Page 2 of The Cowboy and the Baby

“Sure is.”

“Are they boarding yet?”

“Soon.”

She muttered, “Great,” under her breath with a sigh. Her lips rolled, and she burst out with, “I don’t think my ticket shows the baby.” She searched the page, and I wasn’t quite sure if she spoke to me or herself. “Can I get on the plane without her having a ticket? Does she need one? This is nuts.”

“I can stand here with your bags while you ask, if you like?”

Surprise widened her eyes as she glanced up, through her lashes.

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I positioned myself a little closer. She grabbed a purse, shot me a relieved smile, and scurried to the desk with the baby in her arms. My eyes trawled over the indifferent faces of strangers in the terminal, locked behind phones and headphones, who ignored her.

Would anyone else have helped?

I highly doubted it, but I had a jaded streak when it came to the masses.

Another employee spoke into the intercom, calling people to the gate. Zombies lined up like sheep, barely making eye contact, jostling each other with bags and grumbles. My seat was in the middle of the plane, so it’d take a while for me to board. I settled in to wait.

Like always.

The woman returned, mumbling something about paperwork. With one hand, she yanked a manila folder from the diaper bag, and promptly knocked it off the stroller handle again. Quick as lightning, I caught the bag mid-fall and set it back in place.

Heat flooded her face.

“I’m so sorry!”

I waved it off.

“Thank you for your help. I . . . it’s been a day, you know?”

Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes, so I only nodded again as if I didn’t notice. She removed her papers, returned to the desk, and slid them across the counter. I followed her, shuffled myself and my bag, the stroller, and all her accompanying bags behind her. Less than a minute later, the airport worker returned the manila folder and gave her a second ticket. The woman spun around. Seeing me there, she gave me a relieved, tear-free smile.

“Well, that’s one thing down.”

Again, was she talking to me? I had a feeling neither of us knew. But I couldn’t help myself. Cowboy Code dictated doing the right, gentlemanly thing all the time.

“Ma’am, would you like help getting onto the plane with the stroller and your bags? I can take them down the ramp so you can hold her.”

Her lips parted. She hesitated a breath before saying, “Um, yes. Please? That would be . . . wonderful.”

“Sure thing.”

The employee cast me a wry glance and drawled, “Since you’re helping her, both of you go ahead and board. You have a child under two.”

“Right now?”

“Mm hmm.”

She looked at me again with a sense of hesitation, as if she wanted to double-check, but I already had the stroller pointing toward the open line. I used one hand to steer the stroller, the other to wheel one of her roller bags. My shoulder held my duffel, she held the baby and pushed the other roller, and somehow, it all worked.

Gratified to get out of the airport earlier than expected, I flashed my boarding pass to the ticket agent and followed the woman down the ramp. At the bottom, she ditched her two bags with another attendant, giving me quick instructions on folding the stroller in half, then gratefully passed it to the attendant.

I reached for the diaper bag. “I’ll get you to your seat.”