Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (57 page)

He kissed her face, her neck, her hair. She writhed against him, trying to get closer, and when his tongue rimmed the delicate circle of bones at the base of her throat, she cried out. He moved lower still, kissing her breasts and suckling on her nipples while he explored her back and hips with sure hands.

“Dallas,” she whispered, her voice rough and low, “Dallas.” She traced a path along the curve of his spine, and he held back no longer. Suddenly he was atop her, his knee between hers, his chest heaving.

Their lips locked, and he entered her for the first time as her husband. “I can't wait,” he whispered, and began his magical rhythm. Chandra clung to him, moving with him, feeling the sweat collect on her skin. She thought he whispered words of love, but in her fevered state she might have heard her own voice as they exploded together and she cried out.

“Dallas!”

“Oh, love, oh, love,” he sighed, collapsing against her, spent.

They held each other for endless minutes as the fog of afterglow surrounded them. Chandra closed her eyes, for
she knew she might cry, not from sadness, but from deeper emotions that tore at her heart.

When her heartbeat was finally normal, she opened her eyes and found him staring at her. “You okay?” he asked, and she smiled, shyly and self-consciously, as if she'd been a virgin.

“I'm fine. You?”

He swept back the hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Well, I'm a helluva lot better than fine. In fact, I think I'm great.”

She giggled, and to her mortification he picked her up and carried her, stark naked, into the bathroom. “What're you doing?” she asked as he dropped her into the tub and twisted on the faucets.

“If this is going to be a honeymoon, we've got to make the most of it,” he replied, his eyes glinting devilishly as warm water rushed into the tub.

“By bathing?”

“Or whatever.” He lit two candles, brought in the champagne and turned out the lights. She couldn't take her eyes off his lean muscles, how they moved so easily under his skin. She was intrigued by all of him—the way his dark hair matted across his chest, the corded strength of his shoulders, the white slash of a smile that flashed crookedly in the light of flickering candles.

He stepped into the tub and gathered her into his arms, and their slick bodies melded together. “This is crazy,” she said with a laugh as he positioned her legs around him.

“This is wonderful,” he corrected. The water rose to their chests, and he turned off the faucets. In the shadowy light, he gazed at her with eyes that seemed to shine with love.

“Now, Mrs. O'Rourke,” he said, tracing a drip from her neck to the hollow of her breast, “let's find a way to stretch out these few hours as long as we can.”

* * *

H
OURS LATER, AFTER SIPPING
champagne in the tub and making love on the round bed until they were both exhausted, they awoke and headed downstairs. Dawn was just sending shafts of light across the desert floor and through the streets of the now-quiet city. The neon lights, so brilliant the night before, were dimmed as Dallas drove toward the airport.

He parked the rental car in the lot near the terminal before they headed inside, ready to return to Ranger and fight for custody of J.D. Chandra was prepared for an uphill battle, but anything as precious as that baby was worth whatever it took. By sheer determination alone, she should be allowed to adopt the child she had saved.

As she walked down the concourse with Dallas at her side, her new role as his wife started to sink in. She felt suddenly secure and worked at convincing herself that she and Dallas would be given custody. No parents would love a child more.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dallas slow near an airport shop, and she wondered if he was going to buy some souvenir of the trip.

“Goddamned son of a bitch!” he growled, stopping short and fishing in his pocket for change. He dropped several coins onto the counter.

Before the startled cashier could ring up the sale, Dallas grabbed a newspaper and snapped it open. There on page one, in grainy black and white, was a picture of J.D.

Baby Abandoned In Colorado Barn, the headline screamed, and in smaller letters, Mother Still Missing As Hundreds Hope To Adopt The Million Dollar Baby.

Chandra's throat went dry. She curled her fingers over Dallas's arms, seeking strength. “How—how did they get that picture?” she whispered, her eyes skimming the newsprint and her legs threatening to give way when the
article revealed that the child was living with Sheriff Newell. “How did they get this information?”

“Ranger's a small town,” Dallas replied, tight-lipped, a deep flush staining the back of his neck. Never had she seen him more furious. “Gossip runs rampant.”

For the first time, Chandra had to face the fact that the odds against them were insurmountable. They were just a couple—a recently married couple—who would stand in line with hundreds of other couples—every one of them as anxious to adopt the baby as she and Dallas were.

“Come on,” Dallas said, his voice sounding strangely faraway. “We've got a flight to catch.”

Her throat caught, and tears threatened her eyes.
You're just tired,
she told herself, all of her earlier euphoria long gone.

“We haven't lost yet,” Dallas reminded her, and he grabbed hold of her elbow and propelled her toward the boarding gate.

“You're right,” she said, then shivered. Inside, she knew she was in for the fight of her life.

S
O HERE THEY WERE
at home—a married couple. They'd driven directly to the cabin and now, after showering and changing, they were preparing to go into town.

Chandra poured herself a cup of coffee and smiled as she poured another for Dallas. It would be easy, she thought, to get into a routine with him, to wake up every morning in his arms and to read the paper, drink coffee and work around the house and outbuildings.

He planned on moving first his clothes and then his furniture as soon as possible. They'd even talked of expanding the cabin, and Dallas wanted to talk to an architect about the remodeling. Things were moving swiftly, but for the first time in years, Chandra felt comfortable depending upon someone besides herself.

She heard him on the stairs, and glanced up to see his handsome face pulled into a frown as he buttoned his shirt.

“I could help you with that,” she offered, and he flashed her a slice of a grin.

“You're on.”

When he reached the kitchen, she kissed his chest and slipped each button through its hole.

“If you keep this up, I'll never get to work,” he said, his eyes lighting with a passionate flame.

“Uh-uh.” She finished the shirt and handed him his coffee cup. “Come on outside, I think we should talk.”

“About…?”

She braced herself. “Me and what happened in Tennessee.”

“You don't have to—”

“Of course I do,” she said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We've got to start this marriage with a clean slate—no lies, no misunderstandings, no surprises.”

Together they walked outside and Chandra felt the morning sun against her back as they leaned over the rail of the fence and watched the horses picking at the dew-laden grass. Sam trotted behind them only to be distracted by a squirrel.

“What happened?” Dallas finally asked, and Chandra decided to unburden herself.

“Medicine was my life,” she admitted, thinking of all those grueling years in med school when she had not only worked for hours on end, but had to endure being the butt of too many jokes. Feeling Dallas's eyes upon her, she forced the words about her past from her throat. “I went to school in Philadelphia, then took a position with a hospital in Collier, Tennessee.

“You know about the patient I lost, a seven-year-old boy. His name was Gordy. It…it was messy.” Her throat clogged momentarily, but she willed herself to go on, to get over the pain. “You saw the newspaper articles, but they didn't explain exactly what happened. I was sued for malpractice by the parents, though they brought him in much too late. They thought he had the flu, and he just got worse and worse. By the time we rushed him to the hospital…well, he died of pneumonia within the hour. The parents blamed me.” She swallowed hard, looking not at Dallas but concentrating on a swallow as it flew about the barn roof. “There was an investigation, and I was cleared, but…well, I had other personal problems.”

“Your marriage.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Everything seemed to
unravel. So,” she finished, trying to force a lightness into her voice, “I ended up here, with a job as a white-water and mountain guide.”

“Don't you miss it?” He touched her lightly on the arm, and her heart warmed at the familiarity they'd slipped into.

“What—medicine?”

“The healing.”

“Sometimes, but not often. I'm still a doctor,” she said. “It wouldn't take much to get licensed here, but I guess I wasn't ready to start practicing again.” She felt inexplicably close to tears, and he threw his coffee cup on the ground and took her into his arms.

“Losing a patient is hard, but it happens,” he whispered.

“Children shouldn't die.”

Gently, he rotated her, forced her to look at him, and Chandra didn't pull away from him as he kissed her lips. “No,” he agreed, “no child should ever die, but, unfortunately, it happens. We try our best, and sometimes it isn't good enough.” He looked down into her eyes, his own shining in the morning sunlight.

“I couldn't help feeling guilty, that if I would have gotten to him sooner, I could've saved his life.”

“How could you have known?”

She shook her head and sighed, resting her cheek against Dallas's chest, feeling his warmth seep into her and hoping some of the old feelings of remorse would disappear. “I was married to Doug at the time, and he couldn't understand why I took it so hard. I wanted out of medicine, at least for a while, and he…he objected. We were making good money. He was a plastic surgeon in Memphis, and he didn't want our lifestyle to change. He told me that if I quit practicing that I would only be proving that I wasn't cut out to be a doctor, that all of his friends in medical school, the ones who had predicted I couldn't make it, would be proved right.”

“Wonderful guy,” Dallas remarked, his voice steely.

“We had our share of problems.”

Dallas kissed her crown. “He was wrong, you know. Wrong about you. My guess is that you were and still are a damned good doctor.”

“Have you ever lost a patient?”

“Too many.”

“A child?”

“There've been a few. And I know what you went through. Each time, you can't help feeling that somehow you should have performed a miracle and saved his life.”

Her throat knotted, and she couldn't swallow. Tears, unwanted, burned behind her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered as he pulled her closer, holding her, murmuring into her hair, kissing her cheek. She wouldn't cry! She wouldn't! She'd spent too many years burying the pain and her past. “All those years of school, all those hours of studying, all those nights of no sleep, and I couldn't save one little boy!” Slowly, she disentangled herself and swallowed the lump that seemed determined to lodge in her throat.

“It's over,” Dallas promised. “You've got a new start. We've got a new start. So it's time we took the first step and tried to adopt that baby together.”

Chandra smiled through her tears and took Dallas's hand.

* * *

C
AMERAS FLASHED, MICROPHONES
were thrust in their faces and reporters, en masse, had collected around the Newells' house.

“Is it true you're married?” a woman with flaming red hair asked as Chandra tried to duck past the crowd.

“Yes.”

“And you met Dr. O'Rourke when you brought the baby in—is that right?” another female voice called.

“No comment,” Dallas growled.

“Oh, come on, Doctor, give us a break. Tell us a little about the baby. Where do you think he came from? Have you checked with any of the local clinics and found out if a woman in the third trimester never delivered?”

“No,” Dallas said.

“You have no idea where the mother is?”

“None.” He helped Chandra up the stairs of the Newells' front porch as reporters fired questions nonstop. To keep the crowd at bay, a deputy was posted near the front door, but he let Chandra and Dallas pass, presumably on orders from the sheriff or his wife.

“Isn't it a madhouse out there?” Lenore asked, her eyes shadowed with worry, her face grim.

“I guess it's to be expected,” Chandra replied, anxious to see the baby.

“I suppose.” But Lenore's face seemed more lined this morning, her lips pinched into a worried pucker. “I've taken in a lot of children in my day, but I've never seen the likes of this,” she admitted, parting the lace curtains and sighing at the group of reporters camped in her yard. “And I've quit answering the phone. Seems everyone in the state is interested in adopting little J.D.”

Chandra's heart sank like a stone. Even though she held J.D. and gave him a bottle, she felt as if she were losing him, that the cord that had bound them so closely was being unraveled by unseen hands. As she held the bottle, she stared into his perfect little face. She didn't kid herself. Sooner or later, if the media attention surrounding J.D. kept up at a fever pitch, other would-be mothers would be trying to see him and hold him. They would argue that Chandra, just because the child was discovered in her barn, had no more right to be with him than they did. It wouldn't be long before the courts or the Social Services stepped in, and in the interest of fairness, she might not be allowed to see him.

“Has it been this way for long?” Dallas asked Lenore.