by Annie Jones
“Sheriff Denby says to stay put. He’ll get here as soon as he can,” called Tyler Sprague, the teenage clerk, whom Shelby had known since she’d watched him in the church nursery.
“Okay.” Shelby clutched the basket close, relieved to have a chance to look away from the stranger. “Let’s get her inside.”
The cowboy cocked his head. “Her?”
She stopped mid-turn, her foot raised above the threshold. “What?”
He leaned in close. Closer than she’d normally have allowed a man to get to her, especially one she didn’t know. “You called the baby her.”
She could hear her own heart beating. Heat surged up from her neck to her cheeks, then all the way to the tops of her ears. She raised her chin to try to look beyond the man who had just challenged her—in more ways than one—to the kid standing behind him. “We’re taking him or her inside, Tyler.”
The young man gave the thumbs-up even as he began heading for the mini-mart entrance. “I’ll close up and come over.”
The man held the door open for her and the baby in the basket, waiting until she passed so close that the blankets brushed against the sleeve of his denim jacket. Then he murmured, “You said her.”
Shelby went sailing across the threshold, which she thought she would never cross again, her head held high. “I didn’t want to say it. Babies are human beings, not its.”
Once inside, he whisked his hat off his head like a true Texas gentleman. “That much I agree with, but still...”
“Just what are you accusing me of?” She set the basket down on the tabletop. She could see the man’s eyes much better now. That wasn’t making it any easier for her to talk to him. She bent her head and gazed down at the infant’s small, sweet face instead. “That is what you’re doing, right? Accusing me of something?”
“I was just asking a question.” He stood there for a moment, with expectation hanging in the air between them.
Shelby had never been grilled by the police in her life, but she kind of got the feeling this was how it would be. She pressed her lips closed, getting the sense that anything she said could and would be used against her. And yet she didn’t feel threatened so much as...
His gaze sank into hers.
She took a quick, sharp breath and didn’t let it out until he looked into the basket. His eyes narrowed. After a moment, he shook his head. “What kind of person would not only forsake their child, but also leave it alone in the night outside a closed café?”
“We weren’t supposed to be closed,” Shelby said softly, unable to take her eyes off the small pink child in the basket. A baby whose appearance here tonight had foiled her big plans.
The baby stretched and squirmed. Long lashes stirred, then lifted. The baby looked right at Shelby, then at the road-weary, bleary-eyed cowboy.
“She’s so... I just don’t see how anyone could...” The word strangled in Shelby’s throat. Tears burned in her eyes—again. She would have thought after the past few days, since she had made up her mind what she had to do, that she’d cried all the tears she’d been allotted for a lifetime. But nope, here they were again. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day and...”
“Her eyes are blue,” he murmured.
“Lots of babies have blue eyes at first,” she assured him, swiping away what she resolved would be her last tear with the back of her hand.
“Your eyes are blue.” He jerked his head up to nail her with a discerning stare.
Really? This total stranger, this cowboy kitten rescuer, was testing her like that? Any other time in her life, she would have stumbled all over herself to assure him she was above reproach...because, well, she was in this instance. But tonight, with her new resolve to take charge of her life, she decided to give as good as she got.
She gave one last sniffle, then moved around the suspicious, questioning cowboy slowly, her gaze fixed on his face. “You just called the baby her.”
He glowered at her—for about two seconds. His smile broke over his face slowly, not at all like the bold grin he had flashed at her earlier that had thrown her completely off-kilter. This smile, and the way his broad shoulders relaxed as he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head as a concession to her standing up to him, warmed Shelby to the very pit of her clenched stomach.
“Maybe we should look for a note or something.” He started to reach into the tangle of flannel blankets.
“Wait.” She stuck her hand out to stop him. The instant her fingertips brushed his jacket, her breath went still. She curled her fist against her chest and managed to sound a little less flustered than she felt as she asked, “Won’t the police want to look for fingerprints?”
“Not likely. First of all, you won’t get prints off flannel. Besides that, unless whoever left this baby has a criminal record in a database easily accessed by the local cops, it really won’t be an issue.” He reached in, cradled the whole body of the small infant in his large, strong hands, then lifted the baby up.
Despite her clashing emotions, Shelby couldn’t keep herself from smiling at the sight of the cowboy and child framed by the window of the silent café. “You seem pretty sure of what you’re doing.”
“Spent a lot of time in foster care. I learned a lot about looking after little ones.” He shifted to get the baby situated right against his broad shoulder.
“No, I meant...”
The baby let out a soft sound, then snuggled in close, drawing its legs up. A tiny milk bubble formed on the sweet little lips, which made those chubby pink cheeks almost unbearably pinchable.
The stranger leaned back to check out what was going on with the baby. Then he smiled—just a little and only for a half a second at most.
Shelby sighed.
“Around here, everybody knows how to tend to babies and children and old folks and...whatever needs tending to.” Except the one guy she had hitched her heart to, she couldn’t help noting to herself. Mitch Warner hadn’t known how to take care of anyone but himself, and he’d even done that poorly. “What I meant was that you seem to know a lot about police work.”
“That I picked up after foster care.” He began to pat the child’s back.
She stood there, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, waiting for him to elaborate. How did he pick up his knowledge of police procedures? Was he the type to associate with lawmen...or lawbreakers?
“Why don’t you check for a note?” He jiggled the baby slightly and nodded toward the basket.
She rifled through the tangle of pastel-colored flannel blankets. “Here are a few disposable diapers and a full bottle. Nothing else. No note. No personal items.”
“I figured as much.”
She looked up to find him staring at her. Or, more accurately, straight into her—as though he were searching for something she wanted to keep covered up.
He settled the still sleeping child back into the basket. Shelby reached out to pull the top blanket up over the baby. He did the same.
Their hands brushed. The warmth of his callused palm eased through her chilled fingers.
This time she did not yank away, but let her hand flit from the blanket to the baby’s soft curls and on to its soft, plump cheek. “If you don’t mind, I was just going to tuck the baby in and say a little prayer for...the baby...and for whoever left the baby here.”
He nodded. “That’s kind of you. I’m more than a little ashamed that I didn’t think to offer that myself.”
That caught her off guard. “You want to join me in a prayer?”
“For the child, yes, ma’am, I would. I don’t know if I can be so gracious toward the one who walked off and left her....” He bowed his head and shut his eyes, then opened them once again to nail Shelby with a look as he added, “Or him.”
Shelby took a deep breath, acknowledged both t
he remark and the reservations they both still held for one another with a curt nod. “All right, then...”
“Jackson Stroud.” He held his hand out.
“Shelby Grace Lockhart.” She gave his hand a quick, firm shake and, just before she let her hand slip from his, added in a soft whisper, “Jax.”
The use of the name he had first given her seemed to hit home with him. It appeared to set him off his game for a split second before he nodded to her and bowed his head.
She bowed her head, too, but she did not close her eyes. Instead she focused her gaze on the compelling face of this innocent, seemingly unwanted child as she prayed.
“Every creature matters to you, Lord. Everyone is loved. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that none of us is ever truly alone when we feel lost. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to do and who to trust. Please, Lord, help me...help us...to show your love to this newcomer. And through it all, let us not forget your mercy for whoever found themselves in a place where they thought it best to leave this precious one here tonight. We place them and ourselves in your loving hands. Amen.”
“Amen,” he murmured.
“Amen? Y’all holding a revival in here or something?” Tyler came striding in with his phone in one hand and earbuds swinging in his other with every step. “The store is all locked up tight. Sheriff Denby just pulled up outside.”
Shelby spun around to face Tyler, her heart pounding. A mix of panic and embarrassment swirled through her at the idea of being seen praying with this man, whom she had met only moments ago and clearly had no reason to fully trust.
“Just another hard luck case for Shelby Grace,” she could imagine folks saying. Someone else who would fill her head with promises and her heart with hope, when anyone else with any sense would know it was all a lie or a dream. Shelby had had her fill of that. That was why she had been headed out of town tonight. Slipping away after her last shift, leaving nothing but a note to explain that it was time she started over in a place where she wasn’t known as softhearted Shelby. That was the best way to make an exit from the Crosspoint Café once and for all.
Of course, now that exit would have to wait. She tucked the note into the old backpack she’d had since she was a teen, and looked for something to keep her busy. “I’ll make coffee.”
“You think this will take long?” Jax called out as she hurried off. “I have plans.”
“I hope those plans include watching the baby for the next few minutes, while I do this.” Shelby dove into the task, grabbing a bright red plastic container from a shelf above the coffeemaker.
“Trust her, man. If anyone knows how to get around the old guys in town, it’s Shelby Grace.” Tyler took a seat at the long service counter and began swiveling back and forth on a stool.
“That so?” Jackson Stroud studied her through those piercing, narrowed eyes once again. He might have looked menacing if not for the fact that the whole time he kept one hand protectively on the side of the basket, making sure the baby didn’t wriggle it off the tabletop.
“You want to get this done quickly? Then coffee is the only way to go.” Shelby pulled out the carafe and held it up like she was filming a commercial for it.
The mysterious cowboy just scoffed.
She set the carafe down hard.
He tipped his head to her, as if to say he would bow to her expertise.
That small triumph buoyed her movements as she got out the filter and opened the container. With the rich aroma of coffee filling her nose, she tipped out a spoonful of grounds and said, “Sheriff Denby is not a young man. It’s late. The least we can do for him is have some coffee waiting so he can tackle this case with a clear head.”
“Clear head? That may be hoping for a bit much,” Tyler joked.
“I was supposed to retire over a year ago.” The familiar booming voice of Sheriff Andrew Denby—Sheriff Andy to the locals—echoed in the café as he appeared in the doorway. “But they can’t find a replacement willing to work my hours for the amount the county budget can afford to pay. Nights like this, I don’t wonder if I’ll ever retire. Who are you?”
Jax held his hand out to the man, but his expression remained reserved. “Jackson Stroud. I found the basket.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Andy, but this couldn’t be helped.” Shelby poured water in the machine, flipped it on, then turned to find the older man peering down into the basket on the table.
“It’s not just a do-nothing job, you know.” The sheriff spoke directly to Jackson Stroud, who nodded politely. “We get our share of excitement coming in off the highway. Anyone they hire needs to be a diplomat to work with the town council, a stickler to meet state and county regs, a detective and apparently—” he reached in, lifted the baby up and gave a sniff “—a diaper changer.”
“Oh, Sheriff, let me take care of that.” Shelby rushed forward.
“You pour the coffee. This ol’ grandpa knows which end is which.” The sheriff gathered baby and clean diaper and headed for the restroom, calling over his shoulder, “So no idea who the parents are? No clues? No note?”
“Nothing.” Shelby set the coffee down.
“She had a note.” Jax eyed her. “And a backpack full of stuff on her way out the door after closing up early. If you look at her face, you’ll find she’s been crying.”
The sheriff reentered the room. He, Tyler and Jax all locked their gazes on her at once.
Shelby felt as if she’d been slapped. “What? You can’t possibly have seen all that.”
Sheriff Denby slipped into the restroom without any further response.
“I don’t know how you do police work around here, but some people might call that a clue.” Jax raised his voice to make sure the sheriff heard.
“Yeah? Well, around here, it’s what we call besmirching a good woman’s reputation!” Shelby came around the counter, her pace underscoring the quick clip of her irritation at what this total stranger seemed determined to pin on her. “I may be a soft touch. I may have wasted most of my life waiting for my father’s dreams of raising quarter horses to pay off so he could buy us this café like he promised. I may even have thrown away three of my twenty-eight years thinking Mitch Warner would stop running around with other girls and settle down with me, but...” Her voice broke. Her heart pounded. She had never admitted all of that out loud to anyone. Pouring it out to Jackson Stroud left her feeling vulnerable but justified when she jerked her head high and concluded, “I am not the kind of girl who would have a child without being married and if I were a mother. Let me assure you, I’d never leave him or her. I’d do anything in my power to protect my baby...”
“It’s a girl.” Round-faced Sheriff Denby appeared with the freshly diapered infant and handed her to Shelby.
“Surprise, surprise.” Jax cocked his head and crossed his arms. “No chance you knew that already?”
Shelby sighed and shook her head at the implication in his question.
“And her name is Amanda,” the sheriff went on. “At least that’s what it says in fancy stitching on the corner of this blanket she was wrapped up in.”
“Hand-stitched, huh?” Jax looked at the corner of the blanket, then at Shelby’s decorated backpack. “Any flowers on it?”
“You have got to be kidding.” Shelby couldn’t help but laugh as she spoke to baby Amanda to get her point across to everyone. “This guy thinks I’m your mother, sweet pea.”
“Shelby Grace? A mama?” Sheriff Denby snorted out a laugh that someone else might have taken as an insult. “No way could she have had a baby and kept it a secret around here. Maybe somebody could have, but not her. We all know her story.”
“I don’t,” Jax said in a soft tone that bordered on dangerous—but also carried interest.
“This ain’t about you.” Sheriff Denby moved to the counter, picked up th
e coffee carafe and flipped over a cup on the counter. But he didn’t pour. “This is about Shelby Grace.”
“Right. We agree on that, at least.” Jax adjusted his hat, and the movement came off as a kind of sly tip of congrats to the sheriff for being on his side.
“What do you mean? About me how?” Shelby cradled the baby higher in her arms, but that did nothing to temper the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Everybody in town knows your story, Shelby Grace. We all know about your daddy, about that Mitch. Some of us even know that you broke your lease and packed up all your belongings today.”
“Huh?” Tyler glanced up and blinked. “You moving, Miz Shelby?”
“I don’t know your story, Miss Lockhart, but I do know that that’s an interesting development.”
People were not supposed to find out this way, not by hearing it couched in supposition and gossip, and certainly not before her father. “It doesn’t matter, Tyler. None of this has anything to do with me and—”
“Hold that thought right there, young lady.” Sheriff Denby flipped a waiting coffee mug over on the counter and helped himself to a steaming hot cup. “There is a more than passing fair chance that whoever left that baby on the doorstep, when you were here closing up all by your lonesome, left her here for you to find.”
“Makes sense to me.” Jax turned toward the door, then looked at Tyler. “You said someone tried to steal gas from the station tonight. Did they happen to be driving a silver SUV?”
“Uh, no. Actually, when I looked up and saw a faded red Mustang slide up to the pump, I thought it was Mitch come to see Miz Shelby. So I stopped paying attention until they took off fast. That’s when I thought maybe they’d filled up and run off without paying, but turns out their credit card had been denied and they didn’t get a drop.”
“Mitch?” Jax leaned one elbow on the counter, gave Shelby a hard look, then glanced at the baby. “Any particular reason this Mitch might have come by tonight and not hung around to talk to you face-to-face? He a friend of yours?”
“An ex...friend,” Shelby said, oddly defensive in this man’s presence. Still, she searched the baby’s face for any similarity to Mitch, who she had forgiven more than once for cheating on her.
