Taggart Home, Stockton
Monday Afternoon
Edie greeted Shackleton with a kiss, but it was little more than a peck. “You told me this would be temporary,” she said, too quietly.
Thinking her unusual subtlety sounded like either alarm or annoyance, the banker asked, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s sleeping!” she said in a hush. “He eats, he poops, he sleeps. It took me a while to get the formula so he wouldn’t spit it up. Breastfeeding isn’t exactly a possibility, you know.”
Shackleton gave her a look as if to say, Is that all? Adding, “Can I at least come in?”
Bob Taggart’s widow kept the stonework ranch home on Stockton Lake meticulously, as she did everything. But caring for a newborn had seriously disrupted this middle-aged woman’s orderly routine.
“You’ll have to make yourself comfortable in
