The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby. Sherryl Woods

I suppose. It was my grandmother’s name.”

      “And she meant a lot to you?” she asked, searching his face.

      “A long time ago, yes, she did.”

      Trish’s expression brightened then. “Laura,” she said softly. “I like it.”

      Hardy liked the way it sounded when she said it. He liked the way her voice rose and fell in gentle waves. Even when she’d been snapping his head off during the baby’s birth, there had been a hint of sunshine lurking in that voice.

      He liked everything about this woman a little too much. She and her baby were the type who could sneak into a man’s heart—even his—before he knew what hit him. Just thinking that was enough to have him heading for the exit from the nursery.

      “You’re leaving?” Trish called after him, clearly surprised by the abrupt departure.

      “Work to do,” he said tersely, not turning around. “I meant to go a while back.”

      “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

      “Since you’re not from around these parts, I doubt it.”

      He hesitated, then turned and took one last look at the two of them, sitting in that rocker with the sunlight streaming in and spilling over them. He had a feeling that image would linger with him long after he wanted to banish it.

      “I’m glad everything turned out okay,” he said. “You all have a good life wherever you go.”

      Not until he was out in the hallway with the door firmly closed behind him did he begin to feel safe again.