Baby On Her Doorstep. Rhonda Gibson
Clint her voice sounded almost like a song. It was soft with just the right cadence to make him pay attention. He watched her walk down the wooden walkway. Grace stirred against him, reminding him that he had better things to do than stare after a pretty lady.
He turned to find the sheriff watching him. “What brings you into town, Clint?”
“I need a nanny, Matt. Mrs. Murphy is threatening to quit. This little girl can be a handful.”
The sheriff laughed and stepped back inside his office. “Come on inside. I might have just the person you need.”
Clint followed. “Who?”
Matt walked to his desk and sat down. He propped his boots up and pushed his hat back. “Well, that lady who caught your eye a few moments ago comes to mind.”
Caught his eye? No, Clint had vowed after his wife Martha’s death not to become involved with a woman again. Martha had died from an infection shortly after having Grace. Clint didn’t think he could go through that heartache again. And no pretty face was going to change that.
Clint frowned. Instead of dwelling on his wife’s death or his fear of being hurt again, he asked, “What makes you think she’d like to be a nanny?”
“Well, for starters she’s the schoolteacher here in town and loves children.”
Clint rubbed his chin where Grace’s hair tickled it. “That is nice, but does she want to stop teaching?”
The sheriff shrugged. “I’m not sure. But the school is closed for the next couple of months for planting season. She might be interested in earning some extra money, and it would give you more time to search for a real nanny.”
Clint thought for a few moments. Did he want a temporary nanny? She could be a quick solution to his current problem, but he’d have to find a replacement for her. Still, like his friend said, it would give him more time to find a suitable nanny, and Mrs. Murphy wouldn’t quit if he brought home a nanny for Grace.
The sheriff chuckled. “What have you got to lose, Clint? Or, you could ask any of our unwed women to come out to your ranch. I know of at least two who would love to marry you, and then you wouldn’t need a nanny for little Grace.”
Clint ignored Matt’s joke about the other women and focused on the one he’d just seen. The last thing he wanted was another wife. “Do you know if she’s looking for work?” Clint shifted Grace into a more comfortable position.
“There’s only one way to find out. Go ask her.” He picked up a faded wanted poster and studied the picture.
“Where does she live? I’ll tell her you recommended her.” He waited to see what kind of reaction Matt would have.
Matt looked up. “She lives at the boardinghouse on the corner of Elm and Third Street.” He pushed his hat back on his head. “I don’t reckon you noticed she was carrying a little girl, did you?”
So, they lived at the same boardinghouse. It was his experience that only single people lived in boardinghouses. He couldn’t help but wonder if Matt might be interested in the pretty green-eyed lady romantically himself. Maybe that’s why she’d been visiting his office. It was possible she was sweet on the good sheriff. But then again, like Matt had just pointed out, she had a small child with her. “I did. Is she married?”
Matt chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “No, she’s a widow now. Her name is Laura Lee. Laura’s a fine woman who loves children.”
“That’s good enough for me. I don’t mind her having a child.” He rubbed his chin across Grace’s feather-soft baby head. “I like them.”
Matt grinned. “I’m glad.”
Clint realized how silly his words must sound to the bachelor sheriff, who had no children. “Well, I’ll be heading over to the boardinghouse. Is it all right if I leave Shadow and the wagon tied to your hitching post for a while?”
The sheriff nodded. “How long are you in town for?”
“I’ll be here as long as it takes to get a nanny. Mrs. Murphy has threatened to quit if I return home alone.” He hugged Grace close. “In her words...” Using his best imitation of Camelia’s Irish accent, he continued, “‘A two-year-old is too active for a woman in her sixties who has a house to run and meals to cook. You’d best be sure to find someone, Mr. Shepard, or I will be going to live with my cousin, Darby. And you know I’ll do it, too.’”
Matt laughed. “I can just hear her. Did she shake her finger at you?”
“Yep. So I’m hoping it doesn’t take more than a day or two to find just the right person. I want someone who will be good to Grace. If she doesn’t like Mrs. Lee, I’ll keep looking.”
Concern filled Matt’s face. “What about the ranch?”
“It will be all right for a couple of days. I left Richard Turner in charge.”
Matt rubbed his chin. “Yep, Rich is a good man.”
Richard was a good man. He had lost his wife to the fever that had swept the town the year before Grace had been born. If it hadn’t been for Richard, Clint wasn’t sure how he would have continued running the ranch after Martha’s death. Grief had seemed to fill his brain with a dense fog, and he’d had a new infant to care for.
Clint opened the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes with Mrs. Lee when I come back for the wagon.”
Matt nodded and returned his focus to the wanted posters. Clint closed the door and turned toward Elm Street. He grinned, pleased with the fact that finding a potential nanny hadn’t been so hard after all. And if Mrs. Lee took the job, he felt pretty sure that she’d be more interested in taking care of his daughter than landing a rancher husband for herself.
Matt didn’t seem to view her as a potential bride, but Mrs. Lee might have her heart set on the sheriff. He remembered the look of happiness on her face as she’d left the sheriff’s office. It was the expression of a woman in love. And if she was in love with Matt, it was a sure sign that she wouldn’t be looking to him as future husband material.
Laura had been trying for the last thirty minutes to persuade Mrs. Potter to let her keep Hope at the boardinghouse.
The older woman touched a strand of Hope’s hair. “I’m sorry, Laura, but even as sweet as she is, I can’t have a small child living here.”
“I understand. I’m paid to the end of the week. Can we stay until then? I need time to find another place to live.” Laura watched as Hope silently played with a ball of yarn that Mrs. Potter had pulled from her knitting basket for her. She calculated the amount of money she’d saved from teaching and knew it wasn’t enough to buy a house. Perhaps someone would have one she could rent, although Laura doubted it.
“Yes, but no longer. I don’t mean to be hard-hearted, but I’ll need to rent your room out as quickly as possible.” She returned to her knitting.
Laura picked up Hope. The child had played silently at their feet. It worried Laura that Hope hadn’t asked for her ma or even attempted to communicate since she’d woken from her nap. “Thank you.” She carried Hope up to her room.
She’d lived at the boardinghouse for four years. After Charles had died, Laura tried to make their little farm her home but without him selling cotton, she’d had no income to pay the land payment. She’d been forced to return the farm to the bank and take the teaching job in town.
Her gaze moved about the small space she now called home. When she’d moved in, Laura had sewn new curtains for the windows, added a colorful quilt to the bed and braided a nice-looking rug for the floor. Pretty dollies lay on the dresser and side table. Her writing desk rested under the window.