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 and was probably sometimes kind, even though he appeared ragged and cynical around the edges.
“I guess I am tired,” she finally said, as half an apology. Dr. O’Rourke wasn’t the least bit like Doug. No, this man with his rugged good looks, beat-up running shoes and worn jacket looked more like a mountain climber than an emergency-room physician. She couldn’t imagine him reading medical journals or prescribing blood-pressure medicine or attending medical conferences in Chicago or New York.
And yet it did seem possible that he could care for an abandoned infant. On that score, Chandra was comfortable. O’Rourke, she sensed, was a good doctor, the kind of man who had dedicated himself to people in need rather than to the almighty dollar. Unless the unshaven jaw, worn clothes and fatigue were all part of an act.
She didn’t think so. His gaze was too honest. Cutting, yes. Intense, certainly. But honest.
Scraping back her chair, she stood and thrust her hand across the table. “Thanks for all the help.”
He clasped her palm with his big hand, and she forced a smile, though Dr. O’Rourke didn’t return the favor. As his fingers surrounded hers, the doctor stared at her with those electric blue eyes that could look straight into her soul, and her face suddenly felt hot.
Quickly, Chandra yanked back her hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. Her voice nearly failed her. “I’ll be back later,” she assured him as she turned and marched out of the cafeteria, hoping he didn’t guess that she’d reacted to his touch. She was tired, that was all. Tired and nervous about the infant. God, what a night!
* * *
DALLAS WATCHED CHANDRA HILL retreat. A fascinating woman, he thought grudgingly as he swirled the dregs of coffee in his cup. There was something about her that didn’t quite click, an attitude that didn’t fit with the rest of her.
Still, she intrigued him. The feel of her hand in his had caused his heart to race a second, and she’d reacted, too—he’d seen the startled look in her eyes as she’d drawn back. He laughed inwardly. If she only knew how safe she was with him. He’d sworn off beautiful women long ago, and despite her uncombed hair, hastily donned clothes and face devoid of makeup, Chandra Hill was gorgeous.
And trouble. One hundred fifteen pounds of trouble packed onto a lithe frame. She obviously bucked authority: Nurse Lindquist would testify to that. At the thought of Alma Lindquist’s agitated expression, Dallas grinned. Yes, he imagined Chandra with her sharp tongue and high-handed attitude could get under anyone’s skin.
Fortunately, Dallas didn’t have time for a woman in his profession. Not any woman. And especially not a firecracker like Ms. Hill. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, trying to dispel her image.
He was off duty. One last look at the Baby John Doe and then he’d go home and sleep for twelve hours. Maybe longer. But first, he might stop by the sheriff’s office and listen to the recording of Chandra Hill’s call to the emergency dispatcher. If he heard the tape, perhaps he’d get a better perspective on what condition the child was in when she found him. Oh, hell, it probably wouldn’t do any good. In fact, he decided, he was just curious about the lady. And he hadn’t been curious about a woman in a long, long time.
Squashing his cup with one hand, he shoved himself upright and glanced at the corridor down which Chandra had disappeared.
Who was this tiny woman with her unlikely knowledge of medicine? Jaundice was one thing, the layman could spot that. And a lay person might notice the swelling on the baby’s head. But to come up with the medical term after a few first aid courses? Unlikely.
Nope. For some reason, Chandra Hill was deliberately holding back. His eyes narrowed at the thought.
Obviously the child wasn’t hers. He’d checked out her trim figure and quick step. No, she wasn’t the least bit postpartum, and she was far too young to have a daughter who’d gotten pregnant. But a sister? Or a friend?
Could the baby be stolen? Could Chandra have taken the child from its home, then realized it needed medical attention, concocted this story and brought him in? Dallas didn’t think so. A dozen questions about Chandra Hill swam through his tired mind, but he couldn’t come up with an answer.
Drawing in a long breath, he was surprised that the scent of her—a clean soapy scent unaffected by perfume—lingered in the stale air of the cafeteria, a fresh breeze in this desert of white walls, polished chrome, chipped Formica and the ever-present smell of antiseptic.
She was definitely a mystery, he decided as he shoved back his chair, but a mystery he was too damned tired to unravel.
SAM WAS WAITING for Chandra. As she opened the door, he jumped up, yipping excitedly, his tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. “Oh, come off it,” Chandra said, smiling despite the yawn that crept up on her. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
But the big dog couldn’t get enough attention. He bounded back and forth from his empty dish to her as she started for the stairs. “Don’t get too anxious, Sam. Breakfast isn’t for another three hours.” In the loft, she nudged off one boot with the toe of the other. “What a night! Do you believe it? The police and even the doctor seem to think I had something to do with stealing the baby or kidnapping the kid or God only knows what! And that Dr. O’Rourke, you should meet him…” She shook her head, as if she could physically shake out her own thoughts of the doctor. Handsome, arrogant and sexy, he was a man to steer well clear of. But she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to see the baby again. “Believe me, this is one mess,” she told the dog, who was still pacing in the kitchen.
She thought about checking the barn one last time, but was too exhausted. Tossing off her jacket, she dropped onto the unmade bed, discarded her jeans and sought solace under the eiderdown quilt she’d inherited from her grandmother.
With a disgruntled sigh, Sam swept up the stairs and parked in his favorite spot on the floor near the end of the bed. Chandra heard his toes click on the old pine boards as he circled three times before dropping to the floor. She sighed to herself and hoped sleep would quickly overcome her weary body as it seemed to have done for the old dog.
Three days after moving into this place a couple of years before, Chandra had discovered Sam, so thin his ribs showed beneath his matted, dusty coat, his eyes without spark and a wound that stretched from one end of his belly to the other. He’d snarled at her approach, his white teeth flashing defensively as she’d tried to touch him. But she’d brought him water and food, and the listless dog had slowly begun to trust her. She’d eventually cleaned the wound, the mark of a cornered wild animal, she’d guessed, and brought Sam into the house. He’d been with her ever since, a permanent and loving fixture in her life.
But a far cry from a man or a child.
She smiled sadly and pulled the covers closer around her neck. Just because she’d found an abandoned infant was no reason to start dreaming old dreams that she’d discarded long ago. But though her body was fatigued, her mind was spinning with images of the