A Very Special Delivery

air was filling up her cozy little house, and she wasn’t about to stand on ceremony in this kind of weather. He couldn’t be a criminal. Even an ax murderer had better sense than to be out in this weather. Only a working stiff would be so dedicated.
    “Get in here before you freeze.” With one hand she shoved the storm door wide and with the other she grasped his thick, quilted sleeve and pulled. That’s when she realized what he was carrying against his chest. Not a package. A bundle. A soft, quilted bundle decorated with yellow ducks and pink rabbits. She yanked her hand away and stared long and hard as the delivery man stomped into the house, sprinkling ice pellets all over the floor. He ushered in the unmistakable scent of cold air on a warm body.
    Molly shut the door and kicked the towel against it, all the while staring in disbelief at the bundle in the delivery man’s arms.
    The man went straight for the fireplace and stood close, his back to her. Molly followed him, keeping her eyes on the bundle. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought it was.
    “The roads are so bad, I was afraid I wouldn’t make it back to town. Don’t need to tell you what would happen if I got stranded and ran out of gas in this weather.”
    “No.”
    There would be enough horror stories in the days to come of motorists or other hapless folks who’d gotten caught out in this. The occasional Oklahoma ice storms were notorious for paralyzing entire sections of the state. Sometimes weeks would pass before the roads were cleared, power back on, and life returned to normal. Aunt Patsy, the farm’s true owner, had spent her share of days stranded up here while waiting for the ice to melt or the road grader to arrive in this remote portion of the county.
    “I’m sorry to intrude on you this way.” A pair of sincere blue eyes—worried eyes—peered at her. Normally she would have considered such eyes, rimmed as they were in black spiky lashes, especially attractive. And the rest of his face—clean-shaven, lean and honest—was only made more ruggedly attractive by a narrow scar that sliced one eyebrow and disappeared upward into a neat crew cut. She found the scar intriguing—and appealing.
    The bundle in his arms was an entirely different matter.
    “You’re the closest house for miles,” he said, as though that gave him the right to remind her of what she could never forget.
    Most times she loved the solitude of living miles from nowhere, driving in to her job and then hurrying home to her little farm. In town she could always feel the stares, the eyes of suspicion, and hear the not-so-subtle whispers. No matter that the tragedy happened two years ago, a small town never forgot—or forgave—such a terrible transgression. How could they when she couldn’t even forgive herself?
    “You got a telephone?”
    Her gaze flickered up to his and quickly back to the bundle. Yellow ducks and pink rabbits. Foreboding crept up her spine, colder than the outside temperatures. “Phone’s been out since noon.”
    “Figures. My communication system is down, too, and cell phones are impossible up here in the hills.”
    Molly knew that. No one in these mountains even considered buying a cell phone.
    Tormented by thoughts of the bundle, she turned her back to the fire and tried not to think too much. Please, Lord, please. Let that be a doll. Or a puppy.
    The bundle stirred; a soft cooing issued from the quilt. Molly’s pulse rate jumped a notch. That was no puppy.
    “Ma’am…” the delivery man began.
    “Molly,” she interrupted, stepping back, terrified of what he was about to say. “I’m Molly McCreight.”
    “Pleased to meet you, ma’am, and I’m Ethan Hunter.” He thrust the bundle toward her. “Do you know anything about babies?”
    Her heart stopped beating for a full three seconds. She couldn’t breath. There really was a baby inside that mass of quilts and blankets.
    * * *
    In all his thirty-three years, Ethan had never seen a female react this way to a baby. The red-haired woman turned deathly pale, her brown eyes widened in panic as she backed slowly toward the crackling fireplace behind her. Usually, little Laney was a regular chick magnet, drawing unwanted female attention even when he stopped at the supermarket for a carton of milk or a bag of diapers. But tonight when he actually desired that little bit of magic, the woman in question looked as if she’d rather jump into the fireplace than touch his baby