Page 36 of The Cowboy and the Baby

Oh, crud.

What business did a minuscule baby have with a fever?

Great.

What to do?

Cora had been a little baby when I was still a kid. I remember Mom having her sometime around my eighth or ninth birthday. That was the same time when Mom’s mind began to unravel. When the hallucinations set in, she stopped feeding us because the voices told her to purify us so the demons wouldn’t suck out our souls. I remembered figuring out diapers and bottles by watching Mom, because Cora would cry through the night if I didn’t tend to her, and Mom often left at night.

But this wasn’t my child.

When I crept into Noelle’s room to ask what she wanted me to do, she let out a ragged breath.

“Noelle?” I whispered. It sounded like a rifle crack, reminding me of overnight campouts in the winter, when the sap would freeze and branches issued sounds like gunshots.

“Noelle?”

She didn’t stir. On a hunch, I slipped to her side, set a hand on her forehead. She radiated heat, too. The back of my hand pressed to her wrist, then her cheek. No wonder her earlier coloring had been a little off. She stirred, mumbling something, and swatted me away.

Feverish.

In fact, worse than Lily.

Lily remained quiet and glassy-eyed when I shuffled into the kitchen, snapped on the light under the oven hood. The glow allowed just enough illumination to set eyes on the medicine bottles. Noelle brought infant medication with her, as well as regular over-the-counter options for adults. Good thing, too. Morgan rarely took pills.

Finding the medication I desired, I twisted the lid open and spilled a few into my hand. When I returned to Noelle’s side with a glass of water, three pills, and Lily in my arms, Noelle stirred groggily awake.

“Noelle? Hey, you awake? You have a fever.” I sat on the edge of the bed, Lily in the crook of my left arm. “Here. Take this medicine. It’ll help bring the fever down and you’ll rest better.”

She obeyed and chugged the water, then collapsed to her pillow with a moan and chattering teeth.

As I stood to leave, Noelle gasped upright.

“Lily!”

“I got her.” I set a hand on her hot cheek. “She’s fine. Get some sleep.”

Noelle slumped to the bed with a wince, shiver, mumble. I tossed an extra blanket at her feet before returning to the hall.

Lily issued another cry as we re-entered her makeshift room, but I soothed her by bouncing her, somehow locating her pacifier in the dark. That seemed to settle her enough to close her eyes.

The shadows clarified a little more. Somewhere in this mess, Morgan had a rocking chair. Or was that in the basement? A chill entered the room from the window, just like the living room. The fire had probably petered out, and the cold set in.

With Lily being so little, I wasn’t sure how much medication to give her. So I crept down the hallway, settled on the recliner, and began to rock. Within minutes, Lily’s sucking motions slowed, her lips relaxed. Out of the darkest night, I could barely see her profile and the loose pacifier.

It ached a bit, regarding her. Feeling her weight in my arms. She wasn’t mine, and how readily I realized that. Yet, I’d do anything for her. I couldn’t imagine a child that I wouldn’t defend with my life, but Lily was a child I’d also give every minute of every day to. She had special written all over her.

Like Noelle, there was something inherently good in these bones.

Wind gusted by, blowing ice crystals into the windows with gentle tap-tap-taps. I didn’t want to look outside to see the temperature, comprehend how much snow had arrived, or how many pipes had frozen.

We had a sick baby, a sick mama, and freezing winter weather settling in at the same time. Not to mention a house made of a random assortment of materials, and two knuckleheads that, despite all my best efforts, still managed to be just this side of complete neanderthal.

Somehow, I didn’t mind one bit.

It was good to have a family.

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