The Unclaimed Baby. Sherryl Woods

that followed, she waited for him to suggest stopping off to pick up a six-pack, but after an intent study of her face, he merely shrugged.

      “Soda will do, with coffee for a chaser,” he said easily.

      “Now that I can accommodate,” she said, relieved that he hadn’t pushed, either for the beer or an explanation.

      “Then let’s get out of here. Something tells me our little buddy here is going to be starving herself pretty soon and we’d better be ready to swing into action. She’s not nearly as patient as I am.”

      Nothing about Cord Branson suggested he was the least bit patient, but Sharon Lynn let that pass. He’d allowed an awkward moment slide by without comment and that was all she cared about. A man who could ignore hints and innuendoes, who could detect a puzzle and let it rest until the solution was offered voluntarily was a rarity. After months of people poking and prying into her feelings, she was more grateful than he would ever know.

      “Let me grab another package of formula and we’re set.”

      “I’ll get that. You bundle up the little darlin’.”

      When everyone was wrapped snugly in enough layers to withstand the bitter cold, they walked briskly to her place. She couldn’t help thinking that on a night just like this one a week ago, the cold had cut through her and left a chill not only throughout her body, but in her heart. What a difference a few days—and the presence of this man and this baby—had made. What would happen to her when—not if, but when—they were gone?