âI know youâre crazy about the baby.â
âI am!â she confessed. âBut thatâs not the problem.â
âThen what is?â Even in the semi-dark interior of the cab, his eyes blazed a hot blue. The problem is you, Mr. Broderick. I think Iâve fallen in love with you, and you only see me as a live-in nanny.
âItâs inevitable he would get attached to me. It would be a wrench for him when I have to leave. Cruel, in fact. He deserves to have someone around on a permanent basis, not just a month or two.â
âI couldnât agree more, and I have a solution. In fact I would have suggested it in the beginning. But first I needed to find out if there was a man in your life.â
âI donât understand.â
âMarry me.â
A FREEZING gust of wind caused Zane Broderick to turn up the collar of his sheepskin jacket. An early December snowstorm had blown in, making for poor visibility in this remote wilderness.
It was the âlake effectâ that gave Tooele its reputation for severe winter weather. Forty minutes from Salt Lake, the tiny Utah town received an overabundance of moisture due to its proximity to the Great Salt Lake.
Tonight he felt a whiteout coming on. The kind where livestock froze and all transportation came to a standstill. By tomorrow morning the conditions would be perfect for the engineering team to do an experimental, driverless winter test run of the new prototype magnetic levitation train heâd designed.
As soon as heâd given one more inspection to this last section of forged track for any unforeseen problems, he could call it a night.
Blizzard conditions made it impossible to rely on his eyes without help. He pulled the heavy-duty flashlight from the back of his truck where heâd covered his equipment with a tarp.
The wind drove the snow so hard, his footsteps disappeared with every step he took alongside the platformed structure housing the twelve miles of seamless track.
Twenty minutes later he was satisfied that the workmanship looked slick-as-a-whistle, as his father would say. He came to the last hundred feet, carefully shining his light down inside to make certain heâd covered every square inch.
While heâd been out here, the wind, strengthened in force, pelted him with icy shards. At times its moaning sounds rose in pitch, imitating an animalâs cry.
Zane began to think a cougar foraging for food must have come down from the nearby mountains and had picked up his scent.
He made a last scan with the light, then froze.
Something about the size of a sack of flour was lying in the middle of the track wrapped in a snow-covered cloth. It was hard to make out details with white stuff swirling all around him.
He heard another cry, more distinct this time. What the devil?
In the next second he vaulted inside to see what it was. As he drew closer, he could have sworn the material moved.
A grimace marred his features. Had some deranged lunatic decided to dispose of a cat in this fashion?
Hunkering down, he carefully removed one edge of the thin cotton material. After pointing the light on it, he let out a gasp of sheer disbelief.
A newborn baby without a stitch of clothing on!
It made another infant cry.
Good Lord. The little boy was on the verge of freezing to death!
Tears of rage filled Zaneâs eyes. If he hadnât decided to inspect this end portion of track one more timeâ¦
Setting down the light, he whipped off his jacket. Carefully he placed the baby against the sheepskin lining and wrapped it up like a cocoon. All the while he prayed the warmth from his own body would ward of hypothermia.
Without a second to lose, he climbed back out with his precious bundle and started running.
The tears continued to run down his cheeks. They froze to his skin but he wasnât cognizant of anything except the tiny life that would have died from exposure, if not fromâ¦
He couldnât think about the other horrific scenarios flooding his mind. He refused!
The truck was two miles away, but it felt like a hundred. The baby could die before he got it to a hospital.
Suppressed memories of Zaneâs twin brother drowning in San Francisco Bay years ago came back with gut-wrenching clarity.
Please God. Let this baby live.
Julie Becker, the other registered nurse on duty in the emergency room at the small Oquirrh Mountains Medical Center, came into the cubicle where Meg Richins was setting up a morphine drip on a migraine sufferer.