The Baby Quest

by Pat Warren

  His gaze still on hers, Jack’s fingers found the hem of her gown and caressed the silky material. Slowly he pulled it upward, then quickly tugged it over her head. His eyes drank in her beauty, his heart hammering inside his chest. He stroked the satin gown along and around and between her aroused breasts, then flung it away.

  Rachel’s face was flushed, but her eyes on his remained steady. Her hands moved to bracket his waist as she lazily brushed her breasts against his chest, back and forth, slowly, maddeningly. Unable to remain passive any longer, Jack crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss went on and on until finally, knees trembling, they tumbled onto the bed, rolling and sighing in the tangled covers. He tasted her hunger, felt her go limp with pleasure, heard the soft murmurings meant only for his ears.

  This was what he’d been wanting, Jack realized, this deep awareness of each other, not just that wild race to completion, and it stunned him to admit it. As good as that was, this was another way of making love, a more powerful way and an exciting change. He hadn’t craved this sharing of more than just his body with anyone else, but he knew he wanted this with Rachel.

  She was moving now beneath him, her hands reaching for him, anxious but not yet desperate. Staying in control, he evaded her clever fingers as his tongue moved almost lazily over first one breast, then the other. He heard her suck in a sharp breath, then arch toward his mouth.

  “Are you trying to drive me mad?” Rachel asked, her voice breathless with frustration.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I plan to do.” His mouth trailed hot fire along her shimmering flesh. He felt her shift restlessly, then cry out as his fingers moved inside her.

  She rose to meet him, trying to capture the release he held just a breath away, but he moved out of reach, leaving her needy. Edgy with passion, she felt him trail kisses down her arching body. Then his mouth settled on her as her hands curled around fistfuls of sheet.

  The first heady climax surprised her with its intensity, leaving her weak and limp. Ragged breaths puffed from her as she finally looked up to see Jack watching her. Then, so swiftly she felt dazed, he shifted and entered her, dragging her back into the eye of the storm.

  Rachel had no time to think, to recover, could only cling to him, her hands skimming restively over his slick back. In seconds, she was racing desperately with him, seeking more and still more, embracing this unexpected bounty she’d been longing for.

  Finally, a shimmering wave of pleasure slammed into her, and she was no longer aware of the wintry night or the whistling wind or much of anything else. There was only this candlelit room and Jack and the marvelous sensations she was sharing with him.

  And when it was over, Jack held her close, cradling her. He hadn’t been able to catch the killer who’d murdered her sister yet. But he’d been able to empty her mind of her worries, her fears, if only for a little while.

  Replete, Rachel snuggled into him. Here, like this, lethargic yet glowing from his loving, she felt safe. Only with Jack. Here she could close her eyes and rest, and no one would harm her.

  Drifting into a dream, Rachel sighed. “I love you,” she whispered.

  In the shadowy glow of the candles, Jack’s eyes snapped open. Rachel’s breathing was already even, and he knew she likely wasn’t aware she’d spoken out loud. But he’d heard and the words left him shaken.

  Don’t love me, Rachel, he silently told her. I don’t believe in love, not even with you. I’ll only hurt you.

  A sound woke him. Always one to awaken quickly, Jack sat up and cocked his head to listen. There it was again, and it was a baby crying. More on target, Alyssa.

  He saw that Rachel hadn’t heard, fast asleep on her side facing away, so he pulled on his pants and quietly left the room.

  The Mickey Mouse night-light on her dresser cast the room in a soft glow. She was wearing her yellow blanket sleeper, zipped up to her neck so she wouldn’t be cold. Yet as he walked over to her crib, there were little tears on her chubby cheeks.

  “What’s the matter, punkin?” Somewhat awkwardly, trying to remember how Rachel did it, he picked her up and brought her close to his chest. “Can’t sleep?”

  Immediately, she flashed him a smile.

  Jack couldn’t help it. He smiled back.

  He hadn’t checked the clock, but it was very dark outside through her window and snow was still coming down. Gently, he wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and tried to figure out why she was awake in the middle of the night.

  She no longer needed a night feeding so her last bottle had been around 10:00 p.m. Maybe she…whoops! Wet. She was probably really wet, or worse.

  Gingerly carrying her over to the changing table, he, who had never changed a baby in his life, decided he could do this. He laid her down and unzipped the blanket sleeper. Rachel had switched her to disposable diapers rather than the cloth ones she’d arrived with. He pulled the side tabs open the way he’d seen Rachel do, first one side, then the other. Sure enough, she was soaking wet.

  Relieved that there was no further mess to clean up, he whipped off the old diaper and dropped it into the container alongside the changing table. He found a new diaper on the shelf below, keeping a hand on the kicking baby as he searched. Finally, he opened the diaper, slipped it under her, and fastened it in place. Triumphantly, he looked at her face and saw another smile.

  “That feels better, doesn’t it? I’ll bet you thought I couldn’t do that, didn’t you? Well, I fooled you.” On impulse, he leaned down and nuzzled her face, then remembered his day’s growth of scratchy beard and jerked back. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, punkin?”

  Silently, Alyssa watched him with her big blue eyes.

  “Guess not.” Working quickly now, more confident, he put her sleeper back together before picking her up. He couldn’t help noticing how much more steadily she held her head now that she was nearly four months old. “You’re getting so big,” he told her.

  The problem now was that she didn’t look sleepy at all. “Listen, kid, it’s sleepy-bye time.” He laid her down on her back in her crib, but no sooner had he let go than she rolled over and lifted her head, looking at him, her lower lip trembling.

  Hands on hips, he stared at her. “Look, you’re dry, not hungry, and it’s nighttime. You need to put your head down and go to sleep, all right?”

  Good thing no one was here listening to him trying to reason with a baby, Jack thought sheepishly. That was when he spotted her pacifier in the corner of her bed. He stuck it in her mouth and immediately she began to suck away.

  But her head was still raised and her eyes still on him.

  “What else do you want, hmm? Listen, you’ll be fine. Get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.” He started toward the door and had gone only two steps when he heard her cry out. Turning around, he saw the pacifier had dropped to the sheet and Alyssa’s little face was so sad, her lower lip quivering pitifully.

  That got to him.

  “Oh, all right,” Jack said, giving in, “you win. But only for a little while.” He picked her up, stuck the pacifier in her mouth and sat in the rocker.

  Arranging her comfortably in the crook of his arm, he rocked gently, watching her watching him. “You’re getting spoiled, you know that? You think you can stick out that lower lip, flash those big blue eyes and men are going to fall at your feet to do your bidding, eh?” He smiled, then laughed out loud when she smiled around the pacifier. “You’re going to be a heartbreaker, all right.”

  Jack settled back, slowly rocking and humming softly, unaware of the tender picture he and Alyssa made.

  But Rachel, standing just outside the bedroom doorway, saw it, saw the two people who owned her heart together, the big man and the tiny baby, and her eyes grew moist. Hadn’t she known underneath all the macho talk and protests that Jack was an old softie?

  Instinctively knowing he wouldn’t want to be caught talking and humming to a baby, she backed away and returned to bed, her emotions churning.

>   Jack sat across from Sloan, who was seated at his desk in the sheriff’s office, and knew his frustration probably showed. “I can’t believe that not a single person would talk to me, really talk to me, on the res. Someone there has to know something. The father of Christina’s baby is there, I just know it. But who the hell is he?”

  Sloan understood Jack’s disappointment and his impatience about solving Christina’s murder. Earlier, Jack had told him he’d always “gotten his man.” Yet here, everywhere he turned he ran into another dead end.

  “I’d apologize if I hadn’t warned you they wouldn’t open up.”

  “But I was with you and I could tell they respect you. And still, I could have been talking to that wall over there. They looked right through me and said they knew nothing about a baby who’d been raised by a Native American father for the past three months, not now, not ever.”

  “Jack, you were with the L.A.P.D. for years and then investigating on your own for more years. You know as well as I that some cases take a long time, years even to get that break needed to solve them.”

  “Yeah, well, I can usually get someone to open up. I’ve been here nearly a month, on and off. Not even a slim lead.”

  “Maybe they were telling the truth,” Sloan suggested, “and they really don’t know anything.”

  “Come on. You saw Alyssa. You know she’s got Native American blood. They did a DNA workup on her. She’s a match with Christina. Therefore, Christina and this Native American mystery man are her parents.”

  “Yeah, but maybe the guy doesn’t live on the res. You have to realize that Native Americans, both male and female, have intermarried in Montana for generations. More recently than in the early years when Indians were shunned by the Whites.” He smiled, his handsome face mischievous. “That happened after you-all realized Indians weren’t some sort of weird species.”

  “Hey, man, don’t tie me in with those bigots. I’m from California. We have so many intermarrying nationalities there I doubt there’s a purebred in the whole state. And frankly, I think the country’s a better place for it. But you and I will never convince the Ellis Montgomerys of the world.”

  Sloan nodded in agreement. “I know you’re right and I wasn’t lumping you in with Ellis, I assure you. I’m merely pointing out that this guy could be anywhere. He could even have been someone passing through town and is long gone. I wouldn’t say this to Rachel, but Christina had hordes of men friends and she wasn’t fussy who or what they were. For years I watched her methodically ruin her life and I wondered why.”

  Jack crossed his long legs. “After getting to know Rachel, I think I could make a decent guess. Their mother was an uptight society wanna-be, and Ellis was an absentee father. Max went his own way, and Rachel just wanted to get out. That left Christina, young and with no support, to cope as best she could. Turns out she couldn’t cope well at all.”

  Jack felt he hadn’t revealed any confidences or secrets since most everyone in town knew the Montgomery background and history.

  “You’re probably right and it’s a shame. I suppose Rachel’s beating herself up over leaving Christina, now that she’s dead. She’s the kind who cares too much.”

  “Yes, she is and probably always will. I try to tell her that she was young when she left and had to look out for Number One or she’d have been dragged down by that dysfunctional family, too, but naturally, she doesn’t buy it. Hell, most of us come from a dysfunctional family. All we can do is the best we can do.”

  “Amen to that. And speaking of beating yourself up, you shouldn’t feel like you’ve failed in this case. The baby’s found and with her aunt who undoubtedly loves her. That’s the most important thing. As far as Christina’s murderer goes, one day someone will say something someone else will overhear, or someone’s conscience will get too heavy and they’ll talk to us. Murder is damn difficult to put on the back burner forever, unless the killer is a sociopath.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Don’t be. Get on with your life. You’ve done all you can here. If you need to go back to L.A., be assured that I’ll call you the minute something breaks.”

  “Yeah, right.” There it was, permission to leave. Wasn’t that what he’d been after when he’d come to see Sloan? That way, he could in all honesty tell Rachel that there was nothing further he could do on her case at the moment, that Christina’s murder investigation had been placed in the Open and Pending file by the sheriff’s department. If he stayed all he’d be doing would be spinning his wheels.

  Yet he sat there, silent, thoughtful.

  Tossing down the pen he’d been rolling between his fingers, Sloan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jack. “What is it, Jack?” he asked quietly. “Something bothering you besides this case?”

  Jack scraped a hand over his face, then shook his head. “No, don’t mind me. One of those days, you know.” He gave Sloan a halfhearted smile before rising.

  “So, are you going back to L.A.?” Sloan asked.

  “Soon, my friend. Real soon.” With a wave, Jack headed out the door.

  Outside, back in the Lincoln, he found himself frowning. He hated feeling as he did, wanting to stay, needing to go. Yet every minute he remained, he was getting in deeper and deeper.

  Hands on the steering wheel, he bowed his head. Rachel had said she loved him. Thirty-five years he’d lived and no woman had ever said those words to him, outside of Gina and probably his mother, years ago when he’d been a boy. Didn’t everyone want to be loved? Novels, books, poetry, songs—they all said that love was the answer. So what, then, was his problem?

  Here in the silent privacy of his car, he could admit to his problem. He was scared. Scared he’d wind up next year, the year after or the one after that, becoming bored, easily irritated, restless. And he’d move on, as his father before him had done. The Henderson men weren’t big on commitment, on follow-through. Rachel deserved better.

  He sighed heavily, trying to be honest with himself. He’d been so sure no woman could ever keep him interested for long. Little did Rachel know that she held the record on that score, a record he wasn’t necessarily proud of. There was a lack in him, some missing gene or chromosome. She’d come the closest to domesticating him, to getting him to actually enjoy family things, but who knew how long that would last?

  And he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Love had to be life’s greatest mystery. He’d never spoken those three little words out loud, always figuring with Gina, who was probably the only person he’d ever truly loved, that his actions spoke his feelings louder than anything he could say. Gina knew he cared, had always known.

  But Rachel was another story.

  She’d had a lonely childhood and hadn’t fared much better since. She deserved some stand-up guy who’d want the whole nine yards—marriage, the house and lots of children, the forever scene. He would even admit that several times over the past few weeks, he’d been happy spending time around the cabin, painting Alyssa’s room, drying dishes while Rachel washed, sitting by the fire with her and simply talking. But he knew that wouldn’t last, not with him.

  Then there was Alyssa. That baby was adorable. Who wouldn’t be taken with her? She wasn’t fussy, rarely cried, and when he’d held her the other night and rocked her, Jack had felt overwhelmingly protective. Watching Rachel with Alyssa, he couldn’t help thinking she should have a whole passel of kids. He just wasn’t the man who’d give them to her.

  Jack started the car and left the parking lot adjacent to the sheriff’s office. She’d find Mr. Right one day, he told himself. She was young, only twenty-seven. Some lucky guy would come along and—

  He felt his stomach clench at the thought of some other man touching that satin skin, hearing that funny little catch in her throat when she was nervous, seeing her eyes grow dark and luminous when he made love to her. Unbidden, his right hand formed a fist and he wanted to hit something hard. How many times would similar scenarios pla
y on the screen of his mind after he left her?

  His punishment, Jack thought, gritting his teeth. Because already, he would hurt her by leaving, by having stayed too long. She wouldn’t love easily, wouldn’t say it unless she meant it. So now his leaving would tear her apart and add to her sadness.

  It couldn’t be helped, he decided. Better now than later when she cared even more. At least she’d have Alyssa to fill her hours. Until she, too, would be taken away by her father returning.

  Damn!

  Cruising down Main Street, he spotted a shop. One more day till Christmas, he realized. He’d be the dirtiest of dogs if he left on Christmas Eve. Pulling the Lincoln to the curb, he decided he’d find gifts for Rachel and Alyssa. Something to remember him by.

  Getting out of the car, Jack noticed that his vision was blurred, something that rarely happened to him. Wiping at his eyes, he went inside.

  Alyssa was laughing as Rachel played peekaboo with her. With her face so close to the baby’s, Alyssa reached out and grabbed her aunt’s hands, as if to pull them down. Rachel played along and Alyssa laughed again.

  Hearing a car approaching, Rachel got up to look out the window. She saw Jack park and go around to the trunk, hauling out package after package. Her heart light, she flew to the door.

  “It looks like you’ve been to see Santa,” she said as he stepped onto the porch.

  “Yeah, the old guy’s feeling generous this year.” He bent to kiss her, then strode inside with his bundles, dumping them on the couch. You can do it, he told himself. You can give these two a good Christmas before you go.

  “Hi, punkin,” he called out to Alyssa who was now on her tummy on a blanket on the floor, her little head raised, her big blue eyes watching him, a grin on her face. “Hey, I think she recognizes me.”

  “Of course she does.” Rachel took his jacket and hung it up.

  Jack paused, gazing at the pile of packages under the tree. “Looks like Santa’s already been here.”