by Lisa Jackson
“Hell, Chandra, you can’t just up and marry someone for that kid.”
“Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
“But I was kidding!” Sitting on his side of his desk, he yanked on his string tie. “You told me you weren’t dating anyone.”
“I wasn’t.”
“And what—the bridegroom fairy came in, waved a magic wand and, poof, instant husband and father?” Frowning, he pushed an intercom button and ordered coffee from his secretary. “Well, tell me, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Dallas O’Rourke.”
“Doctor Dallas O’Rourke? You can’t be serious! After what happened to you with Doug—he was a doctor, remember? That was part of the problem—so now you’re planning to marry an emergency-room physician? Come on!”
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Look, don’t blame yourself. This is my decision.”
“What do you know about the guy?” he asked, shaking his head. “What?”
A soft tap at the door announced the secretary’s arrival. With a smile to Chandra, she placed a tray laden with coffee cups, a plastic carafe, a small basket of doughnuts and a folded newspaper on his desk. “Thanks, Betty,” Roy said as the tall woman poured them each a cup of coffee.
Roy offered her a doughnut, but Chandra shook her head and the attorney, too, left the pastries untouched. He took a long sip from his cup and said, “All right, let’s start over. When are you getting married?”
“We haven’t discussed it yet,” she admitted. “In fact, we haven’t exactly ironed out many details. I’m meeting him tonight at the hospital, and he’s taking me over to the Newells’.”
“The sheriff? You’re going to see the sheriff?”
“J.D. is being released today. The Newells have been granted temporary custody as foster parents.” Chandra reached for her cup and caught a glimpse of the folded newspaper. Her heart did a somersault. “Oh, no,” she said, snatching up the paper and snapping it open. On the front page in big bold letters the headline read, MYSTERY BABY FOUND IN BARN, and near the article were two pictures, one of the barn, the other of her and Dallas, his arm around her shoulder, his mouth pressed close to her ear.
She quickly read the article, which was more informative than the one single-column report that had appeared the day after the baby was found. She and Dallas were identified, in the caption under the picture, and though nothing was blatantly stated, there was an insinuation that she and he, the woman who had discovered the baby and the physician who had first examined him, were romantically involved. There was a plea, within the text, for the real parents of the child to come forward and claim him.
Her heart wrenched painfully. “No,” she whispered to herself. “Not now!”
“What? Not now what?”
She handed the paper to Roy, and he scowled as he skimmed the article. “Well, this isn’t too bad. Fillmore isn’t known to be overly kind with his pen, so you’d better consider yourself lucky. At least it isn’t a hatchet job, and since you and Dallas are planning to tie the knot, I don’t see that there’s any real harm done.”
Perhaps not, but Chandra felt as if someone had just placed a curse on her. That was crazy, of course. She wasn’t even the kind of woman who believed in curses or voodoo or omens. And yet, her skin crawled as she stared down at the photo of her and Dallas huddled together, consoling each other…and falling in love.
* * *
“BASTARD!” DALLAS SLAMMED the newspaper into the trash basket in the staff lounge, causing more than a few heads to turn and gaze speculatively in his direction. He didn’t really give a damn. He didn’t blame Fillmore for the article; the baby was news. Big news. But the picture of Chandra and him was hardly necessary.
He’d only been at the hospital half an hour and already he’d noticed a few sidelong glances cast his way, a couple of smirks hidden not quite quickly enough. It had started with Ed Prescott. As Dallas had locked the door of his truck in the parking lot, Prescott had wheeled his red Porche into his reserved spot.
“Well, O’Rourke, you old dog,” he’d said as he climbed out of the sporty little car and caught up with Dallas’s impatient strides. “You made the front page.”
“What?” Dallas hadn’t seen the paper yet as the weekly Banner was usually delivered by mail.
“Haven’t you seen it?” Laughter had danced in Prescott’s keen eyes. “Here, take my copy!” He’d slapped the newspaper into Dallas’s hands and walked briskly toward the building. Prescott’s chortling laughter had trailed back to Dallas as he’d opened the folded pages and found his life unraveled in, of all places, the Banner.
“Stupid idiot son-of-a-bitch,” he growled now, wondering if he were leveling the oath at Prescott or himself. And just wait until Fillmore got wind of the fact that he and Chandra were getting married and hoping to adopt J.D. He’d never hear the end of it!
At the elevator, he waited impatiently, pushing the button several times and opening and closing his fists to relieve some tension. “Come on, come on,” he muttered as the elevator stopped and three young nurses emerged.
They saw him, and nearly as one, tried to smother grins as they mouthed, “Good morning, Doctor.”
It was all he could do to be civil. He climbed in the car and pushed the button for the fourth floor. He’d check his patients in CICU and ICU, then retreat to the emergency room, where he was scheduled for the day. If everything was under control, he’d head up to pediatrics before J.D. was to be released. Then he’d go to his office, return some calls and check his mail. His investigator friend from Denver had called and said a package should arrive—the information about Chandra. Good Lord, what had possessed him to order an investigation?
He wasn’t looking forward to scanning the P.I.’s report, and yet, he may as well. After all, he planned to marry the woman; it wouldn’t hurt to know what he was in for.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched the numbers of the floors light up. Chandra was so enraptured with little J.D., Dallas was concerned for her. Even if he and she were married, there were no guarantees that they would be chosen as the adoptive parents. What then? Dissolve the marriage? Strike two? “Hell, O’Rourke, you’ve really got yourself in a mess this time!”
The elevator thudded to a halt and the doors opened. Jane Winthrop, a nurse who usually worked in admitting, was waiting for the car. Pushing a medicine cart, she nearly ran into him. “Oh, Doctor,” she said with a smile. “Excuse me.”
Was there a special gleam in her eye? Of course not. He was just being paranoid. “No problem,” he replied, skirting the cart with the tiny cups of pills arranged neatly on the shiny metal surface.
“I saw your picture in the paper today,” she said, and he jerked his head up to meet her eyes, but found no malice in her gaze. “I sure hope that Chandra Hill gets to adopt that baby. He belongs with her, you know. That’s why he was in that barn. It’s God’s will.”
The doors closed, and Nurse Winthrop, her cart and her wisdom disappeared.
Rubbing the tension building in his neck, Dallas turned toward ICU and knew that it was going to be a long day. He decided to go directly to his office and only stopped by his receptionist’s desk to collect his mail.
There it was, along with the letters, advertisements and magazines—a package with a Denver postmark. His heart stopped for just a second, and he felt guilty as hell, but he took the stack of mail and a fresh cup of coffee into his office. He set the coffee on the ink blotter and dropped the correspondence and bills onto the desk, then ripped his letter opener through the package from Denver.
He couldn’t believe he was so anxious that his stomach had begun to knot. There was a computer report, a note from Jay and a few copies of newspaper clippings, mainly of a trial in Tennessee, a malpractice suit brought by the parents of Gordy Shore, a boy who had died while in Chandra’s care.
Dallas let his coffee grow cold as he continued to read, and he learned more than he wanted to know about his future wi
fe.
* * *
“A SHOOT DOWN the south fork, a trail ride over Phantom Ridge and a day hike along the west bank of the river,” Rick said, eyeing his schedule. He tapped his finger on the last expedition. “Chandra, you can handle the day hike. Randy’s got the trail ride, and Jake will take our friends from Boston down the river. All right with you?”
“Fine,” she agreed as Jake and Randy began packing gear for their expeditions.
“Good, then I’ll hold down the fort here.”
Chandra eyed the younger men. Jake was tall and strapping with wheat-blond hair, a tan and blue eyes that cut a person right to the quick. Randy was more laid-back, with a moustache, day’s growth of beard and red-brown hair a little on the shaggy side. She turned to see Rick staring at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. These men, who often joked with her, were the only family Chandra had in Ranger.
“Saw your picture in the paper,” Randy said as he tucked trail mix and a couple of candy bars into a backpack. The horses were stabled out of town, so he would meet his clients, drive to the stables and start the ride from that point.
“I hope you’re not talkin’ ’bout that damned Banner,” Rick growled, frowning.
“’Fraid so. Chandra’s big news around this town,” Randy teased. “You and the doctor looked pretty chummy to me.”
“We are,” she said with a shrug.
“And here I thought you’d always had the hots for me, but were just too shy to make the first move.”
“If only I’d known,” she quipped. These men could tease her and needle her because she knew they cared. Once she’d proved herself on the river, they’d both taken on the roles of brothers.
“I just hope O’Rourke knows what a prize he’s found,” Jake said forcefully. Jake was always more serious than Randy.
“Dallas O’Rourke?” Rick asked. Still behind the desk, he absently counted out the cash, the “seed money” as he called it, that he kept in the safe at night before replenishing the till each morning.
“The one and only.”
“How’d you land that one?” Rick asked.
“Must have been that little sashay you took down Grizzly Loop,” Randy teased.
“Get a life, Randy,” Chandra said, refusing to be baited.
“And keep that rag that some people consider a newspaper out of my shop,” Rick ordered. “I’d just as soon wring Bob Fillmore’s neck as say hi.”
Chandra spent the next hour stocking the shelves with supplies, then met her group of hikers and drove them to the foothills. They spent most of the day walking the trails that crisscrossed Rattlesnake Canyon. At noon, dusty and hot, they paused to eat at the river, then headed downstream until they’d circled back to the car. Clouds were beginning to form over the hills, and the temperature descended as she dropped her tired party off at the offices of Wild West.
For the next hour, she cleaned up and helped Rick close the shop before driving through town and along the road that led to the hospital. At five-fifteen, she dashed up the stairs to the pediatrics wing and discovered Leslie Nelson at the desk. “Is he still here?” she asked without preamble, but she knew from Leslie’s sorry expression that J.D. had already been released. Fear, cold as a night wind, touched her soul. What if things didn’t go as planned? What if she never saw J.D. again?
Leslie sighed unhappily. “The caseworker—what’s her name—Miss Sedgewick… She was here earlier with Sheriff Newell, and the baby was placed under his care. You know Lenore, don’t you?” Chandra shook her head, and Leslie waved aside her doubts. “Well, she’s just about the best person J.D. could be placed with. She adores kids, and since hers left home, she’s been taking in strays, so to speak, kids with all sorts of problems—drugs, family breakups, abuse or runaways. She’s one in a million.”
“I guess I should be relieved,” Chandra said. But she wasn’t. She was used to finding J.D. here, and now things had changed. His little life was on its own path, out of her control….
“I think so, and I’m sure she’d let you visit J.D. as often as you want.” Leslie leaned over the desk and motioned Chandra closer, as if to tell her a secret. “Just between you and me,” she said confidentially, “it’s a good thing he’s been moved.”
“Why?”
“The press! Ever since that story came out in the Banner this morning, the phone’s been ringing off the hook. Newspaper reporters from as far away as Chicago and Seattle trying to get more information. We’re routing all the calls to Dr. Trent’s office—he’s the chief administrator—and we’re not to talk to anyone about the baby.”
So the media circus had begun. Chandra’s stomach turned over. “Is Dr. O’Rourke in?”
“He was in earlier—checked on a couple of patients, but I don’t know his schedule.”
“Thanks, Leslie.” Chandra turned to leave as the phone at the nurses’ station began ringing insistently. Walking on numb legs toward the wing that held the clinic and doctors’ offices, Chandra hoped to find Dallas. She’d known the press would come sniffing around, of course, but she’d hoped the public wouldn’t be interested.
Dallas wasn’t in his office. The receptionist told her he’d be back within the half hour and that she could wait in the lounge. Chandra tried, but the chairs were too uncomfortable and her thoughts were whirling. What if the reporters started digging into her past? The headlines haunted her…
Local Doctor Accused Of Malpractice
By Young Patient’s Parents
“My Boy Could Have Been Saved,”
Gordy Shore’s Mother Testifies
Doctor Chandra Hill Pendleton Sued By Shores
* * *
THE HEADLINES HAD kept coming. Doug’s practice had been mentioned, as well as hers, causing a deeper rift in their marriage. Then some of Doug’s patients had requested that their files be sent to other cosmetic surgeons. “This’ll all blow over,” Doug had said, trying to console her, but he couldn’t understand the pain and guilt she felt over losing a beautiful boy and suffering the hate of his parents.
No wonder she’d taken back her maiden name and left Tennessee with all its painful memories. Perhaps leaving Collier had looked like the coward’s way out, but there had been nothing left for her in Tennessee: no medical practice, no friends, no husband and certainly no children. No, it had been better to make a clean break. And she was still a physician, though unlicensed in Colorado.
Face it, she silently advised herself as she flipped through a dog-eared women’s magazine that didn’t hold her interest. You’re a lousy judge of character. You married Doug and became friends with Willa and Ed Shore. They all turned on you.
And now you’re planning on marrying Dallas O’Rourke. Good Lord, Chandra, will you never learn?
Bored with waiting, she watched as the receptionist answered the phone and juggled appointments. When the woman’s back was turned, Chandra slipped down the hall and pushed open a door with brass letters that spelled “Dallas O’Rourke, M.D.” Fortunately the door was unlocked, and Chandra, feeling just a tingle of guilt, rationalized her behavior by telling herself that she was about to become Mrs. Dallas O’Rourke. She needed a little information on the man.
The room was cluttered. A suede-and-leather jacket had been tossed carelessly over the back of one chair, and a tie dangled from the handle of the window. His desk was piled high with papers, though there did seem to be a few distinct piles, as if there were some semblance of order to the paperwork. Medical journals and encyclopedias filled a bookcase and laminated certificates were mounted over the desk. The view from his window overlooked a parking lot, and the two chairs angled near the front of his desk appeared seldom used.
A stack of mail was opened and strewed over the papers on the desk. As she quickly skimmed the letters and bills, her own name leapt out at her: “INVESTIGATIVE REPORT ON CHANDRA HILL.”
Chandra’s insides froze and her heart turned to ice. Her throat worked, though she couldn’t speak. Surely,
she’d read the heading incorrectly! She skimmed the first page and felt sick. Dallas had been checking up on her? The tightness in her chest constricted a notch as she sifted through the pages, obviously already read by Dr. O’Rourke. “Why?” she whispered. Why would he ask her to marry him and then check up on her? Or maybe it was the other way around? She found the postmark on the envelope. No. He’d only received this damned report today.
Her hands shaking, she dropped into a chair and began reading about herself, starting with her date of birth and her parents, and later, as they came along, her sisters. Her history inched its way through the pages, a listing of her accomplishments in elementary and high school, as well as in college and medical school. Even names of her friends were listed and those of a few of the men she’d dated.
Nausea churned in her stomach. Her life reduced to eighteen pages of a computer printout, including copies of the newspaper articles about her, her credit history, her health and her marriage and divorce from Doug.
Her stay in Ranger was tagged on at the end, listing Rick as her boss. The first story in the Banner about J.D., which had been published just last week, was the final entry.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. How could she ever face Dallas again? Mortified and furious, she clamped her jaw and bit down hard in order to get control of herself. She couldn’t let him reduce her to the rubble she’d once been. Never again would she feel this way! She forced her pain to shift to anger. It wasn’t hard. She was beyond furious. If and when she ever set eyes on Dallas again, she’d tear him limb from limb! Who did he think he was, sneaking around behind her back, digging up her life to file it neatly onto some private investigator’s computer disk?
The door opened, and she twisted her head to find Dallas striding into the room. His eyes dropped to the report in her hands and he sucked in his breath. “What’re you doing in my office?”
Chandra stood slowly, dropping the report and pushing herself upright. He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching the frame, his face unreadable.