The Baby Barter

by Patty Smith Hall

  Epilogue

  Thea straightened the flat sheet on the baby crib stationed in the hospital room, every corner pulled into a crisp wrinkle-free line, then grabbed the cloth doll from the bedside table and sat it against the railing.

  Two muscular arms circled her waist and pulled her back into the familiar warmth of her husband’s chest. “You really think she needs the doll?”

  “It’s her favorite, Mack. She’s already going to be in a strange place. I thought it might help.”

  He dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. “If you think that it will make her feel better, then I’m all for it. I just can’t stand to see you so worried.”

  Thea turned toward him, relaxing against him, her hand pressed to his chest, the sure, steady beat of his heart a comfort to her rattled nerves. “I just need to keep busy. Anything to get my mind off of all the things that could go wrong.”

  “I’ve got an idea to help with that.” Mack cupped her cheek in his hand, tilted her head back until his lips caught hers.

  In the three months since they’d made their marriage into a real one, Thea had found she never grew tired of Mack’s kisses. Or the shoulder he gave her to lean on, or the talks they shared after they’d returned from visiting Sarah every night. If possible, she’d fallen even more in love with him as she watched him tenderly care for their daughter and her mother.

  Thea broke off the kiss, slightly thrilled by the disappointment registered on her husband’s face, and laid her head back on his chest. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  She felt his soft kiss against the top of her head. “Almost as much as I love you?”

  Thea started to respond, but a knock on the door interrupted them. A young nurse—Corrine—poked her head around the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, there’s someone here to see you.”

  Thea lifted her head to look up at Mack. They’d both agreed that until Sarah was further along in her recovery, they would limit her visitors. Besides, the Danielses, Hickses and Davenports were camped outside the delivery room, waiting for Maggie to give birth while Ms. Aurora kept busy with Mrs. Miller and the kids.

  “Did they give a name?” Mack asked.

  “A Judge Wakefield.”

  Mack threw Thea a quick look before turning back to the door. “Send him in, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young nurse answered.

  Thea glanced up at Mack, her knees wobbly beneath her, her hands suddenly cold. “What do you think he’s doing here? The last time we talked with him, a couple of weeks ago, he said it might take a few months before we heard anything about finalizing the adoption.”

  Mack gently backed her into a nearby chair, his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her. Almost immediately, she leaned her head back against his midsection, drawing strength from him for whatever news Judge Wakefield brought.

  Another knock on the door, and the judge walked in, his overcoat thrown over one arm while in his hand he held his gray felt hat. He bowed his head slightly. “Sheriff, Mrs. Worthington. How’s the baby doing?”

  “She’s in recovery right now,” Mack answered. “Dr. Medcalf says the surgery went very well. We should be able to take her home in a few days.”

  “Good, good.” The judge smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  The knots in Thea’s stomach pulled tighter. Why couldn’t the man simply tell them whatever news it was he had and be done with it? Why was he drawing this out? Unless he had bad news and didn’t know how to tell them.

  Mack squeezed her shoulder. The man had to be on pins and needles, yet his first thought was always of her. She reached up, took his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. No matter what happened, no matter what life threw at them, Mack was her family, the man of her dreams, her love. They would get through this together.

  “I was down this way on another case and thought I’d drop by to give you the news myself.”

  Thea’s chest tightened and she could barely breathe. “What news would that be, Your Honor?”

  The judge reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to Mack. “This came in the mail this morning. I thought you might like to have it.”

  Thea felt Mack tremble and stood, linking her arm through his, wanting to give him a small portion of the strength he always gave to her. He pulled out a set of thick papers and unfolded them, skimming over the first page.

  “What does it say?” Thea managed to squeak out.

  Before she knew what was happening, she was in Mack’s arms, rocking side to side as if in a slow dance. “She’s ours, sweetheart,” Mack whispered in her ear. “She’s really ours.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to cry. She’d wept enough over the past few years to fill the seven seas, now was a time of unbelievable joy!

  “We’ll still have a more formal signing of the papers once the baby has recovered,” the judge said with a smile in his voice. “But as far as the State of Georgia is concerned, you are legally the parents of Sarah Eileen Worthington.”

  Sarah Eileen Worthington. Thea smiled. Mack had been the one to suggest the baby’s middle name, a tribute to the sister she had loved, a way to start healing from the loss. She might never learn the truth about what had happened to Eileen’s baby, but Thea had forgiven herself for the mistakes she’d made with her sister.

  Still holding Thea close to his side, Mack held out his hand to the judge. “Thank you, sir. We can’t begin to tell you how much we appreciate you coming all this way to give us the news.”

  “No problem at all.” The man glanced down at his watch. “I’d better get going if I hope to make my next appointment.” He slipped his hat on, then touched the brim. “Sheriff. Mrs. Worthington.”

  Before the door had even closed, Mack swung her up in his arms again, his blue eyes bright with untethered happiness, his smile the most beautiful she’d ever seen. “You’re a momma, sweetheart.”

  “And you’re a daddy.” Thea’s heart soared as she dropped a quick kiss to his lips.

  They stood wrapped in each other’s embrace, an unimaginable joy passing between them, drawing them ever closer, twining around them, forging them together.

  “If someone would have told me this time last year I’d be a happily married man, completely in love with my wife and father to a beautiful little girl, I would have thought they were nuts,” Mack whispered. “But God had another plan.”

  “I wondered at times. But then He gave me you and Sarah.” She chuckled. “What have I ever done to deserve this much joy?”

  “You haven’t done anything. None of us have.” Mack dropped a kiss on her head. “It’s only through God’s goodness to us that He gives us our heart’s desires.”

  “I’m glad he gave you to me.”

  A knock on the door was followed by the door being held opened wide by Nurse Corinne. “Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, we’re bringing your baby back from recovery.”

  Our baby. Thea and Mack glanced at each other, the smile they shared full of love and hope for the future. Fingers entwined, they walked to the door to greet their sleeping daughter.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE TEXAS RANGER’S SECRET by DeWanna Pace.

  Dear Reader,

  I hoped you enjoyed The Baby Barter. Thea and Mack’s journey to their happily-ever-after was quite a bumpy one, but no one ever said the path to true love was easy—in fact, some of the most enduring love stories have been filled with those hard times that my husband says “forges two hearts into one.” As you can see, I married a very wise man!

  My prayer for you is that even in those rough seas life throws us at times, you’ll look for God’s goodness, for He’s there, ready to hold your hand, to give you that “peace that passes all understanding” if only you look
toward Him.

  Blessings!

  Patty

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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  The Texas Ranger's Secret

  by DeWanna Pace

  Chapter One

  May 1868

  The thunderstorm rushed ahead of Willow McMurtry, as if warning all who lived in High Plains, Texas, that she would arrive and with her came trouble.

  Seeking a new path because she couldn’t stay on her last one, she prayed, Please don’t let me mess up in this town, too.

  Wind buffeted the curtain meant to keep out the dust stirred up beneath the churning hooves of the horses pulling the overland stage. Lightning bolts blinked in and out as the curtain flapped back and forth, offering popping whips of relief from the oppressive heat to the only passenger who had not yet reached her destination.

  With glimpses of the passing prairie, she watched uprooted vegetation tumble toward the coach searching for a barrier to the wind’s fury. But the team’s pounding hooves and the coach’s wheels crushed the wind-driven fodder or ricocheted it hither and yonder across the countryside.

  “High Plains ahead!” yelled the driver, heralding the blessed fact that the long journey was near its end.

  At least for now.

  She would finally be inside somewhere, out of biting range of bugs and flies trying to hitch a ride.

  “One-hour stop, coming up!”

  The sense of stifling solitude gripped Willow even more profoundly, threatening to spill the unshed tears she’d held back when she’d said goodbye to the other passengers many miles ago. How she hated to be alone, and wanted so desperately to be among friends—a tribe of her own. A tribe made not just of family members, who were expected to include her, but friends who chose and enjoyed being in her company.

  Willow called upon the light of hope living within her that this place so loved by her sisters might also prove the haven that would welcome her, rescue her from herself and become a home to her if she could not resolve her problem back in Georgia.

  How much she wanted to be an asset to a community rather than an object of scorn. A blessing to someone, not a hindrance.

  She took a lace kerchief from her reticule, then dabbed the perspiration dotting her face and neck, hoping to make herself look more presentable for when she arrived. Willow pinched her cheeks a little to add color, then brushed her fingers through wisps of hair that had gone astray from her upswept curls.

  She put away her kerchief and lifted the emerald hat from her lap and did her best to nest it back in place at a jaunty angle. But her height in such a confined space gave little room to set it fashionably atop her head. The seat kept rocking and swaying to the point she finally just had to jab the hat pin in and hope for the best.

  The plumed ostrich feather adorning the hat hung too far over her left eye, bent out of shape by the last woman who’d left the coach in Fort Worth. She’d accidentally stumbled over Willow’s long legs and ended up plopping down on one edge of the hat. Her apology had sounded so sincere that Willow hadn’t had the heart to complain. After all, she wasn’t exactly graceful herself most of the time and hoped others would forgive her lack of coordination.

  Sighing in frustration, she decided it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she arrived somewhere looking disheveled. Daisy and Snow wouldn’t be surprised at all, but Willow had wanted to make a good impression on her future brother-in-law and anyone else who came with her sisters to fetch her.

  She did her utmost to adjust the hat but only ended up making the feather look more like quilt padding dangling from a fishing line and her head feel like a pincushion. Maybe she’d have time to dig into her baggage and take a brush to her mop of hair and just go hatless, but the mighty winds that swept the Texas prairie almost required a soul to wear some kind of bonnet or head covering. Unless she chose to braid her hair, as Daisy always did.

  She couldn’t wait to see her sisters. Daisy’s impending wedding had come as a surprise and provided a most convenient excuse for quick departure from Atlanta.

  When Willow told her boss that Daisy needed her to help take care of the children while the couple honeymooned, he had eagerly agreed that her absence just might prove the perfect solution to the trouble she’d caused.

  Willow had left, unsure if she would ever return to her job at the paper but knowing this leave might be the only way to improve her chances of being asked back.

  Not only that, she felt that she really had to be there for Daisy and Snow. Willow only hoped she hadn’t arrived too late to attend the wedding and be of some help. Daisy would never say a word, of course, but her middle sister rarely held anything back from Willow. Now she and Snow would be spending two months together without the buffer of their older sister.

  The thought made Willow pray once more that she somehow arrived on time.

  “Whoa, you beastly beauties! Hold up there, now,” shouted the driver as his last pull on the reins brought the team to a halt.

  Willow pitched forward into the seat across from hers. She dug in the heels of her kid boots and grabbed the side of the coach in an effort to reseat herself, only to slide bottom-first to the floor. Her hat shifted. The feather dipped low to tickle her nose, which set off a round of sneezing made worse by the billowing dust as the stagecoach settled.

  She stretched out her arms to see if she could leverage herself enough to climb the walls and regain her seat, but to no avail. She’d just have to sit there like a folded accordion and scoot out the door once the driver opened it.

  “Safe and delivered,” yelled the coachman. “Only half past noon.”

  Half past noon? They’d been due in more than two and a half hours ago. One of the wheels had hit a rut and taken quite a while to be repaired. Her sisters would be madder than two snakes with no rattles thinking she’d missed the stage that would get her here in time for the ceremony.

  Willow knew Daisy had been meeting several stages the past two months. Her sister had a right to be angry with her for not showing up. When Daisy invited her and Snow for a visit in March, Snow had gone on alone. Willow had promised to come later, wanting to arrive with a wonderful announcement of her own—a job at the respected newspaper in Atlanta.

  Why hadn’t she just gone to High Plains when she first promised?

  Because I wanted to prove to everybody how capable I am, she berated herself as she struggled again to dislodge her body. Now look at me. I can’t even untangle my legs.

  At twenty-two, she was beginning to believe she’d never find a place where she could be proud of herself and find what she could do well.

  She should have never risked taking the position as printer’s helper at the Weekly Chronicle, knowing she’d promised Daisy the visit.

  If only her boss hadn’t mentioned his love of anything Texas that first day of work, she might have kept her mouth shut.

  But no, she couldn’t wait to share some of her late grandfather’s tales of his legendary days riding with Captain Jack Hays, one of the bravest captains in the Texas Corps of Rangers.

  That was just the start of her troubles. If only she’d been aware of what she’d stirred up at the time. Then again, she never recognized the exact moment she set herself
up for failure. Did anyone?

  What was taking the driver so long? She didn’t have that much baggage. Surely he would let her out first before changing the team.

  Her legs cramped but she didn’t want to seem impatient with the man. After all, he wasn’t aware that she’d jammed herself between the seats. She’d just have to sit here and keep her mind on something until he opened the coach door and rescued her.

  Willow’s thoughts returned to the days that followed her boss’s unusual interest in learning more of Texas. She’d told him of how her grandfather had read to her and her siblings the eight-page newspaper serials called story papers and that she’d preferred the frontier tales of derring-do about adventurous heroes.

  She spouted a wealth of the jargon, giving him lots of details regarding the lifestyle and ways of the men who worked the ranging companies, feeling proud she recalled so much after all these years.

  Biven Wittenburg Harrington III decided to take a risk and develop a limited series of story papers based on a fictional Texas Ranger and see how well the readers responded. Literacy was up and her boss-editor-publisher said he believed readers yearned for something to take their minds off the hard news of Reconstruction.

  When he turned to her, Willow first realized she might be headed for more trouble than she knew how to handle.

  He asked her to write the fictional stories under the name Will Ketchum, based on her grandfather’s tales. She should have listened to her initial hesitation, but she was being offered the biggest blessing of a would-be writer’s lifetime. A chance to reach readers.

  Willow asked herself if she was ready for her dream. Was she capable of meeting such a challenge? The only way she would find out was to put aside her hesitation and do her best.

  But her best proved as frustrating as pinning her hat back on today. Critics railed her efforts as pure fiction with no foundation in truth. Though the stories were never presented as anything but fable, the “no foundation in truth” complaint hurt her feelings. She had besmirched her grandfather’s memory and failed her boss’s expectations.