“You haven’t.”

Nolan lowered his hands.

“Why did you help me?”

Maribel looked at Grace.

“Because someone should have helped her sooner.”

Outside, the blizzard erased the road to Raven Hollow.

So Nolan stayed.

He slept sitting upright in the bakery storeroom while Maribel fed Grace every few hours.

By dawn, the baby had strength enough to cry properly.

It was the most beautiful sound either of them had ever heard.

Unfortunately, someone else heard it too.

At six thirty, nineteen-year-old Elsie Carter arrived to help Maribel with the morning bread.

She opened the back door.

Saw Nolan Pierce asleep in a chair.

Saw his coat hanging beside Maribel’s shawl.

Then heard an infant crying upstairs.

Elsie’s eyes became enormous.

“Mrs.

Quinn?”

Maribel knew immediately.

By breakfast, half of Widow Creek would know.

By lunch, the story would have transformed into something sinful.

By supper, Nolan would probably have fathered six imaginary children with her.

Maribel sighed.

“Put the coffee on, Elsie.”

“But—”

“Coffee.”

To her credit, Elsie obeyed.

Mostly.

She only stared every seven seconds.

Nolan awakened when Grace cried again.

He looked from Elsie to Maribel.

“I’ll explain.”

Maribel gave him a dry look.

“You have never met Widow Creek if you think explanations help.”

He almost smiled.

It changed his entire face.

Then the bell above the bakery door rang.

Dr.

Gideon Vale entered.

Tall.

Silver-haired.

Immaculately dressed despite the storm.

For twenty-five years he had delivered Widow Creek’s babies, stitched ranch hands after accidents, set broken legs and sat beside dying beds.

People trusted him.

Maribel once had too.

His gaze moved from Nolan to Grace.

Then to Maribel.

Something unreadable crossed his expression.

“Mr.

Pierce.”

Nolan stood.

“Doctor.”

“I heard your daughter had taken ill.”

“You heard quickly.”

Vale smiled faintly.

“Small town.”

Maribel disliked the way he looked at Grace.

Not with concern.

With calculation.

“I told you yesterday,” Vale continued, “the child requires professional care.”

“She required food,” Maribel said.

Vale’s eyes moved toward her.

“Mrs.

Quinn.”

“Doctor.”

His smile tightened.

“You should be careful.

After what happened to Matthew, emotional attachments may cloud your judgment.”

The words struck like a slap.

Nolan stepped between them.

“Watch yourself.”

Vale lifted his hands.

“No offense intended.”

He removed a small brown bottle from his medical bag.

“A few drops of this will settle Grace’s stomach.”

Maribel took the bottle before Nolan could.

She uncorked it.

A sharp medicinal odor rose from the neck.

Her stomach tightened.

“I remember this.”

Vale’s face didn’t move.

“You gave something like this to Matthew.”

“A common infant preparation.”

“Afterward he slept almost continuously.”

“He was ill.”

“And the next morning he was worse.”

Vale’s voice cooled.

“Your son was dying, Mrs.

Quinn.”

Silence filled the bakery.