LITMIR.BIZ

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of whoever had rung her doorbell, then run off, Megan strode toward the short flight of steps leading to the walkway. Looking out across the lawn, she wasn’t immediately aware of the baby stroller parked a few feet from the front door. Only the heart-stopping wail of an infant slicing through the early-morning quiet—straight into her soul—made her pause and glance down just in time to prevent what could have been a serious accident.

      Megan stared in utter amazement at the tiny, barely discernible form tucked securely into the sturdy, steel-framed, padded canvas stroller. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath caught in her throat.

      “Oh, no… Oh, no, no, no,” she whispered as she scanned the front yard again, searching for some sign, any sign, of whoever had made the mistake of leaving a baby on her doorstep.

      “Come back,” she called out urgently, nearly shouting now. “Please, please, come back.”

      Megan didn’t try to hide the desperation in her voice—a desperation that clutched at her throat with a frightening stranglehold. Some foolish, misguided person had left a baby on her doorstep. Someone who obviously had no idea what a poor choice they were making. She was the last person on earth to be entrusted with a child’s care—the very last person on earth.

      The twitter of birds greeting the dawn and the baby’s increasingly plaintive cries were the only answer to Megan’s plea. She was sure that the person who had left the baby on her porch hadn’t gone far. But she couldn’t leave the baby alone while she went in search of her.

      Taking a steadying breath, she set aside her reluctance and bent over the stroller.

      “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” she murmured, the words coming softly, naturally, as they had so often in the past. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry…”

      Reaching down, Megan loosened the pale blue, light cotton blanket covering the infant, then slipped her hands under him, gently cradling his head and bottom as she lifted him from the stroller. His cries faded to little snuffles as she held him close, his downy head nestled under her chin in a way that made her heart ache.

      “Ah, sweet Will, sweet little Will. Mommy’s here, she’s here now….” Megan whispered, though she knew, to the very depths of her soul, that the child she held wasn’t her child…wasn’t her precious Will, and never could be.

      Still, her grip on the baby tightened just a little more as she closed her eyes and feathered tiny butterfly kisses along the warm, soft-as-silk curve of his cheek. The weight of his little body, curled against her shoulder, was so solid, so familiar and so very, very real. She couldn’t help but pretend, for just a moment, that she had taken a step back in time, back to the place where she had once been strong and whole in body, mind and spirit.

      The place where she had been all she had ever wanted to be—a wife and a mother.

      A rustle in the shrubbery planted along the far end of the porch caught Megan’s attention, dragging her back to the present. She heard the distinct thump of feet pounding across the lawn then running down the sidewalk. Holding the baby firmly against her shoulder with both hands, she shoved the stroller out of her way with her hip and scrambled down the porch steps as quickly as she could.

      “Don’t go,” she called out. “Please…don’t go.”

      Megan could barely make out the tall, lithe form skimming away along the sidewalk through the tree-cast shadows. Instinctively, she knew it was a young woman—a young, healthy woman who, for whatever reason, had chosen to leave her baby behind.

      By the time Megan finally reached the sidewalk, the woman had disappeared from sight around the distant street corner. Even if she hadn’t been holding a baby in her arms, Megan knew she wouldn’t have been able to catch up with her. Weighed down as she was, and barefoot to boot, there seemed to be no sense in trying. She would only risk taking a bad fall, and what good would that do?

      With a rueful shake of her head, Megan turned and walked back the way she’d come—through the little gate in the white picket fence fronting the yard, along the narrow walkway edged with pink and white impatiens, then up the porch steps.

      There had to be a reason why the absconding young woman had chosen to leave her child at 1209 Bay Leaf Lane, she thought. But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with one that made the slightest bit of sense to her.

      Although she hadn’t gotten a good look at the baby yet, she was fairly sure the poor little thing wasn’t more than a couple of months old. Of the few people she knew in the small town of Serenity, Texas, none had given birth recently. So who, outside her limited circle of friends—acquaintances, really—would be desperate enough to leave a virtual newborn in her care?

      And what, exactly, was she supposed to do now that someone had?

      Back on the porch again, Megan crossed to the stroller she had shoved aside a few minutes earlier. With the first rays of sunlight chasing away the shadows, she saw that a quilted denim diaper bag had been left behind, as well. What appeared to be a note with her name written on it in bold block letters had been pinned to one of the straps.

      She pulled the single sheet of notebook paper loose with her free hand and unfolded it. The message it held, also printed in bold block letters, was short and to the point, but it did very little to enlighten her.

      Mrs. Cahill, the note began. Please, please take care of my baby for me. He is two months old and his name is Matthew.

      Frowning, Megan folded the note again and tucked it into the side pocket of her shorts. Still holding the baby securely against her shoulder, she picked up the diaper bag and plopped it in the stroller. Then she wheeled the stroller into the house.

      In the living room, she parked the stroller by the sofa, crossed to the television and turned it off. At the front window, she opened the blinds, letting in the morning sunlight, then returned to the sofa with the baby.

      “Okay, let’s have a look at you, Matthew.”

      Perched on the edge of a sofa cushion, Megan gingerly shifted the baby onto her lap. Gazing down at him, she studied him closely. With a downy soft thatch of blond hair, clear, fine-as-porcelain skin and bright blue eyes, he was truly a beautiful baby.

      Will had been a beautiful baby, too, but he’d had her dark curls and his father’s brown eyes. He had also been more sturdily built than Matthew was. Which had made it all the harder to believe he hadn’t been strong enough to fight off the devastating illness that had claimed his life.

      Though maybe he would have been if only she had realized sooner—

      With a firm mental shake, Megan warned herself to stay focused on the moment at hand. She wouldn’t do herself or little Matthew any good by allowing painful memories of a past she couldn’t change to overwhelm her now.

      Directing all her attention on the baby lying on her lap, she noted that he seemed to be strong and healthy. He kicked his little legs and swung his arms, cooing and gurgling quite contentedly. He also seemed to have been well-cared-for. He not only looked clean, he also smelled clean. And though the pale blue, one-piece cotton knit romper he wore was obviously secondhand, it appeared to be freshly laundered.

      Unless Megan was badly mistaken, little Matthew had been looked after with loving tenderness prior to his arrival on her doorstep. Yet he had been abandoned like unwanted baggage.

      No, that wasn’t really true, Megan admitted, trying to be fair. He had only been left when it was certain that he was safely in her care. And his mother—for surely it had to have been his mother running down the sidewalk—had also left behind a diaper bag, thus making sure that all his immediate needs could be met.

      Taking the diaper bag from the stroller, Megan unzipped the top flap and opened it wide. As she fully expected, she found at least a dozen tiny disposable diapers, a container of wet wipes, several cans of formula, two baby bottles with nipples, a box of plastic bottle liners, and several changes of clothes and bibs.

      She found nothing more to identify the baby’s mother in the diaper bag, though. Nor did the

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