Special Delivery Baby. Sherri Shackelford
Men discreetly elbowed each other. Heads bobbed, eyes searching for a better look at the spectacular procession.
In front of the horrified onlookers, the mysterious woman charged straight into the parading line of cattle. Someone shrieked.
In a fraction of a second, the scene descended into chaos. People pushed and shoved. The cattle lowed. The crowd parted. Will’s heart lodged in his throat as an enormous steer with a great spread of pointed horns lunged toward them. He ducked behind a boardwalk support beam, shielding the infant with his body, then braced for a devastating blow.
A whoosh of air skimmed past their scanty shelter. He glanced up.
A cowboy riding a brown-and-white paint horse galloped into the pandemonium. In a blur of hooves, the rider dodged lethal horns and redirected the steer. Spooked animals set off in a trot. Displaying singular precision, the talented horse and rider feinted and parried, urging the steers back into line and slowing their frantic pace. When one particularly stubborn bull refused direction, the cowboy wheeled his horse around, nearly sitting the animal on its haunches, and forced the steer into line.
In a matter of seconds the drive was under control. Expelling sighs of relief, the crowd surged forward once more, people tittering nervously about the close call.
Will glanced at the infant in his arms and heaved his own sigh of relief. His mad dash had distracted the baby girl from whatever had set her crying earlier.
As the nimble cowboy moved toward him, upstream among the cattle, a smattering of applause followed his progress. Meaning to thank the man for his timely rescue, Will tipped back his head.
The words died on his lips.
A stunning redheaded woman with brilliant green eyes gazed down at him from atop the paint horse. He stared, transfixed. Those big, expressive eyes weren’t just green; they were the purest shade of emerald he’d ever seen. Her hair wasn’t just red, either; it was a copper fire, curling in abandon around her shoulders, quelled into submission beneath a drover’s hat fastened with a string of leather beneath her chin.
Her amused gaze washed over him like a cool breeze off a mountain spring.
Realizing she expected him to speak, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss...?”
* * *
Tomasina Stone extended her arm, presenting the handsome stranger with a hand encased in a fringed leather glove. “Miss Stone, if you’re looking for a cap to that question.”
She’d seen some peculiar sights in her time. She’d seen a cowboy so lonesome he’d howled at the moon. She’d seen a dog raise an abandoned skunk baby alongside her own pups. Once she’d even seen a river in the Colorado Territory run uphill atop the continental divide. However, never in her twenty-two years had she ever seen a sight this odd.
The man standing on the boardwalk in front of her was holding a baby in one arm and an expensive-looking, silver-handled cane in the other. Despite his peculiar circumstances, the man appeared strangely calm and in charge. As though he’d just finished adding a column of numbers instead of dodging a near mauling beneath the deadly hooves of a longhorn steer.
“Was anyone hurt?” he demanded.
“No one was hurt,” Tomasina assured the man. “No thanks to that fool woman who tried to cut across the street. She turned back soon enough. Disappeared into the crowd, so I expect she’s fine.”
The man anchored his cane beneath his arm and clasped her hand in greeting. His touch was firm without being crushing.
“The name is Will Canfield,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Stone.”
“You sure picked a dangerous place to take your baby for a walk, Daddy Canfield. Might want to reconsider your route next time.”
The measured expression on his face faltered a notch. “Oh, this isn’t my baby.”
Having been raised around men her whole life, Tomasina had never given their looks too much thought. This fellow stood out. He wasn’t overly bulky, like some of the cowboys she rode with, or reed-thin, like the bankers in town, but something in between. His beard was trimmed in a precise goatee and his head was bare, revealing his neatly clipped brown hair. He was polite, but there was a clever edge in his dark eyes. This wasn’t a man easily crossed.
He reminded Tomasina of her first impression of Cowboy Creek; a mixture of the wild, untamed West with the appearance of cultivation brought by the easterners after the war. There was something more about him, though; an inherent air of authority. She’d give her eyeteeth if he hadn’t once been a soldier, and an officer, by the way he carried himself.
She hoisted an eyebrow. “Reckon who that baby belongs to is none of my business one way or the other.” She gestured toward the child. “Judging by how that little fellow’s mouth is working, you’d best find his mama soon. Looks like he’s getting ready for feeding time”
“It’s a girl,” Will corrected. “She’s wearing pink booties. I checked earlier.”
“Is that a fact?” Their exchange was turning into a real doozy. Tomasina tucked away the conversation for the next time the boys were telling tall tales around the campfire. “I think your girl is getting hungry. Better get mama.”
“That’s the whole problem.” The man spoke more to the infant in his arms than to her. “Someone abandoned her. I found her on my doorstep just now.”
Yep, Tomasina had seen a lot of strange things in her life, but this spectacle topped them all. “I can’t help you there. Any reason the baby’s mama picked you in particular? Maybe you should start with all the ladies of your acquaintance.”
His face flushed. “I can assure you this child’s origins are a mystery.”
Oddly enough, she believed him. He had the sharp look of a man who didn’t miss a detail. Probably someone had left the baby with him because of his wealth. He definitely appeared well-off. Even Tomasina recognized the expensive cut of his charcoal gray suit and the fine workmanship of his crisp, white shirt.
He glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. “The woman—the one who spooked the cattle. Did you see which way she ran? I think this child belongs to her. If not, then she might have seen something. She was hiding in the shadows when I discovered this little bundle.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Did you get a good look at her?” he persisted. “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”
“Nope,” Tomasina said with a slow shake of her head. Much as she’d enjoy assisting the gentleman, her attention had been directed elsewhere at the time. “Everything was a blur. Like I said before, I was focused on the cattle.”
Clearly frustrated by her answers, Daddy Canfield muttered something unintelligible.
He grimaced and held the bundle away from him, revealing a dark, wet patch on his expensive suit coat.
Tomasina chuckled. Oh, yeah, the boys were going to love this one. They’d never believe her, but they’d love the telling. Her pa always liked a good yarn, as well. At the thought of her pa, her smile faded. He’d died on the trail a few weeks back, and they’d buried him in the Oklahoma Territory. The wound of his loss was still raw, and she shied away from her memories of him.
“Fellow...” Tomasina said. “As much fun as this has been, I’d best be getting on.”
“Thanks for your help back there,” Will replied, his tone grudging. “Your quick action averted a disaster.”
The admission had obviously cost him. He struck her as a prideful man, and prideful men sometimes needed a reminder of their place in the grand scheme of things.
“Baby or not,” she offered with a wide grin, “it wasn’t your life I was saving. I was looking out for the bull. My job isn’t protecting greenhorns who don’t