“Maybe. But Shaye says it depends on the circumstances. It’s not like she abandoned her in a dumpster or in a cold alley. I’m racking my brain to figure out who might have known me and why they would have left the baby with me. I’ve met a lot of unwed mothers.”
“How so?” He took a long swallow of coffee.
“I’m a nurse practitioner, and I specialize in obstetrics. I help set up programs for unwed mothers.”
“In Wild Horse Junction?”
“All over the state.”
After he seemed to absorb that information, he stood. “There’s not much here to go on.”
Gwen wasn’t ready for this meeting with him to be over. Because of Amy. Because… Simply because. “I read you’re good at what you do. I know you can find her.”
“Miss Langworthy—”
“Gwen,” she corrected him, forestalling him, not wanting him to tell her he wouldn’t take the case. “I’ll pay you,” she hurried on. “I’ll pay you somehow, whatever you charge. This little girl deserves to know who her mother is. She deserves to know why her mother left her with me. If she goes through life always wondering—” Gwen stopped abruptly.
Rounding the table, Garrett Maxwell stood close by her side. “What will that do to her?” His eyes were suddenly compassionate.
“It will make her unsure of who she is and where she came from. And who she might become,” Gwen murmured, unwilling to reveal too much.
“We’re not talking about Baby Amy now, are we?” The question was rhetorical, and he was trying to make a point.
Looking him squarely in the eyes, Gwen answered, “We’re talking about any child who doesn’t know his or her roots.”
Neither of them looked away. The moment palpitated with Gwen’s passion for the search along with man-woman awareness.
Finally Gwen asked, “Will you help me find Amy’s mother?” That was the bottom line for her and all that mattered.
“I usually search for children, not parents.”
There was steel in his tone, and she had the feeling he didn’t change his mind once he made a decision.
“Can you make an exception?”
Time ticked by in interminable seconds until he assured her, “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
Her stomach sank and she stood. Pulling a business card from her pocket, she laid it on the table. “When?” she asked, aware of the we’ll-get-back-to-you line and professionals who never did.
“You need an answer soon because you’re going to find a P.I. to do this if I won’t?” he guessed.
“Exactly. I don’t give up easily, Mr. Maxwell. And I don’t have much time.”
After a few more beats of studying her, he muttered, “I guess you don’t. I’ll call you tomorrow evening with my answer.”
They were close enough to touch…close enough to breathe the same breakfast-nook air…close enough that his scent—male mixed with outdoors—was a potent fantasy generator. But Gwen didn’t indulge in fantasies anymore—not since her last vestige of trust in men had been crushed.
Garrett Maxwell’s words were an obvious dismissal. When he motioned toward the front of the house and said, “I’ll walk you out,” she went that way, illogically curious about how this enigmatic man lived.
She didn’t have time to take in every nuance, but she did spot the hall that must have led to downstairs bedrooms, the loft with a Native American blanket hanging over the railing, the stone fireplace.
At his front door now, she extended her hand to him again. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Maxwell.”
This time he took her hand and when palm met palm, she felt a jolt of attraction that was so electric her breath caught. If she had to say how long their hands were clasped, there was no way she could. Ten seconds…twenty minutes…a half hour. There was no time, only the deep gray of Garrett Maxwell’s eyes, the heat of his skin against hers. It was a moment she’d remember for a long time to come.
Suddenly he dropped his hand, and she turned to the cooler outside air so he wouldn’t see the heat burning her cheeks. She didn’t know whether to hope Garrett Maxwell took the case or didn’t. Yet she knew if he did, he’d find Amy’s mother.
Chapter Two
Garrett stared through the glass window of the hospital nursery at Baby Amy, and a lead stone turned in his gut. If everything had gone as planned, he would have been the father of a five-year-old right now. But everything hadn’t gone as planned. Cheryl had miscarried and blamed him. His divorce had made him rethink his work and his life and that’s how he’d ended up back in Wild Horse Junction, Wyoming.
Why this baby had brought up the past, he didn’t know. Maybe simply because she was a baby. It was a good reason to stay away from her and the case. An even better reason was his adrenaline-rush attraction to Gwen Langworthy. Okay, so maybe his hammering had made her approach inaudible. But nobody had ever snuck up on him like that before without his gut alerting him. On top of that, he’d been so rattled he’d let her follow him to the house. He always covered his tail. He never let anyone get behind him.
Old habits died hard.
As a nurse exited the nursery, Garrett approached her. Her name tag read Dianne Spagnola, R.N. Her gaze ran over his black jeans and snap-button shirt.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m working on the Baby Amy case with the sheriff’s department.” He and the sheriff weren’t working on it together, but they were both working on it. “How’s she doing?”
“I can’t give out any information,” the nurse said solemnly, “Not to anyone without written authorization.”
Regulations and security were much tighter than they used to be. That was a good thing.
He motioned to the little girl. “She looks healthy, and she’s not in isolation. From what I understand, she’s waiting for a family. Gwen Langworthy told me that. You know, the woman who found her?”
The woman’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “You know Gwen?”
He nodded.
“Amy’s doing okay, eating better than she was. She needs a home.”
“Can you tell me what happened to the clothes she was wearing when she was brought in?”
“Clothes?” the nurse asked, looking puzzled.
“Gwen told me she was wearing a playsuit with a sweater and hat.” She had on one of those suits now, but it was pink, not yellow. “I wondered about the sweater and hat and the blanket she was wrapped in.”
The nurse thought about it. “They might be in one of the storage closets.”
If he took the case, he’d analyze them. If he took the case, he’d need to know the baby’s blood type and whatever else her medical records could tell him. That would require a trip to the sheriff’s office and legal maneuvering, or help behind the scenes.
If he took the case.
Handing Nurse Spagnola his business card, he asked, “Can you give me a call on my cell phone if you find the clothes? I’ll be around town and can stop back.”
The nurse checked his card and nodded.
Thanking her, he headed toward the elevator. Good old-fashioned footwork paid off in a town the size of Wild Horse Junction. He’d investigate a little more, then make up his mind.
Would she ever be a mom? Did she really believe a child needed two loving parents?
On Sunday morning after church, Gwen drove straight to the hospital to visit Baby Amy. It was simple and complicated at the same time. She considered herself a progressive woman. Yet she was discovering day by day she had very traditional values. On one hand, what if she never married? Why should she deny herself motherhood because a man didn’t fit into her life…or she didn’t fit into his? On the other hand, a picket fence and a partner for life was her deepest dream.
She’d stopped in to see Amy every day since the baby had been deserted and, in spite of herself, Gwen felt a huge connection to the infant. When she held her and fed her and rocked her, she longed for her own baby as well as an ideal home for this one.
Dianne Spagnola looked up. “Gwen, do you know a Garrett Maxwell?”
“I know who he is,” she answered. “Why?”
“Because he was here asking questions and gave me the impression he was working with the sheriff’s department. After he left, I wondered if I should have told him anything.”
Working with the sheriff’s department. Her heart sped up with hope that he was going to take her case. “I asked him to help me find Amy’s mother. He’s on the level. How long ago was he here?”
“About ten minutes.”
Maybe he was going to make up his mind before this evening. “Do you know which way he was headed?”
“He wanted me to see if I could find the clothes Amy was wearing when she was brought in. He gave me a card and told me to call his cell phone number. He said he’d be around town and he could stop back if I found them.”
Around town. Wild Horse Junction wasn’t that big. Maybe she could spot his SUV. It was huge and black and stark. She’d seen it in his driveway. There had been a decal on his side back window, a triangle with a small plane in its center. She’d wondered at the time if he belonged to some kind of club.
“I think I’m going to try to track him down.” She gave Dianne a smile. “I’ll be back to rock Amy in a little while.”
“On our breaks, we give her as much attention as we can, but I think she likes you best.”
After a quick goodbye, Gwen headed for the parking garage.
In her van, she decided to start with the main road in town, Wild Horse Way. As she drove south, she checked out the parking lots at the grocery store, restaurants and many shops that lined the street, catering to tourists—Flutes and Drums gallery, the Saddle Shop, the Turquoise Emporium. At the edge of town at a gas station combined with a convenience store, she spotted a black SUV. It looked like Garrett Maxwell’s.
She pulled up beside it and saw the decal on the window. Pay dirt. After she pocketed her keys and picked up her purse, her heart raced faster and she told herself the increase was simply because she was anxious about him taking the case.
However, when she opened the door to the convenience store and saw him standing at the counter with the cashier, her attraction to him slammed into her full force. She’d always liked tall men, and he was definitely tall. He looked dangerous and sexy and she knew she should run in the other direction. But she needed his professional skill right now and she was going to get it if she could.
When he saw her, there was no simple “hello.”
“This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” he asked, brows raised.
She gave him a quick smile. “No. I went to the hospital.”
“And?”
“And Dianne said you were asking questions and would be around town. Are you taking the case?”
“I’m still deciding.” He turned his attention once again to the cashier. “So you don’t remember a young couple?” he asked the teenager as if the boy had already said he didn’t.
“Nope,” the boy responded. “Who are you anyway? A cop?”
Not caring what Garrett Maxwell thought, Gwen interrupted, “Hi, Reuben. We met at the high school at the beginning of the month when I spoke to the senior class. You helped me with the screen in the auditorium.”
The boy looked at her. “I remember. Ms. Langworthy, right?”
“Right. Reuben, do you remember a story in the paper about a baby that was found?”
“I don’t read the paper much but my folks were talking about it.”
“We’re looking for that baby’s mom.”
“So you can arrest her?” he asked warily.
“No, we’re not law enforcement. We want to find her so we can help her.”
Although the teenager looked unsure for a few moments, he stared at Gwen and seemed to decide that she was sincere. Still he asked, “Help her, how?”
“We need to know why she left her baby.” More times than Gwen could count she’d wondered about her own real mother. How young had she been? How rich or poor? Had there been no one to help her or had she simply not cared enough to keep a child? Had she shirked responsibility or simply been unable to accept it?
Shaking off those questions, she went on, “If she wants to give the baby up for adoption, that’s fine. But we want to make sure she has the information she needs to make that decision. And if she really does want to be a mom, but needs help, we need to know that, too.”
His gaze went to Garrett, then back to her. “Yeah, I guess you do. I don’t know anything for sure.”
“But you know something?” Gwen asked gently.
“Maybe. I was working Monday night. I only work Monday, Wednesday and Sunday. Anyway, this guy and his girl came in. The girl, she bought acetaminophen and those…those pads girls wear when they get their period. I remember her because she didn’t look so good, really white, like she was going to pass out or something. When they left, the guy had his arm around her. You know, holding her up a little.”
Garrett’s gaze met Gwen’s. Monday night was the night she’d found Amy, and this couple sounded like “the” couple.
“Can you describe them for me?” Garrett asked.
After hesitating a few moments, Reuben finally said, “She had long brown hair. He was a blonde.”
“Did you notice what kind of car they were driving?” Garrett inquired.
The boy shrugged. “It chugged pretty much when the guy started it. I looked outside. It was a brown pickup truck—small, pretty battered up.”
“Anything identifiable on it?” Garrett asked.
“Nah. I didn’t see it up close.”
“Which way did they go?”
“They headed north.”
When Gwen exchanged a look with Garrett, he handed Reuben a business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call, okay?”
The teenager nodded, and Garrett motioned for Gwen to go outside.
Next to a vending machine, she stopped. Garrett did, too, but he remained silent.
Facing him, her arm brushed his. As a buzz of attraction hummed between them, she asked, “That’s our couple, don’t you think? What do we do next?”
“What do you mean—what do we do next?” he asked warily. “You do whatever you do on Sundays and I’ll continue what I’m doing.”
Maybe he was a loner, but two heads were better than one. “Are you going to take the case?”
Though the nerve in his jaw worked, his tone was even. “I’m just doing some preliminary work to find out if there’s a reason to take the case.”
“You only search for someone when you know you’ll be successful?” she challenged him.
His splayed fingers ran through his hair as if he were frustrated with her beyond measure. “No, of course not.”
“Then, Mr. Maxwell, why is this such a hard decision to make?”
Although his penetrating stare might have made a lesser woman crumble, she didn’t crumble, not even under the appraisal of a tough-guy former FBI agent.
Finally he replied, “It’s a hard decision to make because I’m one person and I have a limited amount of time.”
She certainly understood that. “Did you see Amy?”
His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did. “Yes, I saw her.”
“We can’t let that little girl go through life not knowing who her parents are.”
“We?” he drawled again, his brows arched.
“Mr. Maxwell—” she began.
“It’s Garrett.”
“Garrett,” she repeated, liking the sound of his name on her lips, liking the look of him, not liking the horribly exciting pull she felt toward him. “You wouldn’t have started asking questions if you didn’t want to help me with Amy.”
“I wasn’t getting very far until you came along,” he acknowledged with a bit of chagrin.
“Reuben thought you were a cop. Kids h
is age don’t rat on each other, not to someone in authority.”
“I have a feeling you can get your way with the male species when you ratchet up the charm,” Garrett commented.
How wrong he was about that! She hadn’t had enough charm to keep Mark. Over and over she’d asked herself what she’d lacked…where she’d gone wrong…what need of his she hadn’t satisfied.
“And if charm doesn’t get you what you want, solid determination will,” he went on, not looking happy about it.
“You’ve made this analysis when we’ve been in each other’s company a total of what? Fifteen minutes?”
“Am I wrong?” he fired back.
That he’d pegged her so well in such a short amount of time was unnerving. “No, you’re not wrong, but all my charm and all my determination won’t find Amy’s mother if I don’t know what questions to ask or where to look.”
Blowing out a breath, Garrett gazed in the direction of the Painted Peaks. The blue-shadowed, rust, gray and red mountains chased each other higher on the outskirts of town. “Did you have lunch yet?” he asked.
That question was unexpected. “No, I haven’t.”
“Let’s go to The Silver Dollar, get something to eat and talk about this.”
The hope that he was really going to help her almost made her feel giddy. “All right. That sounds good to me.”
Afraid he’d change his mind, she was starting for her car when he reached out and snagged her arm. There it was again—that snap and crackle of heat.
“Just because we look for Amy’s mom doesn’t mean we’ll find her. More often than not, leads turn into dead ends,” he warned her with the edge of experience in his statement.
“And sometimes, leads turn into other leads,” she protested quietly.
With a shake of his head, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Are you a Pollyanna?”
Because of the way she’d grown up, she was far from that. “No, but I make a conscious decision each morning to look at the brighter side of life and I think that pays off.”
When he dropped his hand to his side, she felt its absence.
“I’ll meet you at The Silver Dollar,” he said gruffly, then stepped down off the curb and climbed into his SUV. After waiting for her to start up her van, he followed her.
The Baby Trail (Baby Bonds #2) Page 2