Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  Samuel regarded her, and for a moment his eyes filled with the most exquisite sadness. Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a noncommittal stare that Ellie found even more unnerving. “There’s a padlocked storage bin by the woodpile,” he said quietly. “The garbage cans are inside it. Be sure you use them from now on.”

  She issued a nervous nod, slid the finished omelette onto a plate with a half-dozen bacon strips and set it on the table. Samuel murmured his thanks, snatched up a fork and attacked the food with gusto. Ellie watched, smiling. Samuel was clearly enjoying his meal, and she was enjoying his enjoyment.

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she joined him at the table. “Would you happen to have a pair of gloves I could borrow?”

  “Sure, I guess so. Why?” He forked a bite of egg, cast a wary gaze across the table. “No, let me guess. Because you can’t build a snowman with bare hands, right?”

  “Why, Mr. Evans,” Ellie purred with a grin. “I do believe there’s hope for you after all.”

  Samuel’s back felt like a rusty spring. Two hours of digging, and he’d cleared a path less than halfway to the shed. Sixty feet to go. God, he felt old. Useless. Set adrift in a world he’d once thought he controlled until reality had clubbed him upside the head. That’s when Samuel had realized he wasn’t invulnerable or invincible, that failure was more than a nondescript word wedged between faille and fain in the dictionary.

  Failure was the enemy, the conqueror, the vanquisher of dreams. Failure was Samuel’s reality now.

  Or at least it had been until Ellie Malone stumbled into his life with her silly tunes and eternal cheer to brighten even the grayest winter day. Ellie didn’t understand the truth about Samuel. She regarded him with reverence, with gratitude. She thought him a god.

  That’s why she had to leave before she learned what he really was, before a pool of bitter disappointment clouded those sparkling eyes.

  Of course Samuel understood that he’d saved Ellie’s life, saved her baby’s life, and was humbly thankful for the training that had allowed him to do so. But he certainly wasn’t a god. Sometimes he wondered if he was even a man.

  “I need a mouth.”

  Startled, Samuel swung around, saw Ellie by the outside corner of the screen porch, peering down into the four-foot-deep snow chasm he was shoveling. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve, tried not to grin. Lord, she was a sight. The front of her jacket was coated with snow, her mink-colored hair was appealingly tousled, with damp tendrils frozen against cheeks so rosy that they seemed to glow from within.

  As Baloo lumbered over panting, Ellie dropped to her knees atop the snowy embankment, rubbed her nose with the floppy finger of an oversize glove, and repeated her odd statement. “I need a mouth.”

  Samuel leaned on the shovel, kept his face passive. “Did you finally wear out the old one?”

  “Are you implying that I talk too much?” she asked with a cheery chuckle.

  “Nope, I’m saying it outright. You’ve been outside the kitchen window yabbering to yourself for nearly an hour. If any mouth on earth has a right to be worn-out by now, it’s yours.”

  “I’ll have you know that I was not talking to myself.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She sniffed, tried to look insulted but couldn’t quite manage it through the silly grin she was fighting. “Daniel is watching me from the kitchen. I was talking to him. And Jasper, of course.”

  “Of course.” Samuel decided that he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to know and he wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t going to—He heaved a sigh, stuffed a hand in his pocket. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s Jasper?”

  Her grin broke free. “Our snowman.”

  Samuel shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “He’s the one who needs the mouth,” she explained, absently stroking Baloo’s head. “Mine is working just fine, thank you.”

  “Pity.”

  “Since sleep deprivation tends to make a person grumpy, I’ll let that comment slide. Now, what about Jasper’s mouth?”

  He shrugged, scooped a palm-size rock from a cleared portion of the path. “How about this?”

  She flicked the suggestion away with a derisive snort. “I don’t want poor Jasper looking like he’s in a permanent state of shock. He’ll frighten Daniel.”

  Flipping the rock away, Samuel decided against mentioning that Daniel was a bit young to interpret facial expression. As far as Ellie was concerned, the infant possessed cognitive powers bordering on superhuman. “So now we need a happy mouth.”

  “Happy would be good.”

  “Draw one.”

  She frowned. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  Unable to dispute that, Samuel simply cocked a brow and said nothing.

  “I saw some dried apple rings in the pantry,” she muttered. “If I cut one in half and—” Thrilled, she stood suddenly. “Do you have a red felt marker somewhere?”

  “Uh, I think so. In the kitchen drawer where I keep my wallet and keys.”

  She spun quickly, shoes spitting snow. As she dashed off to complete her mission, Baloo tossed Samuel a distressed look then trundled after her.

  “Traitor,” Samuel muttered, and would have said more had he not heard clunking noises in the kitchen, followed by a string of nonstop chatter as Ellie described to Daniel exactly what she was doing and why it was a good thing. Samuel’s ears might have been playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn the infant issued gurgling replies in all the right places.

  He shook his head, swatted his ears to clear them. The cold must be muddling his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Meanwhile footsteps continued to vibrate the cabin’s raised floor as Ellie rushed from one room to the next, chattering happily. When the front door finally squeaked and slammed, Samuel stopped shoveling and waited.

  Ellie’s voice now emanated from the west side of the house, where she’d been building her snowman in front of the kitchen window. “Hold still, Jasper, don’t wiggle... Voilà! Perfect, absolutely perfect. Oh, you are just the handsomest thing. Daniel, look, isn’t he the handsomest thing?” There was a minuscule pause, as if she was awaiting a reply. “You see, Daniel agrees, and babies never lie—Oh, Baloo, no! Don’t you dare do that on poor Jasper. Go find a tree.” A contrite canine whine was drowned out by more of Ellie’s cheery chatter. “Now where were we... Ah, yes, let’s see how the hat looks.”

  Samuel’s head swung around. Hat?

  “Ooh, smashing. Now the shirt.”

  Dropping the shovel, Samuel scrambled up the snow wall, rounded the screen porch and jerked to a stop with his jaw agape. Perched atop a four-foot blob of fat, packed snow was his favorite Sacramento Kings cap—the one that had cost him thirty bucks at the team’s one and only playoff game in Arco Arena. Even worse, Ellie was happily tying the arms of a matching, fifty-dollar sweatshirt around the snow blob’s nonexistent neck.

  “The preppy look is ‘in,’” Ellie muttered as she fussed with folding the sweatshirt arms just so across the icy barrel representing the snowman’s chest. She didn’t notice Samuel, but Baloo, who’d been placidly watching the snow-dressing process, certainly did. The animal took one look at his master’s thunderous expression, and slunk toward the front porch, sniveling.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Samuel growled.

  Ellie spared him a glance. “You don’t expect my child to be traumatized by the sight of a naked snowman, do you?” She patted the blob’s shoulder, and stood back looking enormously pleased with herself. “There. Très chic.”

  “That’s my King’s hat,” Samuel sputtered. “And my favorite sweatshirt. It’s never even been worn.”

  “How can it be your favorite if you haven’t worn it?”

  “I haven’t worn it,” he gritted through tightly clamped teeth, “because I don’t want to get it dirty.”

  She frowned prettily. “That’s silly. Everyone knows that fleece isn’t even comf
ortable until it’s been washed a few times. The way I see it, Jasper and I did you a favor.” Grinning madly, she whirled toward Samuel and gleefully hugged herself. “Look at him! Isn’t he just the most perfect snowman you’ve ever seen in your life?”

  Stuffing his hands in his pocket, Samuel angled a grumpy stare at the snowbeast with two triangular dog treats for eyes, a traditional carrot nose and the inked apple mouth. “What, no freckles?”

  Without so much as a blink, Ellie snapped her fingers. “Ohmigosh, freckles. I almost forgot.”

  Before Samuel could open his mouth to say that he was kidding, Ellie rushed toward the front porch and disappeared around the corner.

  Puffing his cheeks, he blew out a breath, watched it condense into steam and waft toward the kitchen window, the lower sill of which was even with the four-foot snow base. He squatted, peered down into the kitchen and smiled. There in the middle of the kitchen floor, Daniel peered up from his cradle with huge, curious eyes. Samuel waved at the infant, who seemed excited by the movement.

  Maybe Ellie was right, he mused. Maybe Daniel was an exceptional child. The baby certainly seemed to be interested in things that according to every book Samuel had ever read on the subject were well beyond the realm of the physiological and emotional development of a two-week-old infant. Certainly, the child was growing, thriving, gaining weight at a rate that seemed nothing less than miraculous considering how small and sickly he’d been at birth. -

  Samuel remembered the dark days immediately following the delivery, and how he’d carefully peeled and woven cedar boughs simply to keep his hands busy and his mind from dwelling on the gravity of the infant’s condition.

  For the first few days after Daniel’s birth, Samuel hadn’t expected the infant to live, had feared the cedar cradle he’d fashioned would become the baby’s coffin. Instead it had become a second womb. Within hours of being nested on soft sheepskin, the tiny boy’s breathing had eased and his color had improved. Samuel couldn’t explain it. The change had been, well, magical.

  A kink in his calf muscle forced him to stand. He stretched his leg, rotated his foot, was vaguely aware of a soft swishing sound behind him.

  The snowball splattered against the back of his head. He gasped in surprise, spun around and saw Ellie about twenty feet away, grinning madly as she shaped another snow wad in her floppy gloved hands. “Prepare to defend yourself, infidel!”

  Samuel stared foolishly as the next snowball exploded against his chest. He looked down at the icy globules clinging to his jacket, then focused on the woman who was doubled over with laughter. “You must have a death wish,” he informed her.

  She threw back her head and hooted. “The look on your face!”

  “I’m pleased you’re amused.”

  Still chortling, she scooped up more snow. “Arm yourself or perish,” she taunted. “I don’t fight fair.”

  “What a coincidence. Neither do I.” Samuel pulled off one glove, extracted a lighter from his pants pocket. Ellie wound up her arm, preparing to heave another ball of packed snow. Samuel responded by flicking the flint with his thumb. A menacing flame whooshed up in front of Jasper’s perennially grinning face. “Drop your weapon,” he said lightly. “Or the snowman dies.”

  Ellie’s arm froze in midair. “You wouldn’t.”

  With an evil smile, Samuel brushed the flame close enough that a sweaty puddle oozed beneath the icy chin.

  Her eyes widened in honor. “Murderer!”

  Samuel shrugged, melted off a snow glob that might have been an ear.

  With a horrified shriek, Ellie dropped her snowball, flung her hands in the air. “Stop, you win! Don’t hurt him anymore.”

  Gloating, Samuel blew out the flame, spun the smoking lighter in his hand then stuffed it back into his pocket as if bolstering a revolver. “I thought you might see it my way,” he murmured as Ellie scurried over to repair the damage.

  “You are evil,” she muttered, slamming a fresh wad of snow against the wounded snowman’s head. “And to think that I actually wanted my son to grow up just like you.”

  For some odd reason, Samuel’s chest felt as though it was filled with warm pudding. “You did?”

  She cast a perturbed glance over her shoulder. “I’m rethinking that now. You tortured my snowman.” Her reproachful expression actually made him feel guilty. “And in front of Daniel, too.”

  Samuel’s gaze skittered down through the window, where the bright-eyed infant lay cooing in his cradle. “I, ah, guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  Ellie issued a haughty sniff.as she patted the newly formed snow ear into place. “No, you certainly weren’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t tell me, tell Jasper.”

  This was too ridiculous for words. “I am not going to apologize to a stupid pile of snow.”

  She shrugged. “Very well, but don’t blame me for the consequence. Jasper is quite unhappy with you.”

  “I’m not too thrilled with him either,” Samuel heard himself growl. “He stole my damned hat.”

  “He did not steal it, he borrowed it.”

  “Well, I want it back.”

  Heaving the long-suffering sigh that parents use with recalcitrant children, Ellie spun to face him, juggling her hands behind her back. “You’ll get your hat back and your shirt, too.”

  “When?”

  “When Jasper is through with them.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “In the spring, of course.” She flashed a flirty smile, yanked out Samuel’s collar to dump a handful of snow down his sweater, then took off running while Samuel bellowed and stomped and flapped his arms like a drunken pelican.

  “That was a present from Jasper,” Ellie called from the safety of the front porch. “Just a friendly reminder that snowmen don’t get mad, they get even.”

  With that she ducked out of view. The front door creaked open, slammed shut while Samuel hurriedly yanked out his shirttail to shake out the snow. He straightened, glared at the grinning snowman. “I want my hat back.”

  The snowman said nothing.

  It suddenly occurred to him that he was not only talking to a snowman, he was actually waiting for a reply.

  Feeling like the world’s biggest fool, Samuel trudged back to the shed path muttering to himself. It wasn’t his fault that he’d completely lost his mind. Two weeks with Ellie Malone would drive anyone nuts.

  Chapter Five

  “Look, Daniel, it’s snowing.” Shifting the infant against her shoulder, Ellie urged him to gaze out the living area window. “Ooh, big fat snowflakes. See how they swirl and sway, as if dancing with happiness.” Head bobbling, Daniel blinked huge blue-gray eyes at the lazy white whirls while his mother crooned softly. “Snowflakes in the dark of night, bright as silver in their flight—” A loud baby burp abruptly ended the song. “Oh, fine,” Ellie murmured, rubbing the infant’s tiny back. “A music critic.”

  Samuel glanced up from the book he was reading. “It’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it.”

  “Et tu, Brutus? And here I thought you liked my singing.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked wryly, although his eyes sparked with good humor.

  “You never asked me to stop.”

  “Would it have done any good?”

  “Of course not.” She chuckled lightly, kissed Daniel’s silky cheek. “Time for beddie-bye, snookums.”

  The couch creaked as Samuel shifted, absently brushed from a cushion the hairy remnants of Baloo’s nap. “He doesn’t look particularly sleepy.”

  “Maybe not, but I read somewhere that a predictable routine is very important for children. It comforts them.”

  Ellie gazed lovingly at her son’s wide-eyed and curious little face. Although acknowledging a slight maternal bias, she was nonetheless convinced that Daniel was the most precious, most beautiful and certainly the most brilliant newborn on the entire planet. The redness of birthing had faded from a tiny face t
hat had plumped nicely, with squirrely cheeks and fat folds demurely tucked beneath a dimpled baby chin. A few feathers of golden brown hair shadowed a dewy soft scalp, gathering in profusion around the delicate indentation at the apex of an otherwise perfectly round little skull.

  He was perfect. He was gorgeous. He was hers.

  And hers alone.

  “Ellie?”

  It took a moment for the sound of her name to sink in. When it did, she blinked up, saw Samuel’s perplexed expression and realized that Daniel was fussing and squirming in arms that suddenly held him much too tightly.

  Instantly she loosened her grip, pressed her cheek to his. “Was Mama squeezing you, sweet pea? Poor little precious.”

  “Are you all right?” Samuel asked her quietly.

  “Sure.” She managed a bright smile. “It’s just that he’s so darned huggable.”

  Samuel regarded her skeptically, but said nothing as she hustled Daniel toward the kitchen. “Let’s say nightie-night to Jasper, sweetie. Look, there he is!” She shifted the baby, gently waved his fragile little fist at the window, beyond which stood the stoic snowman with its maniacal apple grin. “Can you say nightienight—Oh!”

  The ceiling light flickered and brightened as a peculiar vibration crawled the cabin floor.

  “Ohmigosh!” Clutching Daniel to her shoulder, Ellie spun around. It felt as if a helicopter had landed on the cabin roof. There’s was no chucka-chucka sound, but the engine noise, the vibration—

  Dear God, they had found her.

  The metallic tang of terror flooded her mouth. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  Samuel flipped a page, replied without looking up. “The generator kicked on.”

  “The generator?” Clutching her son, Ellie rushed into the living room, eyes darting wildly. “What generator? I don’t see a generator.”

  “It’s outside, under the screen porch floor.” He glanced up, startled by her distress. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “Electricity for the lights and well pump comes from industrial-size batteries in a compartment under the cabin. There’s a master control that monitors power levels, and automatically turns on the generator when the batteries need to be charged.”