Caught in the Middle by Regina Jennings Page A

and pulled the drawstring on her collar tight. “A boardinghouse. Do you know of one that accepts children?”
    The infant pulled up to his feet but stood about as steady as a drunk on a barge during a hurricane. A child? Mrs. Tillerton was a widow, but Nicholas didn’t remember any children from her marriage. How long ago had Mr. Tillerton died, and where had the child been while she was in Pushmataha? He cocked an eyebrow and tried his hand at guessing the baby’s age. Less than a year. Not nearly old enough. Maybe he needed to change his impression of Mrs. Tillerton. Perhaps she was friendly to some men, just not him.
    He didn’t realize he was staring until she pulled her coat around herself. He felt his ears burning.
    “Last I heard you were looking for a cook. I’m no expert oninfants, but I don’t think he’ll be much help in the kitchen.” Falling into conversation came so naturally to him, his discomfort faded. Especially as he watched hers grow.
    “I found the cook I was looking for . . . and her son.” Anne lowered her eyes. “Not only did she refuse to come to Pushmataha with me, she also skipped town and left Sammy in my care.”
    “Sammy?” Nicholas stepped around his desk to smile at the child. “So now you’re a mother?”
    Her stare could turn boiling water into ice. Or it could amuse him.
    “I can’t hunt buffalo with a baby. There’s no point in going back to Pushmataha until I find his father. In the meantime, he needs to be somewhere safer. Last night we had to sleep in the rain . . . or he did at least. I didn’t sleep a wink. And I don’t know how much I can afford. If Finn is hard to track down, I might need a paying job to make ends meet.”
    A house, a nursemaid, and a job? At least she wasn’t asking for much.
    “What exactly can you do?”
    “I can shoot, skin, and tan. And although I won’t admit it to Anoli, I’m a decent cook—nothing fancy, but I work hard. I’ve worked with horses a fair bit—can groom them, trim their hooves. I’m not above working for my keep. I don’t know of any other skills that are worth paying for, but I’ll try about any kind of work.”
    Her soft gray eyes held a challenge, daring him to laugh at her skills. Just how well did he know Mrs. Tillerton? Not at all, actually. He knew his sister held her in high regard, but everyone else from home thought her odd.
    Nicholas sat on the edge of his desk. Introducing Mrs.Tillerton into his society would cause a sensation, but she wouldn’t appreciate the attention. Come to think of it, her presence in Garber could be awkward for him, as well. Better find somewhere for her out of the way—not one of the boardinghouses, definitely not one of the hotels that the socially mobile haunted. A private residence would be ideal. He had just the place.
    “I recommend the Pucketts. Their son is a friend of mine, and they have room in their house. I’m not sure about the baby, but my guess is they’ll be delighted.”
    A sudden movement over Anne’s shoulder caught his attention. The Boston fern waved wildly, and then with a crash it disappeared. Both he and Anne scrambled toward the howling baby. Anne pulled him upright and brushed the soil off him—right onto the Persian rug.
    Nick wrinkled his nose. “Please . . . let’s carry him to the window and dust him off there.”
    “You’re not going to hold a baby out a window, are you?” Her reproachful eyes made him squirm, but his property had to be protected.
    “The more you clean him the more dirt you’re getting on the rug. Let’s take him out to the landing.” But the rug was already buried under a thick layer of black loam. The clumps falling out of the child’s thin blond hair weren’t enough to do any more damage. “Oh, never mind. I’ll get Harold. Harold!”
    Harold peered around the corner. His chin dropped at the sight of the disaster on the carpet. “Mrs. Stanford is coming today. She could be here any