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are.”
    Ivy frowned. “We haven’t had any cases of West Nile virus around here, have we?”
    â€œNot that I know of,” Hunter replied.
    â€œNor me,” Morgan Davis, director of the adoption agency, said, stopping beside Ivy. His new wife was at his side, looking radiantly happy. There was a contented aura surrounding Morgan, too.
    â€œOh, hi, you two.” Ivy hugged the other couple. Emma, a children’s counselor, had been her best friend since college days. Ivy was so glad the other woman had found happiness after her first husband had run out on her.
    Emma had been pretty down on life for a while. She’d had two miscarriages during her marriage, then she’d gone through the divorce, then she’d lost her job. Thank God Morgan had offered her a position helping him with the summer camp for older kids who hadn’t been adopted. It had given them a chance to get to know each other…and to fall in love.
    The two men, who had met when the rancher had adopted his little boy through the agency, shook hands. Emma and Hunter exchanged greetings.
    â€œEm, are you coming to help with the babies tomorrow morning?” Ivy asked after the foursome had chatted awhile.
    â€œUh, I’m not sure,” she said, and cast her husband a worried glance.
    Morgan dropped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I’m trying to get her to slow down,” he said with a quiet smile. “Given her history, we think it would be better if she curtailed her activities for a few months.”
    Ivy knew the couple was trying to start a family. “I understand.”
    She had news of her own, but she refrained from saying anything since they were in company and might be overheard. She needed to ask Em’s advice on what she should do. More and more, that night with Max seemed unreal, the product of a fevered brain.
    â€œWe only have three new babies this week,” she told Emma when her friend apologized for not helping.
    â€œAre you talking about the adoptive babies here at the agency?” Hunter asked.
    â€œNo, at the hospital nursery. We’re rocking them.” Ivy shook her head sadly. “We have two more crack babies going through drug withdrawal. If we rock and cuddle them almost continuously during the early months, they stand a much better chance of being normal kids.”
    Nancy Allen, an E.R. nurse from Portland General, stopped near them. “The more rocking, the better,” she said, nodding in agreement to Ivy’s observation.
    Ivy introduced the nurse. “Nancy also volunteers at the nursery. Once we took turns rocking a crying baby for twenty hours straight. All of us, including the baby, got about two hours’ sleep during the whole ordeal.”
    â€œNow that child is a healthy one-year-old and already walking,” Nancy reported. “By the way, I assume everyone knows Everett Baker.”
    She took the hand of the man who stood a couple of steps behind her and urged him into the group circle. Ivy recognized him as the accountant of Children’s Connection, a shy man with dark hair and eyes, about five-ten, same age as Hunter and Morgan, in his midthirties.
    Although she’d seen him around the agency during the past six months, she couldn’t remember ever doing more than nod as they passed in the corridors.
    The men shook hands while the women smiled and murmured in welcome to the newcomer.
    â€œAre the crack babies hard to place?” Everett asked.
    Morgan nodded. “The hardest,” he admitted. “We have to tell the adoptive parents of the problems they may face.”
    The accountant looked interested. “Like what?”
    Everett brushed his hair off his forehead as he spoke, a nervous gesture, Ivy thought, recalling she’d seen him do it at other times.
    â€œEmotional instability, for one,” Morgan said.
    â€œSometimes mental retardation,” Nancy added with pity in her hazel