Page 7 of The Heart’s Charge

He paid little attention to his surroundings as he climbed the steps and reached a hand up to knock on the door. All of his attention centered on soothing his little lady.

Until the door opened and a feminine voice inquired, “Yes?”

The intonation sounded vaguely familiar. Mark lifted his head and his stomach promptly lurched into his throat.

It couldn’t be. She was supposed to be half a country away. Safe. Sheltered. In the bosom of her family. Yet here she stood, the same sky-blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for the past ten years widening in shocked recognition.

“Kate?”

CHAPTER

FOUR

Katherine Palmer blinked three times, but the impossible vision before her failed to dematerialize. Mark Wallace was standing on her doorstep. The Mark Wallace. Favored son of Westfield, Massachusetts. Voted Whip City’s best potential husband by the girls of the Prospect Street School three years in a row. Talented musician on track to earn a place in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Until she’d accidentally destroyed his life.

Mark Wallace. The man she’d nearly married.

“Kate? What are you doing here?”

His voice was just as rich and smooth as she remembered. And his eyes . . . mercy, his eyes were like molten gold. She was melting into a puddle just looking at them.

“Miss Katherine?” a younger male voice piped up behind her. “Everything all right?”

Goodness. What was wrong with her? She was acting like the same besotted sixteen-year-old she’d been ten years ago. She gave herself a mental shake. She was an independent woman making her own way in the world. Responsible for others. One of said others being the nine-year-old boy trying to square off with an experienced cavalryman.

“Yes, Abner. I’m fine.” Tearing her gaze away from Mark—who could have imagined that the handsome young man she remembered would look even better with a rugged beard hugging his jaw and a decade of living filling out his muscles?—she smiled at her self-assigned guard and touched his shoulder. “I was just surprised to find someone from my past on the other side of the door. This is Mr. Wallace. A friend from where I used to live in Massachusetts.”

Abner’s gaze shifted left, and he jerked his chin in that direction. “And the other fella?”

Other fellow? Katherine looked back through the doorway. Good heavens. There was another man standing on her stoop. She hadn’t even noticed.

The black man pulled off his hat and dipped his chin. “Jonah Brooks, ma’am. We were told this was the best place to bring an infant in need of care.”

A tiny fussing sound emanated from the region of Mark’s chest. He bent his head and made soft shushing noises while gently bouncing his cradled arms. All thoughts of handsome swains and missed opportunities fled Katherine’s mind the instant she caught a glimpse of the tiny babe’s face peeking out from a mound of green plaid flannel.

“Yes. This is the right place. Come in.” She opened the door and stepped aside to let the men enter. She positioned herself at Mark’s elbow, however, and immediately began cataloguing pertinent information. “How old is the child?”

“A couple of hours,” Mark answered, a dozen questions swirling in his gaze.

His questions could wait. Hers couldn’t. Not if the baby was that new. Time was critical.

“Abner?” Katherine cast a glance over her shoulder at the boy who was closing the front door. “Fetch Miss Eliza. Quickly.”

Abner dashed off, and Katherine steered the men into the front parlor that functioned as their office. They kept essentials on hand in here for any child brought to them. After Ruby arrived on their doorstep bloodied and broken last year, they’d started keeping this room ready for emergencies. Much more efficient than running upstairs to retrieve clothing or medical supplies.

Katherine led the way to an old sideboard that stood against the wall, snatching a quilt from the back of a nearby sofa as she passed. She folded the quilt into a pallet and laid it atop the sideboard, then pulled a clean diaper and baby gown from one of the drawers.

“Lay the child here.”

Mark came alongside her. His large frame hovered so close, she might have been intimidated had he not been cooing to the baby in such sweet tones.

“Shh, little lady. It’s all right,” he said when she protested his pulling her from the warmth of his chest. “Miss Kate will get you all fixed up. Don’t you worry.”

The newborn’s pink skin looked healthy, and her lungs appeared strong, as she worked up a full-blown wail when Katherine unwrapped her swaddling. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “But you’ll feel better in clean clothes and underthings.”

“Dr. Hampton checked her out,” Mark said, pressing his belly against the sideboard as if worried the baby might roll off if he didn’t create a barrier with his body. “Said I didn’t mess anything up too badly.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, even though she didn’t look up. She’d always found his tendency toward self-deprecation his most charming feature. Most handsome men had inflated egos from all the pandering they received, but Mark had always had a way about him that made others feel as though he considered them the special ones.