Mail-Order Christmas Baby. Sherri Shackelford

left the details vague, inviting her to make a comment about the dog. Instead she took the seat beside Gracie and held out a spoonful of applesauce toward the child. Gracie gummed the offering, revealing her two lower teeth.

      Sterling gestured with his fork. “When does she start feeding herself?”

      “I don’t know.” Heather’s shoulders stiffened. “I suppose when she can hold a spoon.”

      “I didn’t mean anything by the question,” he said, sensing her uptight manner. If he spoke out against the child at this stage, he feared he’d start an argument. “Just asking.”

      Heather was fiercely protective of the child. Even considering the little contact between the three of them, he’d discerned that much. If he didn’t know better, he’d question her attachment. But he did know better. While in Butte, he’d visited the family she’d stayed with during her time in town. They’d been adamant that Heather wasn’t pregnant during her visit. Their shock at the mere idea had bordered on comical. Living in close quarters with Heather and Gracie this past week had reinforced his conclusion.