LITMIR.BIZ

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smiled his first genuine smile of the night. “Sounds a little farfetched, I admit, but we have to consider every angle. Could be that whoever took Baby Doe could have holed up in your barn for the night and something went wrong. Or they left him there while they went searching for food or more permanent shelter.”

      “Or you could’ve scared ’em off,” Deputy White added.

      Chandra shook her head. “There was no one in the barn. And I live nearly ten miles from the nearest store.”

      “We’ll check out all the possibilities in the morning,” Bodine assured her. Turning his gaze to O’Rourke, he said, “Thanks, Doctor. Ms. Hill.”

      The deputies left, and Chandra, not even realizing how tense she’d become, felt her shoulders slowly relax.

      “So how’s he doing?” she asked, surprised at her own anxiety, as if she and that tiny baby were somehow connected, though they weren’t, of course. The child belonged to someone else. And probably, within the next few hours, Bodine and White would discover the true identity of Baby Doe and to whom he belonged. Chandra only hoped that the parents had one hell of an explanation for abandoning their child.

      “The boy’ll be fine,” O’Rourke predicted, stretching his long legs in front of him. He sipped from his cup, scowled at the bitter taste and set the cup on the table, content to let the steam rise to his face in a dissipating cloud. Chandra noticed the lines of strain around the edges of his mouth, the droop at the corners of his eyelids.

      “Can I see him?” she asked.

      “In the morning.”

      “It is the morning.”

      His gaze locked with hers and the warmth she’d noticed earlier suddenly fled. “Look, Ms. Hill, I think you and the kid both need some rest. I know I do.” As if to drive home his point, he rubbed a kink from his shoulders. “You can see him around ten.”

      “But he is eating.” She’d heard him say so before, of course, but she couldn’t stem the question or the concern she felt for the child.

      A whisper of a smile crossed the doctor’s thin lips. “Nurse Pratt can barely keep up with him.” O’Rourke took another swallow of his coffee, his unsettling eyes regarding Chandra over the rim of his cup. She felt nervous and flustered, though she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. “So who do you think left him in your barn?” he asked.

      “I don’t know.”

      “No pregnant friends who needed help?”

      Her lips twisted wryly. “I already told the deputies, if I had friends who needed help, I wouldn’t suggest they use one of my stalls as a birthing room. They could’ve come into the house or I would’ve driven them to the hospital. I think, somehow, we would’ve found ‘room at the inn,’ so to speak.”

      O’Rourke arched a thick eyebrow, and his lips twitched, as if he were suppressing a smile. “Look, there’s no reason to get defensive. I’m just looking for some answers.”

      “I gave all of mine to the deputies,” she replied, tired of the unspoken innuendoes. She leaned forward, and her hair fell in front of her shoulders. “Now you look, Doctor O’Rourke, if I knew anything about that baby—anything at all—I’d pass that information along.”

      He didn’t speak, but his relentless stare continued to bother her. The man was so damn intimidating, used to getting his way—a handsome, arrogant son of a gun who was used to calling the shots. She could see he was tired, irritated, but a little amused at her quick temper. “You know,” she said, “I expected the third degree from the police, but not from you.”

      He lifted a shoulder. “The more I know about the child, the better able I am to take care of him. I just don’t want to make any mistakes.”

      She was about to retort, but the words didn’t pass her lips. Chandra knew far too well about making mistakes as a physician. Her throat closed at the sudden burst of memories, and it was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking. She took a quick drink of coffee, then licked her lips. When she looked up at O’Rourke again, she found him staring at her so intently that she was certain he could see past the web of lies she’d so carefully woven around her life here in Ranger, Colorado. Did he know? Could he guess that she, too, had once been a physician?

      But no one knew about her past, and that’s the way she intended to keep it.

      The silence stretched between them, and she shuffled her feet as if to rise. It was late, and she wanted to get some sleep before she returned later in the morning, and yet there was something mesmerizing about Dr. O’Rourke that kept her glued to her chair. He was good-looking in a sensual way that unnerved her, but she’d been around lots of good-looking men, none of whom had gotten under her skin the way O’Rourke had. Maybe it was because he was a doctor, or maybe it was because she was anxious about the baby, or maybe he was just so damned irresistible that even she, a woman who’d sworn off men, and most specifically men with medical degrees, was fascinated. She nearly choked on her coffee.

      As if sensing she was about to flee, he finished his coffee and cleared his throat. “You know,” he said, tenting his hands under his chin, “you’d better get used to answering questions, because the minute the press gets wind of this story, you’re going to be asked to explain a helluva lot more than you have tonight.”

      The press. Her heart dropped like a stone and memories rushed over her—painful memories of dealing with reporters, photographers, cameramen. Oh, God, she couldn’t face them again. She wasn’t ready for the press. What if some hotshot reporter saw fit to dig into her background, through her personal life? Her hands grew suddenly damp. She slid her arms through the sleeves of the jacket she’d tossed over the back of her chair. “I think I can handle a few reporters,” she lied, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt.

      “It’ll be more than a few. Think about it. This could be the story of the year. Christmas is only a few months away, and the press just loves this kind of gut-wrenching drama.”

      “You could be wrong.”

      O’Rourke shook his head and stifled a yawn. “Nope. An abandoned baby, a complicated, unexplained birth, perhaps a missing mother, the mystery child swaddled only in an old army jacket—could it be the father’s?—it all makes interesting copy.” Rubbing a hand around his neck, he added, “You’ll have a couple of reporters from the Banner, maybe someone from Denver. Not to mention the local television stations. My guess is that this story will go regional at least.” He lifted his eyebrows speculatively, as if he believed he were far more informed than she. Typical. “And once the story hits the news services, I’ll bet that neither one of us is gonna get a moment’s rest.” He crossed one battered running shoe over the other and rested his heels on the seat of the chair Deputy White had recently vacated.

      “Are you trying to scare me?” Chandra asked.

      “Just preparing you for the inevitable.”

      “I can handle it,” she assured him, while wondering what it was about this man that made her bristle. One minute she wanted to argue with him, the next she wanted to trust him with her very life. Good Lord, she must be more tired than she’d guessed. She’d instinctively come to depend on him because he was a doctor—the one man who could keep her in contact with the baby. After all, he could stop her from seeing the child.

      Deep down, though, she knew her anger wasn’t really directed at Dr. O’Rourke specifically. In fact, her wrath wasn’t really aimed at doctors in general; just at a few doctors she’d known in her past, especially a particularly egotistical plastic surgeon to whom she’d once been married: Douglas Patrick Pendleton, M.D., P.C., and all-around jerk.

      Now she couldn’t afford to have Dr. O’Rourke against her. Not only was he her link to the child, there was a chance he might help her with the press and the Sheriff’s Department—not that she needed any help, she reminded herself. But Dr. O’Rourke did seem fair

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