Baby Trail

A baby's cry tore through Gwen Langworthy's small house. It only took a moment for her to realize the sound was coming from her sunroom!Dusk had fallen and shadows were thick in the ranch-style house as she raced from the kitchen through the living room. As an obstetrical nurse practitioner, she was well aware of babies'cries. They always ripped a corner of her heart. She longed to have a baby of her own.The first cry whimpered into a second as she reached for the ceramic light on the wicker table inside the sunroom and saw a blue plastic bin sitting just inside her sliding glass doors. Rushing to it, she hunkered down. An infant with sparkling dark eyes, who couldn't be more than a day or two old, stared up at her. Layers of newspaper lined the inside of the bin, but the baby was nestled in a pink blanket. A torn sheet of notebook paper lay at her feet with "Amy" written in block letters.It was a little girl!After pushing her auburn curls behind her ears, Gwen reflexively scooped up the child and cuddled her in her arms. Dreams of happily-ever-after and having the family she'd always wanted had evaporated like smoke after Mark had left her waiting with her dad at the white runner that was supposed to lead her to commitment and everlasting bonds. His abandonment still hurt, and she didn't think she could ever trust a man again."So your name is Amy," she murmured, the nurse in her already taking in every detail about the child's physical condition. Her maternal instincts led her to notice the baby's little sweater and hat fashioned of soft fuzzy yarn in variegated white, yellow and aqua. The set looked as if it had been hand-knitted. Someone had cared about this child.And then abandoned her?Gwen knew all about that kind of abandonment, too. Stepping toward the glass doors, Gwen slid one open. The evening's breeze swept in as she stared deep into her yard. A street ran to the back of it. Was that a car engine she heard coughing, then starting up? She couldn't see between the shadowed trees. Fall in Wyoming was closing in.Little Amy wiggled in her arms, screwed up her face and let out another wail.Hugging Amy close, Gwen went to the phone to call one of her best friends, who was a social worker. But she already knew what Shaye would advise her to do: call the sheriff.Thinking about a sheriff who was more focused on his impending retirement than serving the residents of Wild Horse Junction, she decided if he didn't make progress at finding Amy's mother within a week, she'd take matters into her own hands.She wouldn't let this child go through life not knowing where she came from...never knowing why her mother hadn't loved her enough to keep her."Mr. Maxwell," Gwen called above the loud banging that made her cringe.The noise suddenly ceased. In an instant Garrett Maxwell, if that's who he was, went from hammering a floorboard to a standing defensive stance, his hammer held almost like a weapon. With dark brown hair, he was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered in a black T-shirt, slim-hipped in well-worn blue jeans. His presence totally overwhelmed the small backyard shed and in the dim light, his gray eyes targeted and held her at the threshold."Can I help you?" His voice was filled with icy calm and she instantly felt like an intruder."I hope so," she answered fervently and saw the interest in his eyes.Garrett Maxwell had the reputation for being a recluse, working from his log house in the foothills of Wyoming's Painted Peaks. She'd known about his credentials because of an article she'd read in theWild Horse Wranglera few months ago -- he had helped locate a missing child in Colorado. Before driving up here, she'd searched for information about him on the Internet and found several articles noting how he helped search-and-rescue teams with lost children and aided in child-kidnapping cases.When he didn't move a muscle, when his strong jaw remained set, when he didnSmith, Karen Rose is the author of 'Baby Trail ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373247677 and ISBN 0373247672.