Baby Enchantment

by Pamela Browning

  Mrs. Gray didn’t seem to be in serious pain. Instead, she appeared to be concentrating on the task of bringing her kittens into the world. A second kitten was born almost immediately, and Brooke watched quietly as Mrs. Gray bit through the amniotic sac and briskly washed her baby with her tongue. The new arrival was a gray tabby with a white face, and it made little mewling sounds as its mother first checked it over and then directed it toward its littermate.

  “Good job,” Brooke told her, and she could have sworn that the mother cat smiled briefly before she got back to birthing her third kitten. This one was solid gray and looked almost like its mother. Then, apparently knowing her work was done, the mother cat nosed it toward its siblings and positioned herself so that they could nurse. Finally, she settled back with a contented sigh.

  So this was what the miracle of having babies was all about! This singleness of purpose, this loving concern, and yes, pride in one’s offspring. When she sensed that Mrs. Gray wouldn’t mind, she eased herself up on the bed and stroked the soft gray fur. Mrs. Gray closed her eyes, dozing off for a well-earned nap.

  Brooke lay on the bed beside her, one hand cupping her own slightly convex abdomen. When the time came, she hoped she would give birth as efficiently and uncomplainingly as Mrs. Gray.

  “We’ll be all right, the two of us,” she whispered to her baby-to-be. Suddenly, a new knowledge hit her so hard that she had to close her eyes to absorb it: she wanted this baby. And she loved this baby. She didn’t have to wait until it arrived to feel affection for it. She loved it now. She loved it for what it was, a new human being. She loved it for its potential, for what it would be, for what this new person would mean to others and what it would mean to her.

  Stunned and enlightened by this new knowledge, she got up and wandered through the apartment in a daze. The phone began to ring, and as if in a dream, she picked up the kitchen extension on her way past. She was unprepared for the voice she heard. It was Felice, bringing her back to reality.

  “Brooke? Thank goodness you’re there! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Why don’t you answer your cell phone?”

  “Well, I—um, cell phones don’t work here because Rancho Encantado is surrounded by mountains.” Bringing herself back to the here and now was difficult, and as she did, she remembered yesterday’s scene with Cord in all its miserable detail.

  “I called about Malcolm Jeffords, Brooke. He’s agreed to the interview.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll need the article by the end of the month, so you’d better head back to L.A. right away. There’s no problem, Brooke, I hope.”

  “This comes as a big surprise. I’m not through with my work here. I’m planning a book on the Cedrella Pass incident, and it could be big.”

  “That’s wonderful, but you can return to Rancho Encantado as soon as you’re through with the interview. I’ll tell Jeffords’s manager you’ll be there, okay?”

  “Be where?” Clearly there was no arguing with Felice.

  “At the Jeffords estate in the Hollywood Hills. You’ll have to check in with his security guys—they’ll give you a badge at the gate. I know he’ll be evasive and difficult, but I want you to be sure to ask Jeffords about those monkeys. Like, does he dress them in little clothes? Are they kept in zoo cages? What’s with them, anyway? And of course if you can find out about—”

  Brooke blanked out the rest of Felice’s ramblings. “Look, Felice, I’d better call you back. There’s a lot going on here right now.”

  She barely heard Felice’s outraged squawk as she replaced the phone in its cradle.

  Now was the time to head for the shower and that cry she’d promised herself. Never mind that she could return to Rancho Encantado to finish research for her book or that she knew exactly the direction that the book should take. She didn’t even care that the Malcolm Jeffords piece would give her career a needed boost.

  Everything was going right on the professional front, but her personal life was a mess.

  CORD WAS BUSY for the rest of the day, overseeing the roundup of cattle into livestock pens, but his mind wasn’t on the task. Instead, it was back at Cedrella Pass, remembering the light in Brooke Hollister’s eyes as he reached for her. He would never forget the joy of her expression or the warm and sweet way she had nestled against him, with the storm roaring outside and the fire casting a golden glow across her lovely features. It had felt as if the two of them were all alone in the world, with only each other for comfort in the storm.

  Though the storm had been a bad one, the danger of being caught in it hadn’t fazed Brooke. Somehow, her strength hadn’t surprised him. He was willing to bet that Brooke Hollister would be one tough cookie whenever the going got rough. She’d be a hell of a life partner.

  A life partner. A partner in life. Someone who would stick by you when things got tough, who would be fierce in love and steadfast under fire. In other words, she’d be an ideal wife.

  He didn’t need a wife. He didn’t know why he was speculating about Brooke’s suitability for the job, especially since he was the one who had called a time-out. And he needed space, as he’d said, to mull over the terrible things that a Tyson had done to the people for whom he’d accepted responsibility.

  Suddenly, guiltily, Cord wasn’t thinking of the light in Brooke’s eyes when he had pulled her close or the way they had cuddled all night in the cave. He was recalling how that light had dimmed and gone out when he’d said he needed some space. Now, with the perspective that even such a short time allowed, he couldn’t help cursing himself for a fool because he’d been so detached and preoccupied on the ride back from the caves. He should have told her right then why he was acting that way. He should have explained who he was and why seeing the names of Willis Tyson’s victims written on the wall of the cave had brought forth such feelings of revulsion and self-hate.

  “Hey, boss, you want to close that gate? We’re almost finished here.”

  Cord jerked to attention. “Sure thing, Dusty,” he said hastily. Dusty grinned and shook his head as if to rebuke him for not being on the ball.

  He’d get it over with tonight. He’d knock on Brooke’s door, come clean with her. He’d tell her what he should have revealed in the first place—the rest of the story.

  Unfortunately, it was so late by the time he got back to the stable that he abandoned his plans to see Brooke. The windows of her apartment were shaded and dark, and he figured that she’d been exhausted by the events of yesterday and today. He certainly was.

  He went alone to bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The next morning he woke up and listened for sounds coming through the thin walls from Brooke’s apartment. He didn’t hear any, so he dressed and went out into the stable to saddle Tabasco.

  He was surprised to find Justine waiting for him, striding back and forth and looking impatient.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said pointedly.

  He pulled his saddle down and led Tabasco out of his stall. Justine fell in right behind him.

  “You’re being taken off the Brooke Hollister detail, effective immediately,” Justine said. “Today I want you to spend some time with Pearsall, the new guy, and tell him about our breeding program.”

  Keeping his face expressionless, Cord threw a blanket across Tabasco’s back and settled the saddle upon it. “Oh? Any reason I’m relieved of my job with Brooke?” He couldn’t help wondering if she’d complained about him. Surely he hadn’t given her any reason to do that.

  “Brooke left this morning. She didn’t say when she would be back.”

  Cord was positive that he hadn’t heard Justine correctly. “She what?” His stomach did a dive, turned over.

  “Brooke went back to L.A. She said she had to do an important interview. Oh, and Cord, don’t forget to mention to Pearsall how I have plans for buying more broodmares. I’ll want him to give me some pointers on their selection. Another thing, Mrs. Gray had her kittens last night. I’v
e moved mother and babies to the Big House for a while.” Without waiting for a reply, Justine wheeled and walked out of the stable, her mind clearly on other things after dropping this bombshell on his life.

  Cord stared after Justine as she headed back toward the Big House. He couldn’t believe that Brooke was gone. Worst of all, he couldn’t believe how devastated he was at the news.

  He shut Tabasco in his stall and rushed back to his apartment, where he slammed open the unlocked door to her kitchen. “Brooke? Brooke!” No answer, everything neat. He flung the refrigerator door open, saw that there was no food.

  He went into the living room. Television behind the closed doors of the pie safe, afghan neatly folded on the couch. Computer alcove empty of computer, books and papers. Bed neatly made, no personal items on the nightstand. The bathroom smelled of cleaning spray. Brooke was gone, all right. Good and gone.

  He knew he had hurt her feelings yesterday, and he should have thought things through before saying what he did. But he’d had no idea that she would run out on him like this, none at all.

  She had left before he could tell her about Bucky Tyson. And she had left before he’d told her he loved her.

  AN ENTHUSIASTIC JUSTINE had urged Brooke to take the research materials she’d found at the ranch back to L.A. with her for further study. She’d even promised to stock her book in the gift shop when it was published. Not that Brooke was thinking about the book today. First she had to interview Malcolm Jeffords, then she had to finish her article on Rancho Encantado and after that—well, after that, she’d start work on the book. She’d find a bigger apartment. And she’d get over Cord McCall if it was the last thing she did.

  For now, her concern was the important Jeffords interview. She approached his estate in the Hollywood Hills with a certain amount of trepidation. After all, he was reputed to be difficult.

  A small stone house blocked the way once she passed through a pair of wrought-iron gates, and uniformed security guards emerged from it to write down her license-tag number and issue her a plastic ID card on a chain.

  She left her car in the visitors’ parking area and was driven in a golf cart down a long winding road to the Jeffords mansion. The road led through a grove of trees, and when they emerged, she saw the curve of roller-coaster tracks in the distance. That would be Jeffords’s famous amusement park.

  The mansion was built of honey-gold stone and was impressively large, with gothic windows and a copper roof. Jeffords’s publicist hurried out to meet her and conducted her to the poolside terrace. Jeffords, smiling and attentive, came forward to meet her, swim trunks his only apparel and a monkey clinging to his neck.

  Brooke, remembering the admonition that Jeffords didn’t shake hands because he thought it spread germs, clasped her hands at her waist. She turned down his offer of a chocolate ice-cream soda, saying, “I never drink when I’m working”—a quip that he seemed to find hilarious. Encouraged by this auspicious beginning, she sat down under a table umbrella and turned on her tape recorder, keeping up inconsequent chitchat with Jeffords all the while.

  When she flipped open her notebook, Jeffords focused wide blue eyes on her and grinned. “Anything you want to ask, go ahead,” he said in his trademark gravelly voice. He unselfconsciously took out a mirror and smoothed an eyebrow, then gave the mirror to the monkey, which chattered excitedly and did the same thing.

  Brooke began the interview, easing into the questions that Felice wanted her to ask by talking about Jeffords’s childhood and letting him become more comfortable with her.

  One thing for sure, she reflected as Jeffords began to regale her with stories about his private zoo: this was a long way from Rancho Encantado. A long, long way. Unfortunately, Rancho Encantado was where she’d left her heart.

  CORD WAS BESIDE HIMSELF with regret and worry. He would find her. He had to find her. What if he never saw Brooke again? What if he’d lost her forever?

  For the first time in his life he had met a woman whom he’d consider marrying. He didn’t know if she’d want him. He wasn’t much. But he had to know, damn it. He had to know if she felt the same way about him as he felt about her.

  He called Directory Assistance and found a phone number for Brooke Hollister in Los Angeles. He rang the number, but no one answered.

  Never mind. He’d call again. Again and again and again if necessary.

  AFTER HER INTERVIEW with Malcolm Jeffords, Brooke phoned Felice Aronson, who was on her way home from the Fling office, and suggested dinner. They met at their usual place, and Felice pumped Brooke about her interview with the famous rock star.

  “He seems like a sad little boy,” Brooke said reflectively. “He wants people to like him. The monkeys are his only friends. I’m going to portray him as an innocent, a victim of a lost childhood that he’s trying to recapture by having fun at his own amusement park and keeping monkeys as pets.”

  “So why does he keep so many monkeys?”

  “He sees them as little people who are uncritical and sweet.” She’d ordered chili, but she pushed it away. It didn’t taste nearly as good as the chili that Cord’s friend had made.

  “Oh, brother,” Felice said with a groan.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be a fantastic article. The interview went well.”

  Felice smiled at her. “With you to write it, Brooke, I’m not worried at all. Tell me, how are you doing with the Rancho Encantado piece?”

  “Completed the research. All I have to do is finish writing it. I’ll do that this week.” Would she, though? Even though she didn’t want to admit it to Felice, she was stuck. She’d never figured out what to write after the lead that led nowhere.

  Felice cocked her head and studied Brooke’s face thoughtfully. “You’re looking wonderful, Brooke. The makeover must have agreed with you.”

  “To be honest, Felice, I didn’t have the full makeover. I had a massage with aromatherapy and I tried foot reflexology, but I never made it to the hairdresser or the makeup artist.”

  “You’ve done something to yourself,” Felice said, giving her a quick once-over.

  “I—oh, Felice. I have something to tell you.” There was no avoiding the announcement of her pregnancy any longer, and furthermore, she was eager to tell Felice.

  “O-kay,” Felice said, looking ready to dish.

  “I’m pregnant. And I think I’m in love.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Felice knew about Brooke’s troubles with Leo. She probably didn’t expect her to have found someone else so quickly.

  “No joke. I’m serious.”

  “That was fast work, Brooke. And you already know you’re pregnant?”

  “The baby is Leo’s, and he wants nothing to do with it. I met a man at Rancho Encantado.”

  “What man?”

  “A wonderful one.”

  “When do I get to meet him?” Felice asked.

  “Probably never.” Brooke said the words with as little emotion as possible, but she was still shattered over her experience with Cord. Briefly, she explained what had happened, and when she had finished, Felice looked sad and concerned.

  “I’m sorry, Brooke.”

  Brooke’s eyes filled with tears. “First Leo, now Cord. What am I doing wrong?”

  “Perhaps you pick the wrong guys, that’s all.”

  “Maybe,” but she knew that Cord was right for her. He had all the qualities she wanted in a man. And he was unavailable to her for reasons that she didn’t understand.

  “I’m going to concentrate on having this baby, and I’m also going to write a book,” she told Felice. “Those two things should keep me so busy that I won’t have time to mourn the loss of Cord McCall.” It wouldn’t keep her from loving him, however. She would love him forever, hold the memories of their times together close in her heart.

  “If you ever want to talk, Brooke, I’m always here for you,” Felice said understandingly.

  All Brooke could do was smile through her tears. And pay the check, sinc
e it was her turn.

  ON THE NIGHT that Brooke left, Cord had just hung up after trying to reach her for the umpteenth time, when his phone rang. He clicked it on, hoping that he’d hear Brooke’s voice on the other end. But it wasn’t Brooke; it was Mattie.

  “Cord, I—” She didn’t continue the sentence, and she sounded out of breath.

  He was instantly on alert. “Mattie, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t—can’t seem to catch my breath. My side hurts. I might be having a heart attack. Can you come over here, Cord? I think I need to go to the hospital, but I can’t leave Jonathan.”

  Cord clapped his hat on his head and retrieved his keys from the dresser. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Call 911. I’ll send someone over to look after Jonny and sit with you until they get there.”

  “Okay, Cord.”

  “Phone me back after you’ve called 911, Mattie.”

  “I will.”

  They hung up and he dialed the number of the Stewarts, a family who lived about a mile away. Dinah Stewart was a competent mother of three and a registered nurse; her husband, Gil, was a no-nonsense rancher. One or the other of them could be counted on to go to Jornada Ranch and keep things under control until he arrived.

  Dinah answered the phone, and he rapidly explained the situation to her.

  “Don’t worry,” she said briskly. “I’ll leave right now.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” he told her.

  Cord rocketed out of the parking area in his pickup at breakneck speed, and he paid no attention to speed limits on the way. When he arrived at Jornada Ranch, he was greeted by flashing red-and-blue lights atop an ambulance. He found Mattie lying on a gurney, the center of a small cluster of emergency workers. She grasped Cord’s hand when she saw him. Her grip was weak, but her smile was broad.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said gratefully.

  Dinah appeared in the doorway. “I can take Jonathan to my house, put him to bed with my Ryan. You go with Mattie to the hospital, Cord.”