by Lisa Jackson
“He’ll be disappointed.”
“I’ll bring him a steak bone. Will that solve the problem?”
“He’ll be forever in your debt,” she said, ramming the Suburban into reverse and roaring off, her laughter hanging on the air as Dallas fished his keys from his pockets.
What was wrong with him? He’d almost acted as if he were planning to see her again. And he wasn’t. If he’d learned anything from this fiasco of a trip, it was that he had to keep his distance from Chandra Hill. The woman was just too damned attractive for her own good. Or his.
But the thought of not seeing her again bothered him, and he took heart with the realization that, as long as Baby Doe—or J.D., as she insisted upon calling him—was a patient at Riverbend Hospital, Chandra Hill would be underfoot. She could very well pretend interest in Dallas just to get close to the baby. In fact, her interest in the infant explained why a strong-willed woman like Chandra could so easily be seduced.
He believed her when she said she didn’t get involved with her clients—so why him? A physical attraction she couldn’t deny? He scoffed at the idea, though his passion for her was something he could barely control. But, no, he suspected that Chandra was just using him to get close to the baby. Still, he couldn’t just forget her. She was an impossible woman to forget.
He opened the door of his truck and sighed. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, he decided, pushing the key into his ignition. He didn’t want to see Chandra again—well, at least he told himself that he didn’t—and yet, he couldn’t imagine not ever looking into her eyes again or catching the glimpse of her smile.
He hadn’t felt this way since Jennifer. That realization was more shocking than a plunge in the icy depths of the Rattlesnake. He’d fallen hard once before, and, after more emotional pain than he’d ever thought existed, he’d proclaimed that he’d never fall again.
Since the divorce, he’d clung to his vow as if to life itself. He’d made sure that he had no time for a woman in his life, no time for anything but his work. And he’d been happy, or so he’d told himself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHANDRA, ONE HAND PRESSED against the glass, stared at the baby. He was awake, his eyes bright, his face relaxed as he lay in the bassinet in the nursery with the other infants. There was a group of six small bodies wrapped in warm blankets, sleeping or blinking or yawning. Nurse Nelson was changing a squalling, tiny red baby without a trace of hair.
“Hi,” she said from the other side of the glass that separated the nursery from the hallway where Chandra stood. “Would you like to hold him?” Leslie finished with the diaper, then motioned to J.D.
“Are you serious?” Chandra asked in a voice loud enough to be heard through the glass.
“Why not?” Opening the door a crack, Leslie flashed her dimples and tucked a blanket around the baby she’d been changing. “All these other guys—” she gestured to the bassinets with their squirming bundles “—get more than their share of attention. Of course, they’re lucky. They have mothers.” She disposed of the dirty diaper, then walked to J.D.’s bassinet and wrapped his blanket tightly around him. “Come on, you,” she said as she carried him through the double doors and placed him in Chandra’s waiting arms.
Chandra’s heart felt as if it might break. The baby cooed and shifted, nuzzling her chest. Emotions tore at her soul. Tears gathered behind her eyes, and her throat closed as she gazed down at this precious child with the perfectly arched eyebrows, pudgy round cheeks and loud voice. Any lingering doubts she had concerning this baby were quickly washed away. She had to adopt him. She had to! She had no other choice. She thought of all her reservations, but she couldn’t help herself. Who cared if the baby’s natural mother showed up? This child needed her. And she needed him. Desperately. To make her life complete. Or would it be? Even with J.D., her life might still be missing something vital, the third part of a perfect family—the husband and father.
She rocked gently back and forth, ignoring her disturbing thoughts, whispering to the infant, touching his downy hair, unaware that Dallas was watching her as Leslie Nelson returned to the nursery. On rounds, Dallas had worked his way through the second floor and ended up at the nurses’ station, where he’d stopped when he’d spied Chandra cradling the infant.
A smile toyed with the corner of her lips, and her eyes were downcast, focused on the bundle in her arms. Dark lashes, looking slightly damp, swept her cheek as she, dressed in denim skirt, white sweater and suede vest, held the baby. She was talking to the infant, maybe singing to him. Dallas could only hear a word or two, but the scene resurrected an old dream of his—the dream of one day being a husband and a father. Now this woman—this woman he barely knew, with her blond hair and mischievous gray-green eyes—awakened feelings in him he’d hoped he’d long since destroyed. An unfamiliar tightness bound his chest, and he couldn’t for the life of him drag his eyes away from Chandra and the child.
He folded his arms across his chest and wondered if Chandra’s love for this child—for she obviously already did care for the baby as if it were her own—would cause her any heartbreak.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”
Dallas felt an unlikely tug on his heart.
“And if that mockingbird don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…”
He cleared his throat, and she jumped, her head snapping up, her eyes focusing on him. “Looks like I’ve got some competition,” he said, sauntering slowly up to her.
She blanched, as if she felt guilty for being caught with the child. “Com—competition?”
“For your affection.”
“I didn’t know it was a contest,” she replied, turning her gaze back to the swaddled child in her arms. “And neither does he—do you, J.D.?”
“So, you’re still calling him J.D.?”
A wonderful, soft shade of pink crawled up the back of her neck and stained her cheeks. “It sounds so much more…” She blinked as if she truly were embarrassed. “So much more personal than Baby John Doe.”
“You can call him whatever you like,” Dallas said, wondering if she were setting herself up for an emotional fall from which she’d never recover. She was building her dreams on this child, he could see that hope shining in her eyes, and it broke his heart. The child had only been here a few days. The mother—or some other relative—could still turn up. If not, the baby would end up with Social Services, a foster home, then be adopted. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
One eyebrow lifted, and he could see that she was surprised by his offer. Surprised but pleased. “Thanks, I’d like that—but I have an appointment. Maybe some other time.”
“Later today?” What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She’d been on his mind, in his thoughts, ever since she’d left him at the river just yesterday. Last night had been pure hell. Her vision had followed him into bed and never left him even as he’d dozed in the final hours before dawn. He’d awoken fully aroused, hoping his dream had been real. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“I thought that’s the way you wanted it.”
He wished it were that simple. “To be honest, when it comes to you, I don’t really know what I want,” he admitted, baring his soul for the first time in years.
“That’s what I like,” she said sarcastically, “a man who knows his own mind.”
He reached for her arm, wanting to shake some sense into her. Couldn’t she see that this was hard for him? But he didn’t touch her as she was holding the infant—the only person, it appeared, she truly cared for. “I’m trying to be big about this,” he insisted, knowing emotion registered in his eyes. “It’s not easy for me. All I’m asking is for a little of your time.”
She eyed him speculatively, chewing on the corner of her mouth while she chased away what appeared to be indecision. So she was as wary of him as he was of her. “Sure.
Coffee would be good,” she finally said, her gaze lingering for a second too long in his. Beyond that, she didn’t commit, just checked her watch, frowned and reluctantly handed the baby back to Nurse Nelson. “But not today. I’ve really got to run,” she said as she clipped down the hall to wait for the elevator. Dallas watched her disappear through the parted doors.
He knew where she lived—she’d given her address to the dispatcher when she’d called 911—someplace on Flaming Moss Road, clear out of town.
“Dr. O’Rourke. Dr. Dallas O’Rourke.” The page brought him out of his thoughts, but he decided he’d call on Chandra. To hell with the fact that he didn’t need any complications. She definitely was a complication, but like it or not, she was already a part of his life. At least until the identity of the baby was discovered. After that…well, he didn’t want to project that far into the future. Soon the baby would be released from the hospital and, no doubt, Ms. Hill would lose interest in him.
Dallas plucked a pen from his pocket and clicked it several times before writing instructions on a patient’s chart. But as he started down the corridor toward the maternity wing, he passed the elevators and smelled the clean scent of Chandra, the whisper of her perfume still clinging to the air.
What was he doing thinking about her? he wondered angrily. He couldn’t start fantasizing about her while he was working. He had a job to do, a job that required complete concentration. A job that was his whole life!
He stopped by a phone to pick up his page, and while the operator connected him to Dr. Spangler, Dallas rubbed his chin. He couldn’t afford to get involved with a woman; he knew the price he’d have to pay. Closing his eyes briefly, he muttered irritably, “Come on, come on,” hoping the operator would put him through to Spangler and get his mind off Chandra.
But her image wouldn’t leave him alone. As he waited, his damned thoughts drifted to her again. He decided he was handling the situation all wrong. As long as she was distant, she would always be the forbidden fruit and her allure would never diminish. Before he got caught up in something he couldn’t control, he needed to know more about her. He’d trusted a woman at face value once, and she’d proved far from the woman he’d thought he’d married. As for Chandra, what would it hurt to check out her story before he or the hospital was duped? She seemed sincere, and yet her tale about finding a baby and not knowing the mother was hard to believe.
He had a friend in Denver, a guy he’d gone to school with, a private detective who made a decent living out of poking into other people’s lives. Guilt stiffened the back of his neck; he knew that Chandra was a private person and she’d be furious if she had any idea he was checking her out. But if he were going to see her again, it only made sense—
“Dallas?” Spangler’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Would you mind looking in on a patient in 107? Eleanor Mills. Fractured tibia…” Dallas’s mind jerked back to the present, but he knew he wasn’t finished with Chandra Hill.
* * *
ROY ARNETTE STARED at Chandra as if she were certifiably insane. “You want to adopt the kid you found in the barn?” he repeated, eyeing her over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. Roy had been her attorney ever since she’d landed in Ranger, and he was as straitlaced as a Victorian corset and just as inflexible. At sixty-three, he sported a thick shock of white hair, dark eyebrows and a quick smile. He was tall, six-two or three, and dressed the part of a Texan, with his gleaming lizard-skin cowboy boots and string tie. Even his office had a Southwestern motif, which fit right into the town’s Western look. Cacti sat in clay pots in the corner, pictures of coyotes and adobe Indian villages graced the walls, and a Native American rug in hues of rust, blue and gray was spread over a bleached plank floor.
“That’s right,” Chandra said. “I want you to draw up the necessary papers and file whatever petitions are necessary. I want that child for my own.”
Roy shook his head. “Whoa, darlin’, aren’t you gettin’ the cart before the horse? You don’t even know that baby won’t be claimed. Hell, it’s only been a few days.”
“And any mother worth her salt would never have left J.D. in the first place.”
“J.D.? You’ve already got a name for him?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. She was on her feet, pacing in front of Roy’s red-oak desk, a bundle of restless energy.
“As your lawyer, I’d advise you to take this slow,” he drawled, licking his lips and staring up at her with worried eyes.
“I don’t want to take it slow. In fact, the sooner we can get the child, the better.”
“It’s not that easy. You’re not dealing with a private adoption, you know. The state’s gonna have to get involved. Social Services. And there may be other people—the child’s kin or just some couples anxious for a child of their own—who might want him.”
“Who? If the boy had any family, surely they would’ve come forward.”
“If they knew about him. And even if not…” He reached behind him to a stack of newspapers, unfolded one and searched until he’d found the section he wanted. With a rustle of paper, he snapped the page open, pressed the newsprint onto his desk and pointed a long finger at the personals column. “Take a look-see.”
Chandra swept her gaze over the advertisements:
ADOPT—Loving couple awaits your newborn. Expenses paid. Contact our attorney…
ADOPTION—Dear Birthmother: Professional couple willing to give your newborn love and affection. Expenses paid. Secure future for your child with all the opportunities you’d hoped for. Contact the law firm of…
LOVING ARMS WAITING TO ADOPT…
CHICAGO COUPLE WILLING TO ADOPT YOUR NEWBORN…
WANTED TO LOVE: YOUR NEWBORN…
There were more. Lots more. The requests for babies filled two columns. Chandra felt her knees go weak. She sank into one of Roy’s overstuffed leather chairs positioned near the desk and let the breath out of her lungs at the thought of the uphill battle that was before her.
“This is just one paper, from Denver. Ads like this appear in newspapers all over the country. Sterile couples want babies. I have three clients myself who are interested in private adoption. But you know this—it isn’t new to you. You worked with kids, and in a hospital.”
Of course she knew the facts, but she’d been hiding from them, unwilling to accept the reality that someone else might want her baby. And that was how she’d come to think of J.D.: as hers.
“There’s something else you might consider,” Roy said, refolding the paper and speaking to her in a kindly voice that reminded her of her own father. “When the judge grants someone custody of the child, he’ll probably award that custody to a married couple.”
“But—”
Roy held up a flat hand. “I know, I know, single person’s rights and all that baloney. But you can argue till you’re blue in the face, I’m just tellin’ you the facts. A married couple—a stable married couple—with a house and a few dollars in the bank to provide security for the baby will have the best shot at adopting B.J.”
“J.D.,” she corrected automatically. “I think I’d do a damned good job as a mother.”
“And a father?”
“Yes, and a father!” she argued. “Look at my job, for crying out loud!”
“Being a father takes more than a job,” Roy said calmly, reminding her without words that he and his wife had raised five children. “It’s a way of thinking—the male perspective. And there’s the most obvious reason for placing a child with a couple.”
“Which is?” she asked, knowing and dreading the answer.
“That if one of the parents dies, the kid’s got a backup. He won’t be orphaned again.”
Chandra’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t argue against that simple logic, and yet, she told herself, if she gave up now, didn’t even fight for custody, she’d always look over her shoulder and wonder if she’d made a mistake. “I don’t care what the odds are, Roy,” she said, slowly lifting her gaze to
meet the questions in his. “I want you to do everything in your power to see that I adopt J.D.”
“And you—are you willin’ to do the same?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
“Then, if I might make a suggestion,” he said, his lips twitching a little, “you might want to find yourself a husband. It’ll increase our odds of winnin’.”
“Got anyone in mind?” She threw the words back at him, in no mood for jokes.
“That’s your department. I’ll do my bit—you do yours.”
“I won’t get married,” she said, shoving herself upright.
“No hot prospects?”
Unbidden, a picture of Dallas O’Rourke formed in her mind, a picture she quickly shoved aside. “No,” Chandra replied with a wry smile, “no prospects whatsoever.”
“Then you’d better start prayin’,” Roy advised, “’cause without a little help from the man upstairs, I don’t think you’ve got a ghost of a chance.”
“Try, Roy, okay? Just try.”
“I’ll do my best. You know,” he said with an ingratiating grin, “I always aim to please.”
Chandra left the attorney’s office with her spirits dragging on the concrete sidewalk that flanked the building. She spent the next few hours at the office of Wild West Expeditions planning a day trip for the following weekend. When Rick asked her about her trip with Dr. O’Rourke, she didn’t go into much detail, deciding the less said on the subject of Dallas, the better.
For the next few days, Chandra went about her life. She stopped by the hospital on the way to work, then again before she went home. Even the days on which she led a trail ride or guided a rafting excursion, she found time to spend a couple of minutes staring at the baby.
Every day she expected him to be released, but the doctors at the hospital were taking no chances. J.D. had come into the hospital dehydrated and undernourished, as well as jaundiced, and the swelling in his little head was still apparent, though only slightly.