Excerpt of The Baby Inheritance by Ann Roth

The bright halogen beam that sliced through the chill night air hit Hank Adams square in the eyes. Momentarily blinded, he jerked to a stop, averted his gaze and shut off his smaller, less powerful flashlight.

Even without sight, he knew who wielded that harsh light. Mia Barker. The two of them had banged heads more than a few times over the past couple of weeks. She didn't much like him, and he didn't much care.

Liar. "What in the world are you doing on this side of the madrona trees so late at night?" she asked in her deceptively soft voice.

Hank imagined her large eyes narrowed in warning: get off my property.

Her three-legged mutt, Ginger, limp-trotted over, nudging her snout at his thigh. The dog seemed to think he was okay, so he ignored Mia's unspoken order to leave.

"Hello, girl." He shoved his flashlight into the pocket of his denim jacket, then hunkered down to scratch behind the dog's ears. "I'm looking for Nugget," he told Mia. "He got out before dark and hasn't come back. I thought he might be here with you."

The beam of light dropped from Hank's face to the ground. While his eyes readjusted, he lumbered to a standing position. Though it had been nearly two years since the accident, he hadn't regained all his strength and stamina, and tonight every muscle ached. Too many hours stomping over plowed-up earth, scaling ladders and hefting building supplies. He needed a massage, but there were no massage therapists in Forest Glen, Washington. Even if there had been, he'd never subject anyone to seeing, let alone touching, the ugly scars on his torso.

"Nugget hasn't been here today." Mia shot a glance over her shoulder, toward the large hawk's pen, recently vacated by an injured wild bird she'd nursed back to health. Nugget liked to sniff around the perimeter, then go into his inbred pointer routine.

"You shouldn't have let him run off, not around here," she said with obvious disapproval. "It's not safe."

Feeling like a scolded boy, Hank set his jaw. As if he didn't know that. Forest Glen's rural location in the Olympic foothills meant animals of all kinds freely roamed the area. Over the years coyotes, the occasional wolf and even a cougar had been spotted — or so he'd heard. In the two weeks since he'd parked his trailer here, he had yet to see anything besides the usual birds, squirrels and raccoons.

"I didn't figure Nugget would learn how to open the trailer door," he said.

With the light now trained at the ground, Hank saw Mia clearly. She wore a shapeless, light-colored flannel nightie that reached her calves, and clutched a large, woolen shawl around her shoulders. The unlaced boots on her feet looked as if she'd toed into them in a hurry.

She was his neighbor, the only neighbor within a ten-mile radius. He wondered if he'd awakened her, or if, like him, she had difficulty sleeping.

"It's close to midnight, and you were up and pounding on that house of yours at dawn. Don't you ever rest?" she asked as if reading his thoughts.

After putting in a twelve-hour-plus day he longed to fall into bed and let sleep claim him. But he shook his head. "Not until I find my dog."

In the beat that followed his statement the silent woods around them grew quieter yet. Even the gurgling creek running along the perimeter of both properties seemed subdued. Ginger issued an uneasy, whining sound, and worry sluiced through Hank.

"Ginger and I'll keep an eye out for Nugget," Mia said, this time in a kinder tone. "I hope you find him." She paused, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"If he needs medical attention, you bring him straight over. Anytime, day or night."

"Thanks, Doc."

Hank appreciated the offer, but hoped he wouldn't need his neighbor's veterinary services. He wasn't here to make friends or to rely on anyone other than the temporary crew he'd hired. He wanted only to build the house, win the award, put the place up for sale and leave.

"Well then, good night," Mia said.

She aimed the flashlight like a rifle at a point between two madronas, showing him where she expected him to go — back onto his own property.

Sliding his flashlight from his pocket, he turned in the opposite direction, heading rapidly toward the stream and woods beyond and gritting his teeth against his protesting muscles. Her stronger light followed and shot out ahead of him, illuminating the way across a ground jumbled with wet spring grass, twigs, half-imbedded rocks and occasional mole holes.

He stumbled on a tree root concealed in the shadows, swearing under his breath and wincing, but not slowing his pace. Damn woman made him self-conscious. When the arc of her light no longer touched him or the land, he heaved a relieved breath.

Then, compelled for some reason he couldn't name, he halted and pivoted toward Mia's place. Her flashlight now off, he could barely make out her form as she moved silently toward her cabin. She pulled open the door, emitting a thick slab of rose-hued light as warm and inviting as a blazing fire.

Hank couldn't help comparing her cozy cabin to the utilitarian trailer that doubled as his office and house. House, not home. Even Nugget knew the difference. Lately he'd spent more time at Mia's than with Hank.

A one-eared, flat-nosed tomcat, the ugliest cat Hank had ever seen, appeared on the threshold as if welcoming Mia and Ginger home.

The two animals touched noses before the dog pushed past and disappeared inside. Mia scooped up the feline, cuddling it against her chest. Like a voyeur, Hank drank in the homey scene, wondering how a creature like that sounded when it purred. For nestled in the heat from Mia's body, cushioned against her soft breasts, he was surely purring. Hank swallowed against a pang of longing.

But warm and welcoming as Mia's place was, she lived as solitary a life as Hank did. Her land and cabin were on the outer edge of town. True, she ran her vet clinic from here, but in sparsely populated Forest Glen, patients didn't exactly line up to see her. There was a part-time assistant, Sookie Patterson, Hank knew, because her husband, Bart, worked for him. The rest of the time, it seemed Mia was alone.

Hank speculated on that, wondering what personal demons drove her to stay separate. She didn't seem to mind the solitude; actually, she seemed content. Which made her unlike any woman he knew.

Mia and the tomcat slipped inside. The door closed, shutting out the light and warmth. Hank chafed his arms, but his thin jacket and the damp air hadn't caused his chill. That came from the lonely ache inside his chest. An ache he'd carried so long, it had become an old friend.

He whistled softly, calling for his dog as he resumed his search.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, just as the paws on Mia's funky cat clock hit eight-thirty and the tea water started to boil, Ginger woofed at the kitchen door. Rags swished his ratty kitty tail and glanced nervously from the door to Ginger to Mia, and back to the door.

Since the front door was reserved for strangers, company and patients, it must be a friend. "You like people," she reminded Rags in a soothing voice.

The latch lifted and Sookie Patterson came in. The small, slim woman was Mia's veterinary assistant and her closest friend.

"Hey, you," Mia said with a smile as she pulled two blue earthenware mugs from the old maple cabinet. "You're a half hour early this morning."

"I know."

Sookie wiped her feet on the mat and gave Ginger and Rags each a warm hello pat. Satisfied with the greeting, the animals curled up together on the doggie mattress near the heat vent.

"We haven't had a chance to schmooze for a while, and I figured this was a good morning for it." Her cheeks red with cold, she shut the door firmly behind her. The odor of clean, fresh air clung to her.

"I'd love that," Mia said.

Sookie hung her plaid wool jacket on the crowded coatrack beside the door, then rubbed her arms. "I could use something hot to drink."

"Sit and I'll make tea." Mia packed two tea balls with peppermint tea leaves and placed one in each mug. The fragrant smell of mint permeated the kitchen as she poured water from the steaming kettle.

"Can you believe how chilly it is this morning?" Sookie's short, curly brown hair bounced as she sat in her customary place near the window. "There's frost on the ground, and it's the third week of April!"

"I hope this cold doesn't last, and I hope it hasn't killed my flowers." Mindful of spilling, Mia carried the mugs to the oak table in the corner. Like the sixty-year- old cabin, it was scarred, but comfortable and sturdy.

"As long as your new neighbor keeps Bart employed, I can live with ruined flowers," Sookie said.

Mia had spent a restless night fretting over Hank and his lost dog. Actually not just last night. The man had unsettled her since the day he'd parked his fancy oversize trailer on the cleared part of what had been old Doc Murphy's five-acre homestead. She was tired of Hank's intrusion into what had been a quiet, orderly existence, and didn't want to think or to talk about him anymore. Lips compressed, she sank onto her chair.