Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (46 page)

He smiled easily. “No chance of messing anything up with the police. I just have a few questions. Simple ones. Really. Questions that might help the baby find his mom.”

Chandra bit back a hot reply about the woman who had forsaken her son. And as for Fillmore, she didn't trust the reporter for a minute. In Tennessee, her life had been ripped open, the focus of several “in-depth” interviews after Gordy Shore had died and his parents had filed suit against her. All of those reporters had seemed a cut above
Fillmore, and they'd made her life a living hell. There was no telling what the reporter from the
Banner
might do.

Yet she couldn't very well hide the truth, could she? She couldn't refuse to talk to the man. She'd only make him think she had something to hide. Frowning, she unlocked the back doors of the Suburban and pulled out two sacks of groceries. Sam followed obediently at her heels and only growled when Fillmore, trying to help, grabbed the handle of a gallon of milk. “I could carry those bags.”

“Already got 'em.” Balancing the groceries, she unlocked the back door, and Sam streaked inside. The retriever settled on the rug under the table and, with one final growl of disapproval, watched Fillmore enter the cabin.

Chandra stuffed a carton of eggs into the refrigerator. “You know, I thought people usually called ahead for an interview.”

“I did. This morning. No answer. I left a message. When you didn't call back, I figured the time and place was okay with you.”

“And what if I hadn't shown up?” she asked, waving him into a chair. Casting a glance at her answering machine, she noticed the red light flashing. She had no option but to get this over with.

“I would've waited. Speaking of which—” he checked his watch and scowled “—the photographer should be here by now. He knew about this shoot. Would you mind if I used your phone?” He was already picking up the receiver when Chandra nodded. The man was pushy, no doubt about it. He dialed quickly, then tapped a toe while he waited. “Yeah. It's Fillmore,” he said into the mouthpiece. “I'm lookin' for Levine. Should've been here by now. I'm at the Hill place on Flaming Moss Road…yeah, eighteen, twenty miles out…well, tell him to get his butt in gear, okay? We're waiting.”

Chandra, only half listening to the reporter, pulled out a couple of sodas from the refrigerator. Her throat was already parched, and at the thought of an interview, her mouth turned as dry as a desert wind. She held one can up silently and Fillmore, still growling orders into the phone, grinned and waved an affirmative. While he was finishing his call, she cracked ice into a couple of tall glasses, not really in the mood to sit down and sip Pepsi with the man from the
Banner.
Her only consolation was that she figured it wouldn't hurt to have the reporter on her side, pretend to go along with him and then, at the first available instant, make some excuse to end the interview early. He'd have a deadline, so he wouldn't be back, and that, thankfully, would be the end of the press camping out on her doorstep. She hoped. If not and he got wind of the fact that she was planning to adopt J.D., so be it. At least he wouldn't be out to smear her. She felt better about offering him the cola.

“Look,” she said, once he'd hung up and settled into a chair at the table. She placed one of the dewy glasses in front of him and resisted the urge to press the other to her forehead to ward off a headache. “I just don't want this to get out of hand. No media circus on this, okay?”

“I'm just here to tell a story.” After draining half his glass, Fillmore reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his tape recorder, pen and notepad. “Okay, let's start at the beginning. How did you find the baby?”

Chandra had gone over the same tale so many times that she said the words without much emotion, explaining about discovering the child, calling 911 and driving to meet the ambulance. No, she didn't know to whom the baby belonged. No, she couldn't imagine who would leave a baby alone. Yes, the baby had needed medical attention, but he had seemed strong enough.

They were both about finished with their drinks when
Fillmore brought up the baby's future. “What if the mother shows up?”

“Then I guess the court decides if she's a fit parent,” Chandra replied, studying the melting ice in her glass. She hoped her face was impassive.

“And where do you fit into it?”

Yes, where?
“I don't know,” she answered truthfully, just as Sam's ears pricked forward and the dog scrambled to the door with a bark. Chandra glanced out the window and her heart dropped. Dallas's truck slowed to a stop by Fillmore's car.
Great,
she thought, knowing instinctively that Fillmore wouldn't budge if he recognized the doctor who had admitted J.D. into the hospital.

“Well, well, well, the good Dr. O'Rourke,” Fillmore drawled, a satisfied smile slithering across his lips. “What's he doing here?”

“I wouldn't know,” Chandra said, rising to answer the door. Dallas had, indeed, arrived—all six feet of him greeted her as she swept the door open and invited him in. “Hi,” she said, motioning toward Fillmore. “Join the crowd.”

Dallas grew rigid and as he walked into the kitchen, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Both men stared at each other for a few agonizing seconds. “Fillmore,” Dallas finally said, not bothering to hide his distaste for the man. “What're you doing here?”

“Just checkin' out a story. What about you?” The reporter clicked his pen loudly, and the tape in his machine continued to whir.

“I took an excursion with Ms. Hill over the weekend. She left something in my truck.”

“Excursion? You mean a rafting trip?” Fillmore glanced from Dallas to Chandra and back again.

Dallas shrugged. “My brother thought I could use a little R and R.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and
pulled out her bandanna, the one she'd used to tie back her hair, clean and pressed.

“So how was the trip? Exciting?”

Dallas turned chilling eyes on the reporter. “Very. Ms. Hill is an excellent guide. In fact, have you ever been on one of those trips down the Rattlesnake at—what was it called?” He looked to Chandra for help, but she had the feeling he knew exactly what he was saying. “Grizzly Loop? I think it's just your speed, Fillmore.”

Bob Fillmore smirked, as if he refused to be goaded by Dallas.

“And if Chandra can't help you, maybe the owner can. What's his name—Rick Benson—you remember, the guy you did the piece on a few years back.”

The muscles in Chandra's neck tensed. This was no time to intimidate the reporter, for God's sake! What was Dallas doing?

“I'll keep it in mind,” Fillmore replied as he scraped his chair back and stood. Chandra hoped fervently that he was finished. “Tell me, Doctor, since I'm writing about the abandoned child, what's his status with the hospital?”

Dallas looked in Chandra's direction. “He's about to be released.”

No! So that's why Dallas was here, to break the news and prepare her. Chandra's heart leapt to her throat. “Released to whom?” she asked, trying to keep a calm appearance.

Dallas slanted a glance at the reporter, as if he realized he'd said too much.

“That's right,” Fillmore added, “who'll get the kid?”

“I think that's up to Social Services.”

Fillmore grinned. “This is getting better by the minute. When, exactly, will he be released?”

“Dr. Williams and Dr. Spangler will decide.”

“They the kid's pediatricians?”

“That's right,” Dallas said as Sam barked loudly.

A compact Ford, silver-blue in color, roared down the drive, leaving a plume of dust in its wake.

What was this? Chandra wondered. More bad news?

“About time,” Fillmore muttered, scooping up his notepad and tape recorder as he scraped his chair back. “It's Sid. He'll want a few pictures of the barn, you know, where the kid was found. And he might have a few questions. Then we'll be outta your hair.”

Chandra could hardly wait. They walked outside, and Sid Levine, gathering camera bag, umbrella, light meter and other equipment, unloaded his car. “Hi, fella,” he said to Sam as the retriever bared his teeth and galloped toward the newcomer. Sid reached down and scratched Sam behind the ears. “Hey, slow down, I'm not gonna hurt anything.”

Growling, Sam sniffed at the proffered hand then, traitor that he was, began wagging his tail so hard that it thumped against the fender of the Ford.

“We were on our way to the barn to get some pictures of the inside,” Fillmore said, waving the photographer along as he crossed the yard.

“I'll be there in a minute. Just let me take a few shots out here,” Levine said, apparently used to Fillmore's brusque manner.

Inside the barn, Chandra, as she had with the sheriff's deputies, pointed out the stall where she'd found the baby. One of her favorite geldings, Max, a curious buckskin, strolled inside and stood waiting for some oats to be tossed his way. The other horses poked their noses into the barn door and their shadows drifted inside, but they didn't follow the buckskin's lead. Even Cayenne, usually friendly, eyed the intruders, snorted disdainfully and refused to amble inside.

Max draped his head over the top of the stall and eyed
Fillmore, who was busy in the end box where the baby was found, then nuzzled Chandra's jacket, looking for a piece of carrot or apple. “Sorry, buddy,” she whispered to the horse, who snorted and stamped a foot impatiently.

Dallas had followed her into the barn. He leaned against the ladder to the hayloft while Fillmore asked still more questions and the photographer scurried inside, sending up dust motes and disturbing the cobwebs that draped from the windows. Chandra could feel Dallas's gaze on her back as she petted Max's velvety nose and answered the questions as best she could. Fillmore tried to ignore the doctor, but Chandra couldn't. His presence seemed to charge the air in the musty old barn, and she sensed that some of the reporter's questions were worded more carefully just because Dallas was within earshot.

“This it?” Sid Levine asked, looking around the barn, searching, it appeared, for sources of light. A grimy circular window over the hayloft and a few rectangles of glass at eye level over the stalls gave little natural illumination to the interior.

“In here,” Fillmore replied from the stall.

Once again, Chandra pointed out the position of the child. Then, while the reporter asked a few more questions, the photographer took aim and began clicking off shots. Dallas said nothing, just watched the men going through the motions of creating news.

It's almost over,
Chandra thought,
it has to be.

“So…you been a resident of Ranger long?” Fillmore asked.

“A few years,” she replied.

“And before that?”

Chandra felt the sweat break out between her shoulder blades. She didn't want her past splayed all over the front page of the
Ranger Banner.
She'd buried her life in Tennessee and hoped that it would stay that way.

“I'm originally from Idaho, up near McCall,” she said easily.

“Ahh,” Levine said, nodding to himself. “So that's where you get the interest in rafting and trail riding.”

“Grew up doing it,” she replied. “My father was a real outdoorsman.” From the corner of her eye she saw Dallas straighten a little, but Fillmore, evidently satisfied, snapped off his tape recorder and checked his watch. “Thanks for your time. I've gotta shove off if I'm gonna put this story to bed tonight.”

The muscles in Chandra's back relaxed a little. If they would just leave, she could find out about J.D. It seemed forever before Fillmore's car was moving down the drive and the afternoon sun was warming her back as she and Dallas watched the reporter take his leave.

Levine was still finishing up in the barn, but Chandra couldn't wait. “What's going to happen to the baby?” she asked, laying a hand on Dallas's arm. She attempted to keep the desperation from her voice, but found it impossible. “What will Social Services do?”

“Probably place the child in a temporary home until a judge decides where he'll be placed permanently.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her throat dry. J.D needed someone who loved him, someone who would care for him. While he was in the hospital, he was being cared for, even loved a bit, by the nurses, and Chandra could see him every day. But now…

To her surprise, Dallas placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry. He'll be fine.” Her throat clogged at his tenderness.

“How do you know that?” she demanded, her eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. She hadn't realized until just then how much she'd thought of the baby as hers. Everyone had been warning her that he could be taken away, but she hadn't listened.

“He'll be placed with someone who'll care for him.” Dallas smiled down at her and squeezed her a little. “And I'll make sure that whoever gets him will allow you to see him.”

She couldn't believe it. “You can do that?” she asked skeptically.

“I can try.” A sliver of uneasiness clouded his features. “But don't get too involved. You don't know what will happen.”

“I know, I know,” she said, her throat clogging as Dallas offered her the comfort of his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder, drinking in the smell of him, glad for the strong arms that surrounded her. How right it felt to be sheltered by him. For years she'd stood on her own, relied on no one, and now all she could think about was leaning on Dallas. “The mother might show up. Damn that woman, anyway!”

She heard a camera click behind her and jumped. Dallas whirled, his eyes blazing, as Sid Levine lowered his .35 millimeter and snapped the camera back into his case. “All finished,” he said, and his eyes held a spark of nastiness that Chandra hadn't seen before.