Not when she knew that a half-naked Woodrow lay sleeping in the next room.
Woodrow paused at the front door, his hand on the knob. “They’re good people,” he told the doc, hoping to plead Ace and Maggie’s case one last time before introducing his brother and sister-in-law to Elizabeth. “They love that kid like she was their own.”
Tightening her fingers on her shoulder bag, she gave him a brisk nod. “I’m sure they are,” she replied. “I’m grateful for the care they’ve given my niece.”
Which didn’t offer Woodrow a clue as to whether she intended to sign over to Ace and Maggie whatever claim she might have on the kid.
With a sigh, he opened the door and pushed it wide, gesturing for the doc to precede him into the house. “We’re here,” he called loudly as he followed her inside.
Ace appeared in the doorway to the study, looking as if he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw shadowed by at least two days’ worth of stubble.
He started toward them, a hand extended to Elizabeth. “Ace Tanner,” he said by way of greeting, then glanced behind him. “And this,” he said, reaching to loop an arm around his wife’s waist and draw her forward, “is my wife, Maggie.”
The doc shook first Ace’s hand, then Maggie’s, her expression unchanging, her face a cool mask. “Elizabeth Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you both.”
Maggie nodded a tight-lipped greeting, but said nothing. Woodrow wondered what was wrong with her. Usually his sister-in-law was friendlier than a pup and talkative as a magpie. But this morning she seemed withdrawn, even resentful.
Ace opened an arm in invitation. “Why don’t we move into the den, where we can talk more comfortably.”
Elizabeth went first. Maggie followed a slow second. Woodrow fell into line behind his sister-in-law and gave Ace a questioning look as he passed by his brother. Ace lifted a shoulder and mouthed “later,” before following Woodrow into the den.
“Maggie baked a batch of cinnamon rolls this morning,” Ace offered, “and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”
Woodrow dropped down onto the sofa next to the doc and rubbed a hand over his stomach. “You won’t hear me turning down any of Maggie’s cooking.”
Ace turned to Elizabeth. “How about you?”
Placing her purse primly on her lap, she folded her hands over it. “No, thank you,” she said politely.
“You sure?” Ace asked. “Maggie makes a mean cinnamon roll.”
“I’m quite sure they’re delicious, but I don’t care for anything, thank you.”
Ace lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you say.” He started for the door, but Maggie beat him there by a foot.
“I’ll make Woodrow a plate,” she told Ace and darted from the room before he could stop her.
Stifling a sigh, Ace retraced his steps and sank down on an overstuffed chair opposite the sofa. He forced a smile. “How was the trip from Dallas?”
Woodrow glanced at the doc to see if she was going to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “It was fine. We hit Tanner’s Crossing before dawn, so we stopped by the house to catch a few Zs before heading over here.”
Ace nodded, then seemed at a loss as to what to say to fill the awkward silence that followed.
The doc solved the problem for him.
“I’d like to see my niece, if that’s all right with you.”
“She’s still asleep. I thought we’d visit for awhile until she wakes up.”
Woodrow could tell by the way the doc pursed her lips, she didn’t want to wait, but she nodded her agreement.
Maggie returned with a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of Woodrow.
“You like your coffee black, right, Woodrow?”
He eyed the plate of cinnamon rolls, his mouth watering in anticipation. “Yeah. And about a dozen of those rolls, if you don’t mind.”
Maggie filled a cup with coffee, then transferred two rolls to a plate and passed it to him.
Woodrow balanced the plate on his thigh and, ignoring the fork she’d provided, picked up a roll and took a healthy-size bite. Groaning, he closed his eyes. “Damn, Maggie. If you weren’t already married, I swear I’d drop down on a knee and propose.”
“You propose?” she repeated, then snorted a laugh as she sank down on the chair next to Ace. “I thought you were a confirmed bachelor?”
He gulped a swallow of coffee to wash down the roll, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “I am. But a man would be a fool to let a woman who can cook as good as you get away.”
Ace laid a possessive hand on Maggie’s leg. “Sorry, bro. She’s taken.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat, drawing their attention to her.
“Woodrow was unable to tell me how Renee died.” She looked to Maggie, directing the question to her. “He said that you’d know.”
“Preeclampsia.”
“Toxemia,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully, then frowned. “I would think her obstetrician would’ve caught the signs early enough to take the necessary precautions.”
Maggie shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “He might’ve if Star had seen him regularly. From what her doctor told me, after verifying her pregnancy, Star never returned to his office for her prenatal checkups.”
An infant’s cry had all four adults jerking to attention.
Maggie leapt to her feet. “That’s Laura. I’ll get her.”
The doc rose and placed a hand on Maggie’s arm, stopping her.
“May I?” she asked, then added, “Please?”
Maggie opened her mouth, as if to deny Elizabeth’s request. Then flopped back down on her chair and turned her head away. “The nursery’s the third door on the left.”
Elizabeth followed the sound of the baby’s cries down the hall, silently counting the doors she passed. At the third, she paused to take a deep breath, then twisted open the door and stepped inside.
Sunlight greeted her, spilling from tall windows on either side of a crib placed against the opposite wall. A mobile of colorful farm animals bobbed at the crib’s head, set into motion by the infant’s fussing. Bumper pads covered in pink-and-white gingham lined the crib’s sides, blocking Elizabeth’s view of the baby. Though she knew her niece lay only a few feet away, she hung back, frightened to take that first step nearer.
Would the baby look like Renee? she worried. Would she have Renee’s blond curly hair? Her mesmerizing blue eyes? Her dainty features? Would she, Elizabeth, be able to bear it, if the infant did look like Renee?
As the infant’s cries grew stronger, she took a cautious step nearer. Another, and a tiny fist appeared above the bumper pads, batting angrily at the air. Another step and she had a clear view of the baby. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. My niece, she thought, gulping. She took the last step and closed her hands over the top rail of the crib, looked down.
An angel, was all she could think. Though the infant’s face was flushed an angry red and tears streaked her cheeks, Elizabeth was sure she was looking into the face of an angel.
The infant’s cries rose higher.
Gulping, Elizabeth forced her fingers from the death grip she had on the rail and reached for the baby. She lifted her carefully, turning for the rocker placed before the window as she drew the infant