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one of the guest suites. The pitiful truth of it was that he wanted to be within earshot of the faintest cry from either Jessie or the baby. A part of him yearned to be the one they depended on.
    Shortly before dusk, he headed back to the barn to feed the horses and Chester. The wind was still howling, creating drifts of snow that made the walk laborious. Still, he couldn’t help relishing the cold. It wiped away the last traces of fog from his head. He vowed then and there that no matter how bad things got, he would never, ever try to down an entire bottle of whiskey on his own again. The brief oblivion wasn’t worth the hangover. And he hoped like hell he never again had to perform anything as important as delivering a baby with his brain clouded as it had been the night before.
    He lingered over the afternoon chores as long as he could justify. He even sat for a while, doling out pieces of apple to the goat, muttering under his breath about the insanity of his feelings for a woman so far beyond his reach. Chester seemed to understand, which was more than he could say for himself.
    When he realized he was about to start polishing his already well-kept saddle for the second time in a single day, he forced himself back to the house and the emotional dangers inside. Chester, sensing his indecisiveness, actually butted him gently toward the door.
    The back door was barely closed behind him when he heard the baby’s cries. He stopped in his tracks and waited for Jessie’s murmured attempts to soothe her daughter. Instead, the howls only escalated.
    Shrugging off his coat and tossing it in the general direction of the hook on the wall, Luke cautiously headed for the bedroom. He found Jessie still sound asleep, while Angela kicked and screamed beside her. Luke grinned. The kid had unquestionably inherited Jessie’s powerful set of lungs. Definitely opera singer caliber.
    Taking pity on her worn-out mama, he scooped the baby into his arms and carried her into the kitchen. Once there, he was at a loss.
    He held the tiny bundle aloft and stared into wide, innocent eyes that shimmered with tears. “So, kid, it looks like it’s just you and me for the time being. Your mama’s tuckered out. Can’t say I blame her. Getting you into the world was a lot of hard work.”
    The flood of tears dried up. Angela’s gaze remained fixed on his face so attentively that Luke was encouraged to go on. “Seems to me that both of us have a lot to learn,” he said, keeping his voice low and even, in a tone he hoped might lull her back to sleep. “For instance, I don’t know if you were screaming your head off in there because you’re hungry or because you’re soaking wet or because you’re just in need of a little attention.”
    He patted her bottom as he spoke. It was dry. She blew a bubble, which didn’t answer the question but indicated Luke was definitely on the right track.
    “I’m guessing attention,” he said. “I’m also guessing that won’t last. Any minute now that pretty little face of yours is going to turn red and you’re going to be bellowing to be fed. Seems a shame to wake your mama up, though. How about we try to improvise?”
    Angela waved her fist in what he took for an approving gesture.
    “Okay, then. A little sugar water ought to do it.” Cradling her in one arm, he ran some water into a pan, added a little sugar and turned on the burner to warm it. Unfortunately, getting it from the saucepan into the baby required a little more ingenuity.
    Luke considered the possibilities. A medicine dropper might work. He’d nourished a few abandoned animals that way as a kid, as well as an entire litter of kittens when the mother’d been killed. One glance into Angela’s darkening expression told him he was going to have to do better than that and fast.
    “Chester,” he muttered in a sudden burst of inspiration. When the old goat had wandered into the path of a mean-spirited bull, Luke had wound up nursing him with