The Unclaimed Baby. Sherryl Woods

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ that there wouldn’t be time to head back into town to see Sharon Lynn and the baby until later that night or early the next week.

      Before Cody could reply, the phone in his office rang. he grabbed it up, listened intently, then glanced at Cord with renewed curiosity.

      “Sure thing, Daddy. I’ll send him over to the house. Don’t be taking up too much of his time, though. I’ve got chores for him to do.” He grinned.

      “Yes, I recall that it is still your ranch and you do have some say about what goes on around here. Even if I should forget, you take great pleasure in reminding me every chance you get.”

      He hung up and turned back to regard Cord speculatively. “You didn’t mention that you’d met my daughter.”

      “Sharon Lynn?” he asked, impressed by the speed of the family grapevine.

      Cody nodded. “How’d that come about?”

      Cord debated just how much he should say, finally settling on the bare minimum. “I stopped in town last night for a bite to eat. Dolan’s was the only place open.”

      “I see. Anything else interesting happen while you were there?”

      Cord chuckled at the careful probing. Apparently he was wasting his time being discreet. “Obviously you’ve heard about the baby that was dropped off on the doorstep.”

      “Daddy told me just now. He wants to hear the whole story. So do I, but in my case it’ll have to wait for another time. You go on up to the main house and fill him in, then come back here when you’re done.”

      Cord stood up and started for the door, but Cody stopped him.

      “You know, if you’d mentioned what happened, I’d have given you the job without asking a million and one questions. The fact that you helped out my daughter and that poor little abandoned baby would have been enough.”

      Cord nodded. “I suspected as much, sir. I wanted to get the job on my own.”

      Cody regarded him with approval. “An admirable decision. I think you’re going to work out just fine. Now get on up to the house before Daddy comes looking for you. Once he’s here, he won’t be able to resist telling me how to do things.”

      “I imagine that would be time-consuming, sir.”

      Cody grinned. “You have no idea.”

      Cord had seen the main house in the distance when he’d driven up to White Pines a few hours earlier. It reminded him of a Southern plantation. Cody had explained that was exactly what it was, almost a replica of the burned-to-the-ground home that his ancestors had left behind when they’d fled the South after the Civil War.

      He parked in front of the house and climbed the steps, which had already been cleared of snow. Before he could ring the bell, the door swung wide and an older version of Cody with white hair and stooped shoulders held out a hand.

      “You must be Cord. Come on in. I’ve heard all about the goings-on in town last night.”

      “I gather Los Pin˜os has an active grapevine.”

      “I can’t swear for the town, but this family does,” Harlan Adams said with pride. “There’s not much that goes on that I don’t know about.” He started down the hall and beckoned for Cord to follow.

      “Let’s go in the kitchen if you don’t mind. If I’m right there, I have half a chance of getting a decent cup of coffee, instead of that pitiful decaf everybody’s been insisting I drink the last few months.”

      In the huge kitchen, Harlan Adams glanced around, poked his head into what was apparently a large walk-in pantry and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good, the housekeeper’s gone. If you’ll grab a couple of cups from that cupboard over there, I’ll pour.”

      Cody found two large mugs and put them on the table, hiding his amusement that one of the most powerful men in Texas was having to sneak a cup of real coffee in his own home.

      “Are you sure you ought to be drinking this?” he asked.

      “Of course not. My daughter, the one who’s got a fancy medical degree now, got a notion that the real stuff is bad for my heart. I’m way past eighty now. It’s my opinion that if I want a cup of coffee, then by God, I ought to have one. Age should have some privileges.”

      “Just don’t keel over on my watch,” Cord said.

      The old man’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “I’ll guarantee that, if you’ll keep my little secret.”

      “Done.”

      “So tell me about this baby you and Sharon Lynn found.”

      “What have you heard?”

      “Pitifully little. I tried to wheedle more information out of my grandson, but he’s the sheriff and as tight-lipped as an old maid when it comes to an investigation. All I know for sure is that Sharon Lynn talked him into leaving the baby with her for the time being. I’ve called a judge to make it official that she can provide temporary guardianship for the child, while Justin does his poking around.”

      Cord gave a little nod of satisfaction. “She’ll take good care of her.”

      “Well, of course she will. The girl has a heart as big as Texas. Trouble is, she’s mighty vulnerable these days. I just pray she doesn’t get hurt. I know Justin thinks she’s making a big mistake. Giving up foster care babies isn’t always easy, not even on folks who do it all the time.”

      “I’ll admit I don’t know your granddaughter all that well, but she struck me as being a pretty sensible woman. She didn’t waste a lot of time getting emotional last night. The instant we found that baby, she just took charge.”

      “That’s her way, but it’s been a terrible year for her. Take my word for that.”

      Cord had the feeling that was all Harlan Adams intended to say on the subject, but his measured words only confirmed what Cord had read in her eyes. Something tragic had filled her with sorrow. It reminded him that he needed to move slowly, even though his every instinct was to pursue her without pause until he swept her off her feet.

      “You a single man, Cord?”

      The question took him by surprise, especially in the context of the conversation they’d just been having and his own thoughts.

      “Yes, sir.”

      “I see,” Harlan Adams said, surveying him speculatively.

      Cord tried not to flinch under the intense scrutiny. Finally he met the old man’s gaze evenly and asked, “How do I measure up, sir?”

      Harlan threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you’ll do well enough, I imagine.”

      “Are we talking about ranching now or something else?”

      Before he could reply, a woman with black hair threaded with silver and the angled cheekbones of Native American ancestry swept into the kitchen, snatched the mug from in front of Harlan Adams and poured the contents СКАЧАТЬ