Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (59 page)

At the realization that he'd fallen all too willing a victim to love again, Dallas flung one leg over the corner
of his desk and wondered how he could convince Chandra that, with or without the baby, they belonged together….

“Killingsworth Agency,” a female voice cooed over the phone, and Dallas snapped his wandering thoughts back to attention. First, he had to find out about the woman claiming to be the baby's mother; next, he'd deal with his marriage.

* * *

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, Chandra was a nervous wreck. Certainly blood tests couldn't take so long…unless they were testing DNA.

She'd begged Dallas for information, but he claimed he, as a prospective adoptive parent, was being kept as much in the dark as she. It was all she could do not to find Miss Vanwyk and demand answers.

“In due time,” Dallas told her. “You can't risk talking to her now. It might jeopardize our chances of adopting the baby.”

And so she kept away. But the press didn't let up, and Chandra felt as if her life were being examined through a microscope. As was Gayla Vanwyk's. Chandra's life seemed to be a story right out of the most sensational of the tabloids, and she had trouble sleeping at night. Were it not for Dallas's strong arms on which she had come to depend, she doubted she would be getting any rest at all.

As for work, things were slowing down as summer receded into fall. And though Chandra needed to fill her idle days, Rick wouldn't hear any arguments from her. “Listen, you look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in two weeks, and we're not busy, anyway. Until all this hubbub about that kid dies down, you take some time off. Consider it paid vacation or a honeymoon or whatever, but you take all the time you need to put your life in order. Listen to someone who knows what he's talking about—this is free advice, Chan. If I would've spent more time working
things out with Cindy, she'd probably still be here with the kids and I would still be playing Santa Claus instead of getting Christmas cards from St. Louis.”

Never, in the years she'd worked with him, had Chandra heard him complain about the split from the woman who'd borne his children. Though he hadn't married anyone else, hardly even dated, Rick just didn't talk about his past.

Chandra grabbed a rag from behind the register and slapped at a cobweb hanging from the wagon-wheel chandelier. “But I can't just sit around the house and stare at Sam all day,” she protested, frowning as she spotted another dangling string of dust.

“Why not? It'd do you some good. You haven't taken any time off since you started working here.”

Randy breezed through the door and heard the tail end of their argument. “Hey, you may as well take advantage of Rick's good humor,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I am. I'm gonna find me a woman and a kid and get married and take a few months' paid vacation—”

“Get outta here,” Rick said, chuckling to himself. “No, not you, Randy. But you, Chan, do yourself a favor. Get to know that husband of yours.”

That husband of mine,
she thought ruefully. For how long? Snagging her long denim coat from the peg near the door, she hurried outside and shivered in the cold mountain wind. The first snow of the season had dusted the highest peaks, but here, in the lower valley, raindrops danced in the parking lot, creating shallow puddles that she had to dodge as she made her way to her Suburban. The thought of living without little J.D. was crippling, the thought of living without Dallas devastating. In a few short weeks, they'd become so close, and their marriage, though it hadn't been based on love, had provided, in many ways, the happiest moments of her life—though
her parents had been shocked when she'd called them with the news.

“You shouldn't have been so hasty!” her mother had warned. “What do you know about this man?”

Chandra's father had come to her rescue. “Oh, hush, Jill. She's old enough to know what she's doing!”

“And that's what you said when she married Doug!”

Now, remembering the telephone conversation, Chandra smiled at her parents' happy bickering. They'd be lost without each other. They depended upon each other, and, yes, they argued with each other, but she never doubted that their love ran as deep as any ocean and their devotion to each other, as well as to their three daughters, was stronger than any force on earth.

She'd hoped for that same kind of love and devotion in her own marriage to Doug, and it hadn't occurred. But this time…if only Dallas could love her….

She wasn't ready to go home, knowing that there would be more messages from reporters on her answering machine. She drove instead to the hospital, hoping that she could share a cup of coffee with Dallas or just talk to him.

In the parking lot, Chandra encountered reporters, hand-held cameras, microphones and tape recorders. A police cruiser was idling near the entrance, and Chandra recognized the flat, frowning face of Deputy Stan Bodine behind the wheel. Chandra waved at him as she drove to a rear parking lot.

She left her Suburban far from the main doors and dashed through the physician's lot to a side entrance. Inside the hospital, she shook the rain from her hair and rubbed her hands from the cold, then hurried to Dallas's office.

He wasn't in. Dena checked his schedule and relayed that Dallas wasn't due back in the hospital until two, at which time he was to report for his shift in ER.

Chandra visited the nurses in the pediatrics wing, then took the elevator to ER. Dallas hadn't signed in yet. There were a few patients in the waiting room as Chandra started for the door. She was near Alma Lindquist's desk when she heard the voice of a distraught mother.

“But he hasn't taken any liquids. I can't get him to drink, and his temp's been at a hundred and four for a couple of days. The pediatrician says it's just the flu, but I'm worried.”

“Who's your pediatrician?” Nurse Lindquist inquired.

“Dr. Sands, and I trust him, but Carl is so sick…”

Chandra couldn't help but overhear the conversation, and she looked at the small boy cradled in his mother's arms. His face was pale, and he could barely keep his eyes open. “Has he had any blood work done?” she asked.

“No, I don't think so,” the mother replied, her own face pasty with worry.

“You haven't had a white count?”

“Not that I know of.” The mother looked perplexed. “Dr. Sands says there's a virus going around….”

Alma rose from her chair. “Mrs. O'Rourke, this isn't…”

But Chandra didn't hear her. As she looked at the little boy, images of another sick child came to mind. She saw Gordy Shore's listless eyes and pale face, his lethargy palpable.

“Admit this child immediately. Get a white count, and if that's elevated, have his lungs X-rayed.” Chandra turned to the mother. “Have there been any other symptoms—vomiting? Diarrhea? Swelling?”

“No, he just barely moves, and he's usually so active,” the mother replied, obviously close to tears.

“Don't worry. We'll take care of him.”

“Thank God.”

“Has Dr. Sands listened to his lungs—”

“Last week,” the mother replied.

“Admit this child,” Chandra ordered again, but Nurse Lindquist's lips pressed into a stubborn line. Obviously, she wasn't taking any instructions from a woman who held no authority at Riverbend, but Chandra, spying Dallas walking from the stairs, flew past her. “That patient,” she said, motioning to the little boy, “is supposed to have the flu, but he hasn't had a white count and…” She rattled off the conversation to Dallas and, thankfully, he listened to her.

“There are other patients,” Nurse Lindquist objected as Dallas approached, but he surveyed the waiting room where a few people sat patiently, flipping through ragged magazines.

“Anything life threatening?” he asked.

“No.”

“Admit this child—now,” he ordered as an ambulance roared to the doors. “And call Dr. Hodges if we need more help.” He then led the mother and child back to the examining room.

Pandemonium broke loose as another ambulance, siren screaming, pulled up to the door. Paramedics began wheeling stretchers into the emergency room.

Chandra heard the page calling for every available staff member, and she saw the influx of personnel and equipment. Suddenly, nurses, doctors and volunteers were everywhere as the first of the patients were wheeled into examining rooms.

“Bad accident…truck jackknifed on the freeway…” she heard a paramedic explain to a nurse. “This one needs help, he's lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure has dropped—”

“Put him in room three. Dr. Prescott's on his way.”

Chandra didn't even think about the ramifications of what she was doing, but followed Dallas into the
examining room, where he was leaning over the boy, a stethoscope to his chest.

“I don't hear anything, but we'll have to see—”

Shannon Pratt stuck her head into the examining room. “Dr. O'Rourke, we need you! Big accident. Multiple victims. We're calling all the staff back to the hospital.”

“I can handle this,” Chandra said, motioning to the boy, her heart in her throat. “You had blood taken?”

“It's in the lab now.”

“I'll take him to X-ray.” Chandra met the questions in Dallas's gaze and didn't flinch. A special glimmer passed between them. “They need you out there,” she said. Shouts, moans and the sound of rattling equipment and frantic footsteps filtered through the door.

“You're sure about this?” Dallas asked.

“Positive. Come on,” she said to the boy as she lifted him into a wheelchair, “let's get some pictures taken….

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Chandra helped out where she could, but was sent home when the administration caught wind that a doctor not certified in the state was giving advice, if only to other physicians. Though she didn't actually treat anyone, the administration was taking no chances. They didn't even allow her to do volunteer work, for fear that her connection to Dr. O'Rourke, Baby John Doe and Gordy Shore—plus the fact that she was unlicensed—could be grounds for one helluva lawsuit should anything go wrong.

But Chandra was grateful to have been able to help, and she wondered, not for the first time, about becoming licensed in Colorado.

The cabin seemed suddenly lonely and empty. Dallas had told her not to wait up for him, and she felt a despondency she'd never experienced in all the time that she'd lived here.

Several calls had come in while she was out. One had
been from a reporter from Los Angeles, another from a married couple from Bend, Oregon, and a third from a lawyer in Des Moines whose clients “would pay big money” for an infant. As if she could or would help them.

Chandra took down the numbers and relayed them to Marian Sedgewick, the social worker, who, to Chandra's dismay, hedged concerning the adoption. She had mentioned that even if Gayla Vanwyk were a fraud, many couples were trying desperately to adopt the child. Though Chandra's petition was given special consideration because of all Chandra's help with the child and obvious love for the baby, there were also good reasons for placing him with someone else.

“Oh, Lord, what a mess.” It seemed that the odds of adopting J.D. were impossible. Chandra wanted to cry, but didn't. Even if they couldn't adopt the baby, she and Dallas still had each other. Or did they? Without J.D. would Dallas be willing to try and make this marriage work? She could trick him, of course, by becoming pregnant with his child. He wouldn't divorce her then, not with his feelings on children and family. But could she do it?

No.

She wouldn't base this marriage on lies or trickery, even if it cost her the husband she loved as much as life itself.

Feeling as if the weight of the world rested on her slim shoulders, Chandra walked to the barn and saddled Brandy. The rain had let up a little, and the game little mare was frisky, anxious to stretch her legs as Chandra rode her over the sodden fields surrounding the house. Thoughts of J.D. and Dallas filled her mind, but she refused to be depressed. And just like the afternoon sun that had begun to peer through the dark clouds, her mood lightened.

The smell of rain-washed ground filled her nostrils, and
the cool wind raced through her hair. She thought of life without Dallas or J.D. and decided, while her knees were clamped firmly around her mount's withers, that she'd have to tell Dallas that she loved him. She'd always been truthful with him before, and now, even if it meant his rejection, she had to confront him with the simple fact that she'd fallen in love with him. If he laughed in her face, so be it. If he divorced her on the spot, she'd survive. But life would never be the same, and these past few precious days would surely shine as the brightest in her life.

She rode Brandy back to the barn, groomed all the horses, fed and watered the stock, and when she was finished, snapped out the lights. “You could use a bath yourself,” she told Sam. “Maybe tomorrow, since I'm a woman of leisure for the next week or so.” That thought, too, was depressing. What if she had no husband, no baby, no job? A lump filled her throat, and she scratched Sam's ears. “Well, buddy, we've still got each other, right?”

The big dog loped to the back door.

Chandra couldn't shake her dark mood. She showered, changed and started cooking a huge pot of stew. As the stew simmered, she baked cornbread and found a frozen container of last year's applesauce. Now, no matter what time Dallas arrived home, she'd have a hot meal ready and waiting.
As if that were enough to tie him to you!
What a fool she'd been! And what a mess she'd gotten herself into!

Once the bread was out of the oven, she turned the stew down and grabbed a paperback thriller she'd been trying to read ever since J.D. and Dallas had slammed into her life. But the story didn't interest her and before long she tossed the damned book aside, sitting near the fire and wishing she could predict the future.