Special Delivery Baby. Sherri Shackelford
grasped the pitcher, leaving the porter struggling with his unbalanced tray, then poured a measure of water into her palm and replaced the pitcher.
“That’ll be all, fellow.”
Ignoring the porter’s glaring reflection, she rubbed the water between her palms then smoothed her hands over her hair. For one brief, shining moment her curls remained plastered against her head. The next instant they sprang free, leaving her hair damp and more disordered than before.
Tomasina shrugged. Her hair was a lost cause. At least the rest of her looked presentable enough. She’d worn her newest chaps today instead of the pair with half the fringe missing. Her clothing was freshly laundered and her face was clean. Brushing her hands down her best chambray shirt, she searched for any remnants of her breakfast. She wasn’t giving Mr. Canfield any reason to find fault with her.
Feeling almost respectable, she approached the desk.
The young porter scowled. “Can I get you any more water, Miss?”
“Nope. I’m here for Mr. Will Canfield.”
“He’s busy. Everyone’s always busy since that baby arrived.”
The porter was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and handsome in the sort of way that probably sent the young girls swooning. He kept his dark hair slicked back neatly beneath his round cap, and his bottle-green uniform was crisply pressed, his collar starched and white. He had the appearance of someone who liked to keep things orderly. From what Tomasina had heard, newborns had a way of creating all sorts of chaos and disorder.
“You don’t say.” She leaned forward and pitched her voice low. “What if I told you I had information about a certain abandoned baby?”
The young man’s eyes lit up like a kid let loose on penny candy. “Third floor. Room 311. Up the stairs and take a left. The sooner that infant is out of the hotel, the better. That child has thrown the whole place into an uproar. We’ve lost our best housekeeper to babysitting duties, and now the maids are running amok.”
Tomasina grinned. This was even easier than she’d expected. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The porter proudly straightened his cap. “The name is Simon if you need anything else.”
She touched her forehead in thanks and pivoted on her heel. She hadn’t lied. Not exactly. She’d asked the young man a what-if question, and he’d replied. No harm in that.
Her conscious clear, she took the stairs two at a time. Huffing by the third floor, she braced one hand against the wall and pressed the other against the stitch in her side. They must have high ceilings on all the floors, because it sure was a long way up those stairs. As she caught her breath, a distinctive racket filled the corridor.
Even if she hadn’t known the room number, there was no mistaking Will’s suite. She followed the sounds of the squalling baby and rapped on the solid wood panel.
The door swung open, revealing Will with a familiar, red-faced bundle in his arms. “It’s about time.” He caught sight of her, and his hopeful expression fell. “Oh...it’s you. Never mind.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Clearly.” He elbowed shut the door.
“Not so fast.” Tomasina stuck her booted foot over the threshold. “You and I have business.”
“I believe we concluded our business yesterday, Miss Stone. Or shall I call you Texas Tom? I should have realized it was you immediately.” He grimaced as he clutched the squirming, angry baby tighter in the crook of his arm. “Except I’ve been distracted lately.”
“Tomasina will do just fine.” She scowled. “You have no right to interfere with my rodeo show.”
“The town ordinance is clear, as I’m sure Sheriff Davis informed you.”
“I’m guessing you spoke with him first.”
The sheriff’s previous conciliatory mood had taken a sudden turn for the worse. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out who had changed his mind.
Will moved deeper into the room, and she followed close on his heels.
Blowing out a low whistle, she gaped. His suite was positively dandified. Fancy fringed curtains the shade of pine needles hung from the windows, and the furniture was covered in wine-colored velvet fabric. She’d never seen the White House, but she imagined this room was fit for a president. Well, except for the nappies strung out to dry across the archway and the blankets and tiny clothing littering the furniture and the floor. She didn’t suppose those were the usual accoutrements of the White House. Despite the mess, peeking out from beneath all that clutter were some fine pieces of furniture. Having lived most of her life out of a tent, she savored the feel of the cushy rug beneath her feet.
“You sure live fancy,” she declared.
“This is only a temporary residence.”
Tomasina collapsed onto a tufted chair and draped her arms over the sides. “I could get used to some temporary quarters like this.”
Closing her eyes, she let her body sink into the cozy stuffing. Rarely had she enjoyed such luxury. Chairs of any kind were scarce on the trail; she preferred traveling light. Most times she sat on the hard ground. Occasionally she rustled up a stump or a rock. This chair was pure bliss. Not even the wailing baby could put an immediate damper on her enjoyment.
“Looks like you have your hands full.” She opened one eye and squinted. “Where’s your housekeeper? The porter said she was helping out.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Mrs. Foster is on her lunch break.”
“You ought to hire someone else. I hear the maids are running amok.”
“Simon talks too much.” Will leaned heavily on his cane. “If you must know, the reverend’s daughter has offered to assist, as well. She’s coming by this evening.”
The infant’s wailing continued unchecked, and a sharp pain throbbed behind Tomasina’s temple. “Word of that baby sure spread fast.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “You think her mother will ever come back? Most mamas are protective of their young’uns.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Then again, maybe she won’t. I once saw a heifer reject her calf. Almost killed the poor thing before we separated them.”
Clenching his jaw, he glowered down at her. “Your optimism is comforting. Truly. If you’ve finished cheering me up, you may go.”
“I’m not leaving that easy,” Tomasina retorted. “About the rodeo...” She leaned forward and raised her voice over the squalling baby. “Look, we’ve been on the trail for more than three months. The boys just need to blow off a little steam.”
“You’re a tenacious little thing, aren’t you? When cowboys blow off steam, property is damaged.”
“I’m not little. And nothing will be damaged. The boys can be a might rowdy, but they’re good men. All of ’em. I can vouch for that.”
Will quirked a brow. “You can vouch for all of them?”
Okay, he had her there. Tomasina wrapped a curl around one finger. Drovers were a nomadic bunch by nature. While she knew most of the men on her crew, there were always new faces coming and going. “Most of them.”
Will barely spared her a glance, his attention now fully focused on the fussy baby. The infant’s arms stretched out wide, and her face screwed up. Silent for a breath, she seemed to be struggling for air. Her arms and legs flailed. The next instant she let out an earsplitting wail, her lower lip trembling with the effort.
Will held the baby away from his body and juggled her lightly. “There, there, Ava,” he crooned. “There’s no need to fuss.”
“I