Greg ran a hand through his hair. “Do you need me to come by?”
“You’re always welcome, Chief, but she’s been very wary around men again today. I’m not sure it would do much good.”
He nodded, more to himself than to the nurse on the other end of the call. “Well, keep me posted. I’ll call back later.”
“Absolutely, Chief. You have a good evening.”
He hung up the phone and picked up the file on his desk. His shift had been over for two hours already, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to go home. His mind was still on that 11-80.
11-80. It was easier to refer to it numerically than to voice the reality of the situation. It had been a terrible car accident with crumpled metal, leaking fuel and a gravely injured driver. The semitruck that hit the little car was relatively unharmed, and the truck driver was incredibly shaken, but in one piece, which was more than could be said for the occupant of the car. He tried to push the mental images out of his head, but the one that remained was the pleading face of the injured mother, her face covered in blood and her eyes filled with fear.
“Her name is Emily Shaw. She’s Cora’s godmother. You have to call her. Please. I don’t want my baby with a stranger. You have to call her!”
He’d sworn that he would, and there was something about that young mother’s intensity, her insistence that he take care of this, that stuck with him. Fourteen hours later, that little baby became an orphan when her mother succumbed to her injuries and passed away in the E.R., and the least he could do was fulfill that frightened mother’s last wishes and personally bring the baby to Emily Shaw. Which he had done this afternoon. The baby was now settled with her godmother. Job complete, right?
So why couldn’t he let it go? Why was Emily’s face now swimming in his mind, too?
But the image of Emily Shaw, with her dark, wavy hair and her sparkling eyes, didn’t bring up the same anxiety and guilt that the other images did. A young, dying mother, terrified for her baby. His own mother, suffering from Alzheimer’s, unaware of who he was. A tiny infant, orphaned by a fatal accident. Yet there was something comforting in that calm kindergarten teacher with her disheveled papers and self-deprecating laugh. While he knew that his professional position didn’t make a personal relationship with her very appropriate, thinking about Emily Shaw was infinitely more pleasant than the other options.
He’d pick up those baby things the officers had collected and bring them by. Maybe that would tie up this case in his head and let him move on.
Chapter Two
The next afternoon, Greg pulled into Emily’s drive in his unmarked squad car and parked. He sat motionless for a moment or two, listening to the background noise of voices on the police radio. Apparently, there was a 10-33—a triggered security alarm—from a locked store. Across town another officer was taking a Code 8—a restroom break. Like most things, that just sounded better in a numerical code than to state the obvious. Greg’s thoughts weren’t on the voices, however. He found himself feeling somewhat nervous, something he didn’t feel very often. He took a deep breath and opened the car door.
Emily’s home sprawled just south of the small community of Haggerston. A bungalow-style rancher, it had a large yard hemmed in by a log fence. The effect was quite rustic, and he liked it. The well-maintained yard sported flower beds arranged naturally, as if little patches of flowers and leafy plants had just decided to push up around a rock or a tree, although in Montana, that sort of natural sprouting rarely happened without a good deal of loving care. Her front door had a woven twig wreath hanging on it, and he imagined that come the holiday season, it would be festooned with berries and holly. Her windows were covered with shuttered blinds that were open at the moment, letting the summer light in and keeping prying eyes out. As a police officer, he approved of her use of privacy.
In the trunk, Greg had several bags and boxes of baby things he’d picked up from the station, and he carried them to her front door before ringing the bell. He didn’t hear anything for a few moments, and he was about to ring again when he heard the sound of footfalls. Her peephole darkened for a moment. Then the lock scraped, and she pulled the door open.
Emily stood in the doorway, her hair still damp from a shower, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose, pink blouse that brought out the color in her cheeks. Her hair had left wet patches on her shoulders, and her face was makeup free. She looked fresh, albeit a little tired, the warm June breeze tugging at some wisps of hair around her face that were drying faster than the rest.
“Hi.” She angled her head to gesture him inside. “Wow, that’s a lot of boxes.”
He looked at the pile next to the door and nodded his agreement.
“I’ve been assured that all of it is absolutely necessary,” he said. “I took their word for it.”
She smiled, her eyes meeting his with a sparkle of amusement. “I hope this isn’t too far out of your way.”
“We’ve all taken a personal interest in Cora.” He gave Emily a shrug. “And you’re her new mom.”
“Well...” A glimmer of something crossed her face, and she made a concerted effort to mask it. “I’m hoping, at least. I’ve heard that these things can be a bit complicated.”
Greg nodded. It was true, and he wasn’t one to give false reassurances. Custody cases could be incredibly complicated, and no one could say what would happen with this one. Instead of answering her, he put his attention into bringing the rest of the boxes inside, piling them neatly inside the door.
“How is everything going with Cora?” he asked instead.
“Surprisingly well, considering how little I slept last night.” She gave him a wry smile. He had to admit, she looked pretty good for not having slept, but then, he probably wasn’t noticing the same things she was. Emily Shaw seemed like the kind of woman who could look pretty good wearing a paper bag.
“Well, this is it.” He nodded toward the boxes. “This should help get you started.”
“Are you on the clock?” she asked.
“Not officially, ma’am.”
“Did you want to come in for a cup of iced tea or something?”
Greg cleared his throat. He hadn’t come over to shoot the breeze, but he had to admit that the prospect of an iced tea on a hot day with some beautiful company appealed.
“Unless you’re busy—” She blushed.
“Well, I suppose a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.”
Emily rewarded him with a brilliant smile and angled her head into the house.
“Come to the kitchen. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
Greg followed Emily through a cool, spacious living room into the kitchen. It was lined with bright windows opening up onto a large veranda out back. The kitchen was a cook’s dream, with polished black appliances, a gorgeous amount of counter space and an island in the middle with a selection of stainless-steel pots hanging above.
Next to a small kitchen table by a window sat a little bassinet, baby Cora nestled under a light knitted blanket, snoring softly. Emily peeked in on her, pausing for a moment on her way to the refrigerator.
“So you were friends with Steve, were you?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Friends might be a strong word. I knew him.” Greg perched on the edge of a stool by the counter, grateful for a topic of conversation that didn’t involve anything too personal. “What’s he up to now?”
“He got married about ten years ago,” Emily said. “His wife, Sara, and he have three little girls. They’re very