Nevada Cowboy Dad. Dorsey Kelley

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      Chapter Two

      The ear-splitting squawk behind Lucy startled her so badly she whirled. Her purse and briefcase flew from her hands, skittered across the living room’s floor and slammed into the cabbage-rose-print davenport. Lipstick, keys and a checkbook hurled from the purse while file folders and assorted legal papers spewed from the briefcase.

      Fritzy stood in the kitchen doorway. Her eyebrows were raised, but she was smiling. However it wasn’t the older woman with whom Lucy had enjoyed a reunion an hour ago that had startled her, but the grinning, drooling, chortling creature Fritzy held in her arms.

      A baby. Fritzy was holding a baby.

      “Sorry we scared you,” Fritzy said, the apology much too offhand for Lucy’s still-pounding heart, “but Baby sure does like squealin’.”

      Lucy laid a hand on her chest “So I gather. Whose, um...baby is it?” Shakily she bent to stuff papers into the briefcase.

      “Oh, didn’t Rusty tell you before he went back to branding?”

      It was true that less than an hour ago Rusty had informed her tersely that he was “burning daylight” and stomped off toward the corrals.

      The housekeeper went on airily. “The men’ve got to get those late calves marked before cold weather sets in and then moved to low pastures. Fall roundup’s not so important as spring, but—”

      “Uh, Fritzy,” Lucy gently reminded her, “the baby?”

      “Oh, this is Tom’s. You remember, one of Rusty’s brothers?” The graying woman shook her head sadly. “Such a shame, him dallying with that gal. Even she said it was just one night—but when will people learn—that’s all it takes!”

      The baby waved plump arms and flexed its feet, forcing Fritzy to shift the weight to one generous hip. Her soft-printed house dress bunched up a little, but Fritzy didn’t appear to notice. The infant’s blue eyes stared back at Lucy, and she noticed the rounded head was bald but for a soft bit of auburn down. The child’s body was stuffed like a sausage into a pink terry one-piece suit, the seams pulled so tight Lucy could see frayed threads threatening to burst. She shrugged; maybe that’s how baby clothes were supposed to fit. On the creature’s feet were a kind of bootie, white, with mock laces.

      The tot squealed again.

      “Fritzy, what do you mean it’s Tom’s?” Lucy asked warily. She straightened to place her purse and case onto the couch. She’d never had any experience with children. In the first months of her marriage, Kenneth had gone off without her knowledge and paid a surgeon to perform a vasectomy. Kids got in the way, he’d said. Kids were a nuisance. Kids were a pain in the a—

      “Tom got that woman pregnant, like I said,” Fritzy supplied. “Then that freeway accident happened and...well, after she delivered, she showed up here, shoved Baby at Rusty and said, ‘You keep the brat, I don’t want her.”’ Fritzy harrumphed and nuzzled the infant’s neck. “Imagine, abandoning a child just like that. It’s terrible. But we don’t mind, do we, Baby?” She finished by making a silly face at the child.

      Before Lucy could voice another question, Fritzy glanced up. “You’ll help, won’t you dear? Not that I wouldn’t love to spend every minute with such a perfect little lamb, but I’ve got housekeeping to do, you know.” Without waiting for a reply, she came forward and bundled the baby into Lucy’s arms. “Hold my angel a bit. I’ve got to get that chicken roasting or we’ll have no supper!”

      “No, wait!” Lucy cried as a warm sloppy mouth came flush with her throat, depositing spittle down her neck, and a wriggling body smashed against her chest. “Fritzy,” she wailed at the woman’s fast-retreating back, “I don’t know how—I can’t do this.”

      “Nothing to it,” the housekeeper said with a wave of her hand.

      Lucy dashed after her, awkwardly balancing the child in her arms. In the spacious kitchen with its sunflower yellow curtains and cozy nook, Fritzy lifted a large blue-speckled roasting pan onto the tiled countertop and settled a raw chicken into its depths.

      “Just a minute,” Lucy panted. Babies were heavier than she would have guessed they could be. “I’ve got to get this straight. Are you saying that Rusty’s brother Tom indulged in a one-night stand with some woman he didn’t know, and that this baby was born after his death?”

      “Yes, dear.” Without looking up, Fritzy began spreading the chicken skin with herbs, then shook salt and pepper on top.

      “And then,” Lucy continued doggedly, determined to get matters clear, “the woman came here and sort of...dropped it off?” On her shoulder, tiny fingers tried to pull one of Lucy’s small hoop earrings into its mouth. Lucy batted at the pudgy, grabbing hands. She was beginning to have a terrible sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

      “Yes, dear.” Fritzy poured a cup of what looked like broth into the roaster and took up a basting brush to paint melted butter over the chicken.

      “Ouch,” Lucy yelped. The child had clamped the earring and her earlobe into its fist and was pulling both toward the yawing maw of its mouth. Dismayed, Lucy wondered how such a minuscule hand could wield all the strength of a lumberjack. With great difficulty, considering she had to juggle the infant with one arm, she finally managed to free her ear.

      Over her shoulder Fritzy smiled. “You shouldn’t wear jewelry any more,” she said. “At least not for a while. Babies are like crows—everything that glitters catches their eyes.” She chuckled at her own joke.

      Lucy did not laugh. The sinking sensation had reached her toes. “You can’t mean,” she began, speaking slowly and distinctly so that Fritzy wouldn’t misunderstand, “that this baby lives here, in this house.”

      The housekeeper paused in surprise. She smoothed her gingham apron over her stout midsection. “Course I do. Gracious, where would you expect the child to live? It’s why I moved up from my cottage. I was thinking of moving back sometime, but,” she frowned, then resumed her work, “I s’pose with you here now I’d best stay. Wouldn’t be right—an eligible bachelor like Rusty and a sweet young thing like you living alone under one roof.” Her graying topknot bobbled as she shook her head. “No, indeed.”

      Of all the developments Lucy had expected to arise from her business deal with Rusty, she’d never considered СКАЧАТЬ