shadow shifted. “And with free cookies for the first five people to come to the store today…how many so far?”

Hilda made the thumb signal for speak four times. Lucky cheerfully obliged.

“They’re chocolate chi-i-ip,” Hilda sang out.

The door’s spring chirped in response, and a little girl with a long, droopy brunette pony tail and huge brown eyes stepped within view, toeing the threshold with a white rubber sneaker bumper.

At Hilda’s signal, Lucky sat.

The child lifted her prim, pointed chin. “Do I have to buy anything?”

“In this store, free means free.” And at Allgood’s, chocolate chip meant recent business had been brisk. Hilda had a special recipe. Not for the cookies—she used the one on the chocolate-chip bag—but for the aroma. It was the scent that brought ’em in. She hadn’t figured out how to bottle it, but the oscillating fan beside the kitchen window filled the air outside Allgood’s Emporium with it.

“Come on in and help yourself. Two to a customer.”

“But I’m not a customer.”

It didn’t really matter that the girl was holding the door open while she dithered betwixt and between, since spring hadn’t sprung the worst of the flying insects yet.

Lucky’s throaty warble came on the heels of Hilda’s invitational gesture. “Introduce yourself and we’ll become friends. Friends get three, but you have to take the third one home for later.”

“We don’t live here.” With one hand behind her back the girl eased the door shut. “I’ve never seen a dog turn on a light. How come he only has three legs?”

“That’s all he needs.”

“Was he born that way?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Hilda put her hands on her hips and eyed the dog. “He was this size when he came to live with me, and we liked each other right off. We’ve never talked about our ages or what shape we’re in. What you see is what you get.” She looked up at the girl. “Does it seem warm to you? Lucky, turn on the fan for us, please.”

The terrier needed three strategically placed stools—small, medium, tall—to reach the counter under the long pull-string on the ceiling fan.

The dimension of the girl’s eyes rounded up to the next size. “Wow.”

“Are you here visiting, or just passing through?”

“We came on the bus. We’re staying at the Mountain Mama Motel. My mom likes the name, but I don’t like the way that arrow blinks on and off at night. It keeps us awake.” She stared at the plate Hilda had pushed under her nose, and then glanced up. Hilda nodded, but the girl needed more than a nod, more than a cookie. “My…my mom’s really sick.”

“Is it just the two of you?” The girl nodded. “How long has she been sick?”

“A little bit for a long time, but she’s getting worse.”

“Would you like me to go see her? I have a good friend who’s a nurse. We can—”

“My name’s Star Brown.” She took the top cookie, tasted it and daintily brushed a gathering of crumbs from her bottom lip. “My grandmother owns this store.”

“I own this store, honey, and I really wish I had a granddaughter. But I’m afraid—”

“Is your name Hilda Beaudry?”

“It is.” Her name was painted on the sign above the overhang out front. Small letters, but she’d matched them to her father’s and grandfather’s names, which were still there with their dates as proprietors.

“We came here to find you. My mom says grand-mothers are mothers, too. But just older because their sons and daughters are fathers and mothers now.”

“I always wanted a daughter, but I only have sons, and they have no…” The child looked confused, disappointed, as though she was expecting someone who didn’t show up or her goldfish had stopped moving. Hilda didn’t like being the bearer of bad news. “Why don’t we go check on your mother? We’ll put up the BS sign. Back Soon.”

“You’re the only grand—” Star went still at the sound of a siren.

“That sound says ‘Make way for the Bear Root Rescue Squad.’”

“What’s that?”

“It’s our ambulance.” Hilda moved toward the door as another warning siren rose like a mating call to the first one. They screamed in tandem, coming on hard until they blew past the store—yeeee-ooooow whoop-whaaa—drawing down on the end of Main. Not much left on that end besides…“Headed for the motel.”

Star barreled through the screen door like a ball aimed at the last pin standing.

Hilda started after her but reversed course at the sound of scrabbling claws. “Leave it! Come.” The dog did his three-paw jig across the threshold and passed his mistress. “Can’t trust you for a minute with the smell of chocolate in your nose.”

Hilda glimpsed the dropped piece of cookie on the floor as the door swung shut. She had that part of the job mastered. She could make a damn fine cookie. At the edge of the yard the girl’s hair was swinging like a metronome as she sprinted into the street after the sheriff’s car.

Sam?

She couldn’t be Sam’s. Zach’s, maybe, but not…

Hilda’s boot heels rattled down the wooden steps.

“Come on, Lucky. Follow that ponytail.”

Chapter Two

Maggie shooed Jimmy through the heavy glass door ahead of her. Stern-faced principal Dave Cochran greeted her with a nod, the better part of his attention fixed on the approaching ambulance. The siren crashed through Maggie’s head, in the left ear, out the right, tugging on her like a knotted thread.

“Looks like they’re headed for the motel,” the principal said, eyes glued to the action. “Dr. Dietel is looking for you, Jimmy. Tell her you already saw me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr.—”

“Be in my office at three-thirty. Get to class now.” He craned his neck toward the glass, the very image of a long-legged blue heron getting ready to take off. “Don’t think anyone’s staying there. Didn’t see any cars this morning. Hope it’s not Mama Crass.”

“Or Teddy. I’m going to run on down there and see if they need help.” She hadn’t gone for her daily jog yet. Halfway out the door, she hesitated, caught between duties, leaning toward escape. “Unless you want to talk to me. Jimmy was hanging around Sam’s office again.”

“Sam shouldn’t encourage—”

“I’ll stop back.” She backpedaled until the door left her fingertips and slowly swung shut. “Or call, depending. Consequences at school, consequences at home. Team effort.” She gave him a thumbs-up through the glass.

The principal cracked a smile. A good sign for Jimmy. Maggie knew at least two things about this man—he was attracted to her, and he liked being quoted. The first was unsettling. Dave was two things that didn’t interest her: old and married. The second was useful. Since she probably wouldn’t be able to “stop back,” the homage to the last discipline lecture he’d given her was a sacrifice in behalf of her son’s defense. She didn’t condone Jimmy’s actions, but it wasn’t like he was leaving school grounds to go on a crime spree. He wanted to be Sam Beaudry.

Maggie jogged across the graveled parking area toward the flashing lights of the now silent ambulance. Driver Dick Litelle was opening the back doors while motel owners Cassie and Ted Gosset took turns jumping in and out of the emergency team’s way as they directed Dick’s partner, Jay, toward the cause for concern.

“She called the desk, but I couldn’t tell—”

“She said she couldn’t get up, didn’t she?” Teddy put in, shifting his negligible weight anxiously as though he worried about getting blamed for something. “I told Mama to check on her, but she had to go…You had to go fix your hair first! Just the woman and her little girl checked in, so I didn’t wanna—”

“Need any help?”

“Yeah, hey, Maggie.” Dick made a be-my-guest gesture in the direction of door number three. “I’ll bring the gurney. Ted, Cassie, let Maggie through.”

“She’s the skinniest woman I ever saw,” claimed Cassie, who had applied considerable effort to keeping her own weight up. “Not you, Maggie,” Mama Crass hastened to explain as she nodded toward number three. “The one in there.”

“What’s her name?” Maggie called out over her shoulder.

“Is the little girl in there?” Cassie called toward the open door. “You should send her out.”

“The woman’s name,” Maggie insisted.

“Merilee Brown,” said Teddy.

“The little one shouldn’t be in there watching,” Cassie said, lifting her voice to whomever would listen.

The room was dark and smelled like rancid potato chips and sweat. “Hey, sweetie,” Maggie called out, glancing toward the bathroom as she moved to the side of the bed opposite Jay. “There’s a child,” she whispered. She raised her voice. “We’re going to take you and your mommy for a ride in a big van.”

“She’s got a pulse, but it’s pitiful,” Jay reported from the bedside, where Maggie joined him. With space at a premium, he stepped aside, deferring to the unofficial top-of-the-pecking-order designation Maggie’s skills had earned her in the two years since she’d been on staff.

“Merilee, can you hear me? We’re here to help you.” Maggie directed Jay toward the bathroom door, which stood open. He knew what to look for. “Where’s your little girl, Merilee? What’s her name?”

“What’s she saying?”

“Sounds like she’s counting. Did you take pills, Merilee?” Maggie leaned close to the woman’s pale lips, fingers on the thready pulse. At her back, Dick was raising the gurney. “Anything, Jay?”

“Not much.” Jay came out of the bathroom brandishing a small plastic bag. “Meds. No kid.”

“Check under the beds.” Maggie tucked a white blanket around the patient while Dick strapped her down. “I’ll ride with her.”

Sam watched Dick Litelle back through door number three, pulling the loaded gurney out after him. The patient came out feetfirst, swaddled like a mummy. Sam endured a few seconds of dry-mouthed suspense before getting his first glimpse of a frowsy head with unopened eyes and uncovered face—not dead, but deathly pallid—as it slid into the sunlight. The translucent frailty of a once hard-edged beauty now stung his eyes. Merilee Brown. The name the Gossets had given him was a surprise, but the face was a shocker. The years were written on it a thousand times over.

“Mommy!”

Sam spun on his heel.

“They’re taking my mom!”

“Wait, honey.”

Sam jerked his head toward the sound of a voice more familiar than his own. Sure enough, his mother was there, wrapping her arms around a child who had suddenly become her honey. The same child claiming Merilee for her mom.

Hilda looked up at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Sam, what’s happened? This little girl just showed up at the—”

“Merilee Brown.” A flurry of disconnected images—some sweet, some sordid—swirled behind Sam’s staring eyes. “I used to…” He shook his head hard and got his wits back in line. “Ted says she called the front desk and said she couldn’t get up. Says his wife went to the room right away and found her like this.” He got his feet moving as Maggie hopped into the ambulance as soon as the stretcher was in place. “I’ll clear the way,” he called to the driver.

His mother grabbed his arm. “This is her daughter.”

His glance ping-ponged between the two faces—Ma, kid, Ma—and he jerked open the back door of his patrol car. “Let’s go.”

Sam shut off the lights in the back of his mind. He moved quickly. Siren, radio contact, eyes on the street, head in the moment. His mother knew better than to speak to him on the way to Bear Root Medical. The dizzying whoosh from here to there made for insulated silence within the car, wailing without.

It wasn’t until they were back on foot, following the gurney through the emergency entrance like three spell-bound pilgrims, that Sam’s thoughts got personal again. Merilee had come to Bear Root. He glanced at the top of the little head bobbing along between him and his mother.

She’d brought a kid with her.

What the hell?

He called the office to check in with Phoebe Shooter, his deputy, told her to “woman the fort” and then stationed himself in a chair with a view. Had everything covered—the door to the ICU, the nurse’s station, the outside world through a window in the lobby down the hall…everything except what he was getting paid for. He should have been finishing the paperwork he’d left on his desk so he could take a ride out to the abandoned Osterhaus place and check out Minnie Lampert’s umpteenth sighting of “suspicious activity.” Any change with Merilee, he’d get a call from somebody. His mother was hovering over the girl like they were cuffed to each other, and they’d both been admitted to the room with Merilee.

Was that a bad sign?

“Where was the little girl?”

Sam turned toward the welcome sound of Maggie’s voice. Her question didn’t register, but the just-between-us look in her green eyes did. She handed him a warm foam cup with a plastic lid as she settled into the chair next to his. “We were looking for her in the motel room,” she explained.

“At the store, I guess.” He peeled back the tab on the plastic lid. “Ma has a way with strays.”

“Strays? That’s an odd—”

“Looks like she strayed off to the store and left her mother in a bad way without any…” He trailed off on a sip of black coffee.

“She’s just a little girl, Sam.” She glanced toward the door marked Intensive Care as she took a drink from her own cup. “Where are they from? Do the Gossets know anything about the woman?”

“Merilee Brown,” he said quietly.

“Other than what’s on the registration card.”

“I don’t know what’s on the registration card. She used to work at a truck stop in Wyoming. She moved to California eight, close to nine years ago.”

“You know her?”

She sounded startled. Like she didn’t know he’d ever been outside Bear Root County. Not that they’d ever talked about his travels. Generally, that was where his mother came in, talking up his so-called adventures.

“I didn’t know she was here in town. Can’t imagine what she’d be doing here.” He braced his elbows on his knees, cradled the coffee between his hands and studied the jagged hole in the lid. “Is it drugs?”

“I don’t know,” she said solemnly. “Jay found some meds, but I didn’t see what they were. Does she use?”

“She did when I knew her. I haven’t seen her since I joined the marines. How bad off is she?”

“It doesn’t look good. They took her to X-ray.”

Maggie settled back in her chair. Her white skirt crept a few inches above her knees. The other nurses wore white pants, but not Maggie. He couldn’t figure out whether she was old-fashioned or she just liked dresses better. She looked good in a dress, even if it was a uniform, but she might have blended in a little better if she wore pants.

Or not. Maggie was different, no doubt about that. Blending wasn’t her way. Not that he was an authority on the ways of Maggie Whiteside, but he’d taken considerable notice. Thought a lot about studying up.

“Were you close?” she asked.

He pushed up on his thigh with the heel of his hand and questioned her with a look.

“Well, she’s lying there unconscious, and nobody else around here seems to know her. Just you.”

“It’s been a lotta years, Maggie, what can I tell you? She did weed, coke, pills and I don’t know what else, but I never saw her like this.” He gave a jerk of his chin. “And she didn’t have any kids. How old is—”

He squared up at the sight of his mother rounding the corner of the hallway just past ICU with a reluctant little girl in tow. The child homed in on Nurse Maggie, down-shifted for traction and marched past the nurse’s station like a little soldier, all business. “They took my mom somewhere, but they won’t tell me what’s wrong with her. Do you know?”

“Not yet, sweetie. The doctor’s trying to figure that out right now.”

“Can’t she wake up?”

“The doctor’s working on getting her to wake up. Has she been sick very long?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I think so. I know she was sick on the bus. She doesn’t like to ride the bus. She said she’d be better after she got to sleep in a bed for a while.” She turned and stared at the ICU door. “Why can’t I stay with her?”

“Because the doctor wants us all out of the way for right now. He’s the one who can help your mom, but he needs room to maneuver.” Maggie scooted to the edge of her chair and touched the back of her lanky little arm, testing. “I know it’s hard to wait.”

Tension melted visibly from the small shoulders as Maggie’s hand stirred, but still the girl stared as though she could see through walls. “What’s he doing to her?”

“They’re taking pictures. Do you know what an X-ray is?”

“Yes. I had one on my arm last year.”

“After the doctor’s finished, they’ll bring her back to that same room, which is where we take extra special care of our patients. You’ll be able to see her again for a few minutes. I’ll make sure.” Maggie stood, sliding her hand over the girl’s shoulder as security against her promise. “Are you hungry?”

An attendant appeared and called Maggie’s number with a gesture. She patted the little girl’s shoulder. “Hilda, would you take…”

“Star,” Hilda supplied.

“…Star to the lounge and get her something to eat?”

Once Star was out of earshot, Maggie turned to Sam. “Did the woman come looking for you?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

She stared at him for a moment as though she thought he had more answers than he’d given. Like he’d ever known what was on Merilee’s mind, which was why he answered the way he did. He wasn’t being a smart-ass.

But Maggie must have thought so. She distanced herself with a step, a look and a tone. “Let’s hope we get the chance.”

Sam nodded, but Maggie turned from him and missed it. She had nursing to do.

Hoping had never helped much where Merilee was concerned, but he was willing to give it another shot at Maggie’s suggestion. Hope she could beat whatever this was and come back to her kid. Meanwhile he had to figure out who the hell he should notify if hope didn’t fly. Heading for his car, he thought up one more hope—that the person to contact in Merilee’s behalf didn’t turn out to be Vic Randone.

He checked in at the office and then took a run out to the Osterhaus place, which was tucked into the foothills just below the little high country town of Bear Root. Old Bill Osterhaus had been dead more than a year, and his relatives had sold what little stock and equipment he’d had, but they were still fighting over what to do with the property. His neighbor, Minnie, who was as old as the hills with a head twice as hard, had visions of “squatters” moving in. Sam stopped in to let the old woman know that the only squatters he’d found this time were four-legged, but that she should call him whenever she had concerns. He meant it. Hell, she was a voter.

He meant to drive right on past the hospital when he got back into town, but he hadn’t heard any news, and it was just as easy to stop as call, especially on the chance there had been some improvement. He found Merilee—or the shell of Merilee—alone in the cool, antiseptic-smelling, closely monitored room. He straddled a chair, rested his forearms over the backrest, listened to a soft rush of air and a machine’s rhythmic beep. Watching her pale purple eyelids twitch, waiting for something else to stir, wondering what, if anything, was going on inside that crazy head—oh, yeah, he’d been there before.

“What’s goin’ on, Merilee?” He stacked his fists end to end and rested his chin in the curl of his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me. Maybe I can—” damn your thick head, Beaudry, don’t even think it “—help.”

Saying it was even worse than thinking it. Luckily, the only other ears in the room seemed to be shut down.

“But who knows, huh? Maybe you can hear me, so…well, your little girl’s safe. She’s a beauty. Looks just like you. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her much. Didn’t wanna scare her with a lot of questions right off. Is she old enough to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

He glanced at the monitor that made her heartbeat visible. A blip on the radar. She had that much going on. For now.

“Anyway, she’s with my mother. I told you about Ma. She runs the store here. I can’t remember what all I told you about Bear Root. Back when I met you, I thought I’d left home for good.” He straightened his back, drew a deep breath just to be sure he could and sighed. “Live and learn, huh?” He reached for her hand.

He’d lived ten years and learned many more hard lessons since his roughneck days, knocking around the Western oil fields with Vic Randone, the buddy he’d met up with in Alaska. He’d gone from knocking around to being knocked out—almost literally—by a beautiful, butterfingered waitress in a Wyoming truck stop. Merilee Brown. Talk about a knockout. The ghost of a woman nearly lost in hospital-bed sheets and struggling for every ventilated breath wasn’t much more than a sliver of the vibrant girl Sam remembered. His first glimpse of her laughing face had been branded into his brain. She’d slopped some water on the floor behind his chair—got him in the back with it, but he didn’t mind—and then came back and slipped in it and conked him over the head with a tray. He’d caught her and fallen for her in the same instant.

Merilee, Merilee, Merilee, Merilee, life is but a dream.

She was magic. She could be silly one moment and thoughtful the next. She wore her heart on her sleeve, but she changed it with her clothes. She was passionate about being passionate, and her passion show never failed to captivate Sam. She could get just as excited about the color of an apple as the purchase of a much-needed pair of shoes. She made no apologies for doing what she had to do to get what she wanted, but she gave easily, and she never kept score. She was everything Sam wasn’t, didn’t have the makings or the means to be, but always wondered what it would be like. Rubbing shoulders with magic was one way to find out.

Vic hadn’t been with him at the truck stop that day, but he was never far away, and it wasn’t long before they’d become a threesome. On the outside they were three carefree pals stopping over in Wyoming on their way to the rest of their lives. But on the inside, there were cares. Big, bad, unbearable cares. Merilee cared for living on the edge. Vic cared for money. Sam, who had cared for getting out of Bear Root, now cared for Merilee. With cares safely stowed in their separate little bags they’d left Wyoming for California, where Vic made some easy money, Merilee made some edgy choices, and Sam eventually made peace with becoming the odd man out by doing what generations of Indian men before him had done. He’d enlisted.

“And living with you and Vic, I sure learned.” With his thumb he sketched a slow circle on the back of her hand. “No regrets. A guy’s gotta get educated somehow.”

He fixed his eyes on the cool, thin hand lying in his—a china trinket on a wooden shelf. He had to force himself to look at what was no more than a mask of the face that had once left him breathless. He ought to regret leaving her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Worse, he wanted to get up and leave her now. It hurt to look at her. She was in a bad way, and he could do nothing to undo whatever had been done. He wasn’t a doctor or a miracle worker or a magician. He was, like any man worth his salt, a guardian. And like any man who could survive on little more than the salt that measured his worth, he’d made keeping the peace his life’s work.

“So why are you here, Merilee? You didn’t want anything from me when you could’ve…” He shook his head. So he’d had some regrets, carried them around for a while, but not anymore. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d last thought about her. “Why now?”

Because she’s dying now, and she has a kid.

Where had that come from? Dying? Hell, she’d made it to a hospital and gotten fixed up before. She’d do it again. She was young. And, yeah, she had a kid. She had something to live for besides Merilee.

The last time he’d seen her, it was all about Merilee. And Vic, she’d told Sam, she was “so into Vic.” Sam had actually tried not to see any of it coming. The drugs were their business. Maybe they’d been busier with their business lately, but he was pretty sure it was mostly weed. Harmless weed. Was that what was making them bug-eyed and jumpy and downright mean lately?

No, that was him. He was always on their case about “taking the edge off the day” the way everybody did, with a pipe or a little blow. They had it under control. Besides, Sam wasn’t exactly a saint. And they weren’t shutting him out. There was plenty of everything to go around.

Back then it was all about Merilee.

She’d looked bad the day he left, but not this bad. Not death’s-door bad. “You’re such a good man,” she’d said. “I’m doing you a favor. You’re doing yourself a favor. The marines build men, you know. I take them apart, piece by piece.”

She’d been right. After Merilee, boot camp had been a piece of cake.

But seeing her this way reminded him of his tour in the Middle East. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, so he sucked it up—mind, body, soul—and packed it all in tight around his heart.

Chapter Three

Hilda topped off Dave Cochran’s sack of groceries with a plump loaf of Wonder Bread, put his card number through her new dial-up system and watched Star sneak Lucky an unearned treat while the phone sweet-talked a distant computer into approving the principal’s purchase.

“Is your school on break?” Dave asked absently as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket.

“Star’s visiting with her mother,” Hilda explained. She wasn’t sure what had roused her defensive instincts. Principals probably went to sleep at night counting children instead of sheep.

“What grade are you in, Star?” was his automatic follow-up.

“Second.”

“Mr. Cochran’s the principal of our school.”

“You only have one school?”

“The older kids go to Bear Root Regional, which is over in Medicine Hat. But our second graders go to Mr. Cochran’s school. The second grade teacher is…”

“We have two for second grade,” Dave said. “Mr. Wilkie and Miss Petrie. How many do you have?”

“Four, but there’s another whole school over on Water Street. I could go to either one. Can I give Lucky another treat?”

“Only for another trick. Star’s from…” Hilda dragged the dog treat jar across the counter and poised to spin the cap. “What’s the name of your town, honey?”

Star sprang out of her Lucky-level crouch as though she’d been bitten. “I think I should go back to the hospital now, in case my mom’s awake yet.”

“We’ll have some supper here in a minute.” Hilda handed Dave his credit card. “There you go, Mr… Oh, look who’s here,” she chirped, echoing the spring on the screen door.

Dave greeted Maggie and her son in his principal’s voice. Maggie was polite. Jimmy was quiet, clearly on a short leash. There was a brief exchange about the boy’s behavior during the second half of the day as Mr. Cochran turned on what passed for his charm. Hilda took pleasure in seeing for herself that Maggie didn’t get it. Or didn’t appear to. The pheromones were missing the target.

Hilda had heard plenty of comments about Maggie’s eligibility—single women were harder to find in Bear Root than available men—and she’d been treated to more than a few silly imitations of Dave Cochran’s stiff-necked approach. The real thing would have been more painful than gratifying to watch if Hilda hadn’t mentally taken Maggie off the mate market. On so many levels, Maggie was taken. All she and Sam had to do was wake up and smell the music.

“Yes, sir, I promise,” Jimmy was saying, and Cochran offered an awkward high five. Some people shouldn’t do high fives, Hilda thought. She, being an old lady, was probably one of those people, and the school principal, being the school principal, was certainly another.

“We appreciate your patience,” Maggie called after him.

“Just don’t tell him his call is important to you,” Hilda whispered. “He’ll think you mean it.”

Maggie shot her a look before turning her attention to their new charge. “Hey, Star, I see you’ve made friends with the star attraction of Allgood’s Emporium.” She bent to pat the motor-tailed little dog, quietly adding, “I just came from the hospital. Your mom’s still resting, and Dr. Dietel is taking good care of her.”

“I wanna go see her. She’ll be waking up pretty soon.”

“I thought we’d have a little supper first,” Hilda said. There was more to it than food, of course. There was company. Acting on the theory that kids help each other cope, Maggie had offered to bring her son over for supper. With a hand on each child’s shoulder, Hilda made a bridge of herself. “This is Jimmy. He’s just about your age.”

“How old are you?” Jimmy challenged. “I’m nine.”

“I’m seven and a half.”

“I’m nine and—” he used his fingers to calculate “—seven months, so you’re way younger.”

Star looked up at Hilda and murmured plaintively, “I’m not hungry.”

“Your mom would worry if she knew you weren’t eating. I know I would.” And did. It was easier than worrying about the faces of Star’s comatose mother and her own uneasy, unforthcoming son. She slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “And you’re worried about her. I know I would. So we’ll all go upstairs, sit down and have some food, and then we’ll go see her.”

“Will she get well?”

“Dr. Dietel is very good at finding out what’s wrong and making it right,” Maggie put in. Hilda nodded, giving her friend the keep-talking look as she flipped the sign on the door to Closed. “He’s still working on the first part, but she’s getting two things we all need. Food and water.”

“If she could eat she’d be awake,” Star reasoned. “Did she wake up at all?”

“Not yet, but she’s getting her food put directly into her body through a tube.”

“And we have to put yours through your mouth.” Hilda made a sweeping gesture toward the stairway to the heavenly scent of her famous Hilda’s Crock-Pot Cacciatore.

“Mmm, smells like our favorite.” Maggie extended a come-with-me hand to Star. “And tomorrow, maybe you’d like to go to school with Jimmy. Just for a little while. Visit Mom for a little while, maybe have lunch with me.”

“I’ll ask my mom.” Star accepted Maggie’s hand. “Tomorrow, when she wakes up.”

Hilda served her guests at the table that had been in her kitchen since she’d taken over the store, basically the same kitchen she’d grown up in, although she’d replaced the woodburning stove with gas right after her father died. Daddy had refused to depend on anything he couldn’t harvest with his own hands. Not that he didn’t use store-bought—he ran a store, after all—but using and depending were two different things. Hilda had moved the stove downstairs and made it part of the country store décor. Her kitchen was still cozy, and any number of power failures and stranded gas trucks had given her pause to appreciate the little potbelly wood burner she’d kept in the living room when she was “updating.” Her TV was a little dated, but she didn’t have much time to watch it, anyway. She did love to cook, and she wished she had room for a bigger table and more guests.

Hilda got a charge out of sitting Maggie in Sam’s place. She’d had them figured for a match ever since she’d met Maggie, who would surely charge Sam up a bit, while he would offer her some good ol’ Western grounding. Every time those two came within sight of each other, you could already feel the current flowing.

After supper, Lucky lured the children into the living room while Maggie helped Hilda clean up the supper dishes.

“Is her mother going to wake up?” Hilda asked quietly as she slid four scraped plates into the mound of bubbles Maggie was growing in the sink.

“You’ve heard of trying to get blood from a stone? That poor woman. It’d be easier to get an IV into Mount Rushmore.” Maggie flipped the faucet handles and lowered her voice in the new quiet. “Has Sam been able to get in touch with her family?”

“I haven’t had much chance to talk with him, but I’m sure he’s trying. I guess he knows her pretty well.” She glanced up at Maggie. “Or did.”

“You don’t?”

“Never even heard the name.” She pulled a beats-me face. “My boys used to tell me everything when they were Jimmy’s age.”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder at the sound of one quick bark and two easy laughs. “When did they stop?”

“I’ve never asked. I’m satisfied with the way I remember it. They told me everything back then. Anything they don’t tell me now, I probably don’t need to know.”

“Until you do.”

“And then they’ll tell me. Sam will, anyway.” Soon, she hoped. “It all works itself out. Ninety-five percent of your worries never materialize, and four out of the other five turn out to be a whole lot less dire than you thought.”

“That leaves one percent.”

“Yes, it does. And that’s life.”

Maggie screwed her head and rested her chin on her shoulder to get another look at her son. “Math was never my strong suit, but it sounds like I could improve his chances by increasing the worries.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Hilda met Maggie’s questioning glance with a smile. “Math is not your strong suit.”

“I’m not the best worrier, either. I don’t want Jimmy to get shortchanged just because I’m a single parent.”

“That small percent is always gonna be there no matter how many parents a kid has. You can throw yourself in front of the bus, but he could still get hit.”

Maggie chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, Hilda. You never give away the ending.”

“Speaking of which, have you finished the book for this week?” Hilda pulled a paperback novel off the top of the refrigerator. “Who suggested this, anyway? The wrong guy gets the girl.”

“Well, now I’ve finished it.”

“Just kidding.” She set the book aside. “Mr. Right always gets the girl. And Mr. Lucky gets—”

The dog barked. Hilda laughed, but he barked again. And again. She turned to the kitchen door just as it opened and the brim of a hat appeared. “It’s just me, Ma.”

“And you missed supper, but there’s some left.”

“Thanks, I’m good.” Sam acknowledged Maggie with a nod and took his hat off in one economical gesture as he closed the door behind him. “I still have some paperwork to finish up. Kinda lost track of some of the details.”

“It’s caccia-to-reee,” Hilda sang out. She knew he hadn’t eaten. As hard as she’d tried to feed him up, he was still as skinny as he was when he’d come home from the service.

“Smells great. If it’s gone tomorrow, you’ll know I got the midnight munchies.” He held up a big plastic bag. “One of the nurses said you’d taken charge of the little girl, so I brought over a few things that were in the room.”

Star’s little head rose above the dog-kid huddle like a periscope. “What room?”

“The motel room.” Sam cleared his throat, eyeing the child as though he was afraid he might scare her. Or she, him. Quietly he explained, “I thought you might need some clothes.”

“Where’s my backpack?”

“It’s safe in my office. I’m…” He shifted to a lower voice, his version of theatrical. “I’m the sheriff in these parts, so I get to—”

“You can’t have my backpack. All my stuff is in it.”

“I’m not going to keep it. Listen…Star?” He looked to Hilda for approval, and she nodded. That’s right, son. You’re doing fine. He squatted on his heels, hat on his knee, and offered the child the plastic bag. “Star, can you tell me where you and your mother live now? And how you got here?”

She peered into the bag. “We used to live in California, but not anymore.” She pulled her face out of the bag and told Sam, “We came on the bus to find my grandmother.”

“Where does your grandmother live?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

“Right here.”

Sam looked up at Hilda as though she was the one who owed an explanation.

“I need your help downstairs, Sam.” She nodded toward the door. “Can’t quite reach the Oreos. Maggie, would you give the kids some ice cream while Sam helps me get the cookies?” She glanced at Star. “And then we’ll go check on your mom. Okay?”

Hilda said nothing as she led the way downstairs, followed by one of only two people in the world that could make her a real grandmother. Strong, steadfast, straight-shooting Sam. Hilda marched past the cookies and turned on him between cough drops and condoms.

“I don’t know what she’s doing here, Ma.” Hat in hand, he made a helpless gesture, all innocence. “It’s been more than eight years since I last saw her. Met her down in Wyoming when I was workin’ the oilfields. We were together for a while before I enlisted.”

“Star tells me I’m the grandmother she came looking for.”

Stared for a long moment, and then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so.”

“I left because there was another man.”

“Who’s my competition?”

“Mrs. Randone, I guess. Vic never said much about his family, but whoever raised him, she’d be no match for you, Ma. On the other hand, I wasn’t the right match for Merilee.”

“You never looked back?”

He lifted one strapping shoulder. “I called her a couple of times after I left. Wanted to make sure she was all right. I let her know I was shippin’ out. She didn’t say anything about a kid. She barely said anything at all.”

“Star’s last name is Brown,” Hilda reminded him.

A long moment passed over that thought. No father. Exclusively her mother’s child. Hilda knew her son, knew they were chewing on the same tough truth. Somebody hadn’t done his job.

“I just talked to the doctor. She’s in real bad shape.” Sam glanced toward the top of the stairs. “How’s the girl doin’? Does she seem okay?”

“Considering she’s in a strange place and her mother’s laid up in some kind of a coma, I think she’s doing pretty well.” She laid her hand on her boy’s sleeve. “She’s a brave little girl. Quite grown up for one so young. She cares wholeheartedly for her mother.”

He drew a deep breath and blew a sigh, still staring. “Merilee did a lot of drugs. That was another reason I left. If she was pregnant and still into…” He looked to his mother for assurance. “The girl seems, you know…really okay?”

“Her name is Star.”

“I found her birth certificate in Merilee’s stuff. ‘Father unknown’ looks pretty cold when you see it in black and white. I don’t know anything about Merilee’s family. As for Randone…” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Ma. You ask me, he shouldn’t be anybody’s father, but he was…you know.”

Under different circumstances, his reluctance to put it into words for his mother would have amused her. He’d had sex with a woman. Not that the fact that somebody had been having sex with her, too, was amusing, but he couldn’t tell her in so many words. She was his mother. And he was forever Sam.

“Your woman brought her child here, son. Star knew my name. She knew about the store.”

“I can’t claim she was ever really my woman, but I told Merilee all kinds of things.”

“Good things?”

“She came lookin’ for you, didn’t she?” He gave her a loving smile. “I’m always talkin’ you up, Ma.”

“You’re not what I’d call a big talker,” she teased, and he suffered in silence as she patted his chiseled jaw. “It has to be you, Sam. You’re the one she was looking for. Had to be. Maybe she thought you were still in the marines all this time.”

“Wouldn’t be hard for her to find that out without coming here.” He reached around her and plucked a package of Oreos off the shelf. “Especially if she told them she had my kid. The military’s pretty fussy about stuff like that.”

“Well, we’re speculating. We can do the detective work later. Right now I seem to have a granddaughter.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too attached.” He handed her the cookies.

“I’m going to take Star at her word, Sam. Her mother’s word. That’s all she has to hang on to right now. The little security the child has.”

Staring at the top of the stairs once again, Sam pressed lips together and nodded mechanically. “You’re a nice lady, Hilda Beaudry.”

“Nice has nothing to do with it. I’m a woman of grandmothering age, and all I have is unattached sons. My clock is ticking, and I’m realizing I could actually have grandchildren, and they could be anywhere.”

“I take back nice.”

“I already gave it back.” But not her new role. “Who’s going to decide where she stays?”

“Social services, and I’ve already talked to them. Lila Demery’s the social worker assigned to the hospital. Until somebody else comes forward, I’m the only one who knows Merilee, and since I’m the sheriff…” He raised an eyebrow and returned the pat on the cheek. “I’m going to leave Star with you for now. But put the clock in a drawer.”

“I told her we’d have supper and then go see her mother.” He questioned her judgment with a look. “It’s what she wants. She’s already seen the worst.”

“I’m givin’ you wise. You’re a wise woman, so I guess you know what you’re doin’.”

“That’s better than nice. I’m old enough, I don’t have to be nice.”

“It’s good Maggie brought her kid over. Kids do better with other kids around.”

“Maggie has good instincts.” She gave a perfunctory smile. “Come up and have something to eat, and then we’ll all go see—”

He stepped back. “Naw, I’ll meet you at the hospital. It’s touch-and-go, and I don’t want the girl to walk in at a bad time.”

Hilda nodded. Her son had good instincts, too.

Sam had a duty here. It was a word he understood, and he carried it into the hospital room with him like the badge he wore on his shirt every day. There was no doubt about duty, no pondering risks or considering alternatives or seeking shelter. He’d once loved the woman, and the child was hers. For the moment, they had no one else. It was his duty to take care of them somehow. The somehow part was a little vague, but it wasn’t operative. Duty was operative.

Wasn’t it? Or was it care?

No, taking care, that would be his action. They would be in his care, and he would take steps. He wasn’t much for walking softly—so said his boot heels whomping across the tile in the otherwise eerie quiet—but he would see to their needs.

Whatever Merilee needed, she wasn’t saying. As promised, he’d met her visiting party in the lobby and given the go-ahead. Merilee was hanging in there. Hilda took Star into the room, but she soon stepped out and ordered him to trade places with her. “She’s alone in a strange world. At least tell her you know her mother,” she told him. “She needs to talk to someone who has that in common with her.”

It was a scary assignment for a man who hadn’t thought he had many fears, certainly none as harmless-looking as Star Brown. She turned reluctantly as he approached. She had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen. She wasn’t afraid of him. Far from it. She was in charge here, tentative only about taking those watchful eyes off her mother. She looked like a small adult trying out an oversize chair.

He knelt beside her. “My name’s Sam Beaudry. I’m Hilda’s son. Your mother’s a friend of mine.” Okay, not the most appealing introduction, but it was a start.

“Hilda Beaudry is my grandmother.”

Sam nodded. Now, how should he put this?

“Who’s your daddy?”

“I don’t have a daddy. I have Mom, and she has me.” She turned from him, resuming her close watch. “She’ll wake up pretty soon. Sometimes she sleeps for a long time, but she always wakes up.”

He rubbed the twinge out of his left knee. “Has she been in the hospital like this before?”

“She said this is what would happen if I called nine-one-one. In school they told us to call nine-one-one if somebody was hurt or sick, but Mom said they might take her away if I did that.” She eyed Sam suspiciously. “I didn’t call anybody, but you came anyway.”

“It’s okay. Your mother made the call herself. She knew she needed a doctor, and now the doctor’s trying to help her.” He glanced up at the bed. From this angle Merilee appeared to be even smaller, more childlike than her child. “I think she knows you’re here.”

“But she’s asleep.”

“Not exactly. She’s resting, trying to get her strength back, but it’s not the same as sleeping. One time when I was hurt, I was like this in a hospital, and I could kinda hear people around me.”

“And you woke up?”

“Not right away. I’m just sayin’ she might know we’re here. So if there’s something you want to tell her, she can probably hear you.” His knee cracked as he rose for a better view of the patient’s face. “Right, Merilee? It’s Sam, in case you don’t recognize the voice. I’m here with Star. We’re hoping you’ll open your eyes pretty soon, but we’ll understand if you don’t. We know you need your rest.”

“Mommy?” Star leaned forward. “I don’t know what to do, Mommy. I found the store, and I found my grandmother. Hilda Beaudry—I found her. Now what should I do?”

Sam shared with the child in the mother’s silence. Life’s breath came and went, came and went. How much effort Merilee put into the act was a mystery to Sam. She was hooked up to mechanical help, but maybe she was trying. He moved an armless chair from the corner of the room, set it at a right angle to Star’s, straddled the seat and rested his forearms on the back, taking care not to block her view of her mother.

“You came a long way on the bus,” he surmised. “How many days did it take?”

“Two, I think.”

“Did your mom say how long she was planning to stay?”

“She said I might go to school here.”

“Did she tell you anything about me?” he asked warily, and she glanced at him, equally cautious. “Her friend? Hilda’s son, Sam?”

“I don’t think so.”

How far should he take this? “Do you have any relatives besides Hilda? Another grandma, maybe, or an auntie?”

“My other grandmother died. I never saw her.” She eyed him briefly. “Are you like a cop or something?”

“I’m a sheriff. It’s kind of like a cop, but I have to look after a whole county, and I have to get elected. I was a cop when I was in the marines. MP, they call it. Military police.” Too far. Wrong direction. He could tell by her scowl.

“We don’t really like cops.”

“Oh.” That hurt. “Who’s we?”

“Well…” She glanced at her mother. Reminded she was on her own, she shrugged. “I mean, we like them when they help us. But I wouldn’t call them up or anything. They can take anybody away. They might take bad people away, but they could take good people away, too. They might even take me away.”

Damn. Where had that come from?

“Only if they thought somebody might be hurting you,” he suggested.

“Even if they take a bad person away, he can come back,” she confided, leaning closer to him in a way that made him feel better, like maybe he’d gained a little trust. “And when he comes back, he’s twice as bad.”

“Does the bad person have a name?”

“Maybe.” She drew back. “Maybe not. It could be any bad person.”

“I know how to handle bad people.”

“Do you have a gun?” she whispered.

“I do. I killed a snake with it the other day.” He gave a one-sided smile. “I have a jail, too. And handcuffs. A fast car with a big gold star painted on it. Bad people don’t mess with me. Pretty soon we’ll be gettin’ the word out among the snakes.”

“So, if I needed a cop, you’d be around? Because they’re never around when you need one.”

“You know Jim Whiteside?”

“Jimmy?”

Sam nodded. “Ask him. I’m always around. And Jim’s always keeping an eye on me. I’m beginning to think he’s on the county payroll, making sure I do my job. You ever need me, Jim knows right where to find me.”

She wrinkled her little round nose. “He thinks he’s a big smarty.”

“He’s a good kid, once you get to know him. It’s good to have friends. You probably have a lot of friends in California.” He tipped his head, inviting more confidence, hoping for names. “Maybe your mom has some friends there.”

“We just moved again. We didn’t know anybody in our new building.” She stared at her mother, hoping. “Is she gonna wake up tomorrow?”

Sam knew if he couldn’t say yes he was no help. He said nothing. He felt small and useless.

“Can’t the doctor make her wake up?” Her voice was tiny and thin.

Ask me for something else, kid. An ice cream cone, a ride anywhere you want to go, a puppy, a Band-Aid. Anything but answers.

A tear plopped on her thumb.

He told himself to stay behind the back of the chair, use it as a shield, keep his distance. But before he knew it, he was standing, lifting the child into his arms and letting her hot tears drench the side of his neck.

No way could he ever cry. But he felt as though Star was doing it for him.

Chapter Four

It didn’t matter to Maggie whether Sam had once loved Merilee Brown. It didn’t matter to her whether he was the girl’s father—unless he’d skipped out on them, which seemed unlikely, knowing Sam. But watching the three of them through the ICU glass gave rise to some soul-searching.

First, she shouldn’t have been watching anything but monitors. Second, she was feeling an uncomfortable twinge in a bone she could have sworn she didn’t have in her body—what self-respecting woman could be jealous of someone who was comatose—and, third, it did matter whether Sam was still in love with Merilee Brown. Because, first of all, the woman was probably dying. Second…

There was no second. Maggie was a nurse. Merilee was a patient. Put the two together, end of search. Merilee’s life was all that mattered at the moment.

Maggie dragged her attention back to the heart monitor. The life monitor. Life was dear, and Death was jealous.

“What’s the—”

Hilda’s voice gave Maggie a jolt.

“Sorry.” Hilda joined her at the nurse’s station, her gaze tagging after Maggie’s lead. Through the window several feet away they watched Sam take a seat in the bedside chair with Star in his lap. He said something to her as he reached for the tissue box, and she nodded.

“Oh,” Hilda whispered, and then, barely audibly, “Oh, Sam.”

Maggie swallowed convulsively against a rising tide of tiny stingers.

Hilda touched Maggie’s shoulder and leaned closer, as though she had a secret. “Lila said to tell you Jimmy wants to go home with her. I’m taking Star home with me as soon as she’ll let me. That leaves you and Sam.”

“For?”

“Coffee, maybe?”

“Hilda.” Maggie warned her friend with a look. “He’s not going to tell me anything he hasn’t told you.”

“Good.” Hilda patted Maggie’s shoulder. “Maybe you don’t tell each other anything. Maybe you just look at each other and breathe easy over a cup of coffee.”

What could it hurt?

“I’ll ask.”

She’d have to swallow some pride—first throat prickles, then pride—but given the circumstances, given the sweet moment between the big man and the little girl and the fact that Maggie had claimed a piece of it, maybe she could trade away a little pride. Give him one more chance. Forget that she’d invited Sam over for supper a couple of weeks ago, and he’d cancelled. Emergency, he’d said. Hell, Maggie’s middle name was Emergency. The next move should have been his.

Not that she was making a move, but if she had any thought that there were moves to be made, the events of the day should have convinced her otherwise. Words like issues, history and baggage came to mind. Stuff she didn’t need. She had no trouble handling herself pro-fessionally, and she was determined to start living the rest of her life with wits about her at all times. She’d almost decided she might be ready for an uncomplicated relationship with an uncomplicated man, and she’d been thinking about Sam Beaudry. A lot.

And now this.

So she asked, and he said sure—well, he’d nodded, anyway—and here they sat across from each other in Doherty’s Café staring into their ceramic mugs as though the shape of a coffee oil slick might foretell the future. Maggie was determined to let the first word be Sam’s. He could give her that much. She didn’t care what the word was. Maybe he needed a friend or a confidante. Maybe he wanted her professional opinion.

Maybe he was watching some kind of reflection of the clock that was affixed to the wall behind him.

Okay, so she cared. She was a nurse, for heaven’s sake.

“I think she’s holding her own, Sam.”

He glanced up. “Will they transfer her to Billings?”

“If there’s something that can be done for her there that can’t be done here, they’ll consider moving her. But in her condition, it’s a risky trip.”

“Why?”

“As I said, she’s holding her own. But she’s frankly pretty frail. Most of her major organs are at risk of failing.”

“Is it all from drugs?” he asked, and she glanced away. “What, you can’t give out that kind of information?”

She offered an awkward smile. “I’m supposed to ask if you’re a family member, and then I’m supposed to refer you to the doctor.”

“What do you consider a family member?” He cast a searching glance at the ceiling before drilling her with a dark-eyed stare. “How about the son of the woman she says is her daughter’s grandmother?”

“I…guess that works.” Montana was different from Connecticut. Fewer people with more space between them added up to more slack. Indian country was definitely different, especially when it came to defining a family member, and most especially when children were involved. “We don’t have all the test results. She has pneumonia. Probably hepatitis. She’s on medication for diabetes. That’s just for starters.”

“Damn.” He stared into his coffee for a moment. Then he drilled her again with those dark, straight-shooter eyes. “You think her daughter looks like me?”

Who but a man would ask such a self-centered question?

Who but a man would have to?

“She’s a beautiful child.”

“Yeah, I don’t see it, either.” He glanced away. “What did my mother tell you?”

“That she’s never heard of Merilee Brown. That you used to tell her everything, but now you don’t.”

“I’d tell her if I had a kid.” He bobbed a shoulder. “That I knew about.”

“These things happen?”

“Not to me.” He toyed with his spoon on the table. “We lived together for a while. I was crazy about her. I don’t remember why.”

“When you’re crazy, nobody expects you to know why.”

“Good point.” Which he chalked up on an air board with the spoon. “I remember why I left.”

“Being crazy wasn’t working for you?”

He rewarded her cleverness with half a smile. “I would’ve danced to whatever tune she called, but I didn’t have it in me. Couldn’t learn the steps.”

“Daddy don’t rock ‘n’ roll?”

“I never took you for a smart-ass, Maggie.” But he gave her the other half of the smile. “I could do that number. And I would.”

She pressed her lips together, holding back on any remarks about Mama not dancing with him—maybe not even breathing much longer.

“Go ahead, say it.”

She feigned innocence. “What?”

“Something like, ‘Easy for you to say that now, Jack. How many years after you hit the road?’”

She laughed, less for the humor than for the surprise of it, coming from Sam. And the accuracy. “I won’t tell you what I was thinking. Your guess is so much better.” But close.

“I’m not much of a dancer, but I do a little mind reading sometimes.”

“I see that.” She sipped her coffee. “What’s your next move?”

“I’m workin’ on fortune-telling.”

“I mean, being the law in these parts, what do you do now? You’ve got a comatose mother and a child who’s—”

“Staying with her grandmother.”

“We have a social worker.”

“I know the drill, Maggie. I guarantee you I’m the only one in Bear Root, probably the only one in the whole state of Montana with any connection to Merilee Brown.”

“Star’s staying with her grandmother,” Maggie echoed. Which means…

“While I sharpen up my detective skills. They haven’t gotten much use lately.”

“If I can help…” If she had a mirror in her purse, she could show him a clue. Maybe that was what he was searching his pockets for.

“We could be in serious trouble,” he muttered as he gave up on his pants in favor of his shirt.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“No, I appreciate the offer.” He smiled as he unbut-toned the flap on his left pocket—the one without the badge. “I thought I’d lost my billfold. They could’ve had the sheriff washing dishes here.” He wagged a slim leather wallet. “Talk about crazy, huh?”

“Not me. Far be it for a smart-ass to talk about crazy.”

“If I ask for help, it’s the smart part I’ll be lookin’ for.” He winked at her, a surprise that gave her butterflies. “I knew exactly what you were thinking.”

Sam’s apartment on the second floor of the old county building was hot, and not in a good way. There was no controlling the heat, no matter what the season.

He was never far away from his job, but he didn’t mind. It was the way he’d lived most of his life. He’d grown up on the second floor of Allgood’s Emporium. He’d billeted in camps, bunked in barracks, surfed a few couches, and he had to admit the sheriff’s apartment wasn’t half-bad as cramped, hot, on-site quarters went. He could always find some work to do when he couldn’t sleep. He liked to keep close watch on any guests he was keeping in the four-cell county jail, which was right next door in the new courthouse building.

Some nights he’d drive around looking for trouble. Other times he’d dive into the never-ending stream of paperwork. On this night he went to the property cabinet and removed the Merilee Brown box.

He’d never known her to have much, but for a woman with a child, she had next to nothing. The personal possessions he’d removed from the motel room were remarkably scant. He had to believe she’d left home in a hurry, and he needed to find out why. An uncashed paycheck was his first clue. It was made out to Merilee with an unsigned endorsement to the order of Vic Randone. The check proved that Merilee was employed by the Gourmet Breakfast House in Long Beach until at least four weeks ago and that Randone was still taking money from her.

What the hell did she see in him?

Damn. Sam hadn’t asked himself that question in a long time, and he wasn’t going to let himself start in again. Back to the job at hand, he found a book about fairy-tale princesses and one about horses, a scrapbook full of baby pictures and growing girl pictures, drawings made with crayons, numbers and letters made by small hands and milestones described in a flowing hand. Sam knew Merilee’s writing. It reminded him of the rise and fall of the ocean on a calm day at the beach.

Their early days—the three of them together—had been like that. Calm and sunny. They’d all found jobs—Merilee waiting tables, Vic and Sam driving trucks—and they’d made plans. Merilee would start out modeling—she had some experience—which would lead to commercials, which would lead to bigger things. Vic would manage her—he had no experience—and Sam would keep the rent paid and the cupboards from going bare. Sam had done his part. His was the easy part, according to his roommates.