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 the 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