The Rancher's Miracle Baby

She was a natural at comforting a child and, had Alex not known better, he would have assumed Brody belonged to her. It would be the easiest thing in the world to mistake the two of them for family. For mother and son.

An ache streamed through Alex’s limbs, making his palms itch to reach out and tug them both close. To hold them in a protective embrace, feel the steady pulse of their hearts and draw strength from their solid presence. To imagine, just for a moment, that he belonged, too. As a man and a father...

But that would be a mistake. He stiffened and turned away. He’d been abandoned as a child and had struggled to fit in with each of the three foster families he’d lived with as a youth. He’d had to fight his damnedest to establish enough stability in his life to offer Susan the promise of a secure future filled with family and happiness. Things he’d failed to deliver, wrecking Susan’s dreams along with his own.

No. Nature knew what it was doing. He wasn’t built to be a family man—it wasn’t in his DNA to be a father—and he was foolish for even entertaining the fantasy.

“Someone’s here.”

Tammy’s words were joined with the faint churn of an engine and the slosh of tires through mud down the driveway. A compact car eased over the hill, maneuvered around various piles of debris and drew to a stop several feet behind the fallen tree blocking the path. The door opened, and an older woman stepped out, wisps of gray hair escaping her topknot in the soft breeze.

Alex caught his breath, smothering the urge to run into her arms and seek comfort like he had as a boy. Instead, he placed the bag of cookies on the ground, took off his hat and waited.

A sad smile dispersed the soft wrinkles lining the woman’s face as she made her way over. “Oh, Alex.” She wrapped her arms tight around him, standing on the toes of her high heels to whisper in his ear, “I’m so sorry about Dean and Gloria.”

A low cry dislodged from Alex’s throat and pried its way out of his mouth. He coughed, closing his throat against another sob, and tucked the top of her head gently under his chin. “Thank you, Ms. Maxine.”

He gave in to the moment, closing his eyes and squeezing her close. The familiar scent of her perfume arose from her clothing, and the sweet aroma took him back years. All the way back to when he was a dumb kid and the only bright spot in each day had been her forgiving smile and unconditional support. Ms. Maxine was the closest he’d ever come to having a real mother. His mother had abandoned him at an early age. And from what little information Maxine had available to share with him, his father had never been in the picture.

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