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He latched onto one of Garrett’s fingers and held tight. Garrett turned back to the woman, who stood near the front door. “Come on into the parlor,” he said to her, and he tried harder than he ever had to make his deep voice sound soft and gentle. “Sit down and hold your nephew for a while. We’ll talk this out.”
    She blinked, licked her lips. “I just want to take him and go.”
    “I understand that. But you have to understand my position here. I’m the sheriff, ma’am. A woman left her child in my care. I can’t just hand him over to the first stranger who comes along and claims him, now can I?”
    She eyed him so skeptically he squirmed inside.
    “I’ll check out your story,” he went on. It was more than her smallness that made her seem as fragile as bone china right now. And he felt big and awkward beside her. “If you are who you say you are, and Ethan really is your nephew, I’ll let you take him. But, ma’am, even if I were sure right this minute, I wouldn’t let you out of here now. You’re in no shape to be driving tonight. Especially not with a baby in the car.”
    He had her there. She knew it. He saw the concession in her eyes. “I’m not leaving here without him.”
    “Then you’re gonna have to stay a spell.” She looked at the baby he held and she put her arms out. Little Ethan looked back at her and smiled. Her white hands trembled as she took a step forward. Then she dropped like a sack of potatoes right at Garrett’s feet. Garrett pushed little Ethan into the nearest set of arms, which turned out to be Wes’s, and bent down to scoop the woman up off the floor. As he turned to carry her through the house and upstairs, he noticed that she smelled like violets.

 
    Chapter 4
----
     
    C helsea awoke to hot sunlight burning over her eyelids and face, cool, crisp sheets against her skin, and the smell of coffee. Good, strong coffee.
    The smell, she discovered after blinking the sleep haze from her eyes, originated from the carafe that sat on the round table beside the bed. A pink cloth with lacy white edging covered the table and draped halfway to the floor, leaving only the bottom portion of the broad, carved, totem pole-like pedestal visible. Chelsea wanted to reach for that coffee. And for the plate of the steaming, fragrant, omelet-type concoction beside it. But she couldn’t summon the energy to move.
    “Well, the beast lives,” a feminine voice announced.
    Chelsea jerked her gaze to where the young woman she remembered from last night stood near the window. The curtains were as pink as the tablecloth. In fact, so were the sheets. Pale pink fabric with lilac blossoms lined the two overstuffed chairs in the room, and the wallpaper matched. It was very loud, very flowery and
very
pink. A white vanity with more filigree trim than substance stood in one corner. It was laden with pretty bottles and jars of every size, shape and color.
    “Looks like the inside of Jeannie’s bottle, doesn’t it?” The woman let the curtains fall closed. “My brothers think all the frilly stuff makes up for being the only female in a houseful of men. I let them indulge me.”
    She was young. Early twenties, Chelsea guessed. Her pixie-short hair gleamed a reddish brown like the coat of a deer. And those huge brown eyes of hers reinforced the image of a doe. She was taller than Chelsea, curvier, too.
    “So, do I pass inspection, Your Majesty?”
    Chelsea cleared her throat, trying to work up enough energy to put the spoiled brat in her place. All she managed was, “What do you want?”
    “I don’t
want
anything, least of all to wait on some lunatic in my own house. I wouldn’t be in here at all if Garrett hadn’t insisted I stay with you until you came around. He said he was afraid you’d be
scared waking up in a strange place.
” She said the last bit in a whiny, mocking tone, and Chelsea wished she could slap her. “So I suggested my room. At least here I can keep an eye on