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Sweet Baby

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Chapter One

A rooster tail of dust billowed behind the bright yellow school bus as it rumbled down the Arkansas back roads, returning the children of Calico Rock to their homes.

It was dry for September. The narrow, two-lane road on which the bus was traveling was bordered on both sides with an abundance of dust-covered greens. Old trees, tall and angular, struggled for space among new growth in the constant act of taking root. On the ground beneath, bushes and scrub brush flourished, hanging on to their place in the mountains with fierce persistence.

The sky was pale, a blue so light it almost seemed white, and the sun beaming down on the roof of the bus sweltered the children inside like so many beans in a can. Sweat ran out of their hair and down their faces as they chattered away. They didn't care that it was hot, because it was Friday, and they were going home.

But though the noise level inside the bus was high, there was the occasional child, like six-year-old Victoria Lancaster, who sat alone in her seat, quietly contemplating the day's events and longing for the first sight of home.

Last night had been a first for young Tory in more ways than one. She and seven other little girls had spent the night at Mary Ellen Wiggins' slumber party. For Tory, it was the first time in her life that she'd slept somewhere other than beneath her mother's roof - and without her dolly, Sweet Baby. And she hadn't cried. Not even once.

As the bus began to brake, she looked up. The Broyles brothers were getting off. That meant she would be next. Her mouth pursed as she thought back to last night. She couldn't wait to tell her mommy about Mary Ellen's party. Roasting wieners and marshmallows and then telling ghost stories after the house was dark had been scary - but so much fun. Mommy would be so proud of her for not asking to go home.

The bus hit a bump, and Tory clutched at the brown paper sack in her lap. It held yesterday's dirty school clothes, as well as her nightgown. There was a ketchup stain on her dress and marshmallow on the front of her gown, but she wasn't too worried. Mommy never yelled at her for things like that. In fact, Mommy hardly ever yelled at all, and when she did, she was usually yelling at Ollie.

She sighed, remembering a time in their life when Ollie hadn't lived with them and wishing it could be that way again. Ollie was always teasing her about being a momma's baby. When she got home, she would show him. She'd spent the whole night away from home. Babies couldn't do that!

Right in the middle of planning what she would say to Ollie, a voice suddenly shrieked in her ear. "Tory's got a boyfriend. Tory's got a boyfriend."

Tory turned in her seat and stuck out her tongue, glaring angrily at the boy behind her. It was that stupid old Arthur Beckham. After less than six weeks of first grade, she'd already figured out that the older boys got, the dumber they became.

When he laughed in her face, she spun back in her seat, red-faced and a little bit shocked by her own temerity. When she got to be a fourth-grader, she wouldn't pick on little kids like Arthur did, of that she was certain.

Once more the bus began to slow. Tory glanced out the window as the brakes locked, then squeaked. When she saw the familiar rooftop of her home, she grabbed hold of the seat in front of her for balance, then stood. Arthur Beckham made a face at her as she passed down the aisle, but she was too anxious to get home to give him another thought. As she stepped off the bus, an errant wind lifted the hem of her dress, but she didn't care. The moment her feet hit the dirt, she began to run.

An orange-and-black butterfly fluttered just ahead of her, riding the wind current with delicate ease, and it almost seemed as if they were racing. The fantasy caught in her mind, and she shifted into an all-out stride. The afternoon sun caught and then held in the tangles of her long, blond hair. Had anyone been around to notice, they might have imagined they'd seen a halo above her head. But it was the end of the day, and had one been inclined to consider her an angel, she would have been a grubby one at best.

There was a skinned spot on her knee, a smudge from lunch on the front of her dress, and her shoes and anklets wore a light coating of dust as her little legs churned, making short work of the distance to the house. The brown paper bag she held clutched in one fist was torn at the top and about to give way, but it didn't matter now. She was almost there.

Just as Tory's feet hit the front steps, the butterfly darted off to the left. She laughed aloud, calling out to her mother as she grabbed the screen door and yanked.

"Mommy! Mommy! I'm home! You should have seen me! I was racing a butterfly and -"

She froze as the echo of her own voice moved from room to empty room, drifting like a bad memory that wouldn't go away. A draft of hot air came from somewhere before her, shifting the hem of her dress and pushing the fabric against her bare legs. Tory took a step farther, then another, and another, unaware when the brown paper bag she'd been holding fell from her fingers and onto the floor.

Everything was gone, from the faded blue curtains on the windows to the furniture that had been sitting on the floors. Her heart skipped a beat. Even though her eyes were seeing the truth, her heart would not accept it.

"Mommy?"

She cocked her head, listening for the familiar sound of her mother's voice, but all she heard was the faint grinding of gears as the school bus climbed the hill on the road beyond.

She called out again, her voice trembling. "Mommy? Mommy? I'm home."

The silence beyond the sound of her voice was insidious, amplifying the call of a bird in the tree outside the kitchen window. Somewhere within the house she heard a cricket chirp, and her heart leaped. Mommy hated crickets in the house. Any minute she would come racing into the room to get rid of it. She turned toward the doorway, her big blue eyes tear-filled and horror-stricken. But nothing moved, and no one came.

She called again. "Mommy ... where are you?"

All she could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat, drowning out the sound of her own voice.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Sweet Baby by Sharon Sala Copyright ©2003 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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