Chapter Four

      Hammer blows echoed down the gulch, ringing like gunshots on the chilly morning air. Sarah could hear them a good half mile before she reached the Sutton place. Her throat knotted in dread at the sound. She had hoped Donovan would be elsewhere when she came to check on Varina and the baby. Alas, that was not to be.

      She reined in the mule, half-tempted to turn back. But no, that would be the cowardly way. As a midwife and friend, she had duties to perform. If Varina’s volatile brother chose to interfere, she would simply have to put him in his place.

      Sarah adjusted her spectacles, plumbing the well of her own courage as the mule picked its way up the slippery trail. She had lived so long with danger that it had become a natural part of her existence. But Donovan Cole was more than dangerous. His was a rage that burned all the way to her heart. Every time he looked at her, his eyes blazed through her prim facade to the lying, faithless hellion she had struggled so hard to put behind her. To Lydia.

      As long as she lived in Donovan’s eyes, in his memory and in his hatred, Lydia Taggart would never die.

      As the trees thinned, she could make out Varina’s tiny log cabin. She could see Donovan just below roof level, straddling a massive crossbeam on the frame of what appeared to be an add-on room. The mine timbers he had salvaged for the purpose were heavy and awkward. Hammer blows echoed off the canyon walls as he whaled away at a stubborn nail.

      A wry smile tightened Sarah’s lips. One thing, at least, was clear: Donovan Cole was no carpenter.

      Donovan was so intent on his task that he had yet to notice Sarah’s approach. Despite the crisp air, he had flung off his shirt. Muscles rippled beneath his taut, golden skin. His bare torso all but steamed as he laid into the work with a fury so black that Sarah hesitated, her amusement darkening into fear.

      The mule snorted and shook its shaggy winter hide as she reined up alongside the porch. Only then did Donovan pause in his hammering to glare down at her. The contempt in his eyes froze her to the quick of her soul.

      “I’ve come to see Varina and her new son,” she declared, thrusting out her chin.

      “Varina’s fine,” he growled. “So’s the baby. We don’t need your kind looking in on us.”

      “That’s not for you to say, Donovan.” Sarah swung out of the saddle, her medical bag clutched under her cloak. “When I hear it from your sister, that’s when I’ll leave.” She turned and strode determinedly toward the porch.

      “That’s far enough.” Donovan’s sharp voice caught her like a blade between the shoulders. “Lady, if you don’t want one hell of a scene—”

      “Miss Sarah!” Katy came bounding out onto the porch, her carrot-colored pigtails dancing. “I can do carries and borrows now! Uncle Donovan helped me last night! Come on in, and I’ll show you!”

      “That’s wonderful, Katy.” Sarah accepted the chapped little hand and mounted the steps, avoiding Donovan’s seething gaze. How much had he told his sister? she wondered. Varina had been one of her staunchest friends here in Miner’s Gulch. But then, Varina had known nothing about her past.

      Sarah stepped into the dimly lit cabin, braced for an onslaught of hostility. Varina may have gone West before the war, but its tragedy had touched her all the same. Like Donovan, she had lost a family home and a much-loved young brother. Who could blame her for hating the woman who’d had a hand in it all?

      “Come on, Miss Sarah!” Katy tugged eagerly at her hand. “You can see little Charlie first! Then I’ll show you my carries and borrows!”

      Little by little, Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the shadows. She could see Annie washing dishes at the counter, with Samuel clumsily drying them. In the darkest corner, Varina was sitting up in bed, nursing the baby. Sarah’s breath caught.

      Varina was smiling.

      “Sarah!” She reached out, beckoning with her free arm. “I was hoping you’d come today! Little Charlie and I are doing fine, as you can see. But I’m afraid I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly the other night. Come here!”

      Sarah put down her medical kit and moved slowly toward the bed, tears stinging her eyes.

      Donovan hadn’t told her. He hadn’t told any of them.

      “Here—” Varina seized her shoulder, drawing her close in a loving embrace that almost shattered Sarah’s heart. “We owe you our lives, the two of us. I know I can never repay you, but if you ever need—”

      “It’s all right, Varina!” Sarah squeezed the words out of her aching throat. “Seeing you like this, with your family, is repayment enough. I could never ask for more.”

      “All the same—” Varina drew Sarah down until their gazes met on the same level. Her eyes were the same color as her brother’s, except that where Donovan’s shot icy sparks, Varina’s eyes glowed with the purest kindness Sarah had ever known.

      Her grip tightened on Sarah’s arm. “All the same, Sarah, I want you to know that Varina Sutton is your friend for life. If ever you need anything from me, just ask, and—”

      “Varina, I was only doing my Christian duty! It’s all right!” Sarah felt as if she were choking. She should tell her now, she thought. Tell her this minute and get it over with.

      But no, it wouldn’t do. Not in this quiet moment with the children so near. Not with little Katy tugging at her skirt and Annie looking back over her shoulder with big, serious eyes. Varina would know soon enough.

      The baby whimpered, squirmed and spat out his mother’s nipple, providing a welcome distraction. A tender smile wreathed Varina’s face. “It appears the little mite’s had enough. You can hold him now, if you like. But you’d best lay this cloth on your shoulder. He tends to spit after he’s eaten.”

      Putting aside her cloak, Sarah draped the cloth over her shirtwaist and gathered the tiny, squirming bundle into her arms.

      “Oh!” she whispered, snuggling the baby close as the sweet, milky aura enfolded her. “Oh, he’s beautiful!”

      For Sarah, holding new infants never lost its wonder. She loved their softness, the incredible lightness of their little bodies, their tiny, puckered faces and clasping fingers. What would it be like to cradle a baby of her own? Would it ever happen?

      But she could not even think about such a miracle, Sarah reminded herself. She was twenty-eight years old, a woman whose past would haunt her to the end of her days. No honorable man would ask for her hand in marriage. The best she could hope for was a lifetime of cuddling other women’s babies and teaching other women’s children.

      Varina’s son stirred in her arms and opened round indigo eyes to gaze up at her. Sarah brushed a finger across the velvet scalp, teasing the delicate fuzz that showed promise of growing in fiery red like Varina’s hair and Katy’s.

      And