Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  “I see.” He didn’t, of course, but was perplexed by her sudden nervousness. “What about your employer?”

  A subtle vibration jostled her shoulder. “My employer?”

  “Yes, the ski lodge.” A prick of guilt had him glancing away. “I found a pay stub in your backpack.”

  “Oh.” The intensity of her gaze made him squirm, but she thankfully issued no comment about the blatant invasion of her privacy. “I don’t work there anymore.”

  That made sense, Samuel supposed. Most women took maternity leave during the last few weeks of pregnancy. Still, the stub was dated just a few days before her arrival at the cabin. Before he could question that, Ellie suddenly lifted her head and drew a deep breath.

  “That smell,” she whispered, catching sight of the steaming pot on the woodstove. “That wonderful woodsy smell. I thought I’d dreamed it.” She turned toward Samuel, her eyes wide with wonder. “What is it?”

  “Boiled cedar bark. It helps dilate the bronchi, makes breathing easier.”

  “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

  Samuel felt the furrow tighten across his brow, made an effort to loosen it. “No. I used to be a paramedic.”

  She cocked her head, regarded him with peculiar empathy. “Used to be?”

  This wasn’t a discussion Samuel wanted to encourage. “You must be hungry.”

  She hesitated a moment, then offered a sad smile, as if she’d recognized his pain but respected his right to keep it private. “I’m famished.”

  “Good.” He stood, moved the chair back with a flick of his wrist, and stepped around Baloo, who lumbered over to lay his chin on the bed.

  Ellie smiled, used a free hand to stroke the animal. “My hero,” she murmured. “I owe you a huge steak.” The hound rolled his rheumy eyes, huffed an ecstatic sigh and moved his head until her fingers massaged the back of his ear.

  Ellie skimmed a glance upward, was struck by a reverent glow in Samuel’s eyes as he gazed upon the infant sleeping on her lap.

  Even in his disheveled state he was a handsome man, with a ruggedly sculpted face jutting sharply from plane to corrugated plane as if carved by a kitchen fork. Creases crinkled around his eyes, fluted furrows bracketed a surprisingly generous mouth and his stubbled jaw squared sharply into a strong, determined chin.

  But it was his eyes that captured her, large wide-set eyes beneath thickly curved brows, and so blue that they seemed to bore into her very soul. She remembered those eyes. In her dreams, they had studied her with apprehension, comforted her with gentle warmth, supported her with cool determination. She had trusted those eyes in her dreams. She trusted them now.

  “You’re my hero, too, Samuel.” The whisper eased around the lump forming in her throat. “I don’t know what I...we would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

  The heartfelt praise startled him. Clearly he wasn’t used to or comfortable with the touting of his accomplishments. With a nervous shift, he managed a thin smile. “For starters, you’d have to make your own oatmeal, but since that cranky old cookstove and I have an understanding, I guess I’d better handle that for now.”

  “You don’t have to wait on me anymore. I’m feeling much better.”

  A sly gleam lit his gaze. “In that case, there’s a half dozen diapers that need scrubbing, we’re nearly out of firewood, the cabin floor needs mopping and when you get around to fixing supper, keep in mind that I’m partial to pot roast but meat loaf will do in a pinch.”

  Ellie stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give the dog a bath, too?”

  Baloo widened his eyes.

  “Only if you have time,” Samuel replied as the dog bolted from the room. “Meanwhile I’ll just put your son down for a nap so you can enjoy your breakfast. With the day you’ve got planned, you’re going to need the nourishment.”

  After expertly scooping the sleeping child up in one arm, Samuel used his free hand to assist Ellie as she pivoted back into bed and settled against the plumped pillows.

  She smiled her thanks, studied him as he sauntered comfortably into the homey living area with her tiny son nested in the crook of one arm. He was, she decided, a man in his element, comfortable not only with the isolation of his remote mountain retreat, but also in the company of strangers, one of which was a newborn infant. It was a dichotomy, a peculiar enigma that a man who clearly cherished his privacy would relinquish it without any trace of resentment or rancor. Most people, at least the people that Ellie had known, would not have been so gracious.

  Then again, she instinctively realized that Samuel Evans was not like most people. He was undoubtedly a very special man.

  Ellie watched in fascination as Samuel bent behind the woodstove, out of sight. A moment later, he stepped into view carrying what appeared to be a large woven basket with legs.

  “I thought he’d be more comfortable with a bed of his own,” Samuel said in response to her stunned expression. “It was either this or the silverware drawer.” He set the basket beside Ellie’s bed, close enough that she could touch it, but not quite see inside.

  “It’s a cradle,” Ellie whispered, marveling at an exquisitely woven basket shaped like a hollow egg and tied atop X-shaped legs fashioned by inch-thick branches that had been trimmed, peeled and lashed into cross members with thin leather strips. “I’ve never seen anything so intricate. How did you do it?”

  He shrugged. “Just wove a few peeled cedar twigs into shape is all. My mama taught me how.”

  Her ears perked at the tidbit of personal information being offered. “Your mother?”

  “Our family spent summers here.” Samuel smiled as if reliving fond memories, slid his hand along the cradle’s neatly formed edge. “Mama didn’t like fishing, so she was alone in the cabin most of the day. She taught herself basket weaving because there was a whole forest full of free materials. Pretty soon we had baskets and mats coming out our ears, but I have to admit she was pretty darn good. One year she made a trout creel for my dad’s birthday. He still uses it.”

  “Does your family still spend summers here?”

  Samuel’s expression grew thoughtful, then veiled. “No, they moved to Florida a few years ago, and my brother lives in New York.”

  “That’s sad,” she murmured. “It sounds like you were a close family. You must miss them.”

  “They’re happy where they are. I fly out to see them when I can.”

  She hesitated, then took a chance. “It must be difficult to get the time off. From your job, that is. Paramedics work long hours.” When he said nothing, she forged ahead. “Of course, you mentioned that you weren’t a paramedic anymore, so perhaps your new profession allows a more flexible schedule.”

  Instead of responding, Samuel squatted beside the cradle’s cross members. “There are rockers on the bottom. All you have to do is reach out and give a light push.” He demonstrated, the cradle swayed gently. “Daniel likes that. The motion seems to soothe him.”

  Ellie cocked her head. “I take it that you’d rather not discuss your job.”

  Samuel stood, rubbed his palms together, angled a glance toward the kitchen. “I’d better get that oatmeal on.”

  Before Ellie could reply, he was halfway across the cabin. A moment later, she heard the clunk of a metal pot and the gush of water from a faucet. She leaned into the pillows, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. A floating sensation lulled her into a light sleep, and when she opened her eyes again, Samuel was standing beside the bed with a tray of steaming food.

  “Goodness,” she murmured groggily, and pushed herself into a sitting position. “That was fast.”

  He settled the tray in her lap. “There’s more if you want it.”

  Her eyes widened in awe at the largest bowl of oatmeal she’d ever seen, along with buttered toast and a massive glass of milk. “How on earth did you get real milk?”

  “Define ‘real.’” His sheepish smile was endearing. “Wintering
in the mountains requires certain, er, adjustments. I happen to like milk, but since it’s months between trips to the grocery store, I stock up on the dried stuff and just add water as I need it It’s not too bad, actually.” He brushed his palms together, was clearly anxious to start another task. “The wind’s picking up again. I’ve got to get that firewood in before the next storm hits. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”

  “Of course,” she murmured, feeling guilty for taking up so much of his time. “Please, do whatever you need to do. I’ll be fine.”

  He gave a curt nod, pivoted on his boot heel and headed toward the cabin door, pausing to yank his tan leather jacket off a nearby wall peg. As he shrugged the garment on, Ellie noticed that it looked different than the jacket she recalled in her garbled memory. The leather hung loosely, seemed thinner than she remembered.

  As he opened the cabin door, he ducked into the wind, flipping up the protective collar, just as she’d remembered seeing him do in her dreams. But this time, there was no flash of white wool from the sheepskin lining, and the listless leather flopped uselessly against the back of his neck.

  Ellie bolted upright. “Samuel—?”

  The cabin door closed, and he was gone.

  Stunned, she moved the breakfast tray to the mattress and eased out of bed, pulled herself up beside the beautiful woven cradle. She took a deep breath, peered inside, and saw exactly what she’d expected—her precious baby nested in a soft cloud of sheepskin. Samuel had sacrificed his own warmth and protection to provide an extra measure of comfort for a stranger’s child.

  The gesture touched her heart, and brought grateful tears to her eyes. Samuel Evans was indeed an extraordinary man.

  “Looks like our luck is changing,” she whispered to her dozing son. “They can’t find us here, my darling. We’re safe now.” Tears leaked down one cheek. “We’re safe.”

  Chapter Three

  For the next two days, Samuel continued to wait on Ellie hand and foot while yet another blizzard slammed Sierra Nevada. On the third day, gray gloom was shattered by glittering sunlight. Samuel’s mood changed from one of solicitous solemnity to anxious anticipation. He hurried through breakfast preparations, sneaked yearning peeks from every window as if fearing the blue sky would disappear if he tarried too long. Even Baloo pranced in anticipation of an extended snow romp.

  “Why don’t you leave those?” she said as he prepared to wash breakfast dishes. “This lovely break in the weather probably won’t last long.”

  Samuel swung a hopeful glance over his shoulder, steadied a twitchy grin. “You could be right,” he intoned with forced gravity. “I’d hate a new storm sneaking up on us before I have a chance to shovel the woodpile path. Snow’s getting thick on the roof, too, heavy enough to stress the support beams.”

  “Well, there you go. The roof over our heads certainly has priority over breakfast dishes.”

  Spinning away from the sink, he dried his hands on his jeans. The same hands, Ellie recalled, that had tended her with tenderness, glided over her skin with such sensual warmth. “Will you and Daniel be all right?” he asked suddenly.

  She jerked her gaze up, felt a tingling heat at the notion he could perceive her thoughts. “Of course.” Adding the reinforcement of a confident smile, Ellie set her knitting aside, leaned back against the bed pillows with her hands primly folded in her lap.

  Samuel edged toward the cabin door. “I’ll be close by. You just holler if you need me.”

  “Daniel and I will be fine, Samuel, just fine. Please go do whatever it is that you would be doing if we weren’t here.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Flashing a smile to die for, Samuel crossed the cabin like a bear on a food trail, shrugged on a heavy pullover sweater, then snatched his thin, unlined jacket from a coat peg. A blast of cold, fresh air burst into the cabin as Samuel opened the door. Baloo shot forward. Man and dog tripped over each other trying to squeeze through the narrow opening at the same time.

  Baloo won. Samuel cursed under his breath, tossed an apologetic look over his shoulder as he stumbled outside. The moment the latch spring creaked and the cabin door swung shut, Ellie flipped off the bedclothes, her feet itching for the feel of the floor. “Ahhh.” She stood, indulged in a luxurious stretch. Heaven, pure heaven.

  Other than trips to the bathroom that Samuel supervised as if escorting a frail octogenarian on a nature hike, Ellie had been confined to bed so long her bottom was numb. It felt wonderful to stretch, bend and move under her own power.

  Freedom. How sweet it was.

  Humming to herself, she scurried to the window, blinked at the glare of sunshine off freshly fallen snow. When her eyes accustomed themselves to the brightness, she was stunned by the sheer magnitude of what she saw. Eight-foot snow drifts crawled up tree trunks, burying everything else in their path. During other brief storm breaks Samuel had kept the porch shoveled, along with a narrow walkway winding toward east side of the cabin where Ellie presumed the woodpile was located.

  He had done so much for her and for DanieL A grateful throb rolled around her heart. Samuel. The name suited him. Rugged, yet gentle, with a sensitive strength that made her shiver. He made her feel safe. Almost as safe as did the magnificent isolation of the cabin.

  “Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, although the infant was dozing peacefully in his intricately woven cradle. “I’ve never seen so much snow in my life. Even a snowmobile couldn’t get through those drifts.”

  She inhaled all at once, couldn’t contain a giddy smile. It was perfect, absolutely perfect. No one could get out.

  No one could get in.

  “Mountain roads,” she sang softly, “white with snow, keep us safe, and all alone—” She fell silent, cocked an ear. Baloo’s distant barking served as a reminder that Samuel wasn’t the only one who had work to do.

  After hurriedly slipping on her shoes, she headed to the kitchen to wash dishes, clean the laminate counter until it shone like a new penny, then inspect the two enameled green doors leading from the kitchen. One, she discovered to her delight, opened into a huge, well-stocked pantry, with a small basement root cellar and enough food to last for months. The other led to a sixfoot-by-ten-foot screened back porch with a 1930s style wringer washtub and a propane food freezer filled to the brim with butcher-wrapped meat. Clearly Samuel had not planned on a trip to the grocery store until spring.

  “Perfect,” Ellie murmured again. Things couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned them. Peering through the screen, she saw what appeared to be the roof of a small building peeking from beneath a massive mound of snow. It looked like a shed of some kind, positioned perhaps a hundred feet from the cabin. Whatever it was, it would take hours of shoveling to trench a path to it, so Ellie promptly put the shed and potential contents out of her mind.

  Shivering, she returned to the warm cabin with its lacquered, knotty pine walls and blazing, black-iron woodstove. Her curious gaze promptly fell upon the ladder leading up to the loft. Every night Samuel climbed up that ladder; every morning he climbed down. Sometime she heard him moving up there, and could imagine his powerful body flexing in the darkness. The image made her pulse race. He was a gorgeous man.

  Of course, the last thing Ellie needed in her life was a man, gorgeous or otherwise.

  Still she was dying for a peek at Samuel’s private sanctum. She sauntered over, fingered the rough-hewn steps and cast a guilty glance around the cabin, as if expecting Samuel to pop in the front door and yell, “Aha!”

  The comforting rasp of a snow shovel on the roof indicated that wasn’t likely. Unless, of course, Baloo was the most dexterous and clever canine snow shoveler on earth, which Ellie seriously doubted. He was a sweet old hound, though, and he was her doggy champion. She’d have to fix him something special for supper.

  At the moment, however, Ellie had some serious snooping in mind, and ascended the loft ladder for a quick peek at Samuel’s s
leeping quarters.

  The first thing she saw was a crudely hung clothesline on which a half-dozen hand-cut diapers had been draped. Ellie clung to the ladder, stunned, grateful and feeling supremely foolish.

  During the two days in which she’d been awake and aware she’d blithely used fresh diapers from the folded pile without thought of replenishment. Even now with the proof dangling a few feet in front of her startled face she could barely believe what she was seeing. Few men would tame testosterone surges long enough to wash diapers. Even fewer would do so without expect ing at least a modicum of appreciation for their efforts. Not only had Samuel had never said a word, he’d apparently timed laundry activities to coincide with Ellie’s sleep schedule because she had never once seen him scouring out Daniel’s things or carrying the wet laundry up to be hung.

  An odd flutter vibrated deep inside her chest. It made her feel uncomfortable. The last time a man had gone out of his way to show kindness, she’d felt that same flutter of gratitude. But there had been a method to that man’s madness, a hidden agenda that had nearly destroyed her life.

  The experience had changed Ellie. She wasn’t gullible anymore, nor did she take things at face value. Of course she was grateful for kindness, but she was also wary of it. Kindness could be blinding, addictive. In the blink of an eye, one could end up hooked and needy, utterly immobilized by an ever-tightening noose of dependence. Samuel Evans’s motives might be different, of course.

  Then again, they might not.

  Ellie had to be cautious. She had no choice.

  Before descending the ladder, she cast a quick glance around the loft, noted several cardboard boxes in the corner beside a tackle box, a fishnet and a couple of fishing rods. Two cots were pushed against the far wall, one of which was heaped with books, folded clothes, a duffel bag and a tangled heap of unidentifiable junk.