Switched At Birth

by Christine Rimmer

Chapter One

  Roslyn DuBose switched on the headlights and peered at the navigation map illuminated on the dashboard of her car. Wickenburg, Arizona, was less than three miles away. Surely she could hang on until she reached the small desert town. Pulling off to the side of a dark, lonely highway, even for a short rest, wasn’t a safe option. Not for her, or her unborn baby.

  Gripping the steering wheel, she blinked and hoped the cobwebs in front of her weary eyes would go away. For the past two days she’d driven over a thousand miles and fatigue was beginning to overtake her. Tonight she had no choice but to settle in for a rest. Hopefully when her father read the note she’d left for him back in Fort Worth, he’d understand and not intervene. But Martin DuBose wasn’t an understanding or forgiving man. Sooner or later, he’d come after her.

  Determined, Roslyn drove onward, toward the lights dotting the dark horizon. Until the two-lane highway seemed to be coming at her in undulating waves.

  God help her, she was going to faint!

  The horrifying thought was zipping through her brain at the same time she spotted a brick building with a wide graveled parking area.

  Wheeling the car to a halt beneath the dim glow of a security light, she turned off the engine and reached for a water bottle resting in the cup holder next to her seat.

  Damn. It was empty. When had she downed the last of the water? Winslow? Flagstaff?

  Resting her head against the seat, she splayed a hand upon the large mound where her waist used to be and felt the child moving against the bottom of her rib cage.

  Hang on, little darlin’. In a minute I’ll feel better. Then I’ll find us a nice meal and a soft bed.

  Another kick landed somewhere in the region of her bellybutton and if Roslyn hadn’t been so exhausted she would’ve smiled at the notion of the baby reading her thoughts. For now, she was barely able to muster enough energy to peer beyond the windshield at the sign hanging over the door of the building.

  Hollister Animal Clinic.

  She’d parked in front of a veterinary clinic that appeared to be closed for the night. At least no one was around to accuse her of loitering, she thought, as she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel.

  Just a minute or two more of rest, she promised herself, and then she’d move on.

  * * *

  On a normal day, Chandler Hollister tried to close his veterinarian business at six in the evening. But his days were rarely normal. On most evenings, he went far past seven or even eight at night, performing last-minute surgeries or dealing with emergencies that couldn’t wait until morning. Such was the case tonight.

  The last three hours he’d spent driving to a ranch in a remote corner of Yavapai County, then riding horseback to a rugged arroyo to doctor one cow who’d had difficulty calving. Being the only vet in the area made his job challenging, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

  Now, as he drove the last half mile to Hollister Animal Clinic, he glanced at the digital clock on the truck dashboard. “Eight fifteen. Not too bad considering I’ve been up since four thirty this morning. I might actually get home to Three Rivers before ten tonight.”

  In the seat across from him, Chandler’s young assistant let out a weary groan. “You might be feeling like a stud colt, but I’m dead beat. And we still have the horses to unload and put to bed for the night.”

  Chuckling, Chandler nudged the brim of his gray Stetson back off his forehead. “Trey, you’re thirty years old. Six years younger than me. You should have energy to spare.”

  Trey grunted. “I’m not used to working sixteen hours a day, six days a week, like you are.”

  “You should be getting used to it,” Chandler said wryly. “You’ve done it for the past two years.”

  “Yeah, and what am I getting for it? Besides a paycheck and a continual state of exhaustion?”

  Chandler grinned. “Fulfillment, Trey. You can go home tonight knowing that cow and her little baby are going to be fine.”

  “They won’t be fine if she and the baby can’t climb out of the arroyo. If it rains—”

  Chandler’s laugh interrupted his words. “Rain? Are you kidding? There’s no danger of seeing a drop of it for weeks. Besides, if it did start raining, old Amos would winch the pair out to higher ground.”

  “You’re right. That old man is just like you, he’d try to help a sidewinder if he thought it was sick.”

  “Sometimes snakes need doctoring, too,” Chandler replied.

  The familiar sight of the clinic came into view and Trey promptly scooted to the edge of his seat. “Hey, Doc, a car is parked in front of the building. Sure doesn’t look like it belongs to any of the girls, either.”

  Chandler flipped on the turn signal and steered the truck into the clinic’s parking area. As he peered at the light-colored car parked at an angle to the building, he decided Trey’s assessment was right. There wasn’t a chance the unfamiliar vehicle belonged to any one of his staff.

  “No,” Chandler agreed. “That’s a Jaguar. A fairly new one, at that.”

  Trey whistled under his breath. “Must be Mrs. Whitley with one of her Siamese cats. She’s wealthy enough to drive a Jag. But how would the woman know you’d be back here tonight?”

  “I doubt Mrs. Whitley would splurge on a luxury car. She’s as miserly as her late husband used to be. But she’d win the trophy for showing up after hours.” He drove on past the building and parked the truck and trailer near a maze of sheds and holding pens. “Take the horses on to the barn. I’ll check out the car.”

  Trey opened the door and jumped to the ground. “Guess you’re going to open up and take care of that damn cat.”

  “If need be. Or if you’d rather, I’ll take care of the horses and you can deal with the cat,” Chandler offered with a baiting grin.

  “Oh, hell no. I’ve had enough scratches and bites for this month.”

  “Trey, it’s only the second day of April.”

  “That’s my point, Doc.”

  Chuckling, Chandler left Trey to deal with the horses and walked down a short slope to where the car was parked near the entrance of the clinic. The lights were off, and the tinted windows were up, making it difficult to see whether anyone was inside.

  He rapped his knuckles on the driver’s door and called out, “Hey, anyone in there?”

  Long seconds passed without any response and Chandler was about to decide the car was empty when the window slid down a few inches and he found himself peering into a woman’s wide, wary eyes.

  “The clinic is closed for the night,” Chandler told her. “Do you have an emergency?”

  “Emergency?”

  “An emergency with an animal,” Chandler patiently explained. “Do you have a pet with you in the car?”

  The eyes that had been warily studying him blinked and then the window lowered to reveal a very young woman. “Uh...no. No animal. I, uh, just stopped for a minute—to rest.”

  Frowning, he stepped closer. “Excuse me, miss, but you don’t sound well. Do you need to get out and—”

  Finishing the question would’ve been pointless as she suddenly flopped face-forward onto the steering wheel.

  Recognizing she’d fainted, Chandler jerked on the door handle, only to discover it was locked. Without hesitation, he reached through the open window and released the latch.

  Once the door swung wide, he leaned in and touched her shoulder. When she failed to respond, he felt for a pulse at the base of her neck. The faint, rapid thump wasn’t ideal, but at least her heart was beating.

  Carefully, he eased her head away from the wheel and touched a hand to her face. Beneath his palm, the soft skin felt clammy.

  He was trying to decide whether to call an ambulance or carry her into the clinic, when she suddenly began to rouse.

  “Ooh.” She groaned and looked up at him. “W
here...am I?”

  “You’re in Wickenburg. You’re in your car,” he calmly informed her. “Have you been ill?”

  While Chandler waited for her to answer, his gaze dropped to the very pregnant belly touching the bottom of the steering wheel. Oh, damn. If she was a mare, he’d predict she wasn’t far away from foaling.

  Her brow furrowed with confusion. “No. I haven’t been sick. I’ve been driving for a long time. If I could just trouble you for a drink of water—that’s all I need.”

  He eased her shoulder back against the seat. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chandler hurriedly unlocked the heavy glass door on the front of the building and returned to the car. By then, she was sitting up straight and wiping a hand over her face.

  “Let me help you into the clinic,” he said. “Or if you think the baby is coming, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  The hand on her face instantly fell to her belly. “Oh, I don’t need a hospital. The baby isn’t coming.” She looked up at him. “I—I’m sorry to bother you. I got swimmy-headed and thought I’d better rest before I drove on. I can make it now.”

  Her face was as pale as the moon rising over the distant hill behind him. She wasn’t in any shape to drive ten feet, much less a mile and a half, he decided.

  He extended his hand out to her and ordered, “I’m not so sure. Take my hand and squeeze it.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor. My name is Chandler Hollister and I own this veterinary clinic where you’ve parked.”

  “Oh. You’re an animal doctor.”

  He couldn’t help grinning. “I’ve been known to doctor a few humans from time to time. After all, we’re mostly two-legged animals.”

  “Uh... I suppose.” She hesitated a moment, then finally placed her hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Hollister. I’m Roslyn DuBose.

  Her fingers managed to fold around his, but he likened the touch to the gentle closing of a butterfly’s wings. “Is that the most you can squeeze, Roslyn?”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m rather tired.”

  He didn’t wait for her to say more. He leaned in closer and ordered, “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Listen, Doctor, if this is another of your tests, I’m—”

  “It’s not a test. Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to carry you into the clinic.”

  “Oh, but I can walk,” she protested. “Just give me a hand.”

  “You can walk later. Right now, do as I say.”

  To his relief, she followed his orders and he lifted her out of the car and into his arms.

  As he started toward the clinic with her, Trey came jogging up to them.

  “What the hell, Doc? She’s not a cat!”

  “Far from it,” he told his assistant. “Go down to my office and make sure the couch is cleaned off. This young lady needs a few minutes of rest.”

  “Right. I got it.”

  At the entrance, the tall, lanky blond held the door open long enough for Chandler to step inside with his armload, then he sped down the hallway ahead of them.

  By the time Chandler reached his private office, Trey had cleared the couch of clutter and propped a pillow at one end.

  “Is she about to have the baby?” Trey asked as he stood to one side, watching anxiously as Chandler placed his latest patient on the couch. “Should I call the ambulance?”

  Chandler carefully positioned the pillow beneath her head. “No. And no. Not yet, anyway,” he told Trey. “Right now, I need a bottle of water from the fridge.”

  Trey fetched him the water, then Chandler squatted down at her side, quickly twisted off the lid and tilted the bottle to her lips.

  “Drink, Ms. DuBose,” he prompted. “It will help revive you.”

  She wrapped a hand around the bottle and drank thirstily. Once she had her fill, she said, “I’m so sorry about this. I don’t want to be a bother to either of you.”

  “Don’t worry.” Chandler tried to reassure her with a gentle smile. “We’re used to putting in overtime.”

  She leaned her head back against the pillow and drew in a long breath. “This is all my fault. I’ve been driving all day and haven’t taken a break since I passed through Flagstaff.”

  “You’re trying to get to your destination tonight?” Chandler’s gaze roamed her face. He was an expert at gauging an animal’s accurate age, especially horses. But humans were a different matter. Especially women. If he had to guess Ms. DuBose’s age, the best he could narrow it down to was somewhere between twenty and twenty-five.

  She had warm brown eyes that reminded him of toffee candy. Light brown hair fringed her forehead and waved gently to the tops of her shoulders. At the moment, her dusky pink lips were parted just enough to show the edges of very white teeth. Altogether, she was very lovely.

  “I was only trying to reach Wickenburg tonight,” she answered. “I, uh, planned to stay a couple of days here before I traveled on to... California.”

  She seemed hesitant about adding the last bit of information, but that was understandable, Chandler thought. He and Trey were total strangers to her.

  “Good idea. You obviously need to rest.” He walked over to a row of cabinets and pulled a blood-pressure cuff from a drawer, then plucked a stethoscope from the pocket of a lab coat hanging from a hall tree. “Let me see how you’re ticking and then you might try to eat something.”

  She pointed to the blood-pressure cuff. “That’s the kind you use on people. I must really be disoriented. I thought you said this was an animal clinic.”

  “Don’t worry, miss,” Trey said. “Sometimes folks that bring in their animals keel over themselves. Doc takes care of them, too.”

  Her expression skeptical, she said, “Oh. I guess it’s my good fortune I stopped here.”

  “More like Trey’s good fortune,” Chandler said, as he once again squatted next to the couch and reached for Roslyn’s arm. “He likes rescuing damsels in distress.”

  Trey’s face reddened. “Oh, Doc, that’s not so and you know it.”

  Chandler wrapped the cuff around her slender arm and pumped it tight. She remained quiet as he noted the numbers, but he could feel her gaze wandering over his face.

  He figured he looked like hell to her and smelled even worse. Long before daylight this morning he’d been called out on an emergency and hadn’t taken time to shave. Since then he’d waded through cow and horse manure, tromped through pigpens and bloodied his jeans and shirt while castrating several colts.

  From the looks of Roslyn DuBose, he figured she was accustomed to seeing men in suits and ties and wingtips that never touched anything dirtier than a concrete sidewalk.

  “Do I have a blood pressure, Dr. Hollister?” she asked with dry amusement.

  Her soft voice pulled his attention back to her face. How would she look without the dark smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes and the tension at the corners of her mouth? Something or someone was definitely making her anxious.

  “You do. Although it’s still a little low. The water should help that. Drink all you can.” He hung the stethoscope around his neck and started to rise, but at the last moment changed his mind. “Would you like for me to listen to the baby? Just to make sure he or she isn’t in distress?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d be very grateful.

  He positioned the stethoscope back in his ears and placed the round metal diaphragm against her belly. After listening intently at several different spots, he gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  “Sounds like a healthy girl. Is that what it is?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I wanted to find out the gender the old-fashioned way. But I’ve been calling it a boy. Do you really think it’s a girl?”

  “Well, my brothers say I�
�m an expert at predicting a foal’s gender. But that doesn’t mean you should go out and buy everything in pink.”

  He walked back over to the cabinet to put away the blood-pressure cuff and stethoscope. “Trey, did you see anything in the fridge to eat? The girls usually leave their lunch leftovers.”

  Trey said, “I think there’s a piece of fried chicken and one of those cartons of yogurt. That’s all.”

  “That’s enough.” He glanced over his shoulder to see the woman had relaxed enough to close her eyes. Chandler motioned for Trey to follow him out of the room.

  Out in the hallway, the two men made their way to a stockroom, where medical supplies were stored on shelves and in refrigerators.

  As Chandler rummaged through one of the refrigerators for the food, Trey asked in a hushed voice, “What do you think about her?”

  “She’s going to be okay. As far as I can tell, she’s suffering from dehydration and exhaustion.”

  “No. I don’t mean medically. I mean, what is she doing here? In Wickenburg?”

  Chandler shot him a droll look. “I wouldn’t know that any more than you. From what she says, she’s on her way to California. Frankly, it’s not our business.”

  Trey lifted his straw hat from his head, then plopped it back down as though the action would help him think. “Well, she sure is pretty.”

  “Yeah, she sure is.”

  “Wonder where her husband is. The guy must be an idiot for letting her get on the road in that condition.”

  “I’m not sure she has a husband.”

  Trey eyes widened. “What makes you think that, Doc? Did you ask her?”

  “No. I didn’t ask her. It’s just an assumption. She isn’t wearing a ring.”

  “Maybe that’s because her hands are swollen and the ring is too tight. My sister’s hands stayed puffy when she was pregnant.”

  “Trey, you’re watching too much TV. You’re getting the idea you’re a PI in a cowboy hat.”

  “Oh, shoot, I’m just trying to figure her out,” Trey reasoned. “We don’t ever get anyone like her here at the clinic.”

  Chandler placed the piece of chicken on a paper plate, then found a plastic spoon to go with the carton of yogurt. “I wouldn’t start setting my sights on her, Trey. She’ll be gone in a couple of days.”