Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set

by Lisa Jackson

  Soon, however, he’d have to leave.

  * * *

  DALLAS WANTED NO PART of the baby. Or so he told himself. Getting involved with the infant was as dangerous as falling for Chandra Hill. Yet, even he was intrigued by the infant with the dark eyes, lusty voice and shock of black hair.

  No wonder Chandra wanted to adopt him. Had circumstances been different, Dallas would have been interested in the boy himself. But, of course, he had no room for a child in his life—a child or a woman. And this baby, whoever he was, had parents out there somewhere. Sooner or later, they’d show up, either together or alone, but someday a woman would claim to be J.D.’s mother.

  “And then what are we going to do?” he asked the baby as he rubbed a large hand over his tiny ribs. The infant stared up at him with those eyes that reached right into Dallas’s soul. The doctor knew what it was like to be unwanted and unloved, and he pitied this poor child.

  It would be a blessing if Chandra were allowed to adopt him, Dallas thought; at least, then J.D. would know a mother’s love. He wrapped the baby back in his blanket, and rather than kiss the downy head, Dallas patted the little bottom. “You’re gonna be okay,” Dallas assured him, though he wished he could predict the baby’s future. As well as his own. He hadn’t seen Chandra all day, and he’d made excuses to show up in pediatrics hoping for a glimpse of her.

  Deciding he was hopeless, he headed back to the emergency room.

  * * *

  CHANDRA DID EVERYTHING possible to assure herself the best chances of adopting J.D. She filled out all the appropriate papers and even began interviewing baby-sitters. She wanted all her ducks in line before she talked to Social Services.

  In the meantime, Roy Arnette assured her he was doing everything possible to petition the court for guardianship. Aside from having Chandra fill out forms and sign statements, he’d begun collecting personal references from her friends and acquaintances, even checked on her parents in Idaho, since she knew few people in Ranger. In fact, she was beginning to feel that the hospital staff, particularly the nurses on the pediatric floor, were fast becoming the best friends she had in town.

  Even Dr. O’Rourke was more than an acquaintance. She’d seen him several times at the hospital, and for the most part he’d been friendly, though professional. Never once had the rafting trip been mentioned between them. And, if O’Rourke remembered the passion that had burned so brightly for a few magical hours, he didn’t show it. Once she’d thought he’d been staring at her, but that flicker of interest she’d seen, or hoped to see, in his eyes was quickly replaced by the cool exterior that had earned him the name Dr. Ice.

  “No woman has ever gotten through to him,” Shannon Pratt had divulged once when she and Chandra were sharing a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. “I remember when he came here, several of the single nurses zeroed in on him.” She’d smiled at the memory. “Every one of them struck out. And these gals were big leaguers. He wasn’t the least bit interested.”

  Chandra had stared at the bottom of her cup, wishing she could confide in Shannon, but unable to bring up the rafting trip. What had occurred between Dallas and her had been special. “Surely the man must have dated someone.”

  “Not that I know of. Rumor has it that he was burned badly by his ex-wife.” Shannon had finished her coffee. “Believe me, if there were a way to that man’s heart, no one’s found it yet. And the best have tried.”

  Now, two days after Shannon’s revelation about Dallas, Chandra stopped by the hospital again. Gathering all her courage, she dropped by Dallas’s office, hoping to see him, but his receptionist told her that he wasn’t available.

  In the pediatrics wing, Leslie Nelson was off duty, but Shannon was stationed at the second-floor desk. She let Chandra hold J.D., and once again Chandra’s heart wrapped possessively around this little boy. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered into his cap of dark hair. “We’re going to work this out.”

  Eventually, she gave the baby back to Shannon, who suggested Chandra drop by at feeding time so that she could give J.D. his bottle. Chandra asked a few questions, but was told that, as far as Shannon or any of the nursing staff of the hospital knew, no one had yet found the mother.

  From the hospital, Chandra called the Sheriff’s Department and was eventually connected with Deputy White, who informed her that there was nothing new on the case. No one, it seemed, was missing an infant. All the hospitals in a three-hundred-mile radius had been contacted, and no babies had been stolen from the nurseries. It was as if J.D.’s mother didn’t exist.

  “Nobody just leaves a baby in a barn,” Chandra told herself as she walked through the breezeway connecting the parking lot to the hospital. Of their own accord, her eyes swept the staff lot, but Dr. O’Rourke’s truck wasn’t tucked into any of the parking spots reserved for hospital physicians, and she chided herself for looking.

  * * *

  “OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Chandra felt like cursing when, two hours later, she drove down the lane to her house. A tan station wagon was parked near the back porch, and the driver, sitting and smoking, was Bob Fillmore from the Banner. Blast it all, she should’ve known he wouldn’t give up. One little article wasn’t enough.

  Sam, teeth bared, black lips snarling fiendishly, paced by the vehicle. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and every time Fillmore moved, Sam lunged at the car, barking ferociously.

  Just what I need, Chandra thought, bracing herself, though the retriever’s antics amused her. Sam yipped excitedly as she parked her rig near the back porch.

  Knowing that she couldn’t duck the reporters forever, she decided to tell everything she knew to Fillmore, hopefully ending any interest the press could have in her.

  “Slow day for news?” she asked, hopping out of the truck and forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “Sam, down!” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground at her feet. Sam reluctantly trotted over and lay by her side, his steady gaze never leaving the car.

  “That animal should be locked up!” Fillmore tossed his cigarette butt onto the gravel as he crawled out of his car, but his eyes never left the retriever. “I thought he was going to tear me limb from limb.”

  “That’s the general idea,” Chandra said.

  Suddenly, the reporter was all business. “Back to your question—about the news? Seems that most of the news is right in your backyard these days. I didn’t get much of an interview at the hospital. And the Sheriff’s Department hasn’t been overly helpful. I thought you could fill in a few of the holes in my story.” As if he read denial forming on her lips, he continued, “Look, you’re the only one who knows exactly what happened, and I just want to get this story right. The kid’s parents may be looking for him right now. He could’ve been stolen, right? You might be doing them and the baby a big favor….” He let his sentence trail off, implying that there might be a big reward for finding the child. As if money were the answer.

  Her stomach lurched and a bad taste filled her mouth. The dislike she’d felt for Bob Fillmore grew more intense. “I just want to do right by the child,” Chandra said in the same confidential tone he’d used with her, “and I don’t want to interfere with the investigation by the Sheriff’s Department.” She said nothing about wanting to become the baby’s mother. Right now, a statement to that effect would have the same result as spraying gasoline on a slow-burning fire. Fillmore’s interest in the story—and in Chandra herself—would definitely heat up. Time enough for that later.

  He smiled easily. “No chance of messing anything up with the police. I just have a few questions. Simple ones. Really. Questions that might help the baby find his mom.”

  Chandra bit back a hot reply about the woman who had forsaken her son. And as for Fillmore, she didn’t trust the reporter for a minute. In Tennessee, her life had been ripped open, the focus of several “in-depth” interviews after Gordy Shore had died and his parents had filed suit against her. All of those reporters had seemed a cut abo
ve Fillmore, and they’d made her life a living hell. There was no telling what the reporter from the Banner might do.

  Yet she couldn’t very well hide the truth, could she? She couldn’t refuse to talk to the man. She’d only make him think she had something to hide. Frowning, she unlocked the back doors of the Suburban and pulled out two sacks of groceries. Sam followed obediently at her heels and only growled when Fillmore, trying to help, grabbed the handle of a gallon of milk. “I could carry those bags.”

  “Already got ’em.” Balancing the groceries, she unlocked the back door, and Sam streaked inside. The retriever settled on the rug under the table and, with one final growl of disapproval, watched Fillmore enter the cabin.

  Chandra stuffed a carton of eggs into the refrigerator. “You know, I thought people usually called ahead for an interview.”

  “I did. This morning. No answer. I left a message. When you didn’t call back, I figured the time and place was okay with you.”

  “And what if I hadn’t shown up?” she asked, waving him into a chair. Casting a glance at her answering machine, she noticed the red light flashing. She had no option but to get this over with.

  “I would’ve waited. Speaking of which—” he checked his watch and scowled “—the photographer should be here by now. He knew about this shoot. Would you mind if I used your phone?” He was already picking up the receiver when Chandra nodded. The man was pushy, no doubt about it. He dialed quickly, then tapped a toe while he waited. “Yeah. It’s Fillmore,” he said into the mouthpiece. “I’m lookin’ for Levine. Should’ve been here by now. I’m at the Hill place on Flaming Moss Road…yeah, eighteen, twenty miles out…well, tell him to get his butt in gear, okay? We’re waiting.”

  Chandra, only half listening to the reporter, pulled out a couple of sodas from the refrigerator. Her throat was already parched, and at the thought of an interview, her mouth turned as dry as a desert wind. She held one can up silently and Fillmore, still growling orders into the phone, grinned and waved an affirmative. While he was finishing his call, she cracked ice into a couple of tall glasses, not really in the mood to sit down and sip Pepsi with the man from the Banner. Her only consolation was that she figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the reporter on her side, pretend to go along with him and then, at the first available instant, make some excuse to end the interview early. He’d have a deadline, so he wouldn’t be back, and that, thankfully, would be the end of the press camping out on her doorstep. She hoped. If not and he got wind of the fact that she was planning to adopt J.D., so be it. At least he wouldn’t be out to smear her. She felt better about offering him the cola.

  “Look,” she said, once he’d hung up and settled into a chair at the table. She placed one of the dewy glasses in front of him and resisted the urge to press the other to her forehead to ward off a headache. “I just don’t want this to get out of hand. No media circus on this, okay?”

  “I’m just here to tell a story.” After draining half his glass, Fillmore reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his tape recorder, pen and notepad. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. How did you find the baby?”

  Chandra had gone over the same tale so many times that she said the words without much emotion, explaining about discovering the child, calling 911 and driving to meet the ambulance. No, she didn’t know to whom the baby belonged. No, she couldn’t imagine who would leave a baby alone. Yes, the baby had needed medical attention, but he had seemed strong enough.

  They were both about finished with their drinks when Fillmore brought up the baby’s future. “What if the mother shows up?”

  “Then I guess the court decides if she’s a fit parent,” Chandra replied, studying the melting ice in her glass. She hoped her face was impassive.

  “And where do you fit into it?”

  Yes, where? “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, just as Sam’s ears pricked forward and the dog scrambled to the door with a bark. Chandra glanced out the window and her heart dropped. Dallas’s truck slowed to a stop by Fillmore’s car. Great, she thought, knowing instinctively that Fillmore wouldn’t budge if he recognized the doctor who had admitted J.D. into the hospital.

  “Well, well, well, the good Dr. O’Rourke,” Fillmore drawled, a satisfied smile slithering across his lips. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Chandra said, rising to answer the door. Dallas had, indeed, arrived—all six feet of him greeted her as she swept the door open and invited him in. “Hi,” she said, motioning toward Fillmore. “Join the crowd.”

  Dallas grew rigid and as he walked into the kitchen, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Both men stared at each other for a few agonizing seconds. “Fillmore,” Dallas finally said, not bothering to hide his distaste for the man. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Just checkin’ out a story. What about you?” The reporter clicked his pen loudly, and the tape in his machine continued to whir.

  “I took an excursion with Ms. Hill over the weekend. She left something in my truck.”

  “Excursion? You mean a rafting trip?” Fillmore glanced from Dallas to Chandra and back again.

  Dallas shrugged. “My brother thought I could use a little R and R.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out her bandanna, the one she’d used to tie back her hair, clean and pressed.

  “So how was the trip? Exciting?”

  Dallas turned chilling eyes on the reporter. “Very. Ms. Hill is an excellent guide. In fact, have you ever been on one of those trips down the Rattlesnake at—what was it called?” He looked to Chandra for help, but she had the feeling he knew exactly what he was saying. “Grizzly Loop? I think it’s just your speed, Fillmore.”

  Bob Fillmore smirked, as if he refused to be goaded by Dallas.

  “And if Chandra can’t help you, maybe the owner can. What’s his name—Rick Benson—you remember, the guy you did the piece on a few years back.”

  The muscles in Chandra’s neck tensed. This was no time to intimidate the reporter, for God’s sake! What was Dallas doing?

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Fillmore replied as he scraped his chair back and stood. Chandra hoped fervently that he was finished. “Tell me, Doctor, since I’m writing about the abandoned child, what’s his status with the hospital?”

  Dallas looked in Chandra’s direction. “He’s about to be released.”

  No! So that’s why Dallas was here, to break the news and prepare her. Chandra’s heart leapt to her throat. “Released to whom?” she asked, trying to keep a calm appearance.

  Dallas slanted a glance at the reporter, as if he realized he’d said too much.

  “That’s right,” Fillmore added, “who’ll get the kid?”

  “I think that’s up to Social Services.”

  Fillmore grinned. “This is getting better by the minute. When, exactly, will he be released?”

  “Dr. Williams and Dr. Spangler will decide.”

  “They the kid’s pediatricians?”

  “That’s right,” Dallas said as Sam barked loudly.

  A compact Ford, silver-blue in color, roared down the drive, leaving a plume of dust in its wake.

  What was this? Chandra wondered. More bad news?

  “About time,” Fillmore muttered, scooping up his notepad and tape recorder as he scraped his chair back. “It’s Sid. He’ll want a few pictures of the barn, you know, where the kid was found. And he might have a few questions. Then we’ll be outta your hair.”

  Chandra could hardly wait. They walked outside, and Sid Levine, gathering camera bag, umbrella, light meter and other equipment, unloaded his car. “Hi, fella,” he said to Sam as the retriever bared his teeth and galloped toward the newcomer. Sid reached down and scratched Sam behind the ears. “Hey, slow down, I’m not gonna hurt anything.”

  Growling, Sam sniffed at the proffered hand then, traitor that he was, began wagging his tail so hard that it thumped against the fender of the Ford.

  “We were on o
ur way to the barn to get some pictures of the inside,” Fillmore said, waving the photographer along as he crossed the yard.

  “I’ll be there in a minute. Just let me take a few shots out here,” Levine said, apparently used to Fillmore’s brusque manner.

  Inside the barn, Chandra, as she had with the sheriff’s deputies, pointed out the stall where she’d found the baby. One of her favorite geldings, Max, a curious buckskin, strolled inside and stood waiting for some oats to be tossed his way. The other horses poked their noses into the barn door and their shadows drifted inside, but they didn’t follow the buckskin’s lead. Even Cayenne, usually friendly, eyed the intruders, snorted disdainfully and refused to amble inside.

  Max draped his head over the top of the stall and eyed Fillmore, who was busy in the end box where the baby was found, then nuzzled Chandra’s jacket, looking for a piece of carrot or apple. “Sorry, buddy,” she whispered to the horse, who snorted and stamped a foot impatiently.

  Dallas had followed her into the barn. He leaned against the ladder to the hayloft while Fillmore asked still more questions and the photographer scurried inside, sending up dust motes and disturbing the cobwebs that draped from the windows. Chandra could feel Dallas’s gaze on her back as she petted Max’s velvety nose and answered the questions as best she could. Fillmore tried to ignore the doctor, but Chandra couldn’t. His presence seemed to charge the air in the musty old barn, and she sensed that some of the reporter’s questions were worded more carefully just because Dallas was within earshot.

  “This it?” Sid Levine asked, looking around the barn, searching, it appeared, for sources of light. A grimy circular window over the hayloft and a few rectangles of glass at eye level over the stalls gave little natural illumination to the interior.

  “In here,” Fillmore replied from the stall.

  Once again, Chandra pointed out the position of the child. Then, while the reporter asked a few more questions, the photographer took aim and began clicking off shots. Dallas said nothing, just watched the men going through the motions of creating news.