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slacks was visible. I didn’t think I’d appeared. Not, of course, that I see myself as gorgeous. Absolutely not. Truly, I was thinking only in terms of being redheaded.
    I am definitely redheaded. Flaming copper, to be precise. I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed back a loose curl.
    “No such luck for you, bud,” Gina muttered. She pulled an ottoman closer to the fire. She looked at Tucker, legs outstretched from the gilt chair. “Don’t hog the warmth, bro.” She balanced the plate on her lap.
    Peg stood a few feet inside the door. She clasped her hands as she spoke. “A little boy arrived here tonight.
    There was a note with him. He’s Mitch’s son, Keith. Susan told us to put him in the blue room.”
    The hiss and crackle of the fire was loud and distinct in sudden silence. No one moved or spoke.
    I looked around the room.
    Jake’s big blue eyes stared blankly at Peg. A shaky hand clasped at a strand of pearls. She looked like a good-natured pig confronted with an unfathomable reality, an alligator in the kitchen or a crevasse that yawned without warning.
    The lanky young man still bent toward the fire, the poker gripped in his hand. The face turned toward Peg was immobile, dark eyebrows slashed over light brown eyes, bony features rigid.
    Red-faced Harrison’s bonhomie drained away. He stared, sandy brows drawing down in a frown.
    His wife pushed dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, looking as alert as a prairie dog poking out of a burrow and sighting a predatory badger.
    Gina stared into the fire, her narrow face somber, her gaze mournful. The crackers on her plate remained untouched.
    Peg’s smile was hopeful though her eyes were anxious. “Isn’t this great news? Christmas will be special this year.”
    Jake’s head jerked toward the hallway. Her face was suddenly blanched. Her lips quivered. “Susan isn’t well.” Breathing heavily, she came to her feet. “I’ll go and see. This is absurd. Who brought this child? He can’t stay here. Whoever brought him must take him where he lives.”
    Peg lifted a hand. “Susan’s gone to bed. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. We don’t know who brought him. He was left on the porch with a note that says Mitch is his father. There’s a birth certificate that lists Mitch as his father.”
    Jake held to the back of a chair. “There has to be some mistake.”
    Tucker’s face relaxed. He scratched at his bristly chin. “Don’t get in a swivet, Jake. He’s either Mitch’s boy or he isn’t. Susan will find out. Well”—his expression was bemused—“you can’t say we aren’t starting off the holidays with a bang.” He glanced at Gina. “What do you think, sis?”
    “We didn’t know what happened to Mitch after he ran away.” Her voice was low and sorrowful. “I guess now we’ll find out.”
    Harrison looked like a man whose boat had sprung a leak and there’s no land in sight. “If it’s true”—his words were reluctant—“it would be a great happiness for Susan. Still, this unannounced arrival seems suspicious to me. We may have to step in and protect Susan since she isn’t well.”
    His wife lifted a hand as if warning him. “Susan can deal with anything, sick or well. And”—her eyes were thoughtful—“she deserves some happiness.” She looked around the room. “I’m sure you all agree.”
    “Oh, of course.” “Certainly.” “Hope this isn’t a disappointment ultimately.” “Wade Farrell will have to be very careful.”
    Beyond the flurry of words, I sensed shock and, more, a flash of white-hot fury.
    Wiggins had been uneasy on Keith’s behalf.
    I looked around a room filled with people who apparently resented his arrival. I had to find out why his existence caused such shock. And dismay.

    In the blue room , I tucked the wool blanket around Keith’s shoulders. That should keep him toasty. I stepped to the window, eased it up a bit. Fresh air makes everyone sleep better.
    The gathering downstairs had