Baby on His Doorstep
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Baby on His Doorstep
Copyright
Dedication
Welcome to Cactus Gulch, Texas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“What the devil?” he cursed.
Stepping forward, he gazed to the right, then to the left.
A sound more like a wheeze drew his attention to a metal washtub sitting at the edge of the porch. He blinked and inched forward. The tub overflowed with a soft pink blanket, while alarm bells rattled in his head. Avery leaned forward. There was something alive and very, very, unhappy in that tub. Throwing caution to the wind, he knelt down.
Everything seemed to be playing out in slow motion, like some bad movie, and he had no remote control to change the channel. Hesitant at first, his heart thumping, he grasped the satin edge of the pink blanket and eased back the fullness. The early morning sunlight shone down upon a cherubic face framed by a simple white bonnet. Avery’s eyes widened. The tiny bottom lip began to tremble, and the ear-piercing wail began anew.
“Hey! Stop that!”
The infant cranked it up a notch, adding the flailing of its arms and kicking of its feet. He glanced up the road, looking for someone watching, but the horizon was vacant. “This has to be a joke,” he whispered, then called out, “It’s a joke, right?”
Baby on
His Doorstep
by
Tessa Berkley
Babies of Cactus Gulch, Book 1,
part of the
Boots and Babies Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Baby on His Doorstep
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Tessa Berkley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2017
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1519-5
Babies of Cactus Gulch, Book 1
Boots and Babies Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my husband,
who suffers through each draft but loves me anyway.
~
To my editor, who suffers my use of commas
and still volunteers for the job anyway,
thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Welcome to Cactus Gulch, Texas
Cactus Gulch has more cowboys per square inch than any other place in Texas. Home to one of the biggest ranches, Diamond D, the air around it is charged with testosterone. Where there are men, ladies are sure to follow—and with them come little bundles of trouble in pink and blue.
Chapter One
A loud piercing wail penetrated the air, jogging Avery Johnson to life. Grabbing the edges of his pillow, he pulled the cotton around his head in hopes it would keep his skull from exploding. “Damn Belinda and her animals,” he growled. Then, tossing the pillow across the room, he stumbled from the bed, wearing only the shorts he’d peeled down to the night before, and ricocheted from wall to wall as he journeyed down the hallway. Out of breath, he paused at the kitchen doorway, his hands holding fast to the molding. For a moment, quiet returned to the bungalow at the north range of the Diamond D.
“Must have been dreaming,” he told himself. His mouth felt like the Mojave Desert. He eyed the glass coffeepot and grabbed it as he turned into the galley kitchen. Bracing his legs against the sink cabinet, he turned on the water and let it fill to the line before pouring it in the top of the coffeemaker. “Where’s the coffee?” he mumbled, searching the cluttered counter for the red plastic container. He snatched the cabinet doors open and searched the shelves until he located it behind the box of puffed rice cereal, pulled it down, and slammed the wooden doors closed. He fumbled with the container’s top, only to find a silver film blocking his way once the lid was off.
“Damnation,” he groused as his frustration mounted. He pulled a drawer open and shoved the contents around. “Ouch!” He stuck his forefinger between his lips and tasted blood. Well, he’d found something sharp anyway. With a sigh, he removed his finger from his mouth and scrutinized the rusted end of the blade. “At least I don’t have to worry about tetanus,” he mused, thinking of the rounds of drinks he’d consumed the night before. Plunging the knife into the film, he gave a satirical laugh and ripped it away. “Busted.” He shoved the drawer closed with enough force to rattle the pans and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Outside, the cry began again.
“Shut up, cat,” he yelled, as he pushed the white filter into place and scooped the grounds into it. The wail rose, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” he shouted, and pushed the red button on.
Stomping toward the front door, he stubbed his toe on the boots lying in the way and cried out. He brought his leg up and gazed down at his throbbing big toe for a moment before limping onward to the door. Unable to contain the wrath which boiled over, he yanked the door open. Face dark with anger, Avery stood prepared for battle, only to find the horizon empty. “What the devil?” he cursed. Stepping forward, he gazed to the right, then to the left.
A sound more like a wheeze drew his attention to a metal washtub sitting at the edge of the porch. He blinked and inched forward. The tub overflowed with a soft pink blanket, while alarm bells rattled in his head. Avery leaned forward. There was something alive and very, very, unhappy in that tub. Throwing caution to the wind, he knelt down.
Everything seemed to be playing out in slow motion, like some bad movie, and he had no remote control to change the channel. Hesitant at first, his heart thumping, he grasped the satin edge of the pink blanket and eased back the fullness. The early morning sunlight shone down upon a cherubic face framed by a simple white bonnet. Avery’s eyes widened. The tiny bottom lip began to tremble, and the ear-piercing wail began anew.
“Hey! Stop that!”
The infant cranked it up a notch, adding the flailing of its arms and kicking of its feet. He glanced up the road, looking for someone watching, but the horizon was vacant. “This has to be a joke,” he whispered, then called out, “It’s a joke, right?”
The yard remained quiet except for the child’s rising cries.
“Look, you’ve got to stop crying. I can’t help you if you’re crying.”
He raised his hands. What do I do? A feeling of helplessness sent a wave of nausea toward his center. Now is not the time to puke, he chastised himself.
The screams rose to a deafening level. In order to save his ears, Avery slid his hands beneath the infant’s head and bottom, lifting the child upward. In the warmth of his arms, the cries lessened.
“There, now, baby.” He brought it close to his chest and took a good look. The child was clothed in a pink sleeper decorated wit
h darker pink bows. Avery’s face screwed up in disapproval. “You look like an ad for Pepto-Bismol.”
The blotchy red eyes opened and two bright blue circles stared up at him. Somehow the infant managed to get a fist into her mouth and furiously gnawed on her knuckles.
“Where’s your mama, half pint?”
The child blinked. Avery scanned the horizon with a deep sinking feeling. No car. No truck. Not even a covered wagon dotted the landscape. “How did you get here?” he whispered and pulled the infant tight to his chest. Gazing back at the tub, he spied a single white envelope with his name printed on it.
Shifting the child to the crook of his arm, he reached for it, flipped the edge of the envelope open, and shook out the note. “When we met, I never thought this would happen. I gave her life; now it’s your turn, to raise her.” He stared at the letter. “No. No, this isn’t happening.”
His shoulders hunched as something latched on to his bare nipple. “Hey, now! I’m not built for that.” He dropped the paper, eased the child back away from his chest, and rubbed his hand across his skin. Rising, he put the child against his shoulder. No bottles, no formula, no diapers. Avery dampened his lips. He needed help, and fast.
****
Haley Thorpe hurried down the back stairway of the sprawling ranch house. Her morning actually had begun several loads of laundry ago, and she had a few more still waiting to hit the machine. However, breakfast came first. The stairs led to the back of the kitchen, and she could see her mother already busy at the stove. “Morning, Mama.”
Josephine Thorpe turned her head and leveled a radiant smile at her only child. Just seeing it brightened the room. “Morning, sweetheart. All quiet upstairs?”
“So far, so good,” Haley replied, holding up a pair of crossed fingers. She moved to the refrigerator and opened the door.
“Grab the carton of orange juice.”
“Sure.” Haley pulled the plastic container from the shelf on the door and hurried over to the countertop. Placing the jug on the granite surface, she rose on the balls of her feet and opened a cabinet door. “How many glasses do you need this morning?”
Her mother slid the cast iron fryer from the heat and replied, “Four. Seth slid in this morning around three.”
“Ouch.” Haley made a face. “He’ll hear about that if Mrs. Davis heard him.”
Her mother smothered a chuckle. “He knows the rules. Perhaps he was out dealing with some of the cattle.”
“Hm.” Haley didn’t answer. She knew Seth’s penchant for the Lucky Quarter and figured there wasn’t a man in Cactus Gulch who hadn’t frittered away a Saturday night there with some Texas longnecks—and wished to heck he’d been in earlier, come the next morning. She placed the glasses on the counter and filled them. Slipping the top back on, she placed the container in the fridge and moved to look over her mother’s shoulder. “Your breakfast casserole?”
“It wouldn’t be Sunday without it.” Her mother moved to the counter beside the stove and lathered the inside of a baking dish with butter. “You stir while I do this. Can’t have my sausage burnt.”
Haley stepped to the stove, picked up the wooden spoon, and slowly moved the spoon around to keep the meat from sticking to the bottom of the pan. “You have plans for the afternoon, Mama?”
“No, not really. Scoot.” She shoved a hip against Haley, who turned over the spoon and stepped away to watch. “What you have in mind?”
“I thought we’d head over to town and catch a movie together. I hear they’re showing You’ve Got Mail at the Palace.”
“Oh, I do love my Meg Ryan. Hand me four eggs.”
Haley reached and handed her mother the required number of big brown eggs from the bowl on the counter, kept filled with fresh eggs from the barnyard.
“I’m so glad Danny Phelps restored that old theater. Gives us all a place to get away from everyday life.”
“Yes, yes, it does.” Haley murmured, as her mother rapidly cracked the eggs, spreading each shell with one hand to spill the contents into a huge mixing bowl.
“Set the table for me, dear. This won’t take long.”
“Sure, Mama.”
Haley stepped over to the cabinet and picked up the plates before moving to the dining room. Her mother was an incurable romantic. That’s why she’d never married after Haley’s father’s death. She always said she’d had her soul mate for thirty years, and she was not about to break in one that didn’t live up to his standards.
Placing the plates on the table, Haley went to the highboy and pulled out the silverware. Only in Texas would you use real silver every day. She looked at the sleek lines of a fork that had been passed down, generation by generation, to the oldest Davis boy. One day she’d have something to pass down to her children. “It may not be silver, but it will be just as important.”
She walked back into the kitchen. Her mother had already placed the casserole in the oven and was putting the juice on a tray for her to carry.
“You know,” Josephine began, “you could take a lesson from some of those movies.”
Here it comes again. “Mama.” The warning tone in Haley’s voice echoed in the kitchen. “Let’s not get started on this.”
“Suit yourself.” Josephine huffed and pushed the tray toward her. “But remember, you’re not getting any younger.”
Haley carefully lifted the wooden tray, keeping the glasses balanced. “I’m not near death.”
“No, you’re not.” Josephine tilted her chin in an act of defiance. “All I have to say is that life’s too short not to be lived to the fullest. You can’t hide away from the world here on the Diamond D.”
She took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, Mama, I know you’re right. I’m just not ready for a man in my life.”
Josephine raised one brow. “No one is ever ready for a man in her life. It just happens. That’s the way of love. It just happened to your father and me, God rest his soul. Just promise me you won’t ignore the gift when it jumps up and slaps you in the face.”
“I won’t, Mama. I promise.”
Walking back to the dining room, she thought about her mother’s words. In some ways, it made sense. She’d love to find romance. But a forever love, like in those Hollywood movies? That rarely happened. She put the tray on the end of the table and set out the glasses. Once, long ago, she thought she’d found Mr. Right, only to discover her knight in white armor was nothing more than a snake oil salesman in disguise. Hurt and disillusioned, she’d made her way back to the Diamond D and taken the job as housekeeper under the pretense of helping her mother. In reality, it was to get her feet beneath her once more. “Once burned. Twice shy,” she whispered and hurried back to the kitchen.
They’d just finished cutting up the cantaloupe when the sound of feet hitting the stairway reached their ears.
“Hurry.” Her mother shoved the morning paper into her hands. “Make sure this is on Mr. Davis’s end of the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hurrying through the door, she’d just made it when Jim Davis’s figure filled the doorway.
“Morning, pretty girl.” His deep voice filled the room. “Didn’t get up too early, now, did you?”
“No, sir.” Haley smiled. “Not too early.”
He pulled his chair out and sat down. At sixty-four, Jim Davis was still a formidable man, even if gray hair flourished at his temples. To Haley, he was the father figure in residence, since her own had passed away. My,” he remarked, glancing over the food waiting to be eaten. “Fit for a king.” He glanced at her. “Your mother’s sausage casserole?”
Haley laughed. “Almost done.”
“Perfect.” He shook out the front section of the paper while she grabbed the pot of coffee warming on its stand and filled his cup.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, she called out to her mother, “Mom, Mr. Davis wants to know…”
“I heard.”
Haley rose on her tiptoes and looked over the large bar to see her mother, bent ove
r, pulling the casserole dish from the oven. She closed her eyes long enough to take a deep breath and savor the aroma from the mixture of spicy meat, warm cheese, and peppers. “Umm,” she groaned, thinking of the taste. “Smells so good.”
“Humph,” her mother snorted. “It better, or Mr. Davis will send me packing.”
Opening her eyes, Haley watched her mother move past, turn, and back into the door to push it open. “Smaller one for us is still in the oven. Pull it out and set our plates on the counter. I’ll be right back as soon as everyone is served.”
“Will do.”
Her mother disappeared into the dining room, and Haley slipped on a pair of oven mitts and assumed the same position as her mother had earlier, opening the door and reaching inside for the smaller casserole. As she pulled it toward her, she heard the back door to the kitchen open, and the wail of an infant shattered the stillness.
“Keep it down,” a male voice pleaded.
Haley paused, then blinked. She knew that voice! The infant snuffled and cried harder.
“Please, I’m trying.”
Avery Johnson? What is he doing with a child?
“Here now.” The pitch of his voice grew higher. “You’re not helping, baby.”
She needed to put down the dish. Dampening her lips, Haley plastered a smile on her face and straightened up. “Oh, hi there, Avery.”
“Crap, Haley, you scared me.”
She set the casserole on one of the cold burners and shook off the gloves. “What brings you to the main house?”
He gave her a look of disbelief. “You didn’t just ask me that, did you?” He jiggled the baby, apparently in hopes she would grow quiet if moved up and down enough. “I have this little problem.”
She did her best not to laugh, only to fail miserably. “Here.” She moved to his side and raised her hands to take the baby. “Did that big bad old cowboy scare you?” she crooned.
Avery shot her a scandalous glare. “I did not.”
“Sh. Don’t raise your voice.” She cradled the child’s head on her shoulder as the baby’s chin trembled. “Poor baby, don’t cry,” she whispered and placed a kiss on the infant’s forehead.