The Baby Quest

by Pat Warren

  Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

  “You lied to me,” Rachel said, her eyes hot and furious.

  “You came here, acting all innocent, asked me about my family, our friends—and all the time you had all the answers.”

  “As an investigator, it’s my job to get all the answers,” Jack replied. Then he did what any sane man would do to stop a woman out of control. He kissed her.

  And not just a simple kiss, either. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth taking hers, fast and furious. Caught off guard, Rachel let out a small sound of protest, but he ground her mouth with his.

  Rachel hardly realized when the hands that should have been pushing him away bunched in the soft leather of his jacket and drew him closer, when her groans of protest became moans of passion. She’d been kissed before, she was certain of it.

  But never like this…

  PAT WARREN

  The Baby Quest

  PAT WARREN

  is a mother of four and lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifelong dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Prologue

  Where was the baby?

  That was all Rachel Montgomery could think about.

  In the few days since Rachel had learned that her sister Christina’s body had been found in a shallow grave, murdered after she’d given birth, Rachel had been obsessed with the baby. Christina’s baby. Her niece or nephew…still missing after three months.

  It had taken the sheriff’s department all that time to locate her sister’s body. How long would it take them to find the tiny child? Rachel berated herself endlessly that she hadn’t made the time to reach out more to Christina; she wouldn’t make the same mistake with Christina’s child. That baby had Montgomery blood and it should have their name, too.

  Which was why Rachel had taken Deputy Sloan Ravencrest’s advice and was on her way to see Winona Cobbs. Folks around Whitehorn believed that Winona, a bit eccentric, was also a psychic. Rachel had always liked her, though she wasn’t sure she believed in Winona’s powers as many did. But these were desperate times.

  Taking a steadying breath, Rachel opened the door to the Hip Hop Café, where Winona was likely to be found. The two large picture windows were steamy and the heat most welcome as she walked in out of the late November cold and looked around. Though she’d been back to Whitehorn only a few times in the past nine years, Rachel had no trouble spotting her target at a back booth, wearing one of her signature long flowing dresses and a shawl.

  Winona’s blue eyes twinkled in recognition as Rachel stopped at her booth. “Are you back for good this time, Rachel?” she asked in her high-pitched voice.

  “No, Winona, just a visit.” In fact, this was her second visit in three months. The first had been in September when her father had called to say that Christina was missing. This second was a week’s vacation to help her family through the Thanksgiving holiday, which had passed in a cold, quiet, tasteless meal. And that was days before Deputy Ravencrest had called to say Christina had been found, murdered. “Actually,” she said to Winona, “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “Sit, sit.” The old woman waved a hand toward the empty seat, several bracelets studded with polished stones and crystals jangling on each wrist. She studied the young woman sitting opposite her with shrewd eyes. “Soon now, I think, you’ll be giving it up.”

  “Giving up what?” Rachel asked, slipping off her leather jacket.

  “Living in that godforsaken Chicago. You belong here. Montana’s in your blood.” Winona adjusted a hairpin that held her long braid fastened neatly around her head.

  This wasn’t what she wanted to discuss, nor did she wish to contradict the old woman. She changed the subject immediately. “Have you heard that they’ve found Christina?” She couldn’t bring herself to say Christina’s body.

  “Yes, my dear.” Winona reached over to take Rachel’s hand in a comforting grip. “I’ve felt for some time that your sister wouldn’t be with us again.”

  “Winona, they tell me Christina gave birth to a baby around the time she died. I—I hadn’t known she was pregnant. I feel so bad that we’d grown so far apart.” She blinked back a fresh rush of tears.

  “Her pregnancy was no secret. I suppose your father thought it best to shield you. Never a good idea, hiding the truth.” The old woman sipped her coffee.

  “Do you have any feelings about Christina’s death? I mean, can you tell who did this to her? And what about the baby? Where is the baby?” Rachel pushed back her long brown hair with a shaky hand. “I have so many questions.”

  “I don’t have all the answers, child, but I can tell you one thing. That baby is alive and well.”

  Hope flared in Rachel’s eyes. “Really? Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “Where is the baby?”

  Winona shook her head. “I can’t see that. But take comfort in knowing the baby’s being well taken care of.”

  “But that baby belongs with us. With me.”

  Winona rose from the booth. “Maybe in time, child.” She slipped out of the booth and left.

  Rachel dabbed at her eyes. She so desperately wanted to believe that Christina’s child was being cared for, was well and happy…but how much of a psychic’s ramblings dare she believe?

  “Thought I’d find you here.” Ellis Montgomery slipped into the seat Winona had vacated, his blue eyes darting around at the diners as he did so. The portly man in his late fifties was always conscious of his position as mayor of Whitehorn.

  “Dad, why didn’t you tell me in September that Christina was pregnant?” Her eyes speared him with a look.

  He shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

  Rachel sat up taller. “Didn’t seem important? We’ve got to find that child. She’s our blood. And what of the father? Who is he? We need answers here. Which is why we need a private investigator.”

  “Now, honey, we’ve got to be patient and leave these things to the sheriff.”

  “That’s not what you said a few days ago.” Disgusted, she wiped at more tears, this time tears of anger. “Don’t you want to find the baby? He or she needs us.”

  He frowned at her. “How do we even know the baby’s alive?”

  “Winona just said so.”

  Ellis waved a dismissive hand. “You’re listening to some wacko psychic now? Get hold of yourself, Rachel. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  She was thinking clearly, all right. She was thinking she needed to take action on her own. And if her father—and her brother Max—didn’t approve, too bad. She’d been making her own decisions for years now, ever since she’d left Whitehorn for college nine years ago.

  The mayor glanced toward the door. “I’ve got to go now. You get some rest.” He put on his hat and slid out of the booth.

  Rachel didn’t bother to stop him. Instead she gazed out the window at a weak winter sun, feeling as bleak and cold as she knew the temperature to be. She could’ve predicted her father’s reaction. Ever the mayor, he lived his life as if he were on a campaign trail, eager to please his constituents and not at all caring about his own family. And her clone of a brother, Max, who’d taken over from their father as presid
ent of Whitehorn Savings and Loan, would go along with whatever Dad said.

  Fine. She didn’t need anyone. She’d hire a private investigator on her own. There certainly weren’t any in this one-horse town, but she’d go to the library and look at the listings in Bozeman. Or…

  “Pardon me,” a softly feminine voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Rachel looked up to see a pregnant redheaded woman who’d been sitting at the table alongside her booth. “Yes?”

  “I’m Gina Remmington. I saw you at the Hip Hop some months ago, but we were never introduced. I hope I’m not intruding—”

  “Not at all. Please sit down.” Rachel glanced toward the table and saw the dark-haired man Gina had been with smile at her.

  “That’s my husband Trent,” Gina explained, sitting in the booth somewhat awkwardly due to her advanced pregnancy. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t purposely eavesdropping on your conversation, but…well, I heard what you said to the mayor.” At Rachel’s inquisitive look, she went on. “If you’re looking for a private investigator—”

  Rachel nodded. “I am.”

  “Well, then, Rachel, I can help you.”

  One

  Rachel Montgomery sat by the fire in the house of her childhood, drying her hair, alone for the fifth night in a row. Her father had had a dinner meeting in town and hadn’t wandered home yet, which apparently was a pattern with Ellis. Where, she wondered, did he go every evening, especially on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving?

  Actually, she didn’t mind. She enjoyed her solitude, even in Chicago in her apartment. Not for days or weeks on end, of course, for she had friends to go out with, to dinner, a movie. She interacted with lots of people in her role as assistant graphics designer at Kaleidoscope, so evenings alone were often welcome. Yet back here in Montana, they seemed more lonely.

  Seeking familiar comfort perhaps, she’d taken a long hot bath and wrapped herself in her old chenille robe that she’d found in the back of her closet. Her feet in scruffy Garfield slippers lovingly saved from her teens, she’d come downstairs and made herself a pot of tea before curling up on the couch in front of the fire she’d built earlier. She no longer thought that fires were wasted on one person. In this house, she could shrivel up and blow away waiting for someone to share a fire with.

  Since hearing the news that Christina had been found, she’d avoided giving in to the sorrow waiting in the wings to overcome her. While Ellis and Max turned from their memories, Rachel now invited them.

  Sighing, she felt regret move through her. So many things to regret. That her father had always been more interested in politics and business than his family. That Max, who’d been a warm, loving brother when they’d been children, had grown into an arrogant workaholic much like their father. That their mother had died four years ago when Christina had been eighteen. Maybe if Mom had lived, Christina wouldn’t have become quite so flighty and irresponsible. However, the truth that Rachel had finally had to face was that Christina had been starved for affection and attention since she’d gotten very little from her family, so she’d turned to men and found an unending source.

  Why couldn’t her family have been more average, more normal? Rachel wondered. The prerequisites had all been in place, the small Montana town where they’d grown up, a place where nearly everyone knew everyone else. Three children born to a fairly well-off family, all attractive and healthy. What had gone wrong? Why had there been so little love, so little communication, growing up in this big rambling house on Sunnyslope Drive? Or was she longing for the impossible dream?

  It had probably begun with her parents’ marriage. Deidre Montgomery had been a refined woman from a socially prominent Montana family, one who’d enjoyed going to Bozeman to visit old friends, her library circle, her bridge club. What she hadn’t enjoyed was her husband.

  Rachel sipped her tea, then returned to her hair brushing. She couldn’t help but think of Christina. Her sister had been the pretty one with beautiful, thick chestnut hair. She’d been only thirteen when Rachel had left Whitehorn, yet already beginning to develop very feminine curves.

  Christina had been difficult, or so Mother had written to Rachel, but she’d been a good kid at heart. But Mother’s death had hit her hard and though Rachel had tried during her short visits home, she hadn’t been able to reach Christina.

  She should’ve tried harder, Rachel thought now, tightening her lips to hold back a sob. Oh, God, Christina. Why hadn’t I reached out more to you? Why hadn’t I insisted you come live with me where I could have watched out for you? Would you be alive today, if I had?

  The fire slowly dying, Rachel got up to get the poker to spark some embers. The doorbell rang out twice rather insistently. She glanced at the mantel clock. Who’d be dropping by at nine-thirty?

  With the damp towel draped around her shoulders, Rachel opened the door just slightly, yet the cold November wind slipped past the tall man standing in the porch light. Her first impression was that he was big, with broad shoulders and long legs. He had on a sheepskin-lined jacket hanging open, seemingly oblivious of the cold night, and neatly pressed jeans. He wasn’t from around here, she decided, despite the Western appearance. No one in her hometown wore tassel loafers.

  “I’m Jack Henderson,” he said, his hazel-green eyes assessing her just as intently as she’d checked him over. “My sister, Gina, said you were in need of a private investigator.” His gaze swept over her again from head to foot. “I guess you weren’t expecting me.”

  Rachel wished she could slam the door closed and pretend she hadn’t heard the bell. Gina had called yesterday and said her brother was intrigued by the case and would be arriving soon. But Rachel certainly hadn’t expected him to show up on her doorstep the very next day. Gina had told her that for the past eight years Jack Henderson had been running a successful P.I. business out in L.A., the same business, in fact, that Gina herself had been a partner in until her pregnancy and marriage to Trent Remmington. Now the only case she worked on was locating the missing seventh illegitimate grandson of Garrett Kincaid, one of Whitehorn’s prominent people.

  Suddenly conscious of how she must look in her ratty ancient robe, fuzzy slippers, with her damp hair hanging every which way, Rachel felt heat move into her face.

  “No, I mean, yes. Gina said you’d be arriving, but I thought you’d call first.” With an unsteady hand, she clutched at the opening of the robe at her throat. “It’s kind of late.”

  Jack’s lips twitched as he checked his watch. “In L.A., nine o’clock’s considered the shank of the evening. I heard you’re from Chicago. Isn’t it the same there?”

  Rachel wanted to remind him that they weren’t in L.A. or Chicago, but she knew he wasn’t going to go away until she talked with him. “All right, come on in. For a few minutes,” she amended, opening the door wider.

  Unfortunately, as Rachel backed up, her floppy slippers caught on a throw rug and she felt herself falling. Oh, no! Not in front of this smooth Los Angeles P.I.! But down she went in a heap on the polished floor, landing unceremoniously on her bottom and her bruised dignity. Gazing all the way up the more than six foot length of him, Rachel saw amusement on his tanned face and she felt like bopping him a good one.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy working with you, Rachel,” Jack said, offering her a hand up.

  Yesterday on the phone, Jack had listened to Gina outline the Montgomery case. Twenty-two-year-old Christina Montgomery had been missing for three months before her body had been found. Evidence revealed that she’d given birth at the murder scene. The deceased’s sister, Rachel, needed help finding the baby. Gina had also mentioned that Rachel, who’d seemed cautious and reserved by nature, was not exactly unfriendly but somewhat distant. As he helped Rachel up from her unexpected fall, Jack wasn’t sure “reserved” quite described her.

  He could tell that she was trying to recapture her dignity by quickly assuming the role of hostess, taking his jacket and leading him into the cozy living room
. She needn’t have bothered trying to impress him, he found her nervous attempts surprisingly charming.

  “Would you like some tea? I just made a pot.” She paused in the doorway, ready to dash into the kitchen for another cup.

  “Tea.” Jack considered the offer, wondering when the last time was that he’d had tea. “Sure. Why not?”

  Pausing in the doorway, Rachel watched him sit and make himself comfortable. The couch was big, yet he seemed to take up nearly half. His size was intimidating, even to Rachel’s five-six frame. It probably was a plus in his line of work, she thought.

  Retreating to the kitchen, she moved to the cupboard and took out another cup before arranging the sugar bowl and a small dish of sliced lemons on her mother’s teakwood tray.

  Rachel hated to admit it even to herself, but dropins made her jittery, especially when the unexpected guest was a ruggedly handsome man with a devilish grin and shoulders a mile wide. She knew this would be the perfect opportunity to interview Jack Henderson as to just how he’d go about finding Christina’s baby, and perhaps Christina’s killer. If she hired him, they’d be working closely together and she needed to know if they were compatible.

  What questions should she ask to discover that? she wondered.

  She glanced toward the doorway, then moved closer to the framed mirror on the side wall. Good Lord, her hair resembled a rat’s nest and she’d left her brush in the living room. Rummaging through the kitchen drawers, she finally found a broken half of a comb and pulled it through her hair, fixing the mess as best she could. Grimacing at her reflection, she decided that would have to do.

  A fleeting memory came to mind of growing up in this house in her teens and her mother’s strong warning that neither of her girls was to leave her room unless fully dressed and well groomed, which was how Deidre Montgomery had been raised.

  Well, Mom, you should see me now, Rachel thought with a smile.