A Baby for the Hardened Bounty Hunter (Preview)

Chapter One

Pine Hollow, Colorado

He must be close by now. 

Nathaniel stretched out as best he could on horseback, arching his back until his spine cracked before reaching his arms above his head, pointing towards the harsh blue sky. His horse, Lavender, threw him a reproachful look. She was tired too, poor thing, and having him wriggling around on her back couldn’t be pleasant. 

“Nearly there,” Nathaniel said aloud, not sure whether he was reassuring her or himself. “Rebecca will be pleased to see us. She’ll probably have a pot of stew on the stove already, and a bale of good, sweet hay for you.”

Lavender’s ears twitched at the mention of hay, and Nathaniel chuckled to himself. According to the dog-eared old map he had tucked in his pocket, the small town of Pine Hollow should be just ahead, over the ridge. He could imagine the place already. It would be a nice, neighborly sort of town, with lots of children running around and playing in the streets, with their parents chatting companionably with each other as they went about their chores. There’d be smoke rising from chimneys, the smell of home-cooked meals drifting out of open windows and doors. 

It was just the sort of place Rebecca had always dreamed of. Safe, sweet, easy. A nice little house with a nice little husband and a gaggle of children. Exactly what she’d wanted. 

But then, Nathaniel thought, with a sense of uneasiness that he hadn’t been able to banish the whole trip here, if she’s gotten exactly what she wanted, why did she write to me? 

They climbed the last stretch, and he found himself staring down into a deep valley. At once he stopped, and his hands tightened on the reins. Lavender gave a nervous whicker, pressing her ears back against her skull. 

“Me too, girl, me too,” Nathaniel whispered, voice cracking. “What happened here?”  

There was smoke all right but not curling up from chimneys. No, a few houses were on fire, flames licking through the blackened windows and prancing across the sagging roofs. There was nobody in the streets except for a few frightened dogs, cringing through the wreckage of their homes with their tails tucked up under their bellies. As for smells, there were plenty of those. Not braising stew or roasting meat, no. Something more visceral, something worse. It turned Nathaniel’s stomach. 

Lavender turned her head, staring up at him with large, sorrowful brown eyes. She wanted to go back, that was clear. It seemed neither of them wanted to go and walk around that ruined town. 

But Rebecca was here somewhere. She needed his help before, and by the looks of it, she’ll need more now.

Swallowing thickly, Nathaniel tapped his heels gently against Lavender’s sides, urging her forward. With a heavy sigh, she moved, head hanging low. 

Curls of heavy smoke stuck to them as they traveled through the town. Nathaniel would have preferred to keep his head down and not look at anything as he went by, but that would be foolish. He might miss something important. He saw bodies, curled up in corners, stretched over doorsteps, all motionless. A few doors had been kicked in, and he caught glimpses of wreckage inside. There was no movement. No human movement, at least. 

Nathaniel’s stomach lurched, panic clawing up his throat. 

Rebecca. 

Lavender spooked when a woman scrambled out into the road in front of him and aimed a shotgun straight at him. Nathaniel grabbed the reins tightly.

“Don’t go any further, you!” she cried. “It’s loaded! Don’t think that I won’t shoot!”

For one moment, Nathaniel thought that it could have been Rebecca. Then he blinked, and of course it wasn’t her. This woman was well into middle-age, with a stocky body and shaggy dark hair, a bruise swelling up over her cheek and beginning to push her eye closed. Children moved behind her, huddled behind the corner of a house with cracked walls, watching him in resignation. 

“I mean you no harm,” Nathaniel responded, as calmly as he could, lifting his hands from the reins to show that he was unarmed. “My name’s Nathaniel Brooks. I’m a bounty hunter, and I’m here to visit a friend. Can you tell me what happened here?”

The woman wavered, clearly not sure whether to trust him or not. 

“Well, I don’t remember you being one of them,” she muttered, half to herself, and gradually lowered her gun. “A gang of men came through here. They broke into houses, stole what they wanted. When some of the menfolk tried to drive them off, the outlaws got violent. It… It got out of hand. I don’t even know if anybody else is alive.”

“Did they go through the whole town?” he managed, voice tight. 

The woman sighed. “I don’t think so. Some houses are untouched. No fires in the western part of town.”

That was something. Maybe Rebecca was safe. Things like this could happen, with small, unprotected towns like this, out in the middle of nowhere. The place probably didn’t even have a sheriff, just a deputy who visited once or twice a month. He’d seen places like this before. Small, remote towns were all the same. 

“There’s a town about ten miles down that way, you could try and make it there, with your children.”

“Reckon I’ll have to,” the woman sighed, her voice cracking just a little. There was a haunted look in her eyes, and a splash of something suspiciously red on her hem. “Why are you here? Who are you visiting?”

“Rebecca Crowe. Her maiden name was Rebecca Moore, if that helps. Where does she live?”

The woman’s face relaxed further. “Oh, I know Rebecca, poor thing.”

“Poor thing?” Nathaniel repeated, gaze sharpening. “Why do you call her that?”

The woman shifted uneasily, as if she regretting speaking so thoughtlessly. “Well, it’s not easy as a woman alone, is it?”

“She’s not alone. She has her husband.”

She pursed her lips. “Well, he’s not here, is he? He’s never here. Her house is down there. It’s got a yellow-painted front door. I haven’t seen her today, so I can’t vouch for whether she’s alive or not. This town has seen bloodshed today.”

A feeling of pressure built up inside Nathaniel’s chest. He swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself. 

“Thank you,” he said at last. “This gang, it wouldn’t have been led by a man named P. Topham, would it?”

“Now, how should I know that?”

“Of course not, I’m sorry. I just thought I’d ask.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders tiredly, shuffling out of the way. Nathaniel clicked his tongue and Lavender trotted forward. Tension seemed to tighten in the atmosphere as they walked past the woman. He could feel her eyes on him as he went by. When he looked back, however, she was gone, and so were her children. 

Rebecca’s house, with its yellow-painted front door, was easy to find. There were no obvious signs of attack. The house wasn’t on fire, the door was whole and closed, no windows were smashed as far as he could see. The front window, which appeared to look into a kitchen, stood open, curtains flapping in the stale breeze. There was hope, then. 

He slipped down from Lavender’s back, heart thumping.

He placed a hand on the door, pausing. 

“Rebecca?” he called. “Are you in there? It’s me, it’s… it’s Nathaniel. You wrote to me to come, and I came. I’m here.”

Silence. The sense of dread lodged in his chest remained, intensifying. Swallowing hard, Nathaniel turned the doorknob, pushing open the door. 

He found himself in a neat, pretty little cottage kitchen. The remains of meal preparation lay scattered over the worktop, carrots, potatoes, and half-chopped onions piled up beside an overturned pan of water. The water still dripped off the edge of the table. 

A woman sat upright on the floor, back resting against the wall. Her head was turned away from Nathaniel. She didn’t move. 

Nathaniel tightened his grip on the doorknob, faintly aware that the tarnished brash was squeaking under his fingers. 

“Rebecca?” he ventured. 

There was no answer. 

Feeling almost as if he were moving through dense mud, Nathaniel stepped through the kitchen, lowering himself into a crouch. Gingerly, he reached out and touched Rebecca’s cheek. 

Cold. 

Now that he was closer, he could see the wound which had escaped his attention before. A quick glance around the kitchen told him how it had happened – the open window, a stray bullet, thudding its way into Rebecca’s chest. It would have been quick, at the very least.

She was dead, of course. She’d been dead for several hours, judging by the congealed blood half-hidden by her pooled muslin skirt. 

Letting out a long, ragged sigh, Nathaniel sat back on his heels, staring at her. It was plain that even in the few years they’d been apart, Rebecca had changed beyond recognition. She was thinner than before, and her cheekbones were sharper than they ought to be. Her hair seemed lanker than before, and there were deep, purplish circles under her eyes, telling of exhaustion. 

Where is Silas?

The woman had said Silas wasn’t here. At least that meant he wouldn’t be lying dead in the streets somewhere. If there’d been a fight, Silas would certainly have been at the center of it. Nathaniel allowed himself a tired smile, remembering the three of them as children. Silas with his fists swinging, Rebecca quick and fast and always at Silas’ side, and Nathaniel with his silver tongue, ready to get them out of trouble just as quickly as Silas got them into it. 

Don’t think about that now. Those days are gone. 

But if he wasn’t here, then where was Silas? How had he gotten a reputation for being an absent husband? Silas wanted a family. He was glad to marry Rebecca, no matter what his motivations for the marriage had really been. It would have been perfect, both of them getting what they wanted. A home, a family, a partner, a baby. 

So where was he? 

Nathaniel passed a hand over his face. An ache was starting up behind his eyes, the warning bell for a nasty headache. 

I have to get out of here. 

He rose unsteadily to his feet, reaching out to anchor himself on the kitchen worktop. Rebecca would have to be buried first, of course. There was no question of leaving her here, absolutely not. He could see a pretty little kitchen garden through the window, with trees at the bottom. That would be as good a resting place as any. Then he could… 

A baby’s thin, tired cry echoed through the house. Nathaniel stiffened. At first, he thought it was his exhausted imagination, but no, the baby cried again, more quietly this time. 

Swallowing, he moved through the house, room by room. The baby was in a little back bedroom, swaddled in blankets in a crib. 

At least, it had been swaddled in blankets. The baby had clearly fought free of its blankets and now lay there in a cloth diaper – pungently full – and shivered. When its round, blue eyes landed on him, it gave a quieter cry, waiting for help. 

One of the pillows near the baby’s head had a name stitched on it, in Rebecca’s lopsided, painstaking stitches. 

“Samuel,” Nathaniel murmured, reaching down and gingerly picking up the baby. “That’s your name, then?”

He didn’t pick up a lot of babies, but this one was lighter than he’d expected. How old was it? Four months? Five? Six? He supposed it didn’t matter. The baby – Samuel – opened his mouth, revealing a little pink tongue and raw gums. A burbling sound came out. 

“I imagine you want something to eat. That means milk, I guess,” Nathaniel muttered, glancing around the room. “You’ll need some clothes first, and blankets. Diapers would probably be a good idea.”

His eye fell on a large basket with sturdy, woven handles, sitting in the corner of the room. It was large enough to easily house a baby and probably could even be tied to the side of a saddle, if need be. If it was padded out enough. Obviously, he would have to take the baby. For Rebecca’s sake, and even for Silas’. Silas might not return for days, weeks, or months. 

Baby Samuel gave an urgent gurgle, reaching out his chubby fists. Nathaniel, who was holding the baby at arm’s length, eyed him warily. 

“What? What do you want?”

Another gurgle. Tentatively, Nathaniel brought the baby closer to him. At once he grabbed Nathaniel’s shoulder with one damp hand and seized a fistful of Nathaniel’s hair with the other. 

Nathaniel heaved a sigh. “Oh, dear. What have I gotten myself into, Sammy? Huh?”

The baby gurgled in response and began to wetly chew Nathaniel’s collar. 

Once dressed in a fresh diaper and clean clothes, Nathaniel gently placed Sammy in the basket with a bottle of milk he had found in the kitchen. With the basket resting in the shade of the tree out back, Nathaniel dug a grave for Rebecca and moved her body into it. Then, once his work was finished, he went back inside with Sammy and looked around at the quaint cottage.

What now?

A note, he had to leave a note. Somehow, Nathaniel suspected that there’d be no sign of the woman if he went out to look for her, and anyway, she wouldn’t be staying here. He found a scrap of paper and a pencil in a writing desk and scribbled out a few lines. 

Silas, 

I came here at Rebecca’s request. She said that she was in trouble and needed my help, so I came. I don’t know whether you knew about her letter to me or not, but it doesn’t matter now. 

Rebecca is dead. A gang of bandits came through the town, murdering most of the townsfolk. For what it’s worth, I think Rebecca died quickly, and unsuspectingly. That’s something, isn’t it? I buried her in the back garden, under the big tree right at the back, in the shade. I marked the spot with a wooden cross, as there was no time for a proper gravestone. She’s resting, at least. 

I can’t stay. I’m not sure where I’ll go next, but I’ll try and find you. I have your son, Silas, and I’ll take the best care of him that I can, for Rebecca’s sake. 

I hope you’re doing well, and I’m sure there was a very good reason that you weren’t here. 

Your Old Friend, 

Nat 

Nathaniel read over the letter, chewing his lower lip. It would have to do. Sighing to himself, he placed the letter on the kitchen worktop, weighing it down with a rock. Then he turned his back on the miserable, quiet little kitchen, swept up the baby into his arms, and left. 

Chapter Two

Ashford Basin, Wyoming Territory

“That’ll be two dollars and forty cents, Mrs. Pankhurst,” Eliza announced. “You want to add it to your tab, or will you pay now?”

“I’ll pay now, I think,” the old woman announced, raking around in her purse. She came up with the money, handing it over with gnarled, shaking hands. Eliza took it carefully. “You go on and keep the change, now. Buy yourself something nice, you hear? Maybe some pretty ribbons down at the dressmaker’s.”

“You’re mighty kind, Mrs. Pankhurst.” Eliza responded with a smile. She had no intention of using the change on ribbons, however. The money would be absorbed into the costs of running the general store, just like everything else was. 

“I’m serious about those ribbons,” Mrs. Pankhurst continued, chuckling. “I saw some adorable teal ribbons in there the other day. And you, with that lovely red-gold hair of yours, would suit such a color down to the ground. They’d match your eyes perfectly!” 

Eliza smiled, shaking her head. “I’ll be sure to look at them, Mrs. Pankhurst.”

“Well, you’d better! If I come in here for more groceries later next week and see you with that dull old scrap of string tying up your braid, I’ll be disappointed.”

Eliza carefully packaged up Mrs. Pankhurst’s things, piling them up in the woman’s basket. 

“If I did treat myself to fine new ribbons, I wouldn’t wear them at work,” she responded wryly. “I’d wear them for a special occasion.”

“Like a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t have time for dances.”

Mrs. Pankhurst huffed, picking the basket off the counter. “You don’t have time for anything fun, young lady.”

“Well, I have to work, don’t I?”

“Yes, but a girl of your age ought to take some time for herself. Other ladies manage it.” Mrs. Pankhurst wagged a finger at Eliza. This was a pretty good sign that she’d reached the end of her lecture and was planning to end the conversation. Eliza bit back a smirk, tilting her head. 

“Maybe so, Mrs. Pankhurst, but other girls my age don’t have a general store to run, do they? Now, will there be anything else?” 

Mrs. Pankhurst clicked her tongue in obvious disapproval and swept out of the shop. Eliza watched her go, smiling. 

“She won’t be content until you’re married and settled, you know,” came a male voice in the back of the store. 

Eliza flinched. “Oh, Mr. Whitlock. I didn’t know you were still in here.”

The man in question stepped out from behind a piled-up display of boxes and flashed a lopsided smile. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. And please, call me Horace.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Eliza responded firmly. “What can I help you with?”

He moved towards the counter, resting his elbow, and handed over a long list. Eliza resisted the urge to lift her eyebrows. Horace’s grocery lists created a good chunk of the profit she made. He was probably the richest man in town – no, he was the richest man, no probably about it – and his grocery lists, like his house, were large and impressive. 

“This will take me a while to put together,” Eliza remarked, her gaze straying up to the clock hanging on the wall. The shop closed at half-past six, allowing time for travelers and daily workers to drop by and get their groceries after work. Then, she spent an hour to an hour and a half cleaning and restocking, and generally another hour on inventory and accounts. All told, Eliza’s day generally ended at nine o’ clock. Maybe half past eight, if she worked quickly. Then she would crawl up to her rooms above the store, make herself a quick supper and then sink into bed. The shop opened at seven o’ clock in the morning. 

Those were the hours Pa and Aunt Abigail had put in place, and Eliza had no intention of changing them. Besides, it wasn’t easy, wringing a profit out of a general store in a quiet town like theirs. It took work, and she needed to be open for as many hours as she could. 

“Oh, I don’t expect you to put all this together now. You’re closing in fifteen minutes,” Horace laughed. “I’ll come by and pick it all up tomorrow. Want me to pay now, ahead of time?”

“That won’t be necessary, tomorrow will be fine. You always pay your tabs, Mr. Whitlock.”

His smile wavered a little. “Oh, come on. You can’t call me Horace, after all these years?”

Eliza cleared her throat. “Force of habit. Sorry.”

He nodded slowly, eyes lingering on her face. “You have any trouble with getting folks to pay their tabs? Look, I know how hard it can be, asking people you’ve known your whole life to pay a bill. And I know how worried customers get, knowing their bill is getting longer and they can’t pay, but at the same time needing to eat. I could help you out, if you like. I could intercede, in a way.”

Eliza offered him a faint smile. “You’re kind, Mr. Whi… Horace. It’s good of you to offer, but I manage. Besides, most folks in town don’t run up too much a bill. I don’t offer an exhaustive line of credit, and everybody knows it. When their bills get too long and mine need to get paid, I start knocking on doors.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Of course you’ve got it in hand. I should have known better, huh? Everybody knows that the Thorntons have the best business sense in town, and you are no exception.”

“The best business sense in town? Please. Not with you here,” she laughed, tucking away his grocery list with the rest of the lists she had to prepare for tomorrow. “You’re right about one Thorton, Aunt Abigail’s bakery is thriving. I, on the other hand, barely make a profit.”

“Well, now you’re just being too hard on yourself,” Horace responded. “Sometime, if you wanted, you and I could go through your books. I’ve been running my own businesses for the better part of fifteen years, and maybe I can offer some insight.”

It was a kind enough offer and probably didn’t have any strings attached to it. At thirty-five, Horace certainly was a wealthy and successful man, and nothing had ever been handed to him, Eliza knew that. 

But he also had a tendency to stare at her just a little too intensely for a little too long. If she made a joke or amusing comment, he laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He came to pick up his own groceries, even though everybody knew he had a housekeeper, and he bought plenty of them. He also didn’t bother to patronize Aunt Abigail’s bakery, or the dressmaker’s, which was run by a mild-mannered spinster in her forties who wore spectacles. 

Eliza might not have the matchmaking skills of Mrs. Pankhurst, but she wasn’t stupid. 

“That’s kind of you, Horace,” she responded with a quick smile, “but I think I can manage. Besides, I know how busy you are.”

Horace blinked, hiding his disappointment. “Sure, sure, of course. But I’d make time. I hope you know that, Eliza.”

She didn’t respond to that. He straightened up, adjusting his waistcoat. It looked expensive. Not bought in town, then. 

Horace wasn’t a bad looking man, not really. He had most of his hair, smiled often and sincerely, and grew a decent beard to hide a weak chin. Sure, everybody knew that if you worked for Mr. Whitlock, you minded your manners and did what you were told, or else you’d end up in the streets and nobody else would hire you, but then, lots of landowners and businessmen were like that, weren’t they?

He’d get tired of Eliza quickly enough. Lots of women would be glad to get attention from a man like Horace Whitlock. He’d just find another target. 

“I should let you get on, then,” Horace said at last, when Eliza didn’t immediately respond. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she confirmed, with a nod and a smile. He smiled back, tapping awkwardly on the counter, hastily turned on his heel and hurried out of the store. At least, he opened the door, making the bell above the door jingle, then glanced back at her as if he’d just remembered something. 

“I think you’re overcomplicating your life, Eliza,” he said at last, meeting her eye squarely. “You’re a hard worker, and you’re a clever woman, but sometimes… sometimes our talents can only take us so far. With your Pa dead and your aunt sick, you must know that you could find yourself alone in the world very soon. Don’t you think that now is the time to make friends?”

Eliza stiffened. “Aunt Abby’s going to get better, I’m sure of it.”

Horace’s gaze shifted. “I mean, God forbid anything happens to her. But do you want to be alone, Eliza? Really?”

“I don’t mind my own company.”

He swallowed, nodding. “ Well, just you think about what I said, won’t you? You could have things a lot easier than this, you know.” He made a vague gesture which seemed to encompass the store, Eliza herself, and everything in her life. “Wouldn’t you like to wear your good ribbons every day?”

“I’m not fond of ribbons,” she responded, trying her best to keep an even smile on her face.

Horace nodded again, his eyes sliding away from her. “Sure, sure. Well, see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she murmured. He really did leave after that, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Eliza let out a long sigh, closing her eyes and rolling her head. Her neck ached, and her feet were sore and swollen from standing all day. 

And tomorrow it begins again. 

Getting a start on the cleaning seemed like a good idea. Only a few minutes till closing, and nobody was in the building. Stretching out her arms above her head, trying to work out the kinks from her spine, Eliza retreated to the storeroom behind the counter, looking for the broom. If she could get a start on the sweeping…

On cue, the bell above the door jangled. Her heart sank. 

“I’ll be right out,” she called, glancing briefly into the tarnished mirror hanging above a pile of empty crates. The glass was old and in need of dusting, so she could barely get a glimpse of herself. A too-pale oval of a face, sharp green-blue eyes, untidy hair. 

Whatever Horace Whitlock sees in me is anybody’s guess, she thought grimly. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned away from the mirror and ventured back out behind the counter. 

A stranger stood there. 

She guessed that he was somewhere in his late twenties, perhaps thirty. Average height, powerfully built like a farm laborer, with dusty, travel-stained clothes. Plenty of travelers came through the Basin, and Eliza could recognize them at a glance. Tanned or sun-burned skin, a few days’ of beard growth at the very least, with heavy eyes ringed with dark circles. 

This man was a little fresher-looking than most travelers. He had thick black hair spilling out from underneath a wide-brimmed hat, and sharp, clear eyes, so dark she could barely see the pupil. 

What really attracted her attention, however, was the bundle strapped across his back. 

“Is that a baby?” Eliza managed. 

The man blinked at her, glancing back over his own shoulder. “What, never seen a baby before?” 

“I won’t lie, not a lot of men walk into my store with their baby strapped to their backs,” Eliza admitted, coming out from behind the counter to get a better look. The baby peered back at her with large, serious eyes. “Aren’t you adorable, little one? What should I call you?”

“Samuel. I’ve been calling him Sammy.”

“That’s a good name. You look comfortable enough back here, Sammy.”

“I sure hope he is,” the man sighed. “I took me a good long while to get the sling right. I’ve got a basket tied to the saddle of my horse, but I reckon it jolts him around too much.”

“Most likely. Where’s his mama?”

The man’s face stiffened. “Dead.”

“Oh,” Eliza faltered. “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“He’s not mine. Not my baby, I mean,” the man added. “His parents were close friends of mine, and I’m trying to return him to his father.”

Eliza twisted the hem of her apron between her fingers. “Well, I know how that feels. My mother died when I was born, and I never knew her. I often feel as though I’m trying to track her down myself, only I never really can.”

What an odd thing to say to a stranger. But she’d said it now, and there was no going back. The man eyed her, chewing his lower lip. 

“Well, that’s a tragedy,” he said at last. “But you seem okay. You seem to have done well for yourself.”

She said nothing, neither correcting him nor agreeing. He cleared his throat again, glancing away. 

“You probably guessed, but I’m here for food. Some supplies, some diapers, if you have them. Anything, really.”

“We have a few things. I’ll fetch what we have for babies in stock, and you can take a look.”

“No need, I can browse myself. Would you mind if…” He trailed off hesitantly, fingers straying to the knot of the sling. For the first time, Eliza noticed how it dug into his chest and shoulders. How long had he been walking or riding like that, with the baby wound onto his back. 

“Of course,” she said at once, in response to his unspoken question. “You can leave the baby here on the counter, if you like. I’ll watch him while you shop.”

The man nodded gratefully. “That’s kind of you, Miss…?”

“Eliza. Eliza Thornton.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Thornton. My name’s Nathaniel Brooks, and of course you already know Sammy.”

He gingerly untied the sling, carefully gripping the ends so as not to let the baby fall, and reached back with a practiced movement, swinging the baby forward and into his arms. Sammy gurgled with apparent contentment. 

Eliza held out her arms for the baby, smiling down at him. Nathaniel gave a stifled breath of relief, rubbing at his shoulders. 

“I can show you how to tie up that sling in a way which won’t put too much pressure on your shoulders, by the way,” Eliza offered. “I get a lot of mothers coming in here for their groceries. I know all the tricks.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Nathaniel answered, his voice drifting from the depths of the store. “I’m… I’m rather new to this parenting thing.”

“Well, Sammy here is lucky to have somebody to help him out. When I was a baby, my father didn’t have a clue what to do. My aunt came all the way from three counties over to help out; we were lucky to have her.”

“There’s certainly a learning curve.”

Eliza carefully cradled baby Sammy against her shoulder, supporting his head. He wasn’t a particularly wriggly baby and showed no inclination to cry or grouse. He just looked up at her with apparent contentment. After a few moments, his eyelids began to flicker, and before she knew it, he was asleep, head lolling against her arm. 

A shuffle made her look up. There was Nathaniel, standing right in front of her, with an armful of various boxes and packages. 

Eliza passed a sleeping Sammy back to Nathaniel’s strong arms so she could tally up his purchases. While she calculated, she continued to make small talk, just as she did with every customer. 

“Will you stay a while here in town?” 

Nathaniel held Sammy safely but awkwardly, it was clear now that he had no idea what to do with such a young baby. 

“I’m really not sure. There are a few things I have to consider.”

He was staring at her, a strange look in his eyes. 

She lifted her eyebrows. “What kinds of things?”

He blinked, and the look vanished. “Hm? Nothing, nothing. But actually, since you asked… would you be up to hear a proposal I have?” 

She eyed him warily. “A what?”