Cradle and All Read Free

looked at his bare back retreating from her, she knew she had been wrong.
    Tom Christen was wearing nothing but shorts.
    He was just under six feet, and slender. The beautifully contoured muscles of his shoulders and back bunched with sinewy strength as he guided the large tires of the spreader over the hilly terrain in rhythm to the bouncing beat. Power pumped through his long legs, his calf and thigh muscles flexing in convex bulges as they propelled him forward.
    The sun caught the light bronze of his skin, set fire to the pale gold of his hair. Anne had never stared at a man before in her life, but she was staring now. And her thoughts of the Reverend Tom Christen were anything but reverent.
    Tom reached the end of the row of soil he had been sweetening with the lime mixture and turned around. He must have sensed her presence, for he suddenly stopped, turned and looked directly at her. And smiled.
    Anne had the exact same sensation of blood beating through her body that she had experienced when he’d smiled at her that Sunday in church.
    And then she saw the baby. It was securely wrapped in a large beige bath towel. The ends of the towel were tied around Tom’s neck—what she had originally thought to be a handkerchief—supporting the baby’s weight against his chest.
    Tom set the lime spreader aside and walked over to the porch to switch off the boom box. He moved with that unconscious, sinuous grace of a man in prime physical condition.
    Anne’s pulse started to skip. She quickly summoned the cool, dispassionate demeanor for which she was renowned.
    Get a grip. He’s gorgeous, thirty-three and still single. The guy’s got to be gay.
    The drumbeat ceased abruptly. Tom quickly closed the distance between them. “It’s nice to see you again, Anne.”
    “You know who I am,” Anne said, thoroughly surprised.
    Before Tom could answer, the baby against his chest stirred and let out a wail. Tom wrapped his arms around the tiny bundle and rocked it gently.
    It was a red-faced, towheaded elf, emitting enough decibels to shatter steel. Anne’s eardrums started to ache.
    “Only thing that seems to get him to sleep is a loud beat.” Tom yelled to be heard over the baby. “Which is why he and I have been gardening to African music this morning. Tiny little guy for such powerful lungs, isn’t he?”
    Tom was standing close to Anne, nearly naked and smelling of warm, enticing male. Every female cell in her body was standing up and cheering. She had barely noticed the baby, outside of the noise it was making.
    Anne forcibly reminded herself that she was a sober, sedate judge who was here on serious business.
    “Where’s the baby’s mother?” she asked, determined to project her most solemn judge’s tone, even at four times its normal volume.
    “Not here at the present,” Tom said smoothly.
    “When will she be back?” Anne asked.
    “Hard to say,” Tom answered as he continued to rock the little boy in his arms.
    “She’s one of your parishioners?”
    “Everyone who visits the Good Shepherd is part of the flock.”
    “What’s the mother’s name?”
    “Why so curious, Anne?”
    Anne figured she’d given Tom enough time to open up and tell her the truth. Now it was time to tell him.
    “Look, I know this baby was left on your doorstep last night.”
    He had the nerve to smile. “Nothing like the grapevine of a small village, is there?”
    She was not going to be sidetracked. “You should have called the state police the moment you found him.”
    Tom gestured toward the rectory. “Come on inside. I can offer you stale crumb cake and the worst coffee in Cooper’s Corner.”
    “As hard as it is to refuse such a tempting menu, I’ve had breakfast, thank you. Now, about—”
    “Good,” Tom interrupted. “Then you can keep us company while I give the baby his. Poor little tyke had a hard night.”
    Without waiting for a response, Tom bounded up the porch stairs, swung open the door and disappeared into