Mail-Order Christmas Baby

by Sherri Shackelford

  Two dozen heads rotated toward the baby. At the attention, the child cooed in delight and slapped one hand against her chubby thigh. Heather reached for the envelope and the child’s lower lip trembled.

  “Maa!” she wailed. “Maa goo.”

  “It’s all right,” Heather soothed. “Give me the envelope. I promise I’ll give it right back.”

  The two engaged in a brief tug-of-war, which Heather easily won. The trembling lip grew more pronounced, revealing two lower teeth, and then the babe sucked in a deep breath. Tears threatened in her enormous blue-green eyes, and her face turned a brilliant shade of red. Thinking quickly, Heather yanked on her bonnet ribbons, then presented the distraction.

  The child promptly crushed the brim with her damp hands while simultaneously gumming a silk rose. Heather grimaced. The bargain hat was all but ruined. At least she wouldn’t be reminded of Sterling’s offhand compliment and her awkward reply every time she donned it.

  Sterling reached for the envelope, but Otto was closer and intercepted her grasp.

  “Let’s get to the bottom of this,” the foreman declared. “I’ve got work to do this afternoon.”

  “Those sheep aren’t going to shear themselves,” the postmaster joked, much to the crowd’s delight.

  Something flashed in Otto’s eyes, a spark of anger or embarrassment, Heather couldn’t quite tell which. The foreman quickly masked the telling expression with one of his ready smiles.

  “That they don’t!” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Sterling lifted his eyes skyward. “You’ll all be thanking me this winter when you’re warm and cozy by the fire in your nice wool sweaters.”

  “Enough about those sheep.” With a slight grimace on his beefy face, Otto plucked at the soggy paper using the tips of his fingers. “We’ve got a mystery to solve.”

  Heather glanced askance and caught Sterling staring at her exposed hair. The fiery red color caught the afternoon rays, turning her head into an orange beacon.

  This time his smile was tinged with pity, and she self-consciously smoothed the strands. Her infatuation with Dillon had been just that—an infatuation. Sterling’s brother had been quiet, almost brooding. There was a part of her that always wanted to fix things for people, and Dillon seemed to need her, at least for a time. She’d mistaken his gentlemanly kindness for interest. She knew better now.

  “Ah-ha!” Otto declared, shaking out a wilted slip of paper. “This here is a Return of Birth.”

  The crowd surged forward.

  “What’s a Return of Birth?” Mr. Carlyle hollered.

  “It’s the paperwork for when a baby is born,” the postmaster explained. “The Return of Birth is filed with the county seat. Since Montana is still a territory, Silver Bow is the only county I know of that requests any paperwork.”

  “Stop wasting time.” Mrs. Dawson huffed. “What does it say?”

  There hadn’t been any good scandals for months, and Mrs. Dawson was clearly chomping at the bit. She’d be holding court at the Sweetwater Café this afternoon with the rest of the ladies, relaying every minute of these events in exaggerated detail.

  “Don’t rush me.” Otto squinted. “The lettering is real fancy. The child’s name is Grace.”

  His eyes tracked the writing and paused. His jaw dropped, and his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.

  “Well, um, uh,” he stuttered. “I don’t know what to make of that.”

  “Let me see.” Mrs. Dawson snatched the Return. “You’re taking too long. I don’t have my spectacles but I can make out most of the lettering. A Christmas baby. She’ll turn two on December 25—that’s two months away. Place of birth is Butte. The child’s name is Grace. Otto got that right.”

  “The parents,” the postmaster prodded. “Who are the parents?”

  “The father’s name is listed as Sterling Blackwell.” Mrs. Dawson snorted.

  The smile slipped from Sterling’s face, and a moment later all the color had drained away. “That can’t be.”

  “Thank the stars your father isn’t around to see this scandal.”

  Fighting back an unexpected tide of jealousy at the thought of Sterling fathering a child, Heather peered over the edge of the paper. She was unpardonably curious about the child’s parentage.

  “What about the mother?” Another voice saved her from asking.

  “No married name printed. Her maiden name is listed as—” Mrs. Dawson shrieked and clutched the paper against her chest. “Oh my.”

  The platform of gawkers froze.

  “Who is it?” someone called.

  “Oh my word.” Mrs. Dawson took a dramatic breath. “The mother’s maiden name is listed as—” She paused to ensure she had everyone’s attention. “Heather O’Connor.”

  * * *

  Sterling searched for his voice, which seemed to be locked somewhere in the back of his throat. Otto covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head.

  Mrs. Dawson shot Heather a withering glare with enough heat to melt the shingles off a roof. She collapsed onto a bench and threw her wrist over her forehead. “I’ve been shaken to the core.”

  Mrs. Dawson was shaken, all right—she was practically vibrating with excitement. The woman thrived on gossip like a hog on slop.

  Heather O’Connor.

  She’d gone so pale, even her lips were leached of color.

  No one was looking at him anymore; all eyes were focused on Heather and the baby—the baby with a glimpse of red curls peeking out from beneath her eyelet bonnet. Ladies leaned their ears toward one another and spoke in shocked whispers. Gloved hands hovered over rapidly moving lips. Sterling’s ears buzzed. The talk had already begun.

  His gaze skittered around the platform and clashed with Heather’s. She blinked rapidly, and her mouth opened and closed. Her fingers fluttered against her ashen cheek. The crowd split their attention between the postmaster’s frantic fanning of Mrs. Dawson and Heather’s hand cupping the back of the baby’s head.

  A jolt of pity spurred him into action.

  He crossed the platform in two long strides and caught Heather’s elbow. “I would have helped you. Why didn’t you simply ask?”

  “No.” She gasped. “There’s been a mistake.”

  “I’m going to strangle Dillon.” Heather’s arm trembled beneath his fingers, and he struggled against a white-hot wave of fury. “He’ll do right by you, I promise you that.”

  “We didn’t...she isn’t...you don’t understand!”

  His chest tightened. The blame rested solely on his shoulders. He’d been responsible for her split from his brother, after all. His intentions were sound, though the outcome was proving calamitous. Their pa wasn’t an evil man, but he’d been manipulative and controlling. As the eldest son, Dillon had suffered the most. Their ma had warned the brothers about trying to please a man who only found fault, but Dillon craved their pa’s approval. Nothing he ever did was good enough, and the crushing pressure was shaping Dillon into a man Sterling didn’t recognize. He’d known instinctively that if he hadn’t removed his brother from their pa’s oppressive influence, he’d have grown into a miserable man.

  And Dillon would have stayed in Valentine for Heather. Anybody would. She was the sort of woman who made a man want to settle down and stay put. Sterling had convinced his brother to join the cavalry with only the barest hint of regret. The sweethearts were young. He’d talked himself into believing the flirtation was superficial and too new to last. Dillon’s easy acquiescence and their subsequent separation had convinced him that he’d made the right choice.

  Except he hadn’t anticipated a child. The stark pain in Heather’s eyes ripped away the last remnants of his convictions. Dillon had wronged her, but Sterling had wronged them both.

  Mrs. Dawson straightened her s
pine and touched her gloved fingertips to her chest. “I cannot believe you’d betray your own brother this way.”

  Sterling’s stomach clenched and he absorbed the full brunt of the accusing stares. In his shock, he’d forgotten his name was on the certificate, not Dillon’s.

  “The two of them must have been carrying on right under Dillon’s nose,” someone said behind him.

  “Wait just a minute,” he ordered, unsure how to defend himself without dragging Dillon and Heather down along with him.

  Otto blocked his view. “Don’t say anything, son. Not until we’ve got this sorted out. You’ll only make matters worse for the both of you.”

  Tears pooled in Heather’s eyes, and Sterling instantly longed to reach out and comfort her. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he’d always been drawn to Heather. Her looks were more exotic than traditionally pretty. During his travels he’d often found himself comparing other women he met to her. Her fiery red hair drew attention, and her button nose was adorable. Soft freckles dusted her face from forehead to chin, and her pale blue eyes were surrounded by nearly transparent eyelashes. No one would ever call her beautiful, but she was definitely eye catching.

  It was because he admired her that he’d kept his distance. His feelings for her had no bearing on why he’d convinced Dillon to join the cavalry, but she’d never understand. Neither of them would. He sensed if he let down his guard, she’d see past his bravado and discover the truth of his betrayal.

  Mrs. Dawson slapped down the postmaster’s waving arm. “It’s forty degrees. Stop fanning me, you dolt.” Sensing she was losing the crowd’s attention, Mrs. Dawson’s voice grew shrill. “We deserve an explanation for this—this travesty.”

  Heather started forward. “Let me see that paper. How do I know you’re not lying?”

  Otto held her back. “She’s not lying. I saw myself.”

  Sterling’s thoughts ricocheted around his head. Dillon had never given him any indication they’d been intimate, yet everything fell into place. After Dillon left, Heather had gone to stay with a friend in Butte. The timing worked, yet questions burned in his brain. Why list him? Had she discovered his part in their breakup? Was this a chance for revenge?

  “Miss O’Connor wants a piece of that ranch,” the postmaster mused loudly. “When she couldn’t snag the older brother, she set her sights on the younger one.”

  Sterling grabbed the man by the scruff of his shirt and nearly lifted him from his feet. “Say that again.”

  Otto wrestled the postmaster free. “Not here, Sterling.”

  Heather pressed both hands against her mouth and shook her head. “This isn’t right. None of this is right.”

  Fury pulsed through him. Sterling felt as though he was separating from his body. He’d trusted his brother. There were no secrets between the two of them.

  The child reached out a pudgy hand and tugged on Heather’s lapel. Her chubby pink cheeks plumped into a grin, revealing her two lower teeth.

  “Ma!” the child declared. “Ma!”

  The breath whooshed from Sterling’s lungs. It appeared there was at least one secret between them.

  Chapter Two

  “This is a disgrace,” Reverend Morris declared. “A disgrace and a black mark on our community.”

  The reverend, summoned by the crowd, had hustled them into the church and away from the prying eyes of the townspeople. Sterling and Otto had filed in behind Heather and taken a seat across the aisle.

  She slumped in the pew, her eyes downcast. Placing a hand over her churning stomach, she stared at a scuff mark on the floor. Normally she adored the Valentine church. Stained glass windows cast colorful patterns along the polished wood floors, and the vibrant white walls of the nave kept the interior bright and cheerful.

  Pressure built behind her eyes. Today was different.

  The mail-order baby crawled along the length of a pew, her bare knees squeaking over the polished wood. They’d relegated the care of Grace to her, and she was doing her best to look out for the child.

  “I hold myself accountable for the morality of this town.” The reverend paced before them, two fingers smoothing his thick, gray beard. “And you have grievously disappointed me.”

  Reverend Morris was a fiercely principled man with a strict moral code of right and wrong, good and bad. There was no middle ground in his mind. If Heather had any complaints about his leadership, it was that his sermons tended to lean more toward righteousness and virtue, and less toward forgiveness and mercy.

  “I haven’t done anything to disappoint anyone.” Heather spoke weakly, the denial sounding feeble even to her own ears. “This isn’t my child.”

  For an instant she was back at her aunt and uncle’s house, taking the blame for something one of her cousins had done. Never once could she recall her aunt and uncle taking her side against their own children. She was the outsider, so she must be the guilty party, every time.

  “Then who does she belong to?” Reverend Morris demanded.

  “I don’t know!”

  “And you, Sterling.” The reverend stretched out his arm. “Your pa just two months in his grave.”

  Sterling fisted his hands on the back of the pew and avoided Heather’s gaze. But her shoulders wilted. She’d seen the doubt in his eyes. If he didn’t have faith in her, he should at least have faith in his brother. Despite her brief infatuation with Dillon, the brothers had always been honorable. Clearly someone had entrapped them both.

  Otto sprang to his feet, his hat clutched in his hands. “If these two fine folks say they don’t know anything about this child, then I believe them. And you should too.”

  Grace pulled herself up and gummed the back of the pew.

  “She’s leaving teeth marks,” the reverend declared. “Don’t let her do that.”

  Feeling unaccountably guilty, Heather grasped the child and set her on her lap. Grace turned her curious attention to the lace edge of her collar.

  Sterling scooted toward the aisle and leaned her way. “You don’t have to bear this alone. I will make Dillon do the right thing by you. I promise.”

  “Oh no you won’t.” Her heart skittered and stopped. She couldn’t think of anything more horrible than being married to Dillon. “This is not our child, and I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I know the truth.”

  She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life attached to a man who’d broken up with her by leaving a note. Especially bound by a child who didn’t belong to either of them.

  The reverend narrowed his gaze. “Do you still have feelings for Dillon?”

  “No.” She huffed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well...” The reverend gave a vague gesture. “There’s the child.”

  “For the last time, this is not my child. And if this is Dillon’s child, why did he fill out his brother’s name?”

  Gracie grasped the ribbons of her bonnet and stuck the ends in her mouth.

  “Let’s all take a deep breath.” Otto gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “These are highly unusual and highly irregular circumstances.”

  “Highly irregular indeed,” the reverend murmured.

  “Hear me out,” Otto continued. “Are we going to believe a piece of paper over two people who have been model citizens in our community?”

  The reverend tugged on his beard. The fingers of his gaunt hand were swollen and gnarled with rheumatism. “Even if I believe them, there is a child involved. What do you propose we do with her?”

  “Find out where she came from,” Otto said. “You should at least allow these two fine people the opportunity to prove their innocence before you find them guilty.”

  The reverend sighed dramatically and tapped his foot. “Miss O’Connor, it’s an undisputed fact that Sterling�
��s older brother, Dillon, once courted you. Is that correct?”

  “He took me for a buggy ride a few times. I’d hardly call that courting.”

  “And the two of you parted ways rather suddenly.”

  “Dillon joined the cavalry.”

  “Following Mr. Blackwell’s departure, you left town for a period of time.”

  “I stayed with a friend in Butte.” She didn’t like the direction of his questioning one bit. The evidence was not turning in her direction. “You’re welcome to speak with Helen. She can assure you that I have nothing to do with this child.”

  “The child did call you ‘mama.’”

  “She said ‘ma’ and then there was a pause, and then she said ‘ma’ again.” Heather had made the same point at the train depot, though clearly no one was paying her any mind. “Her words don’t make any sense. They’re just sounds.”

  “Gra.” The child spit out the ribbons. “Gra.”

  “My point exactly!”

  If only she could stir awake from this nightmare and have a good laugh over the ridiculous turn of events. She’d done everything right. She’d followed all the rules. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with red hair. That particular trait harkened back to a grandfather she’d never met. If she had brown hair, they’d be less inclined to suspect her.

  Sterling rubbed his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. “Heather, if you say that you haven’t seen this child before today, I believe you. We all believe you. But half the town heard what she said, and the other half is going to hear by suppertime.”

  His placating tone made her lift her chin. “If you believe me, then stop debating the point and get down to business. The only way for us to clear our names is to find the real parents.”

  “That’s all fine and good,” Sterling said quietly. Though he spoke low, everyone in the church was listening. “But where do we even start?”

  Heather lost her patience. He was lying. He didn’t believe her. She clasped her trembling hands together. Even she had to admit the proof against her was incriminating. It was her word against the writing on a piece of paper. How did one refute a scrap of paper?