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inordinately loud, considering the racket of the train.
    No more than a second passed before he began to screech again. Rafe could tell by Maggie's movements that she was growing agitated. He heard her make a soft sound of distress. The infant quieted for a bit and then resumed crying.
    Concern filled him. He didn't consciously make the decision to open his eyes. One moment, he was being a perfect gentleman, and the next he was getting an eye-full. To give himself credit where it was due, he had not a lascivious thought as he gazed over Maggie's thin shoulder at her breast. It was so swollen and bruised that he cringed. As hungry babies will, Jaimie latched eagerly onto her nipple each time it touched his lips, suckling none-too-gently on the tumid, discolored peak. Rafe knew it had to hurt like hell.
    Leaning slightly to one side to see Maggie's face, he spied a tear slipping down her cheek. His heart caught at the resolute expression she wore. She clearly meant to feed her baby, no matter how much pain it caused her. He could almost feel every pull of the baby's mouth. A fragile flower? Not by anyone's standards. She was a
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    delicately built woman, but hidden under all that fragility was a spine laced with steel.
    In the end, her attempts to feed her child were a failure. Her milk refused to come down in either breast.
    Each wail from the baby cut through Rafe. A man never forgot being a father, he guessed. An almost overwhelming sense of helplessness came over him. When a baby was hungry, you fed it, bottom line.
    Rafe estimated they would reach the next stop in about forty minutes. Every second of that time would seem like an eternity. He had to get away from this pair. They were unearthing feelings inside of him that he'd worked too damned hard to bury. He didn't need the hassle—or the heartache.
    Jaimie cried only a short time before falling into an exhausted sleep, which Rafe counted a blessing until Maggie broached a concern he hadn't considered.
    In a quavering voice, she said, "I think he's already losing his strength. "
    "How long has he gone without eating?"
    "I started having some trouble nursing him late yesterday afternoon. He got a little to eat, I think, but maybe not that much. I was really upset, and—" Her voice trailed away. "Well, you know—things didn't go exactly right. I thought it was because I was so tense. In the book I have, it says nervousness can cause that. "
    Nervousness could be a cause. But then, so could severe bruising and swelling. After seeing what he had, he figured it was more than likely the latter.
    "So he's missed only a few feedings?"
    She nodded, looking worried and miserable. "He eats pretty often, though. About every two hours because he's still so small. Do you think he's losing his strength?"
    His own babies had never missed a meal unless they were sick, so he was certainly no expert, but it seemed to him it should take longer than this for a kid to grow weak with hunger. On the other hand, though, Jaimie

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    was tiny, as she said. Newborns didn't have the stores of fat older babies did.
    "Nah, " he assured her with more confidence than he felt. "Babies are tough little nuts. "
    "Are they?" she asked hopefully.
    "Sure they are. We'll reach the next stop soon. He'll be fine for a half hour. There's bound to be a store where you can buy him a bottle and formula. "
    She shook her head.
    Rafe didn't want to hear this. Why me, God?
    "I don't have enough money. All I've got is eighteen cents in my pocket. "
    He really, really had to get away from her. Why was she telling him her problems? If she was entertaining the notion that he might help her, she had a shock coming. When he hit the next town, he would sweep a few parking lots to buy a bottle, all right. A booze bottle.
    "Do you?" she asked.
    "Do I what?"
    "Have any money?" She turned those big brown eyes on him again. "Normally I'd never presume to ask.
    I'm sure I can find some sort of work