LITMIR.BIZ

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the Bible said, and blamed the weakness of her faith that allowed worry to creep in, even though the Lord always came through.

      Like now. Here was Rachel with the answer to her prayers, though the answer she offered in no way resembled anything Abby had considered during the long, worrisome nights. Wet nurse!

      There was no one left to ask for help. Nathan Haversham at the bank had been more than understanding, but when she’d last spoken to him, he’d explained that he couldn’t let his sympathy get in the way of the bank’s business much longer, and just last week, she’d received a letter giving her a month to come up with the necessary funds or she would receive a notice of foreclosure.

      She lifted a brimming blue gaze to Rachel’s. When she spoke, her voice was as unsteady as her smile. “In truth, it’s the answer to my prayers. When do I start?”

      Rachel flipped open the cover of the gold watch that hung from a chain around her neck. “How about we gather up enough to tide you and the children over for a few days? I’ll drive you to Caleb’s, clean things up and help you get settled.”

      “Now?” Abby had asked, stunned.

      Rachel had offered her a wan smile. “I imagine Miss Betsy Gentry is getting mighty hungry about now, and I’m sure her daddy is pacing the floor and tearing at his hair, wondering what in the world he’s supposed to do about it.”

      Abby had gone about gathering up as much from her kitchen as she could on such short notice, and grabbing the clothes she and the children would need for the next couple of days.

      Now, remembering the conversation, a smile claimed Abby’s lips. Rachel’s description of Caleb Gentry had been right on the mark. When she’d seen him framed in his doorway, he’d looked exactly as if he’d been tearing at his too-long hair.

      She smiled down at the sleeping baby. Wealthy or not, Betsy Gentry’s daddy could still get as ruffled as the next man. Somehow the thought made him a bit less intimidating.

      The sound of something crashing to the floor sent Abby’s gaze flying to the kitchen door, her smile of contentment changing into a frown. She couldn’t imagine what had happened, but suspected it had something to do with her children. There was nothing to do but go and see.

      * * *

      The sound of something breaking sent Caleb bolting up from the sofa. Realizing that he must have dozed, he rubbed at his gritty eyes and looked around to see what had caused the noise. It didn’t take long to spot the shepherdess figurine that had belonged to his mother. Caleb had found it tucked away in one of his father’s drawers after his death. Now the keepsake lay in dozens of broken fragments on the heart-pine floor. Abby Carter’s son stood looking at him, guilt and fear stamped on his freckled face.

      Caleb’s lips tightened. The boy shouldn’t have been snooping! He should have been sitting down minding his own business the way well-brought-up children should. So much for Abby Carter’s mothering skills. Still, as furious, frustrated and exhausted as he was, he realized that he could not afford to fly off the handle, as he was prone to do. Not now. Instead, he stifled the words hovering on his lips, took a deep, calming breath and struggled to assess the situation with some sort of objectivity.

      If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that the baby—a girl it seemed, from the lace adorning her smock—had been crawling around, doing some sort of infant reconnaissance while her brother followed her—though to what purpose Caleb could not fathom. Most likely the baby had bumped into the spindly legged table Emily had brought back from St. Louis when she’d gone to visit her sister, sending the porcelain shepherdess to her demise.

      Caleb’s gaze moved back to the boy, who regarded him with unconcealed apprehension. The baby had pushed to a sitting position amid the broken shards, poked two fingers into her mouth and regarded him with the same intensity as her brother. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, she plopped her plump palms to the floor and headed for a colorful, gilt-edged piece that snagged her interest.

      Scowling with amazement at how fast she switched her focus, Caleb strode across the room and swung her up just as she was about to grab the jagged shard. To his surprise, she gave a gurgle of laughter. Marveling again at the quicksilver shifting of her attention, he turned her to face him, holding her out at arm’s length. She rewarded his frown with a wide grin. Something about that sweet and innocent smile with its four gleaming teeth took the edge from his anger. Arms straight out, he carried the baby to the sofa and plunked her smack-dab in the middle of the cushions.

      Sensitive to the situation he found himself in, and as uncertain how to deal with Abby Carter’s offspring as he was his infant daughter, he wondered what to do next. Other than him and his brother being children many years ago, he had never been around the peculiar little creatures, and what he knew about how to deal with them could be put in a thimble with lots of room left over. From what he’d observed around town, many of them were meddlesome and troublesome, which the recent incident proved. His tired, troubled gaze returned to the child who stood gaping at him in fearful anxiety. He had to do something.

      Caleb raked a hand through his tousled hair and pointed from the boy to the couch. “You,” he said in a too-quiet tone. “Sit.”

      * * *

      Wearing an anxious frown, Abby emerged from the kitchen holding a sleeping Betsy close. Just inside the doorway of the parlor, she stopped. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Ben sat immobile on the sofa, looking as if he were afraid to even breathe. Laura, unaffected by the tension in the room, leaned against him, happily chewing on the hem of her dress. Caleb sat on the hearth, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his folded hands, daring him to move. Abby’s lingering gratification at having helped Betsy Gentry and her father vanished.

      “Can we go home now?” Ben asked, both his voice and his lower lip trembling. “I don’t like it here.”

      Abby’s gaze swung from the fear on his face to Caleb Gentry, who sat watching the boy with the intensity of “a hawk watching a chicken,” as her grandmother might have said. Her heart sank. Ben had done something wrong. Her frantic gaze raked the room for confirmation, lighting on the pieces of what looked like a broken figurine that lay scattered on the polished floorboards.

      Rachel chose that moment to exit the bedroom, an armful of bedding clutched to her chest. “I’ll just take these to the laundry in town and bring them back in a few d—” She stopped in her tracks and looked from Abby to Caleb and back again.

      Sensing the tension in the room, Rachel said, “I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about. Just let me take these out to the carriage, and the children and I will go into the kitchen for some of those cookies you baked. You did bring them along, didn’t you, Abby? Ben, take Laura into the kitchen. I’ll be there in a minute.”

      It didn’t escape either Caleb or Abby that even though Rachel spoke in her most professional tone, she was almost babbling, something the no-nonsense doctor just didn’t do.

      Abby nodded, watching as Ben hefted his baby sister onto his hip and left the room, his relief almost palpable. Caleb’s frown grew even darker. When the children were gone, he made no move to address the disaster, other than to get up and begin picking up the bits of pottery. Watching him, Abby found herself torn between demanding to know what had happened and the urge to tell him that she would not be taking the job, after all. The memory of the bank’s letter stopped her. She could not afford to reject this lifeline out of hand.

      Why did you have to die on me, William? she thought angrily. Realizing how silly it was to berate her dead husband and knowing that even if he’d lived, she would still be in a pickle at the bank, she gave a deep sigh, placed the sleeping baby in her cradle and went to help clean up.

      She and Caleb worked together side by side, neither speaking as they picked up pieces of his past. Finally, he stood, held out his hands and said, “It was my mother’s.”

      Having been forced to part with several things that had once belonged to her own mother, Abby could imagine how he felt losing something dear to his heart just hours after losing his beloved wife. She straightened

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