Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (36 page)

“I don't know. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

“Just a few more questions.”

Obviously the man wasn't about to give up. Chandra glanced at Nurse Pratt and, without thinking about protocol, ordered, “Call security.”

Fillmore was outraged. “Hey—wait—you can't start barking orders—”

“If she doesn't, I will.” Dr. O'Rourke, who could have heard only the last of the exchange, strode down the hall. Dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and down vest, he nonetheless oozed authority as he glared at the reporter and photographer with a stare that would have turned the fainthearted to stone. He motioned to Shannon. “Do as Ms. Hill suggests. Call security.” Nurse Pratt walked to the nearest telephone extension and dialed.

“Why all the secrecy?” Fillmore demanded, apparently not fainthearted and not the least bit concerned about O'Rourke's stature, anger or command of the situation. “We could help you on this, y'know. A couple of pictures of the baby and an article describing how he was found, and maybe, just maybe, the kid's folks will reconsider and come back. Who knows what happened to them? Or to him? For all anyone knows, this kid—” he hooked a thumb toward the glass “—could've been stolen or kidnapped. Right now some distraught mother might be anxious to have him back again, and you guys are impeding us.”

He's right,
Chandra thought, disliking the reporter intensely as she noticed a flicker of doubt cross Dr. O'Rourke's strong features.

“In due time,” the doctor replied, his gaze landing on Chandra for a heart-stopping second. A glimmer of understanding passed between them, as if she and the doctor were on the same side. Quickly, O'Rourke turned back to the reporters. “My first concern is for the child's health.”

“The kid got problems?” Fillmore persisted, his eyes lighting with the idea of a new twist to an already newsworthy story.

“We're running tests.” O'Rourke, in a sweeping glance, took in the two men and Chandra, and once again she felt a bond with him, though she told herself she imagined it. She had nothing, save the baby, in common with the man.

O'Rourke wasn't about to be pushed around. “Now, if
you'll excuse me, I have a patient I have to see. If you want to continue with this interview, do it somewhere else.” He turned just as two security guards, hands on holsters, entered the pediatric wing.

“Okay, what's going on here?” the first one, a man with a thick waist and a face scarred by acne, demanded. His partner stood two feet behind him, as if he expected the reporters to draw weapons.

“Just lookin' for a story,” Fillmore said.

“Well, look somewhere else.”

Levine threw up his hands, but Fillmore stood his ground and eyed the doctor. “What is it with you, O'Rourke? Why do you always see us as the bad guys?”

“Not bad guys, just guys without much dignity.” Dr. O'Rourke stepped closer to Fillmore and scrutinized the reporter with his uncompromising gaze. “You tend to sensationalize things, try to stir up trouble, and that bothers me. Now if you'll excuse me, and even if you won't, I've got a patient to examine.”

Summarily dismissing both men, O'Rourke stepped into the nursery to examine the baby. With a nudge from the guards, both reporter and photographer, muttering under their collective breath, headed out of the wing. “You, too,” the heavier guard said, motioning toward Chandra.

“She can stay.” O'Rourke, though on the other side of the window, pointed toward Chandra before focusing his attention on the crying infant. Chandra had to swallow a smile as she stared at the vest stretched taut across O'Rourke's back.

The guard shrugged and followed his partner through the double doors while Chandra stood dumbstruck. She didn't know what she expected of O'Rourke, but she suspected he wasn't a particularly tolerant man. His demeanor was on the edge of being harsh, and she was certain that
just under his facade of civility, he was as explosive as a volcano.

On the other hand, he touched the infant carefully, tenderly, as he gently rolled the screaming baby from front to back, fingers expertly examining the child. It was all Chandra could do to keep from racing into the room and cradling the baby herself, holding the infant close and rocking him.

This has got to stop, Chandra,
she told herself.
He's not yours—he's not!
If she had any brains at all, she'd tear herself away from the viewing window, walk out of Riverbend Hospital and never look back. Let the proper authorities take care of the child. If they could locate the parents or next of kin, so be it. If not, the Social Services would see that he was placed with a carefully-screened couple who desperately wanted a child, or in a foster home…

Quit torturing yourself!

But she stayed. Compelled by the child and fascinated by the doctor examining him, Chandra Hill watched from the other side of the glass.

Why she felt a special bond with the child and the doctor, she didn't know. And yet, as if catching a glimmer of the future in a crystal ball, she felt as if they, all three, were inextricably bound to each other.

D
R
. O'R
OURKE WAS QUICK
and efficient. His examination took no longer than five minutes, after which he gave Nurse Pratt a few instructions before emerging from the glassed-in room. “I think he'll be out of isolation tomorrow,” he said, joining Chandra.

“That's good.”

“Know any more about him?”

She shook her head and began walking with him, wondering why she was even conversing with him. She thought she caught an envious look from Shannon as they left the nursery, but she chided herself afterward. Envious? Of what?

“The Sheriff's Department show up at your place?” he asked as they walked. His tone wasn't friendly, just curious. Chandra chalked his questions up to professional interest.

“This morning at the crack of dawn. The same two deputies.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “They poked around the barn and the grounds. Didn't find much.”

O'Rourke pushed the button for the elevator, and the doors opened immediately. “Parking lot?”

“Yes.” She eyed him for a second, and as the car descended, said, “I'm surprised to see you here this early. Last night you looked like you could sleep for twenty years.”

“Thirty,” he corrected, then allowed her just the hint of
a grin, and she was shocked by the sensual gleam of white teeth against his dark skin. His jaw was freshly shaven, and the scent of soap and leather clung to him, overpowering the antiseptic odor that had filtered through the hospital corridors and into the elevator. “But I've learned to survive on catnaps. Five hours and it's all over for me.” He studied her with that intense gaze that made her throat grow tight, but she held her ground as a bell announced they'd landed at ground level. “What about you?”

“Eight—at least. I'm running on empty now.”

He cocked a dubious eyebrow as they walked past the reception area and outside, where the sunlight was bright enough to hurt the eyes. Chandra reached into her purse for her sunglasses and noticed that O'Rourke squinted. The lines near his eyes deepened, adding a rugged edge to his profile. The man was handsome, she'd give him that. Dealing with him would be easier if he were less attractive, she thought.

“That reporter will be back,” he predicted. “He smells a story and isn't about to leave it alone. You might be careful what you say.”

Though she knew the answer from personal experience, she wanted to hear his side of the story. “Why?”

His lips twisted into a thin line of disapproval and his eyes turned cold. “Words can be misconstrued, taken out of context, turned around.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking.”

“Just a warning. For your own good.”

He acted as if he were about to turn away, and Chandra impulsively grabbed the crook of his arm, restraining him. He turned sharply and his gaze landed on her with a force that made her catch her breath. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and forced the words past her lips. “When can I see the baby? I mean, really see him—hold him.”

She didn't remove her fingers and was aware of the tensing of his muscles beneath the sleeves of his shirt and jacket. “You want to hold him?”

“Oh, yes!” she cried, her emotion controlling her tongue.

“You feel something special for the child, some sort of bond?” he guessed.

“I…” She crumbled under the intensity of his gaze. “I guess I feel responsible.”

When he waited, for what she knew was further elaboration, she couldn't help but ramble on. “I mean he was found on
my
property, in my barn. I can't help but think that someone wanted me to find him.”

“That you were chosen?” He sounded as if he didn't believe her, yet he didn't draw his arm away.

“Yes. No. I mean—I don't know.” She'd never been so confused in her life. Always she'd been a take-charge kind of individual, afraid of nothing, ready for any challenge. But one tiny newborn and one very intimidating man seemed to have turned her mind to mush. “Look, Doctor, I just want to hold the baby, if it's okay with you.”

He hesitated, and his voice was a little kinder. “I don't know if it's a good idea.”

“What?” She couldn't believe he would dissuade her now, after he'd called her to tell her the child had improved and then had let her stick around. But that warming trend had suddenly been reversed.

“Until the Sheriff's Department sets this matter straight, I think it's best for you and the child if you stayed away from the hospital until everything's settled.”

Her hopes, which she had naively pinned on this man, collapsed. “But I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” O'Rourke said. “You thought that since I rescued you from those vultures, loosely called reporters, that I was on your side, that you
could get at the kid through me. Well, unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. Either you're a relative of the child or you're not. And I don't like being used.”

“You called me,” she reminded him, and watched his lips tighten.

“I've had second thoughts.”

“To hell with your second thoughts!” Her temper, quickly rising, captured her tongue. “I'm not going to hurt the baby. I'm just someone who cares, Doctor. Someone who would like to offer that poor, abandoned child a little bit of love.”

“Or someone who enjoys all the attention she's getting?”

“If that was the case, I wouldn't have tried to throw the reporters out of the hospital, now, would I?”

That stopped him, and whatever he was about to say was kept inside. He stared at her a few minutes, his gaze fairly raking over her, as if he were examining her for flaws. She almost expected a sneer to curl his lip, but he was a little too civilized for outward disdain. “I'm just being straight with you. There's a lot I don't know about that baby who's up in pediatrics, Ms. Hill. And a lot more I don't know about you. If it were up to me, I'd let you hang around. Based on first impressions, I'm guessing that you do care something for the infant. But I don't know that, the hospital administration doesn't know that and Social Services doesn't know that.”

He turned then, and left her standing in the middle of the parking lot, her mouth nearly dropping open.

* * *

H
E DIDN'T UNDERSTAND
why he'd come to her rescue in the hospital, only to shoot her down a peg or two.

Instinctively, Dallas knew that she was a different kind of woman than those he'd met. There was something about her that attracted him as well as caused him to be
suspicious. She seemed at once strong willed and yet innocent, able to take care of herself and needing something—a man?—to lean upon occasionally.

There had been a desperation in her eyes, a pleading that he hadn't been able to refuse in the hospital, but here, out in the light of day, she'd looked far from innocent—in fact, he suspected that Ms. Hill could handle herself in just about any situation.

Dallas felt himself drawn to her, like a fly buzzing around a spider's web. He didn't know a thing about her, and he was smart enough to realize that she was only interested in him because he was her link to the baby. Yet his stupid male pride fantasized that she might be interested in him—as a man.

“Fool,” he muttered to himself, kicking at a fragment of loose gravel on the asphalt. The sharp-sided rock skidded across the lot, hitting the tire of a low-slung Porche, Dr. Prescott's latest toy.

He must be getting soft, Dallas decided. Why else would he let a woman get under his skin? Especially a woman who wasn't being entirely honest with him.

He slid behind the wheel of his truck and flipped on the ignition. What was it about Chandra Hill that had him saying one thing while meaning another? He didn't want to keep her from the child, and yet he had an obligation to protect the baby's interests. Hospital policy was very strict about visitors who weren't relatives.

But the baby needed someone to care about him, and Chandra was willing. If her motives were pure. He couldn't believe that she was lying, not completely, and yet there was a wariness to her, and she sometimes picked her words carefully, especially when the questions became too personal. But that wasn't a sin. She was entitled to her private life.

Yet he felt Chandra Hill was holding back, keeping
information that he needed to herself. It was a feeling that kept nagging at him whenever he was around her; not that she said anything dishonest. No, it was her omissions that bothered him.

He crammed his truck into gear and watched Chandra haul herself into the cab of a huge red Chevrolet Suburban, the truck that last night he'd thought was a van. Her jeans stretched across taut buttocks and athletic thighs. Her skin was tanned, her straight blond hair streaked by the sun. She looked healthy and vibrant and forthright, and yet she was hiding something. He could feel it.