A Worthy Heart Page 11

  Too taken aback to utter a word, Adam watched her hobble away.

  Maggie’s words stayed with Adam for the rest of the afternoon, long after he’d finished the minor repairs on the two desks. Her compassionate reaction to his incarceration proved what an amazing woman she was, which only made it harder to put her out of his mind.

  Adam blew out a sigh and hefted a pair of pruning shears. He’d moved outside to trim the hedges surrounding the orphanage property, a taxing job that caused a film of sweat to dampen his back. As he paused from his task, a rustling noise on the other side of the fence caught his attention. Was someone in the alley between the orphanage and the neighboring building? He’d noticed a strange man passing by the orphanage several times in recent days. If it was the same man, Adam would make sure the fellow realized he wasn’t welcome here.

  Adam set his tool on the ground and quietly opened the gate to peer out. The swish of a skirt accompanied a flash of purple from someone passing on Lexington Avenue. A niggle of suspicion pulled Adam toward the street. A woman in a purple dress cast a furtive glance over her shoulder.

  Adam stiffened the moment he recognized her. Jolene Winters worked in the saloon that Adam had once frequented—and she did not just serve drinks. What was she doing on this side of town?

  She stopped, and for a moment Adam wondered if she’d seen him. But then she turned and hurried off. Something about her actions bothered Adam, though for the life of him he couldn’t say why. Just seeing the blatant reminder of his past made the bile roil in Adam’s stomach. Shaking off a feeling of foreboding, he headed back to continue his work.

  At the gate leading to the rear of the orphanage, Adam halted. A piece of colored cloth protruded from beneath the foliage. He frowned. Why hadn’t he noticed this earlier?

  Adam bent to tug at the material, which looked to be an old quilt. Finding it unyielding, he knelt to use both hands. An innate sixth sense raised the hair on the back of his neck, warning him to take care. As gently as possible, he pulled the bundle out into the open. Palms moist, he peeled back the fabric and stared uncomprehendingly at the sleeping face of an infant. Adam swallowed. He hoped it was merely sleeping. He pressed a tentative finger under its chin, relieved to find the skin warm and a light pulse beating.

  He raised his head to scan the area. Had Jolene left this child? Was it hers—or perhaps one of the other saloon girls’ offspring? With no one in sight, Adam lifted the fragile bundle and reluctantly went in search of Maggie, praying she’d have some idea what to do with a baby.

  In the orphanage’s main floor parlor, Maggie sat with her sore ankle raised on a footstool and attempted to concentrate on her book. The words on the page blurred before her, their meaning lost. For reasons she dared not examine, her encounter with Adam O’Leary had left her restless and unable to settle her mind.

  Annoyance at Rylan for demanding that Adam avoid her chafed at her pride, yet she couldn’t completely fault her brother for attempting to shield her from a man he considered a criminal. Still, she was a grown woman who could take care of herself. Surely there was no need to ban Adam from her presence—unless Rylan feared she would form an unwelcome attachment.

  Her heart gave a traitorous thump. In all honesty, she couldn’t deny her fascination with Adam—an attraction unlike anything she’d ever felt for Neill. In the months they’d courted, she’d discovered Neill’s outward good looks and charming personality hid a controlling nature, one that eventually drove Maggie away. She shivered. No, Maggie would take a gentle man like Adam any day over the likes of Neill.

  Somewhere in the outer area of the building, a door slammed. Maggie tensed, waiting for the giggles and voices of the children, but nothing except the thump of heavy footsteps met her ears. Footsteps too vigorous to be Mr. Smith’s. And Adam had left the building over an hour ago. Mrs. Taft, the receptionist, had left for the day, and as far as Maggie knew, she was alone.

  Surely Neill wouldn’t dare . . .

  She straightened on her seat, willing her nerves to settle. The footfalls passed her door and continued toward the classroom. She held her breath, waiting, until she heard the classroom door open and close.

  Unable to remain seated a moment longer, Maggie limped to the parlor door and cracked it open. She poked her head out, surprised and relieved to see Adam in the middle of the corridor. He stood, clutching a cloth bundle in front of him.

  “Maggie.” His expression of relief was evident even at a distance. He turned and strode toward her. “I need your help. Someone left an infant by the back gate.”

  Maggie’s mouth fell open. “A babe?”

  He nodded. “I discovered the blanket sticking out from under the shrubbery.”

  With a reverent breath, she took the bundle from him, cradling the head in the crook of her elbow, and peered down into the perfect little face. “How precious.”

  “Do you think it’s all right? Should we fetch the doctor?” Anxiety oozed from his words.

  “Let’s take a closer look.” She went back into the parlor and laid the baby on the sofa. Very carefully, she unwrapped the covering. The child was dressed in a plain cotton gown. “I’ll have to check the diaper area, in case you’re squeamish.”

  He shot her a wary glance, but then shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  As Maggie lifted the gown and opened the diaper, the infant began to squirm.

  A minute later, Maggie smiled as she re-pinned the cloth. “It’s a wee girl. She’s perfect, though she’s very young and her nappy isn’t wet, which isn’t always good. I remember my sister-in-law always checking the twins’ nappies, saying a dry one could mean the babe was dehydrated.” She wrapped the piece of quilt around the now-whimpering child and lifted her to her shoulder. Maggie stood and rocked the little one as she had her own nieces and nephews many times. Soon the baby relaxed into a slumber.

  “You seem to know how to handle an infant.” Adam shuffled from one foot to the other, mangling the cap in his hand.

  “I have four nephews and two nieces, so I’ve had a fair bit of experience.” She looked up at him. “This babe is only a few weeks old. We’ll have to find a way to feed her since she’s sure to be hungry soon.” A wave of sadness engulfed her. “Who would leave such a precious child under a bush? Her mother must have been desperate.”

  Adam stiffened. His jaw became a hard line.

  She stilled. “What is it?”

  He muttered under his breath as he paced the carpet, raking his hand through his hair. At last he stopped in front of her. “I may have an idea where to find the mother.”

  A sense of foreboding snaked up her spine. “Where?”

  His brows thundered together. “I’ll explain later. But first I’m going to fetch a doctor. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to the child.” He jammed his cap on over his now-messy hair. In two strides he reached the door, then paused. “Will you be all right here alone with her?” His gaze moved to her foot.

  She blinked, amazed to realize she hadn’t felt any pain as she rocked the infant, though she’d likely pay for it later. “We’ll be fine. Off you go.” She gave him a smile of encouragement, a secret thrill warming her insides that he’d thought about her welfare and the baby’s before considering any repercussions for himself.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Maggie lowered herself and the baby to the sofa, feeling oddly bereft when she heard the main door shut.

  Twenty minutes later, noise erupted in the hall once again. Maggie’s pulse sprinted. She told herself it was simply relief for the child’s sake, but she couldn’t deny a rush of anticipation to see Adam again.

  When she heard the patter of many feet accompanied by childish chatter, a wave of disappointment hit hard. For a short time, it had seemed that she and Adam existed in their own little world.

  “Maggie?” Colleen peered into the room. “We’re back. How is your ankle?” She stopped right in the middle of the room, her focus aimed on the bundle i
n Maggie’s arms. “Is that a baby?”

  “It is.” Maggie hesitated to say more, worried to confess Adam’s part lest she cost him his position. Yet Colleen and Rylan would find out soon enough.

  The color drained from Colleen’s face, and for a moment Maggie feared she would fall to the floor in a faint. It occurred to Maggie then how difficult this might be for Colleen, desperately wanting a baby of her own.

  “May I hold it?” Colleen’s voice was a mere whisper.

  “Of course.” Maggie held out the baby to her. “It’s a girl—very young, from what I can tell.”

  Colleen cradled the child like a piece of delicate china. “How . . . where did you get her?”

  “Someone left her under the bushes by the gate.” Maggie hobbled across the room and sank gingerly onto the sofa.

  Colleen sat beside her and lay the baby on her lap.

  Maggie’s words seemed to penetrate, and Colleen snagged her with a piercing look. “What were you doing outside? You were supposed to rest your ankle.”

  Maggie bit her lip. “Adam found the baby and brought her inside. He’s gone to fetch the doctor to check on her.”

  Loud voices sounded in the hallway. Maggie recognized Rylan’s voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  The voices trailed off, and Rylan entered, followed by a man carrying a doctor’s bag. Maggie watched the door, waiting for Adam. When he didn’t appear, she knew Rylan must have sent him away. Her heart squeezed at the unfairness of the situation.

  Rylan moved immediately to Colleen’s side. “Someone left a baby?”

  “Yes. Isn’t she beautiful?” Colleen breathed reverently.

  “She certainly is.” He gave Colleen a tender smile. “Dr. Reardon is here to examine her.”

  While the man opened his bag, Maggie slipped into the now-empty corridor. Repressing a sigh of disappointment, she limped toward the back of the building, trying to determine which way Adam would have gone. She passed through the kitchen and exited through the back door.

  At the far side of the yard, pieces of shrubbery flew in all directions under the ferocity of Adam’s shears. Maggie shored up her courage and made her way gingerly across the grass. Her pulse bumped hard when he trained angry eyes on her.

  “Go back inside. You shouldn’t be out here.”

  She hobbled closer. “Did Rylan take you to task for talking to me?”

  He turned back to his work. “He expressed his . . . feelings on the matter.”

  Maggie grimaced. Why was her normally fair-minded brother being so hard on Adam? “I’m sure when I explain—”

  “Don’t bother.” Adam clipped harder, shoulder muscles straining. “I broke our agreement. He has every right to fire me if he chooses.”

  Alarm and outrage slammed through her. “I won’t let him. When he learns how kind you were with the baby—”

  Adam whirled around. “Stop it, Maggie. Stop making me out to be some kind of saint. Pretend I’m invisible like the rest of the world.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and her throat grew tight. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”

  Her gaze fused with his. She willed him to see that she believed in him, that she shared his pain.

  Raw agony glowed in his eyes for a moment before a shuttered look came over his features, as though he’d drawn a curtain between them. “No good can come from associating with a known criminal. If you want to make something of your life, you’d best remember that.”

  Maggie struggled for an argument to change his mind, but he’d turned back to his clipping, leaving her emotions as slashed as the foliage on the ground. She began to limp away, but her concern for the child made her stop. “You said you might know where to find the babe’s mother. Will you try?”

  He clenched his jaw, then finally gave a tight nod without looking at her. “It may take a day or two.”

  At his unyielding profile, Maggie gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll let Colleen and the doctor know.”

  11

  WHY HAD HE EVER MENTIONED he might know who’d left the baby at the orphanage?

  In the shed at the back of John’s church, Adam hammered nails into a piece of wood with a force that reverberated up his arm. John had given Adam the leftover lumber from a recent church renovation project to build furniture with in his spare time. But even the intense physical labor could not take away the dread plaguing Adam at the idea of returning to the very place he’d been arrested. Only the thought of an innocent child in need of its mother, as well as Maggie’s huge imploring eyes, made refusing her request impossible.

  He could not let either one of them down.

  Later that morning, Adam got off the streetcar several blocks from his destination, intending to walk the rest of the way. Respectable men didn’t frequent the type of establishment he was headed to. And the one thing Adam craved almost as much as his mother’s forgiveness was respectability.

  He tugged his cap low over his forehead, glad that a haircut now rendered his auburn hair almost unnoticeable beneath it. His beard might be a giveaway if anyone saw him, though back when he’d frequented the saloon, Adam had worn his face clean-shaven.

  With his shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his pockets, he made his way to the rundown saloon. At the entrance, he paused, noting the peeling paint and rotting wood. Like a man facing the hangman’s noose, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The familiar odors of stale beer and cigarette smoke made his stomach lurch. The same scarred tables sat in precisely the same arrangement as he remembered. An old man slumped in a chair at one of the corner tables. To the far left, Marty, the bartender, lifted his head. His eyebrows rose to his thinning hairline.

  “O’Leary? Is it really you?”

  Adam cringed at the sound of his name echoing in the near-empty room. He moved toward the bar. “It’s me.”

  Marty set the glass he’d been drying on the counter with a thump. “We heard you were doing time.”

  A muscle pulsed in Adam’s jaw. “Got out a few weeks ago.” He scanned the room. “I’d appreciate it if you kept that news to yourself.”

  Marty gave a knowing nod. Although he worked in this seedy establishment, Marty kept his nose clean of the illegal activities that occurred here. “Fair enough. Can I get you a drink?”

  Adam took in the rows of bottles lining the shelf behind Marty and held back a grimace of distaste. How many times had he overindulged and woke the next morning with little memory of the night before? Lord, forgive me. “No, thanks. That’s another vice I’ve given up.”

  Marty wiped his wet hands on a stained apron at his waist. “What brings you by, then?”

  Adam leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m looking for Jolene. She still work here?”

  Jolene had served drinks to the patrons in the saloon—in addition to the extra favors she’d performed in the rooms upstairs.

  Marty hesitated. Adam could almost see beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  “Funny you should ask. She disappeared for six, seven months. Then two days ago, she showed up again, asking for her old job back.”

  “Did Max give it to her?”

  Marty shook his head. “Not in the tavern. But . . .” His gaze swung to the door leading to the back room, where Max and his cronies hatched their deals. Adam only prayed that they’d still be sleeping off the effects of the night before.

  “I think Max may have given her a job upstairs . . . if you get my drift.”

  Adam’s focus flicked toward the back staircase, and he flinched. Would he be forced to climb those stairs and find her? Every fiber in him balked at the thought.

  “She’s not there now, if that’s what you’re thinking. But Fran is. She may know something more.”

  Marty had a point. Fran and Jolene had been best friends as well as coworkers. If anyone would know where Jolene was staying, Fran would.

  �
��Did I hear my name?” A feminine voice sounded from around the corner.

  “Hey, Frannie,” Marty said. “We were just talking about you.”

  Adam turned to see a girl who, despite the heavy makeup adorning her wan face, looked ten years older than the last time he’d seen her. Faded brown hair wisped out from her topknot, framing shallow cheeks. A low-cut red dress, highly out of place for the middle of the morning, hugged her thin frame.

  She sashayed over to Adam. “Well, if it ain’t Mr. High-and-Mighty O’Leary.”

  “Hello, Francine. How have you been?” As much as it pained him, he had to be friendly if he wanted to get any information from her.

  “Just fine, sugar. Have you finally decided to take me up on my offer?” She rubbed a hand down his sleeve.

  Discreetly he pulled back, hoping his distaste didn’t show on his face. “I’ve come to ask a favor,” he said in a low voice.

  She smiled suggestively and leaned closer. “Anything for you, honey.”

  Adam swallowed. “Is there somewhere more private we could talk?”

  “Sure thing.” She winked at him.

  He threw a desperate glance at Marty.

  “You can use my office.” Marty motioned to a narrow hallway. “Second door on the right.”

  “Thanks, Marty.”

  Adam led Francine to the dingy space that served as Marty’s office, which in reality was more of a storeroom. He pulled the door almost closed behind them, not wanting their conversation overheard.

  “Have you seen Jolene recently?” he asked without preamble.

  Francine’s expression hardened. “What business is that of yours?”

  Adam prayed for the words to convince Francine to confide in him. He tried to soften his stance and his manner. “Look, Fran, I think Jolene may have gotten into some trouble. I’m trying to help, that’s all.”