Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (45 page)

“That's right,” Chandra said. “I want you to draw up the necessary papers and file whatever petitions are necessary. I want that child for my own.”

Roy shook his head. “Whoa, darlin', aren't you gettin' the cart before the horse? You don't even know that baby won't be claimed. Hell, it's only been a few days.”

“And any mother worth her salt would never have left J.D. in the first place.”

“J.D.? You've already got a name for him?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. She was on her feet, pacing in front of Roy's red-oak desk, a bundle of restless energy.

“As your lawyer, I'd advise you to take this slow,” he drawled, licking his lips and staring up at her with worried eyes.

“I don't want to take it slow. In fact, the sooner we can get the child, the better.”

“It's not that easy. You're not dealing with a private adoption, you know. The state's gonna have to get involved. Social Services. And there may be other people—the child's kin or just some couples anxious for a child of their own—who might want him.”

“Who? If the boy had any family, surely they would've come forward.”

“If they knew about him. And even if not…” He reached behind him to a stack of newspapers, unfolded one and searched until he'd found the section he wanted. With a rustle of paper, he snapped the page open, pressed the newsprint onto his desk and pointed a long finger at the personals column. “Take a look-see.”

Chandra swept her gaze over the advertisements:

ADOPT—Loving couple awaits your newborn. Expenses paid. Contact our attorney…

ADOPTION—Dear Birthmother: Professional couple willing to give your newborn love and affection. Expenses paid. Secure future for your child with all the opportunities you'd hoped for. Contact the law firm of…

LOVING ARMS WAITING TO ADOPT…

CHICAGO COUPLE WILLING TO ADOPT YOUR NEWBORN…

WANTED TO LOVE: YOUR NEWBORN…

There were more. Lots more. The requests for babies filled two columns. Chandra felt her knees go weak. She sank into one of Roy's overstuffed leather chairs positioned near the desk and let the breath out of her lungs at the thought of the uphill battle that was before her.

“This is just one paper, from Denver. Ads like this appear in newspapers all over the country. Sterile couples want babies. I have three clients myself who are interested in private adoption. But you know this—it isn't new to you. You worked with kids, and in a hospital.”

Of course she knew the facts, but she'd been hiding from them, unwilling to accept the reality that someone else might want her baby. And that was how she'd come to think of J.D.: as hers.

“There's something else you might consider,” Roy said, refolding the paper and speaking to her in a kindly voice that reminded her of her own father. “When the judge grants someone custody of the child, he'll probably award that custody to a married couple.”

“But—”

Roy held up a flat hand. “I know, I know, single person's rights and all that baloney. But you can argue till you're blue in the face, I'm just tellin' you the facts. A married couple—a
stable
married couple—with a house and a few dollars in the bank to provide security for the baby will have the best shot at adopting B.J.”

“J.D.,” she corrected automatically. “I think I'd do a damned good job as a mother.”

“And a father?”

“Yes, and a father!” she argued. “Look at my job, for crying out loud!”

“Being a father takes more than a job,” Roy said calmly, reminding her without words that he and his wife had raised five children. “It's a way of thinking—the male
perspective. And there's the most obvious reason for placing a child with a couple.”

“Which is?” she asked, knowing and dreading the answer.

“That if one of the parents dies, the kid's got a backup. He won't be orphaned again.”

Chandra's shoulders slumped. She couldn't argue against that simple logic, and yet, she told herself, if she gave up now, didn't even fight for custody, she'd always look over her shoulder and wonder if she'd made a mistake. “I don't care what the odds are, Roy,” she said, slowly lifting her gaze to meet the questions in his. “I want you to do everything in your power to see that I adopt J.D.”

“And you—are you willin' to do the same?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Then, if I might make a suggestion,” he said, his lips twitching a little, “you might want to find yourself a husband. It'll increase our odds of winnin'.”

“Got anyone in mind?” She threw the words back at him, in no mood for jokes.

“That's your department. I'll do my bit—you do yours.”

“I won't get married,” she said, shoving herself upright.

“No hot prospects?”

Unbidden, a picture of Dallas O'Rourke formed in her mind, a picture she quickly shoved aside. “No,” Chandra replied with a wry smile, “no prospects whatsoever.”

“Then you'd better start prayin',” Roy advised, “'cause without a little help from the man upstairs, I don't think you've got a ghost of a chance.”

“Try, Roy, okay? Just try.”

“I'll do my best. You know,” he said with an ingratiating grin, “I always aim to please.”

Chandra left the attorney's office with her spirits dragging on the concrete sidewalk that flanked the building. She spent the next few hours at the office of Wild West
Expeditions planning a day trip for the following weekend. When Rick asked her about her trip with Dr. O'Rourke, she didn't go into much detail, deciding the less said on the subject of Dallas, the better.

For the next few days, Chandra went about her life. She stopped by the hospital on the way to work, then again before she went home. Even the days on which she led a trail ride or guided a rafting excursion, she found time to spend a couple of minutes staring at the baby.

Every day she expected him to be released, but the doctors at the hospital were taking no chances. J.D. had come into the hospital dehydrated and undernourished, as well as jaundiced, and the swelling in his little head was still apparent, though only slightly.

Soon, however, he'd have to leave.

* * *

D
ALLAS WANTED NO PART
of the baby. Or so he told himself. Getting involved with the infant was as dangerous as falling for Chandra Hill. Yet, even he was intrigued by the infant with the dark eyes, lusty voice and shock of black hair.

No wonder Chandra wanted to adopt him. Had circumstances been different, Dallas would have been interested in the boy himself. But, of course, he had no room for a child in his life—a child or a woman. And this baby, whoever he was, had parents out there somewhere. Sooner or later, they'd show up, either together or alone, but someday a woman would claim to be J.D.'s mother.

“And then what are we going to do?” he asked the baby as he rubbed a large hand over his tiny ribs. The infant stared up at him with those eyes that reached right into Dallas's soul. The doctor knew what it was like to be unwanted and unloved, and he pitied this poor child.

It would be a blessing if Chandra were allowed to adopt him, Dallas thought; at least, then J.D. would know
a mother's love. He wrapped the baby back in his blanket, and rather than kiss the downy head, Dallas patted the little bottom. “You're gonna be okay,” Dallas assured him, though he wished he could predict the baby's future. As well as his own. He hadn't seen Chandra all day, and he'd made excuses to show up in pediatrics hoping for a glimpse of her.

Deciding he was hopeless, he headed back to the emergency room.

* * *

C
HANDRA DID EVERYTHING
possible to assure herself the best chances of adopting J.D. She filled out all the appropriate papers and even began interviewing baby-sitters. She wanted all her ducks in line before she talked to Social Services.

In the meantime, Roy Arnette assured her he was doing everything possible to petition the court for guardianship. Aside from having Chandra fill out forms and sign statements, he'd begun collecting personal references from her friends and acquaintances, even checked on her parents in Idaho, since she knew few people in Ranger. In fact, she was beginning to feel that the hospital staff, particularly the nurses on the pediatric floor, were fast becoming the best friends she had in town.

Even Dr. O'Rourke was more than an acquaintance. She'd seen him several times at the hospital, and for the most part he'd been friendly, though professional. Never once had the rafting trip been mentioned between them. And, if O'Rourke remembered the passion that had burned so brightly for a few magical hours, he didn't show it. Once she'd thought he'd been staring at her, but that flicker of interest she'd seen, or hoped to see, in his eyes was quickly replaced by the cool exterior that had earned him the name Dr. Ice.

“No woman has ever gotten through to him,” Shannon
Pratt had divulged once when she and Chandra were sharing a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. “I remember when he came here, several of the single nurses zeroed in on him.” She'd smiled at the memory. “Every one of them struck out. And these gals were big leaguers. He wasn't the least bit interested.”

Chandra had stared at the bottom of her cup, wishing she could confide in Shannon, but unable to bring up the rafting trip. What had occurred between Dallas and her had been special. “Surely the man must have dated someone.”

“Not that I know of. Rumor has it that he was burned badly by his ex-wife.” Shannon had finished her coffee. “Believe me, if there were a way to that man's heart, no one's found it yet. And the best have tried.”

Now, two days after Shannon's revelation about Dallas, Chandra stopped by the hospital again. Gathering all her courage, she dropped by Dallas's office, hoping to see him, but his receptionist told her that he wasn't available.

In the pediatrics wing, Leslie Nelson was off duty, but Shannon was stationed at the second-floor desk. She let Chandra hold J.D., and once again Chandra's heart wrapped possessively around this little boy. “It's going to be all right,” she whispered into his cap of dark hair. “We're going to work this out.”

Eventually, she gave the baby back to Shannon, who suggested Chandra drop by at feeding time so that she could give J.D. his bottle. Chandra asked a few questions, but was told that, as far as Shannon or any of the nursing staff of the hospital knew, no one had yet found the mother.

From the hospital, Chandra called the Sheriff's Department and was eventually connected with Deputy White, who informed her that there was nothing new on the case. No one, it seemed, was missing an infant. All the
hospitals in a three-hundred-mile radius had been contacted, and no babies had been stolen from the nurseries. It was as if J.D.'s mother didn't exist.

“Nobody just leaves a baby in a barn,” Chandra told herself as she walked through the breezeway connecting the parking lot to the hospital. Of their own accord, her eyes swept the staff lot, but Dr. O'Rourke's truck wasn't tucked into any of the parking spots reserved for hospital physicians, and she chided herself for looking.

* * *

“O
H, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD
!” Chandra felt like cursing when, two hours later, she drove down the lane to her house. A tan station wagon was parked near the back porch, and the driver, sitting and smoking, was Bob Fillmore from the
Banner.
Blast it all, she should've known he wouldn't give up. One little article wasn't enough.

Sam, teeth bared, black lips snarling fiendishly, paced by the vehicle. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and every time Fillmore moved, Sam lunged at the car, barking ferociously.

Just what I need,
Chandra thought, bracing herself, though the retriever's antics amused her. Sam yipped excitedly as she parked her rig near the back porch.

Knowing that she couldn't duck the reporters forever, she decided to tell everything she knew to Fillmore, hopefully ending any interest the press could have in her.

“Slow day for news?” she asked, hopping out of the truck and forcing a smile she didn't feel. “Sam, down!” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground at her feet. Sam reluctantly trotted over and lay by her side, his steady gaze never leaving the car.

“That animal should be locked up!” Fillmore tossed his cigarette butt onto the gravel as he crawled out of his car, but his eyes never left the retriever. “I thought he was going to tear me limb from limb.”

“That's the general idea,” Chandra said.

Suddenly, the reporter was all business. “Back to your question—about the news? Seems that most of the news is right in your backyard these days. I didn't get much of an interview at the hospital. And the Sheriff's Department hasn't been overly helpful. I thought you could fill in a few of the holes in my story.” As if he read denial forming on her lips, he continued, “Look, you're the only one who knows exactly what happened, and I just want to get this story right. The kid's parents may be looking for him right now. He could've been stolen, right? You might be doing them and the baby a big favor….” He let his sentence trail off, implying that there might be a big reward for finding the child. As if money were the answer.

Her stomach lurched and a bad taste filled her mouth. The dislike she'd felt for Bob Fillmore grew more intense. “I just want to do right by the child,” Chandra said in the same confidential tone he'd used with her, “and I don't want to interfere with the investigation by the Sheriff's Department.” She said nothing about wanting to become the baby's mother. Right now, a statement to that effect would have the same result as spraying gasoline on a slow-burning fire. Fillmore's interest in the story—and in Chandra herself—would definitely heat up. Time enough for that later.