“It’s a mess. Single-vehicle accident about ten miles past Manny Cordova’s place. Looks like the driver lost control.”

Nolan listened to the report coming over the police scanner. Since he was the only one on call at the newspaper, it looked as if that “mess” was his responsibility. He loved most things about owning and managing the local newspaper. But stories like this were never fun.

He took a sharp corner slowly, his tires jostling on the poorly maintained pavement. Ahead he spotted the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. Parking behind the police cars, he had a view of the accident. The vehicle—some kind of SUV—had gone off the road and crashed into a rock outcrop.

He’d have to get a photo. About to uncap his camera, Nolan froze. He could just see the rear license plate of the mangled vehicle. And he’d seen that particular pattern before.

And then it hit him.

The SUV belonged to his sister.

Dear Reader,

In our family my husband, Michael, is the one who is usually taking business trips. I stay at home and look after the kids and the house and shovel all the snow (it always snows when he goes away). When I found out I was going to be working on a series set in New Mexico, though, I knew that this was my chance. I had never been to New Mexico. Clearly a “business trip” was in order.

So I told my husband, “Honey, I’m going on a business trip to New Mexico.” He asked me what I was going to do there. “Oh, go shopping and sightseeing and hang out in the local coffee shops. I’ll probably have to take lots of pictures,” I added, so it would be clear that I would be working very hard. I think he must have felt sorry for me by this point, because that’s when he volunteered to come with me.

Several months after that trip, I sat down at my computer with visions of mountains and deserts and Georgia O’Keeffe paintings filling my imagination. Michael and I had a wonderful time in New Mexico. It’s a beautiful place, an enchanting place. The perfect setting—in my opinion—for THE BIRTH PLACE series.

If you’ve read the earlier BIRTH PLACE books, you’ll already have met my hero and heroine. Kim Sherman is the birth center accountant who has come to town for reasons only she knows. And Nolan McKinnon is the local newspaper editor whose world is about to be torn apart by a family tragedy. I hope you enjoy the adventure of their love story. And come back to Enchantment next month to discover the truth behind the legend of the homecoming baby.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you! Write to #1754-246

Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta T3H 3C8. E-mail: cj@cjcarmichael.com.

Leaving Enchantment
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to all the “Super” authors who made collaborating

on this project so much fun: Darlene Graham,

Brenda Novak, Roxanne Rustand, Kathleen O’Brien,

Marisa Carroll. What a great team of writers to work with!

Special thanks to Anita Cisecki, R.N., ISE,

who works in high-risk obstetrics at the Foothills Hospital

in Calgary, for sharing her amazing experience and

expertise. Lucky for me my brother married your sister!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

THE SPACIOUS ROOM FELT tranquil and homey—with dim lighting, soothing classical music and the scent of lavender in the air. Steve Davidson rubbed massage oil through the back opening of his wife’s favorite flannel nightgown, while Mary crouched on her hands and knees panting softly.

She was ten centimeters dilated.

Lydia Kane, midwife and founder of The Birth Place, observed the young woman thoughtfully. Six years ago, Mary’s first delivery had been relatively quick. Lydia had predicted that this second one would be even faster. And yet the baby still hadn’t dropped into position in the birth canal.

Across the room, where she was folding the damp towels Mary had used to towel off from a soak in the whirlpool tub earlier, Gina Vaughn, the assisting midwife, was biting her bottom lip. Lydia caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile.

Gina was doing wonderfully. Newly certified, a mother of two herself, Gina’s passion for the calling reminded Lydia of herself decades ago. Oh, she’d been terribly idealistic at that age. A part of her, she knew, still was.

Even after all these years, every birth Lydia attended gave her the same deep sense of wonder and satisfaction. The belief that she was helping mothers savor the full meaning of their childbirth experience had motivated her to establish The Birth Place in the fairly isolated town of Enchantment, New Mexico, and to keep it running—sometimes overcoming incredible hurdles—for over forty years.

“Excuse me.” Steve approached, his eyes creased with concern. “How much longer, do you think? She’s really in a lot of pain.”

“Let’s see how she’s doing.” Lydia performed a quick examination. The baby hadn’t descended into the pelvis yet. Come on, little guy, she urged silently. She checked Mary’s temperature while Gina assessed the fetal heart rate with a handheld Doppler. Steve and Mary both seemed to relax slightly when they heard the steady rhythm.

“It’s 145 to 150 beats per minute,” Gina said.

Lydia nodded. “Temperature is normal.” She turned back to Steve. “It shouldn’t be much longer. Let’s wait for a few more contractions. Mary, do you want to try squatting at the side of the bed?”

Maybe a change in position would help bring the baby down.

Lydia knew the Davidson’s daughter, Sammy, hoped for a sister. But Lydia suspected Mary was carrying a boy, at least one pound heavier than Sammy had been.

“You’re doing beautifully,” she told Mary, stroking the petite woman’s back, containing her own growing unease.

“That last contraction was a killer.” Mary crawled awkwardly from the bed, leaning heavily on Steve for support. She grabbed one of the strong wooden posts, then squatted, pulling hard on the bed as another contraction swept over her.

“Oh, I need to push!” Mary cried.

Lydia understood the other woman’s overwhelming urge to bear down. In second-stage labor, Mary’s entire body was focused on expelling the child from her womb.

“Good work, Mary,” she encouraged.

Gina adjusted Mary’s gown so she could get yet another Doppler reading. Again, the sound of a strong heartbeat filled the room. Mary and Steve’s baby appeared to be coping well.

And yet…

Reserving judgment for a few more minutes, Lydia considered Steve’s worried face. These days, almost all of Lydia’s client’s husbands or partners chose to be present during the birthing experience—sometimes with siblings and other family members, too. Six years ago, Steve had been one of those keen father-to-be’s. But in the last, difficult hour of Sammy’s delivery, when Mary had been alternately crying and whimpering, he had left the room.

Lydia knew he’d been disappointed later, and so had Mary. This time Steve was determined to stick it out—for Mary and for himself. But he already appeared a little woozy.

“This is it!” Mary reached for Lydia’s hand as her body surged in one more powerful contraction. “Oh my God, the baby’s coming!”

But twenty minutes later, the baby still hadn’t descended very much. Lydia checked the time. Almost seven in the evening. More than five hours had passed since the Davidsons had arrived with Mary already in established labor. Lydia didn’t know what was wrong. Mary’s contractions certainly palpitated strong enough. Baby’s heart rate was stable. There was no apparent reason to be concerned and yet Lydia’s sixth sense warned that all was not well.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” she said quietly to Gina.

“Taking a little longer than we expected.”

Yes. But why? Lydia looked at the tiny woman who was now back on the bed, exhausted, disheartened. The disparity in size between Mary and her large-framed husband had caused Lydia concern when she’d first met the couple six years ago. But Mary had a proven pelvis. Sammy had weighed in at just over eight pounds.

However, this second child was bigger than the first. Perhaps even bigger than Lydia had estimated.

She made up her mind. “I’m moving them to the hospital.”

After a second Gina nodded. “Maybe that’s wise.”

“I’ve got the air mattress in the back of my van. Drive it right up to the back door, would you? My keys are in the top drawer of my desk. I’ll talk to the Davidsons.”

“Is there a problem?” Steve had noticed the two midwives conferring quietly.

“Probably not.” Lydia smiled at him, then his wife. “You’re doing wonderfully, Mary, and your baby is a real champ, too. But this delivery is taking longer than I expected, and I always play it safe in situations like this. I want to move you to the hospital.”

Arroyo County Hospital was just minutes away. Nevertheless, delivery in a bright, modern, bustling hospital was not what the Davidsons had wanted. It wasn’t what Lydia wanted for them, either, but she could not take any chances.

“I don’t want— Ohhh…” Another contraction hit Mary, sweeping away her objection. Lydia calmly coached her through the pain. When it was over, Lydia performed a quick reexamination to see if the baby’s head had dropped. Unfortunately, no progress had been made.

“I’m sorry, Mary, but we have to move you. I know it’s going to be uncomfortable, but Gina will ride with you in the back of my van. Steve, do you want to sit up front with me?”

“I’ll drive my own vehicle,” he decided, his voice taut with anxiety.

“Fine. We’ll meet you there. And don’t worry. Dr. Ochoa is on duty tonight. He’ll take good care of Mary.”

DR. OCHOA, AN OBSTETRICIAN at the Arroyo County Hospital, met them in the delivery room. Lydia referred all her high-risk patients to Dr. Ochoa and had unfaltering admiration for the man. His reciprocal respect explained their professional association for over twenty years.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, snapping on a new pair of gloves.

Already positioned on the delivery table, pale, exhausted Mary had no energy to speak. Steve, as well, was quiet and tense. Lydia hoped he wasn’t going to faint. Gina obviously had the same concern. She was at his side, watching him carefully.

Quickly Lydia filled the doctor in on the patient’s case history. “Mary’s been at ten centimeters for almost two hours now. The baby still hasn’t descended.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, let’s take a look. Maybe something happened on the drive over.” He ambled to the delivery bed. “Hello, Mary, Steve. I’m Dr. Ochoa. How are you doing?”

After a quick examination he noted that the baby was now in position. “But—” he gave Lydia a smile of approval “—I’m glad you brought her in. It’s always better to err on the side of caution.” He turned back to the anxious parents-to-be. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

Lydia noticed Steve’s shoulders relax a fraction. Did he feel better now that a real doctor was in charge? Mary, however, seemed stressed. Lydia took her hand.

Mary’s anxious gaze sought hers. “Will you stay until my baby’s born?”

“I will.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“No.” She patted Mary’s shoulder then glanced at the doctor, who nodded in acceptance.

“And my baby’s still okay?”

A nurse had hooked Mary up to an external fetal monitor now and had started an IV, as well. Lydia had only to glance at the machine to see the same fetal heart rate they’d tracked on the Doppler at The Birth Place.

“Your baby is fine, Mary.” She smiled across the room at Steve, who was leaning against a wall. “And you’re doing great, too, Dad.” Steve mustered a small smile in reply.

“Here comes another…” Mary pushed as best she could through the force of the contraction. With legs open and feet resting on the birthing bars, she sat at a fifty-five degree angle, grabbing her thighs.

“Oh-oh-oh…”

“Good work, sweetheart.” Steve spoke in an attempt to be reassuring. He couldn’t watch anymore, poor man. Lydia was about to suggest he take a breather, when suddenly the baby was crowning.

“The baby’s coming, Mary!” the doctor said.

The next contraction came only seconds after the previous. “Keep pushing, Mary,” Lydia urged.

Valiantly Mary bore down and the baby’s head delivered—large, pink and topped with matted black hair. Oh, he’s beautiful, but Lydia no sooner had that thought than the head receded partway into the birth canal.

She glanced sharply at the doctor, who frowned in return.

“One more time, Mary,” he instructed.

The next contraction should have done it. Mary’s face contorted with the effort of pushing. But nothing happened.

Fear, sharp and cold, froze Lydia. Something was terribly wrong here. The baby’s shoulders were trapped within the pelvis.

“Heart rate is one hundred,” the nurse reported. She put in a call for more help and a second nurse arrived a moment later.

Come on! Come on! Lydia chanted silently as another contraction proved as ineffective as the one before. Lydia slid in next to the doctor.

“Shoulder dystocia?”

Dr. Ochoa nodded.

Lydia had dealt with this complication before and delivered healthy babies every time. Still, she was very relieved that she’d made the decision to transfer the birth to the hospital.

“Why isn’t the baby coming?” Steve asked. “Is this normal?”

Far from it. In this position, the baby’s supply of oxygen was compromised. Every second counted. But Lydia was trained to project calm, even in moments of crisis. “We’re trying, Steve.”

“Let’s reposition the mother.” Dr. Ochoa’s tone was becoming more curt by the moment. Lydia did her best to reassure Mary as the bed was lowered to a flat position. Each of the nurses took one of Mary’s legs and lifted it up and back toward Mary’s ears. The doctor swept his fingers inside the stretched tissue of the perineum.

Seconds ticked by. A minute.

Lydia empathized with Dr. Ochoa as he tried desperately to angle the baby’s head down to the floor. But this baby simply would not move. Ochoa was sweating now, trying various maneuvers in increasingly desperate attempts to release one of the baby’s shoulders. If he had to, Lydia knew he would break the clavicle. They were running out of time.

“What are you doing?” Mary could barely utter the words through her exhaustion.

“Trying to get the baby out.” Lydia glanced at her watch, calculating the time that had already passed.

Come on! Come on!

“But we didn’t—” Another contraction knocked the words out of Mary’s mouth. She bore down and Lydia prayed.

“Come on, baby!” His face was turning blue. They had to get him out, his heart rate was continuing to drop. Eighty. Now sixty. Blue skin deepened to purple, and Lydia fought to keep calm.

“What’s happening?” Steve searched faces anxiously. He and Gina were standing too far back for him to actually see the action.

More personnel flooded into the room. Among them, Lydia recognized Dr. Joanna Weston, an excellent local pediatrician. No one bothered with the pleasantries of a greeting. All eyes focused on Dr. Ochoa and the baby he was trying desperately to bring into the world.

“Try a lateral push.” The doctor continued to work at delivering the shoulder, while one of the new nurses applied pressure across Mary’s abdomen hoping to dislodge that stubborn shoulder.

“Come on, honey,” Lydia urged. “This will be the one that does it.”

And it happened. With a grunt of effort, the doctor managed to pull out the anterior shoulder, then the posterior one. The baby was finally out.

Normally Lydia felt relief at this point. But not today. The baby’s face was bluish-purple, his body flaccid and blanched.

His. The baby was a boy. And big. Lydia’s estimate had been correct. He had at least a pound on his sister.

But he wasn’t breathing. Lydia watched the doctor check for a pulse. She could tell by Ochoa’s furrowed brow that he didn’t find one. He clamped and cut the cord, then passed the baby to Dr. Weston. She was the only one who could save this baby now.

Dr. Weston moved quickly and efficiently. She suctioned the baby before beginning to bag him with oxygen.

“Oh, my God. Is my baby okay?” Mary started to weep.

Turning from the resuscitation efforts, Lydia focused on Mary. She smoothed Mary’s damp hair and murmured softly. Gina, she noticed, was patting Steve’s shoulder.

As she repeated meaningless, comforting phrases, an internal dialogue ran through Lydia’s mind, a prayer for the baby lying lifeless under Dr. Weston’s care. Oh, Lord, please let this baby be all right. Please let him be strong and healthy like his sister. Mary and Steve are such good people, excellent parents. Please…

As Lydia prayed, Mary began to bleed. The flow was too heavy. The doctor inserted his hand into the vagina to see if the placenta was separating.

The next second Mary’s eyes rolled back and her body fell limp. She immediately turned blue.

God, no!

“We need oxygen! Fluids!” Dr. Ochoa ordered tersely. “And let’s get a second IV going.”

Lydia stepped back to give the nurses and doctor better access to Mary. The primary nurse began to bag her with one hundred percent oxygen.

“Code blue to room three-twelve stat.”

As the nurse summoned yet more help, Lydia guessed what had happened. Amniotic fluid embolism. She’d seen a few in her career. When the amniotic fluid was sucked into the mother’s circulation, the results were instantaneous and often dire.

This whole delivery was turning into the worst obstetrical nightmare anyone could imagine.

Lydia thought of little Sammy, probably sleeping at just this moment. That little girl needed her mother. They couldn’t lose Mary tonight. They just couldn’t.

While the nurses concentrated on their jobs, Dr. Ochoa delivered a complete placenta. Blood from Mary’s uterus flowed freely onto the doctor’s shoes, splattering onto the tile floor. The second nurse massaged the uterus frantically, but the bleeding continued.

“Pitocin!” the doctor ordered.

Another nurse, having anticipated this need, got the drug flowing through the second IV. At that moment the crash cart and team arrived and Mary was intubated. The team frantically tried other drugs to try to stop the bleeding.

Lydia stood back, watching the scene helplessly. The average pregnant woman carried about six liters of blood. At the rate Mary was hemorrhaging, she’d lose it all in a matter of minutes.

“We’ve lost her pulse! She’s in cardiac arrest!”

The doctor from the code team began chest compressions. Lydia stepped back to the wall, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. Still, her attention remained riveted on her lifeless patient. Mary was too young to die. She had so much to live for.

“Hang on, Mary. Please, please, hang on.” Mary couldn’t hear, not above the noise level in the room, but Lydia spoke anyway, her words like a prayer.

“How’s the baby?” she asked.

Dr. Weston threw her a frustrated look. “Still no respiration or heart rate. He isn’t responding…”

Were they going to lose them both? Oh, God, please no! “Come on, Mary. You can survive this. Your family needs you.”

Family. Steve. Lydia scanned the room anxiously but couldn’t see Mary’s husband. He wasn’t in the room anymore. Nor was Gina.

LYDIA HAD PROMISED Mary she wouldn’t leave her. And she didn’t. The team continued their resuscitation efforts for forty minutes, fifty…an hour. Dr. Weston eventually had to give up on the baby. She squeezed Lydia’s shoulder on her way out of the room. Lydia continued to pray for Mary.

But they couldn’t bring her back.

At just after nine, two hours after arriving at the hospital with the Davidsons, Lydia stepped out of the birthing room into the cold, wide corridor. A pregnant woman waddled by her, frowning at the blood splatters on Lydia’s thick socks and Birkenstock sandals.

“Lydia.” Gina approached from the far end of the corridor. Sorrow filled the air between them like a heavy cloud.

“You’re still here.” Lydia was unable to meet the other woman’s gaze.

“I’ve been with Steve.”

“Where is he?”

Gina pointed in the direction she’d come from. “The doctors are talking to him now.”

Lydia swallowed. She felt as though she should be the one to bear the awful news, but hospital protocol required that the attending physician announce a client’s demise.

“I’ll check on him,” she told Gina. “You go home now. You need to be with your husband and children.”

Gina brushed tears from her eyes. They clearly weren’t the first she’d shed that night. They would be far from the last.

Lydia hugged Gina, then forced herself to continue down the hall. She found Steve in a small waiting room, collapsed in one of a dozen poorly upholstered chairs clustered around a vending machine. Dr. Ochoa and Dr. Weston had just left.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Lydia felt a hundred years old.

He said nothing. Lydia wanted to cradle him in her arms, but he wouldn’t even look at her.

Lydia knew there were no words to soften his loss. “Steve, the hospital teams tried their best. They really did.”

He didn’t seem to hear. “I’ve lost both of them.”

The words tore at her heart.

“Yes.”

Finally Steve lifted his head. He stared at her with outrage, and she could hear what he didn’t say. We trusted you. You said everything would be okay.

“No.”

Lydia held out her arms.

“No!” He rose from his chair and turned, not to her, but to the soda machine. Raising his fists, the big, powerful man started to pound, one fist after another. “No! No! No!”

Each word conveyed crushing disbelief. How could she help him? Lydia was willing to do anything. If only she could take his pain and bear it for him.

She waited for his initial rage to subside, for him to be still. “Steve, let me call someone. How about your mother?”

His chest convulsed and he started to sob. “No!” he cried out once more, then bolted from the room like a panicked child. Once in the corridor he ran past the elevator to the stairs.

“Steve, come back! Let me help!” Lydia tried to follow, but in her sandals, she couldn’t keep up. Finally, she skidded to a stop, grasping at the handle of the door to the stairwell. As the door gave, she caught one glimpse of the top of Steve’s head.

And that was the last she saw of him.

CHAPTER TWO

HOME LATE FROM THE OFFICE, Nolan McKinnon, editor and owner of the Arroyo County Bulletin, was just about to dig into his second slice of pizza when a police call came over the scanner sitting next to his toaster. Nolan recognized the voice of his good friend, Miguel Eiden.

“We’ve got a 10-45 on Switchback Road. Get an ambulance and backup. Now.”

God. It wasn’t even ten o’clock. Wasn’t it too early for a traffic accident on a Saturday night? Nolan grabbed a notepad and pencil and waited for the details.

“Ten-four, Miguel,” said the dispatcher. “How bad is it?”

“It’s a mess. Single-vehicle accident about ten miles past Manny Cordova’s place. Looks like the driver lost control and ran into a rock wall at speed.”

Nolan’s full-time reporter, Cooper Lorenzo, had been on call last weekend. Which meant this “mess,” as Miguel had put it, was all his. Sighing, Nolan closed the cardboard box over the still-hot pizza and went for his camera.

He loved most things about owning and managing the local newspaper, but late-night calls, especially for stories like this, were never fun. Still, people expected newspapers to cover these personal tragedies.

Fortunately they didn’t occur often in a town of five thousand people.

A minute later, sitting high in the seven-year-old Explorer he’d just bought off an old friend of his father’s, Nolan zipped out of his neighborhood, bypassing the commercial heart of Enchantment. Sometime between now and when he’d picked up his pizza it had begun to snow. The white flakes battered his windshield as he left town limits. Switchback Road cut into the sparsely populated Sangre de Cristo Mountains that bordered the northwest side of Enchantment. The narrow, twisting route was picturesque during daylight hours, but it had a checkered history. Every year the townspeople could count on at least one bad accident, most caused by excessive speed.

As a teenager, Nolan had done his share of wild driving. But shortly after he’d begun work full-time at the Bulletin, he’d reformed. He’d seen some grisly sights in the past ten years. He really didn’t want to experience another. He thought of his pizza cooling on his kitchen counter and the game on TV that was only half over.

Shit. What a life.

Nolan took a sharp corner slowly, his tires jostling on the poorly maintained pavement underneath the fresh snow. Ahead he spotted the flashing lights of emergency vehicles in the dark.

The left-hand side of the road was cordoned off. Without the luxury of wide, paved shoulders, police had done their best to leave a narrow corridor open. Two officers stood at either end of the wreck, directing the sporadic traffic.

Nolan pulled over to the far left, just as an ambulance took off from the scene, sirens blaring.

Once the coast was clear, Nolan inched left again, parking behind one of the police cars. He had a view of the accident now. The vehicle—some kind of SUV—had gone off the road and crashed into a rock outcrop.

He’d have to get a photo.

About to uncap his Nikon, Nolan froze. He could see the rear license plate of the mangled vehicle, illuminated by the headlights from one of the police cars. The numbers taunted him. He’d seen that particular pattern before.

And then it hit him.

This was his sister’s vehicle.

His stomach heaved. He dashed from his Explorer and ran for the cover of some scraggly pines. Next thing, he was bringing up that slice of pizza. It was a loud and nasty process and finally drew someone’s attention. One of the officers left the others gathering evidence and headed toward him.

A dusting of snow covered Miguel Eiden’s dark hair and the shoulders of his uniform. He shook his head unhappily. “I was hoping you wouldn’t hear that call, Nolan. I was going to phone you first chance I got.”

Nolan dug into the pockets of his jeans and found nothing. So he pulled out the tail of his shirt and used that to wipe his mouth, his chin, his hands.

“That’s my sister’s SUV.” He took a few steps toward the accident scene, but Miguel stopped him.

“I know, Nolan. I’m sorry. She wasn’t in the car, though. Just Steve. He’s on his way to the hospital now. You must have seen the ambulance.”

“What about Sammy? Are you sure she wasn’t in the back seat?”

“Yes. Both kiddie seats were empty, thank God for small mercies.”

Two car seats? Mary and Steve had just one kid. Nolan closed his eyes, opened them. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t believe this wasn’t a crazy dream. Mary and Steve had lived for years in their cozy A-frame about fifteen minutes from here. Steve must have driven this route thousands of times.

“What the hell happened?”

“Don’t know for sure. The road is a little icy from the snow, but the skid marks suggest Steve was driving too fast, as well. He went off the road at the beginning of that S-curve. Probably would have dived right down the mountain, except for that hunk of rock at the side of the road.”

“And you’re sure no one else was in the vehicle?”

“Yeah.” Miguel shook his head, scuffed the dirt with his boots. He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end only shook his head again.

Nolan swallowed but couldn’t rid his mouth of the sour taste of bile. Was his brother-in-law going to be all right? The brief conversation he’d overheard on his scanner hadn’t sounded promising. “Was he hurt bad?”

When Miguel didn’t answer right away, Nolan compressed his lips and stared at the license plate still visible in the headlights’ beam. He felt his good friend pat his arm.

“You better phone your sister, man.”

Deliver this awful news? No. He wasn’t the right person for that job. He couldn’t… Nolan bowed his head, fighting his gut reaction to refuse. Miguel was right. Even though he and Mary hadn’t spoken for almost three years, it would be better for her to hear about this from him rather than the cops.

He nodded, then wiped his mouth again. “Maybe I should drive over rather than phone.” But what about Steve? “Or should I go straight to the hospital?” God, his brain wasn’t functioning.

“Go to the hospital,” his friend decided for him. “I’ll take you in the Explorer and you can call Mary on your cell phone. Hang on a second.”

Miguel jogged back to the accident scene to confer with his fellow officers. Meanwhile, Nolan opened the driver-side door. His mind went blank for a moment. He remembered the last time he’d seen Mary, at their mother’s funeral. She’d come close to hating him then, he knew. He didn’t want to talk to her now. Not with news like this.

But he had no choice. And he had to hurry. Pulling himself back to the present, he fished the keys from his jeans.

Miguel came up from behind and scooped them from his hands. “I’m driving, buddy.”

Nolan nodded in the direction of the wreck. “You’ve got work to do.”

“Officially I’m off duty as of fifteen minutes ago. Hank’s going to bring the squad car back to town when they’re finished here.”

“I’m fine,” Nolan protested, but Miguel slid behind the wheel.

“You don’t need to do this,” Nolan tried to argue again.

Miguel ignored him. He started the engine and waited. Nolan slapped a hand against the closed driver door and gave in. The second he’d slammed his door shut, Miguel had the vehicle in gear. Another cop waved them safely onto the road, and Miguel eased the speed up to the posted limit.

“Do you have your phone?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Nolan pulled it out of his jacket.

“Okay. You call Mary. Tell her after I drop you off at the hospital I’m picking up my own car and coming back to get her.”

AT THE ARROYO COUNTY HOSPITAL, a nurse ushered Nolan into a special little room and told him the doctor would talk to him shortly. Nolan glanced at a stack of magazines on a table in the corner. The glossy paper gleamed. They’d never been touched. He put a hand to his head and it came away damp. The snow, he remembered.

How was Steve doing? Nolan hung on to hope, despite Miguel’s grim expectations.

There’d been no answer when he’d tried calling Mary. She’d always been a deep sleeper, but he’d let the phone ring until the answering machine picked up, and then he’d called again. Still she hadn’t answered. Miguel was on his way to her house now. So Nolan wouldn’t be the one to tell her about the accident after all.

A deeply-buried regret stirred within him. He never should have let three years pass without making an attempt to reconcile with his sister. His mother had always said he was too damn stubborn for his own good.

The door opened, and Dr. Ochoa came into the room, wearing a clean white lab coat, pen in his hand along with a clipboard. Nolan had consulted with him a few times on various stories for the Bulletin. This was the first time he’d spoken to him on a personal level. Mercifully, Dr. Ochoa came straight to the point.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to Nolan. “Your sister has died.”

Mary? What the hell was he talking about?

“But I spoke to Miguel Eiden at the accident scene. He said there were no passengers. Just the driver. Just Steve.”

Ochoa sighed. Despite his distress and confusion, Nolan couldn’t help but be aware of the older man’s intense weariness. “Mary’s death occurred earlier this evening, Nolan. Before the accident.”

“What?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Let me try to explain. This afternoon your sister and her husband went to The Birth Place. Mary was in labor. After about seven hours the midwife in charge of her birth—Lydia Kane, a very proficient, experienced midwife—decided to transport your sister to our hospital.”

Nolan hadn’t even known Mary was pregnant again. He remembered Miguel mentioning two kiddie seats. What the hell was going on?

“On my initial exam, your sister appeared fine and so did her unborn baby. But the situation deteriorated quickly. We lost Mary at nine-oh-three. Her baby was never resuscitated.”

Nolan knew this couldn’t be happening. “Women don’t die in childbirth anymore.”

“In very rare cases they do. In this one…”

The doctor recited terms Nolan had never heard before. Shoulder something and amnio something else.

“We tried everything we could to save her. Lydia Kane is to be commended for bringing her to the hospital so quickly. We had all modern medicine to hand, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it isn’t.”

Nolan put both hands to his head. Mary was dead? Gone? No, please. Let there be some mistake…

“Mary Davidson. You’re sure?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Even through his shock, Nolan noticed the slight waver of disbelief in the doctor’s voice. He hadn’t expected to lose this patient.

So why the hell had he?

Nolan forced his teeth together, pressed his lips tight. Don’t lash out at the doctor. Not yet. Need to gather all the facts, first. Make sure what Dr. Ochoa said was true, that everything possible had been done.

“Steve was in the room when this happened,” the doctor added.

Now, suddenly, Nolan saw the whole picture and all the pieces—the tragic events of this awful night—fell into place. Steve, totally distraught, had tried to drive home after the tragedy. Instead he’d driven off the road. On purpose?

Hell, it was possible. What man who’d just seen his wife die on the delivery bed, who knew that his newborn baby was dead, too, wouldn’t have the thought cross his mind?

One quick turn of the steering wheel and it’s all over. No more suffering.

It could easily have been an accident, too. Switchback Road was unforgiving at the best of times, requiring every ounce of a driver’s attention. The snow had been blinding and Steve had been an emotional mess. Probably his vision had been blurred with tears, as well.

“The ambulance brought him here,” Nolan said.

The doctor nodded. “Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do. His head injuries were massive. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Nolan didn’t know what to say. A family had been wiped out tonight. A mother and father and their new baby. Leaving him and— Oh, my God.

“Mary and Steve have a daughter. Six years old…”

Deep sorrow glimmered again in the doctor’s eyes.

“Samantha, Sammy for short.” Nolan remembered her third birthday. That had been the last happy family gathering before his mother’s death and his and Mary’s estrangement.

“Someone has to go talk to Samantha,” the doctor said “Do you think you could?”

Nolan felt numb. He had to call Miguel, as well. Right now his good friend was probably knocking at the Davidsons’ A-frame. Soon he’d realize Mary wasn’t home.

“There’ll be other family members to notify, too, of course,” the doctor continued.

Nolan nodded. He’d have to get in touch with Steve’s mother, Irene, before she heard about the accident on the news. Or read his paper.

Shit. He’d have to get Cooper to write something. There was no way he could. Besides, he’d have other concerns. There’d be obituaries and funerals and… Oh, hell, this just couldn’t be real.

The doctor was consulting his chart again. “Any other immediate family?”

Steve shook his head. Some aunts and uncles, most of them out-of-state. He’d have to check with Irene for the other side of the family. He’d go to her house now. Maybe Sammy was with her.

Sammy. He couldn’t even remember what his niece looked like anymore. Chubby cheeks and a lisp, he vaguely recollected. But that had been three years ago.

CHAPTER THREE

KIM SHERMAN KNEW her co-workers at The Birth Place didn’t like her. She knew she had a reputation for being ruthless, impersonal, bottom-line oriented. All of which was perfectly true. And why not? Kim hadn’t moved to Enchantment almost eight months ago to vie for the local Miss Congeniality award.

Seeking personal admiration of any kind wasn’t her style. People either accepted her for what she was—or too bad. For them. She didn’t care. She never had.

She was good at what she did. Extremely good. Numbers spoke to her. Accounting had been her thing, from the first course she’d taken in high school to her last full credit in college. She’d never encountered a set of books she couldn’t balance. A statement of changes she couldn’t reconcile.

She was efficient. Organized. A merciless perfectionist.

Some people had a problem with those qualities. Probably because they themselves were incapable of meeting standards that high. Those people tended to avoid Kim, and she was fine with that.

Which was one reason working at night appealed to her so much. She could concentrate without interruption. As an added bonus, she didn’t have to listen to the annoying chatter of others who obviously socialized with each other outside of work. Kim checked her Timex and was surprised. She hadn’t planned to stay this late.

It was past ten. She’d been lost in her analysis of outstanding payables for—what?—almost four hours. The Birth Place was out of money. Again. It was up to her to decide which suppliers they simply had to pay and which could be put off for a few more months.

It was a job many would hate. But Kim didn’t mind.

She flicked off the radio by her desk. She’d been listening to a classical station, the sound a comfort in the empty complex. Now, through her open office door, traveled a disquieting noise. Someone laughing quietly… No, crying.

Lydia and Gina had been in earlier with a delivery. But she’d heard them leave hours ago. The night janitor had already made his rounds.

Kim shivered and pulled on her gray cardigan, doing up each button, from the bottom to the very top. Grabbing the three-hole punch from her desk and holding it like a baseball bat, she went investigating. The door to the chief administrator’s office was shut tight. Since his marriage to Hope Tanner, Parker Reynolds had been taking work home rather than putting in extra hours at the center.

The sound grew louder as she stepped into the main hall. It seemed to be coming from one of the birthing rooms to her right—definitely someone crying.

No longer concerned about her physical safety, Kim set the three-hole punch on the empty reception desk, next to Trish Linden’s silly snow globe of Venice. The middle-aged receptionist had never ventured out of New Mexico. What was she doing with a souvenir of Italy of all places?

Kim followed the hallway around the curving counter. One of the birthing-room doors stood ajar. A faint light slipped out into the hall.

The sobbing was louder now. Raw and unrestrained.

All Kim’s instincts told her to walk away. She did not want to get involved with this. But what if the person crying was Lydia? Kim would do anything for Lydia.

Lydia Kane had founded The Birth Place when she was a young mother herself, many decades ago. Though she was now in her early seventies she still worked full-time as a midwife. The only sign she gave of easing up was her recent resignation from the board of directors. Kim guessed she’d made the move under pressure, for reasons Kim could only speculate about.

She peeked through the open crack in the door. Sure enough it was Lydia. She’d changed out of the trousers and shirt she’d been wearing for the labor, earlier. Her long gray hair now hung down the back of a forest-green caftan. Kim watched the older woman pull a beautifully patterned quilt over freshly plumped pillows. As she worked efficiently, briskly, her crying continued.

Lydia’s typical self-control and natural dignity made this a most incongruous sight. Again Kim’s instincts warned her to back away. But then she inadvertently pushed on the door and the hinges squeaked. Just a little, but enough.

“Who’s there?” Lydia straightened and turned to face the door. “Kim?” She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Just some late-night accounting.” She didn’t share her worries about the finances. It wouldn’t be news to Lydia, anyway. They were all used to the center being short of funds, though Kim had been working to rectify the situation since she’d been on board. One of her first projects had been the renegotiation of their contracts with the various health-care providers.

“You work too hard.”

Kim stepped into the room. “What about you? Surely this could wait until morning.” She knew some of their contracts required the midwives to file notice of a baby’s birth within twenty-four hours. But that was paperwork. Why was Lydia cleaning the room?

Lydia compressed her lips and turned away. The old woman’s long, lean body shook with the effort of controlling her tears.

“Did something go wrong with the delivery tonight?”

A sob escaped Lydia. A sob filled with deep, wrenching grief.

Oh, God. What was she going to do? There was no one else at the center to deal with this. “Lydia, can I get you something?”

“No. Nothing.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and Kim perched beside her.

“Want to talk about what happened?”

“No.” She shook her head, then sighed. “Yes. Do you remember Mary Davidson and her husband, Steve?”

Kim nodded. She’d never met the couple, but she’d processed the initial payment from their insurance company. Then Steve had quit his job to start his own company and been taken off the company health plan. Their account had been on her receivables listing ever since.

“I still can’t believe it happened. But I lost her tonight, Kim. I lost Mary and the baby. In all my years of midwifing, it’s never happened like this before.” Lydia’s hand trembled as she plucked a tissue from a box on a nearby end table. Kim picked up the entire box and placed it on Lydia’s lap.

“I thought I heard some commotion—around seven o’clock?” She’d been heating up soup in the microwave for her dinner when she’d noticed Gina dashing down the hall.

“Yes. We ended up transferring Mary to the hospital. I had a feeling something was going wrong, even though there didn’t seem to be a problem. In the beginning Mary progressed so normally, you see. Every indication was that this would be an uncomplicated birth.

“But as labor progressed, I began to feel anxious. Over the years I’ve learned to trust my instincts. And so I drove Mary to the hospital. Steve followed in his vehicle. Oh my God, if only he’d ridden with me…” Lydia pressed a tissue over her mouth, stifling a ragged sob.

Kim shivered as an awful suspicion prompted her to ask. “Did something happen to Steve?”

Lydia nodded, her hands covering her face again. “After—” She paused for a strengthening breath. “After he heard about Mary and the baby he took off. About an hour later, he was rushed back to the hospital in an ambulance. Dead. Oh, Kim, he had an accident on Switchback Road!”

Kim starred blankly at Lydia, stunned by the massive dimensions of this tragedy. The older midwife continued to take big gulps of air and eventually regained some composure.

“It’s all so senseless. Mary Davidson was a healthy woman. She never should have died. As for her baby— I saw his face before the trouble started. He was so dear, so precious. A big baby, a healthy boy.”

“Tell me what happened.” Kim wasn’t keen to hear the details, but it might help Lydia to talk. For sure, the older woman wasn’t ready to go home.

Step-by-step Lydia went through the stages of Mary Davidson’s disastrous labor and delivery. Kim didn’t stop her for explanations of medical terms or procedures that she didn’t understand. She just let Lydia talk and talk, second-guessing each decision, going through all the options that had been open at the time.

Finally she fell silent.

“If a similar circumstance presented itself to you tomorrow, you’d make the exact same decisions,” Kim said.

Lydia’s eyes opened wide, then she allowed her stiff shoulders to slump. “Probably. For the life of me, I can’t see where we went wrong. Mary had a proven pelvis. She was healthy and strong. Right up to the end, the baby was doing so well….”

“Lydia, the situation was out of your control.”

“It’s so difficult to accept. In all my years, I’ve never lost a baby and a mother. Poor Sammy!”

Kim had no idea who Sammy was. Now didn’t seem the time to ask. If only she could say something, do something to help. Another person might put an arm around Lydia, murmur comforting words. But for Kim that wasn’t possible.

“May I make you some tea, Lydia?”

The older woman shook her head and pulled yet another tissue from the box. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“I’d love to help.” Kim felt hopelessly inadequate. If only Trish were here. The receptionist had such a gentle, caring way about her.

“Oh, Kim, I wish…”

Desperate to be of some assistance, Kim leaned forward. “Yes?”

“I’d really like to talk to my granddaughter.”

Kim drew in a breath. What? How? Then she realized that of course Lydia was referring to Devon Grant in Albuquerque. Devon was in the medical profession, too. And she’d recently joined the board at The Birth Place. In fact, she’d taken her grandmother’s position on the board. She would be able to understand Lydia’s pain so much better than Kim could.

“Do you know her number? I’ll place the call if you’d like.”

“Oh, it’s too late.”

“I’m sure Devon wouldn’t mind.” In the other woman’s shoes, Kim knew she wouldn’t. She led Lydia back to the reception area, where she punched in the number Lydia gave her. The phone rang many times. But there was no answer and no message machine, either.

“Devon must be on a night shift.”

“Which hospital?” When Lydia told her, Kim dialed directory assistance and soon the line was ringing again.

“May I speak to Devon Grant, please. Her grandmother, Lydia Kane, wishes to speak to her.” She passed the receiver to Lydia, then prepared to leave to give Lydia her privacy. Her hand was on the door leading back to the admin area, when she heard the older woman speak softly.

“I see. Okay. I’ll try again later.”

Kim turned. “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently Devon is in the middle of a delivery. She wasn’t able to take my call.” Lydia was trembling now and struggling not to show it. She hung up the phone, avoiding the younger woman’s sympathetic gaze.

“I’m sure she’ll call you back soon,” Kim said. But she couldn’t help wondering if Devon truly had been too busy to take this call. Kim hadn’t worked here long, but she was aware of the tension between the two women.

The problem stretched back ten years, to a time when Hope Tanner—then a pregnant teenage girl—had sought refuge at The Birth Place. Hope and Devon had become friends. Then Hope had her baby and left town. Kim didn’t know what happened to her baby. Few people did, but Devon was one of them. And she clearly blamed Lydia for something.

Up until that time, her grandmother had been Devon’s mentor and inspiration. But no longer. Devon had moved to Albuquerque and now the two women rarely spoke.

Kim’s sympathies lay one-hundred percent with Lydia. If the older midwife had done something wrong, she must have had a darn good reason. Lydia would have made sure that baby went to a good home. A good family. If she’d bent a few rules to make that happen, so what?

Devon wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Kim thought, if she knew what it was like to be a child who didn’t have a family. Or anyplace to call home.

THE NEXT MORNING Lydia Kane resisted the urge to stay in bed. She’d dealt with pain, disappointment and loss many times in her seventy-three years. None had been a reason to neglect her work before and they weren’t now, either.

She arrived at The Birth Place fifteen minutes before her appointment with a new couple who’d been referred by an ex-patient. This was their first baby, and Lydia didn’t know if she was up to dealing with their excitement, their enthusiasm…their naiveté.

Bringing a new child into this world was a marvelous voyage. That was how Lydia normally felt. But after last night it seemed as if her heart had been replaced with a lead facsimile. The melancholy would fade, she knew from experience. The sense of having failed would not.

She stopped by one of the many collages of photos on display at the birth center. So many tiny faces, proud parents, excited siblings. If only the Davidsons could be among them. Closing her eyes, she composed the picture. Steve standing at the back, a proud hand on Sammy’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his wife, who would be holding a bundled baby to her chest.

That’s how last night should have ended.

If only… If only…

Lydia turned from the wall and continued to her office, to the sanctuary of her leather chair and old oak desk.

Was there anything she could have done? Any sign she’d missed? It didn’t matter that she’d relived every step of the delivery a dozen times last night, and a dozen more this morning. Lydia knew it would take a while for her mind to accept this latest defeat.

Losing a baby happened so rarely. But when the sad circumstance occurred, she was always reminded of the first time she’d lost a baby, her own baby, when she was only sixteen.

She’d been so young…too young. Giving her daughter up for adoption had seemed the best option at the time—at least according to her father. Lydia’s mother had been dead by then. The child will be happier with a real family, her father had said. And Lydia had prayed for the baby’s sake that he was right.

But in her heart, she’d known that she’d let her baby down. She’d devoted her life to mothers and babies ever since. But for all the good she knew that she’d done, cases like the Davidsons made her wonder if the sacrifices she’d made had been worth it after all.

Especially when she considered her own children, the two she’d had after she’d married Ken. Her devotion to her profession had come at a cost, paid in part, she was afraid, by the son she never saw in New York City and the daughter in San Francisco who only visited sporadically.

Then this past autumn, her second failure as a midwife had been exposed when Hope Tanner came back to town. And now Lydia no longer sat as a member of the board of the birth center she’d founded.

She’d given up everything for The Birth Place. Now she was nothing but an employee. Life could be so ironic.

Noticing Kim Sherman’s closed door, Lydia forgot her troubles for a moment. She had no doubt that the accountant had arrived at work at the usual time, despite the long hours she’d put in yesterday.

Kim had been so kind last night. Lydia wondered why the young woman couldn’t show that side of her personality more often. It was no secret around here that most people found her abrasive. Her comments were usually brisk and often critical. No one could meet her expectations, it seemed. Even Parker Reynolds, the chief administrator, admitted she was hard to take. But he refused to let her go.

“We need someone like her,” he’d told Lydia. “She’s renegotiated all our insurance contracts at much better terms. And she’s implementing incredible improvements to our billing system.”

Lydia changed her trajectory and headed to that firmly closed door.

“Come in.”

Lydia was struck by how young Kim appeared, surrounded by the stacks of computer printouts on her desk. The petite woman was only twenty-five, unmarried and so pretty. She should be enjoying her youth, not spending every waking hour alone with her numbers. She should revel in her fresh beauty, instead of hiding it behind dowdy sweaters and dark-framed glasses.

“Lydia!” Startled, Kim stood, sending her pen and a sheet of paper to the floor. “Oh!” She gathered the items and returned them to her desk. Waving at the only free seat in the room, she waited until Lydia was comfortable before returning to her own chair.

“Kim, I want to thank you for last night.”

“Oh, that was…anyone would have… I mean, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Kim. But what about you? Working so late last night, then in to the office early this morning. You have to make time for a social life, you know. Not to mention a decent night’s sleep.”

Kim surveyed the stacks of paper, her expression bordering on the defensive. Lydia had often wondered at the total absence of anything personal in this office. No framed photos or cute magnets. Even Kim’s coffee mug was serviceable white ceramic.

Something had to be done about this girl. And Lydia thought she had just the idea.

“I’ve come to ask you a favor, Kim.”

The accountant perked up, as if nothing could have pleased her more.

“At the last board meeting the directors approved a fund-raising event. Parker wants to call it the Mother and Child Reunion, which is a wonderful name, I think. It will be a huge event. We’d like to invite as many of the women who delivered at our center—and their husbands, of course—as we can find. Also, any adult children who were born here will be welcome, too.”

“Lydia. That will be a huge guest list.”

“We won’t be able to track them all down. And many will have moved and be unable to attend. At any rate, the board wants us to cap the list at two hundred.”

“Will you be inviting all the staff?”

“Naturally. And board members, too.” Would her granddaughter come? Devon had attended all business meetings since her appointment. But she might consider this function more social in nature.

“Well, we certainly could use some extra money around here.”

“Yes, we could. Which leads me to that favor I told you I was going to ask. Parker already handles our annual SIDS fund-raiser, so I hate to put another event on his shoulders, too. Would you consider taking on the responsibility?”

“Of course.” She seemed insulted that Lydia might have entertained any doubt. “I’d be pleased to do it.”

“I don’t want you doing all the work. Just the organizing. All the staff will pitch in, including me.” This would force Kim to interact with her co-workers. Hopefully, over time, some of them would begin to appreciate the young woman’s more appealing characteristics—as Lydia did. “This project should be a team effort.”

“Oh, don’t worry about giving me too much to do. I love to be busy. And I’m a very efficient time manager.”

Yes. Maybe too efficient.

“I promise you, this will be the birth center’s most successful fund-raising event, ever,” Kim continued.

Mindful of her upcoming appointment, Lydia stood. “Let’s talk more about this later.” On her way out the door, Lydia glanced back at the accountant. Already her head was bent over her papers.

Lydia hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. If Kim took on this project without allowing anyone to help, she’d just isolate herself further. Still, even if handing Kim responsibility for the fund-raiser had been a mistake, it wouldn’t be the worst one Lydia had ever made.

NOLAN STARED AT THE LAWYER, certain the woman had read incorrectly.

“Executor of the will, I can understand. But Mary and Steve wouldn’t have named me guardian of their daughter. That would be Steve’s mom, Irene Davidson.”

Only fifty-five, Irene was healthy and active. Judging from her home and the car she drove, she had plenty of money, too. Nolan knew she didn’t have to work.

Irene had what was needed to raise her granddaughter—time and financial resources. Two things that were lacking in Nolan’s life right now.

He’d stretched his credit to the max when he’d bought the Bulletin from Charley Graziano several years ago. Between that mortgage and the one for his condo, he had precious little spare cash.

And even less time. Running a newspaper was rewarding but very time-consuming. Then there were all his volunteer commitments.

Yeah, money and time were huge concerns. But the biggest problem of all was this: he and Sammy didn’t even know each other.

“When was that will drawn up?”

The lawyer stated a date about six months after Nolan and Mary’s mother’s funeral. Which made the whole setup even less logical.

He and Mary had said some pretty unforgivable things to each other the day they’d laid their mother to rest. Why would she have turned around, only months later, and done something like this?

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“There’s no mistake, Nolan. You are Sammy’s legal guardian. She’s still staying with the Saramagos. I suggest you pick her up and get her settled before the funeral.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Nolan was still in shock as he stopped his Explorer in front of the Saramagos’ pale pink adobe house. He thought back two days, to the night of Mary’s death and Steve’s accident. After leaving the hospital he’d driven straight to Irene’s. He’d woken her from a deep sleep, sat her on her floral-patterned living room sofa and told her about Mary, the baby, Steve.

She’d reacted with total silence.

He’d repeated the story, adding details this time, getting up to pace, then collapsing into a chair. He’d rubbed the stubble on his face, watching Irene’s face turn blanker and blanker.

“I’ll make coffee.” He’d been in the kitchen, searching for a filter cone, when she’d started to scream.

That had woken Sammy, asleep in the spare room. As he’d assumed, Mary and Steve had dropped her off on their way to The Birth Center.

The little girl had wandered into the kitchen wearing something soft and pink. “Has Mommy had my baby sister yet?” she asked him.

Irene wasn’t screaming anymore, but sobbing loudly. Nolan had been stunned by Sammy’s question.

Explaining to Sammy what had happened was even harder than telling Irene. The little girl didn’t seem to believe him at first. He’d returned to the living room to try to deal with Irene. Unable to calm her down, he’d phoned her doctor.

Teresa Saramago’s number had been listed by the phone as one of Irene’s emergency contacts, and he’d called her, too. Apparently she had a daughter the same age as Sammy and did some occasional baby-sitting. She agreed to take in the child while he drove Irene to the hospital.

Hard to believe that had happened just two nights ago. Nolan turned off the ignition and sat for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

There was a little girl inside that house for whom he was about to become solely responsible. Nolan wasn’t married, or engaged, he didn’t even have a steady girlfriend. Thirty might be a little old to be living a footloose kind of lifestyle, but it suited him and the demands of his profession.

He wanted to restart his vehicle and drive the hell out of there. Instead, he got out slowly, his reporter’s eye ticking off details as he approached the home. A tricycle tipped over near the front step. A red plastic pail tucked into the shrubbery under the front window. Kids lived here, all right. Including, for the moment, his niece.

If only he could leave her here. It was a cowardly thought, but expressed his feelings on the matter exactly.

Nolan stopped in front of the freshly stained wooden door of the well-maintained home. A good mother lived here. She had kids of her own. She’d probably make a perfect surrogate parent for Sammy.

If only he had Steve’s mother for support. But Irene had been checked into the hospital and prescribed sedatives. She was still there now. Her friend and neighbor, Mabel Judson, was planning to pick her up tomorrow and keep her at her house until after the funerals. “For as long as she needs,” Mabel had said when they’d talked on the phone this morning.

It seemed that as well as inheriting a kid, he was getting his sister’s mother-in-law, too. A package deal he could have happily lived without.

Nolan let his knuckles fall against the door. Right away it opened. Teresa Saramago was visibly pregnant, carrying a toddler in her arms. She seemed tired and relieved to see him.

Two little girls stood behind the woman in the hall. One of them had Steve’s big eyes, Mary’s curly hair.

“Thanks for looking after Sammy,” Nolan began.

“We were glad to help,” the mother of two, soon to be three, replied. “I wish we could keep her longer, but I’m due myself in a few weeks.”

He nodded. “I understand.” He wondered if the woman had any idea how panicked he felt right now. How totally unprepared he was for this much responsibility. He felt awkward, standing in the hall, with the mother and two little girls watching him expectantly. What was he supposed to do? Tentatively he held out his hand to his niece.

Sammy started to cry.

“Sammy, you have to go with your uncle now,” the woman prompted gently. “You can visit again, soon.”

Sammy kept crying and Nolan cringed. This was impossible. Sammy wanted to stay here. He wanted Sammy to stay here.

The woman frowned slightly. She set down her toddler, in order to give Sammy a hug, then shot him a look charged with expectation.

He scooped Sammy into his arms, and she stiffened, turning her face away from his. Adjusting his grip awkwardly, he gave another quick thanks to Teresa, then hustled back to his car. As he bent to put his niece in the front passenger seat, the woman shouted from her doorway.

“She’s too little to sit in the front—because of the airbags. Put her in the back.”

Hell. He should’ve known that. He’d read articles about airbag injuries to children under the age of twelve. So he settled Sammy in the center of the back seat, making sure to tighten the lap belt securely.

He was in the driver’s seat, engine started, ready to head to his condo, when he realized he still hadn’t spoken a word to the little girl. He swiveled to face her.

“I’m your Uncle Nolan, Sammy. You probably don’t remember me, but I came to visit you the day after you were born. I bought you a teddy bear.”

“The white one?”

Damned if he could remember the color. “Um, I think so.”

Her head dropped, and she didn’t say anything else. He watched her a moment, then sighed and drove off. Which of them, he wondered, was the most terrified right now?

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO WEEKS LATER, Nolan’s spirits weren’t any higher. He’d buried his sister, his brother-in-law, his nephew. He grieved for them in the lonely hours of the night, but his days were crammed with activity. Looking after Sammy, meeting with the lawyers, then Steve’s accountant. He’d opened an estate bank account and had begun to deal with the financial aftermath of this mind-numbing tragedy.

Unfortunately, his sister’s family hadn’t been financially stable. They owed a lot on their expensive home and car. And Steve had just taken out an operating loan for his new business.

Add onto that the medical bill he’d just discovered this morning at their house and the whole situation turned very grim. Once the dust settled, Nolan was afraid there would be no nest egg for Sammy and her future education.

Nolan buckled his niece into the back seat of the Explorer and set off for The Birth Place. He might as well take care of this latest problem right away. According to the invoice he’d found, his sister’s account was already several months in arrears.

So far, most of Steve and Mary’s creditors had been sympathetic. They had an account with the dry cleaners, the dealership where they serviced their vehicle and several other local businesses. Nolan had met with most of them in the past two days. Everyone had been very kind, assuring him they were happy to wait until the assets had cleared probate before receiving their money.

He’d left Sammy at the Bulletin while he’d gone on those appointments, but poor Toni was already strained with the extra work he’d piled on her. Today he’d decided he just couldn’t expect her to add child care to her job list—even though she professed herself more than willing to help him out. She was too valuable an employee to abuse in that way. Besides, she wasn’t exactly young anymore.

Nolan pulled into the parking lot of The Birth Place. Steve and Mary owed this place more money than all the bills he’d dealt with so far combined. Still, he hoped the accountant here would be as sympathetic to his situation as the other creditors had been.

A MERE TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED since Lydia had put her in charge of the Mother and Child Reunion and already Kim had a venue booked, invitations designed and most of the guest list compiled. A few days ago, Lydia had taken her to lunch. Kim had run through her ideas and Lydia had approved every last one of them.

“Who have you got helping you so far?” she’d asked.

Kim had been vague in her reply. Didn’t Lydia think she was capable of handling the project on her own? Well, Kim was certainly going to show her.

A rap at Kim’s office door distracted her. Trish Linden apologized immediately for the interruption. “I know you’re busy, but someone would like to see you.”

People didn’t come to see Kim. Kim dealt with all her business over the phone. She frowned at Trish, but before she could ask for more details, Trish had backed out and a tall sandy-haired man strode into the room.

A little girl trailed behind him. Huge, sad eyes. Red, pursed lips. Her denim overalls were stained with something orange and her hair was a tangled mess. In her arms she carried The Giving Tree, a Shel Silverstein book.

The man smiled, a full-wattage grin that showcased great teeth and bright, intelligent eyes. He could have been a young college professor with his slightly rumpled jacket and curly hair worn a little too long. The look might be appealing to some women, but Kim didn’t trust the charm the man displayed so easily.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Isn’t it obvious that you are? We don’t have an appointment, do we?”

His eyes widened. She could tell she’d surprised him with her rudeness, but she didn’t care. She’d been hired to work with numbers, not clients.

“I won’t take much of your time. I didn’t realize I needed to phone ahead.”

He tried his smile again, but it faded rapidly when she didn’t return it.

“Look, I’ll phone ahead next time, okay? But since I’m here and I’ve already interrupted your very important work…”

She didn’t allow herself to react to the slightly sarcastic tone in his voice.

“We might as well settle this thing, don’t you think?”

“And what thing would that be?”

A ghost of his charming smile returned, and she knew he was going to ask for some sort of concession. He must have brought his daughter along in a sympathy bid. Those tactics disgusted her.

“I have an outstanding invoice to discuss. I’m Nolan McKinnon, by the way. This is my niece, Sammy.”

His introduction startled her. “The editor of the Arroyo County Bulletin?” She’d been a subscriber for years—ever since she’d read the final report of the private investigator she’d hired with her first paycheck after college. That report had led her from Denver to Enchantment. It was through the classified section of the Bulletin that she’d found this job.

She still read the weekly paper with enjoyment—in particular Mr. McKinnon’s editorials. In fact, she’d become addicted to his editorials.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

He didn’t continue, and suddenly she realized she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Kim Sherman.” She stood to shake his hand. Almost grudging, she added, “I think that teen drop-in center was a real good idea.”

He’d spearheaded the organization to start the teen center. And even though she wasn’t intending to stay in Enchantment much longer, she’d made a generous contribution—anonymously, of course. She wished that when she’d been in her teens she’d had access to a place like that. A safe meeting ground where kids could gather to chat, do homework and play sports. The Enchantment Teen Center even had counselors available.

“Thank you.”

The smile he gave her this time wasn’t the charming one. This one was genuine.

“But you’re not here to discuss the teen center.”

“Afraid not.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. The invoice was stamped with The Birth Place logo.

Kim held out her hand for the paper. On closer examination, she caught her breath. The name in the left corner was Mary Davidson, the mother Lydia had lost two weeks ago.

“I don’t want to keep you,” he continued. “I just hoped we could settle this. You see, I’m Mary’s brother and the executor of her and Steve’s estate. Until their assets pass probate, I’m afraid I don’t have the funds to cover this.”

Kim looked at the little girl again. Was this the Davidson’s daughter, then, not Mr. McKinnon’s? She remembered Lydia mentioning that name, Sammy. Now the child’s quiet demeanor struck Kim in a very intense, personal way. She not only saw, she felt the sorrow in the little girl’s expression.

For a moment Kim was six again. The neighbor from the apartment down the hall was at her door. A police officer stood behind her, his hat in his hands.

Your mother is gone, Kim. You’ll have to come with us.

It had been a long time ago, but Kim hadn’t forgotten the overwhelming pain of a child whose world had crashed around her.

Kim had the oddest, most inappropriate impulse. She wanted to hug the little girl, to crush her to her chest.

“I’ve been trying to put my sister and brother-in-law’s affairs in order. I found your invoice in a stack of unpaid bills. It seems their account is over ninety days delinquent, but that can’t be right.”

She ignored him, looked back at the girl. “That book was one of my favorites when I was little.”

Sammy edged closer to Kim’s desk. “Do you keep stuff in those drawers?”

Opening the one at the top, Kim found a blue marker and a pad of notepaper. “Would you like these, Sammy?”

The little girl nodded. “I like making pictures.”

“Would you like to make one now? How about you go sit in one of the chairs beside that nice lady who walked you in here?” If she and Nolan McKinnon were about to start haggling over the Davidsons’ invoice, she didn’t want Sammy to witness the scene.

She glanced at the uncle. “Trish will keep a close watch on her.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Kim walked the little girl back to reception and stopped to talk with Trish. As she’d expected, the receptionist was only too pleased to help.

Back in her own office, Kim resolved to regain control of the situation. Realizing Nolan McKinnon was the editor of the Bulletin, then identifying the little girl as Mary and Steve Davidson’s daughter had thrown her a little. But her hands were almost steady once more.

“Okay.” Kim sat down and leaned over her desk. “We can discuss your business now.”

Nolan gave her another smile. The sincere kind. “Wow.”

“Pardon me?”

“Sammy must really like you. She doesn’t speak as much in a day to me as she did to you right now. I suppose you’re one of those people who is just naturally good with kids.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not what you’d call a people person.”

She saw him fight back a smile and clenched her pen tightly. Damn him for laughing at her. Did he think she cared what he thought of her?

McKinnon had taken a seat without an invitation. Now he leaned over his knees and regarded her intently. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No. I grew up in Denver.”

“How long have you been in Enchantment?”

“Almost a year.”

“But I haven’t run into you anywhere.”

“I’m not one for socializing.” Her glasses sat perfectly on her nose, but she pushed a finger against the bridge. “Um, I assume you wanted to talk about this invoice?”

The little spark in his eyes disappeared.

She carried on. “It really is more than ninety days delinquent. Our policy is to start charging interest after the third month an invoice is unpaid.”

“I see. But surely in special circumstances you’ll make an exception? You see, Steve quit his full-time job about six months ago and started his own business. He signed with a new insurance company, but since Mary was already pregnant at the time…”

Kim sat impassively. Over the months she’d worked here, she’d heard all sorts of stories. But here was the bottom line—someone had to pay. If the Davidsons didn’t have insurance, then the money would have to come from their estate. And she could not let them get off paying months and months late without an interest penalty.

Eventually Nolan clued in to the fact that she wasn’t being swayed.

“Never mind the details. All I’m asking for is a two-month extension with no interest.”

She leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry about your sister, Mr. McKinnon, but we gave her the best care possible.”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to imply that you hadn’t. Believe me, I checked into the full circumstances of her death.”

She bet he had. He was a reporter after all. He’d have made certain his sister had received top-notch care, both here, and then, later, at the hospital. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t found anything amiss. If it had been humanly possible to save Mary Davidson and her baby, Lydia would have done so.

“The thing is—” Nolan adjusted the invoice on her desk a few inches “—the majority of Mary and Steve’s assets are frozen until their wills pass probate. And I still haven’t been able to sort through their health insurance papers…”

Nolan let his sentence trail off. Damn, but this was embarrassing. He’d pay the bill himself, but he’d just sunk everything he’d saved for the past year into his annual principal payment to Charley.

He’d been forced to take a loan to pay for the three funerals, and how much of those costs would eventually be covered by insurance was anyone’s guess.

Now he had a niece to somehow provide for, including the expense of before-and after-school care.

He did not need Mary and Steve’s old bills to worry about, too.

“I don’t want to sound heartless, Mr. McKinnon. But since my arrival, I’ve instigated a new policy. All patients are billed in installments, with the final payment due by the thirty-sixth week of pregnancy. I understand the Davidsons’ assets are in probate. But I cannot suspend our interest charges.

“We have salaries to cover here. Overhead. When our patients are late paying their bills it costs us money. Of course, in cases of financial difficulty we make exceptions. Your sister and her husband, however, did not seem to be in that category.”

He knew what she referred to. Mary’s expensive clothing, the pricey vehicle they’d driven, the area in which they’d lived. No, Mary and Steve had not wanted for much.

“But—”

“One of my policies, Mr. McKinnon—” she removed her glasses and stowed them carefully in a leather container “—is that I make no exceptions.”

Did she know she sounded like a ninety-year-old British schoolmarm? Which, given her delicate beauty, was pretty damn incongruous. Kim Sherman looked like one tiny mouse would send her screaming. In actual fact she could probably stare down the entire Internal Revenue Service.

He would be damned, though, before he saw his niece’s estate further eroded through additional interest charges. “I’ll put the bill on my Visa, then.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, then slipped out the gold card. The accountant frowned.

“We only accept cash or personal check.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” He slapped his wallet against her desk.

“I’m sorry, Mr. McKinnon, but that’s our—”

“I know, I know. That’s your policy.”

Kim Sherman spoke quietly. “The reception area isn’t far away. Your niece might well be listening as you yell at me. Perhaps you could keep your voice down?”

And perhaps you could try being human for five minutes. He bit back the comment. Losing his temper here wasn’t going to solve anything. He peeled a blank check away from his last twenty. He’d cover this later, with a cash advance from his Visa. What did Ms. Sherman care that he’d be the one stuck with an outrageous interest charge as a result?

Kim took a stamp from her desk. Once he’d handed her the check, she pressed a red-inked “Paid” across the face of the invoice and passed it back to him.

He stuffed the invoice into his pocket, feeling exhaustion down to his bones. What he needed was a good nap, but no chance of that now that he had a six-year-old on his hands full-time.

He pushed out of his chair. “Well, I guess I’d better leave you to get back to your policies.” Kim Sherman sure was a piece of work. He wondered if anyone ever got the best of this woman.

As he turned to leave, Sammy opened the door and peeked inside.

“I finished my picture.”

The grim expression on Ms. Sherman’s face vanished. “Can I see?”

Nolan waited impatiently while his niece shyly presented her work to the accountant. When Kim expressed an inordinate amount of pleasure in the picture, Sammy offered it to her.

Kim tacked the stick drawings and doodles onto a small corkboard that held a list of computer codes, as well as other work-related items. Nolan figured she’d crush it into a ball and toss it into the trash once they left.

“Okay, Sam. We’d better get going.”

His niece gave him a reluctant look, then turned back to Kim. “Uncle Nolan is looking for a baby-sitter for me. Do you baby-sit?”

Oh, God! Nolan felt like whacking himself in the head. His day couldn’t get any worse. Surely he could count on the frigid Ms. Sherman to say no?

“Sometimes I do. In fact, I used to spend a lot of time with children when I was younger.”

Somehow Nolan couldn’t picture her with children. She wore no rings. And there weren’t any photos of family in her office. It appeared she had no strings at all.

But then again, two weeks ago neither had he.

“But your uncle probably has another sitter in mind.”

Sammy looked at him expectantly.

“Actually, I don’t,” he grudgingly admitted. “Sam’s grandmother, Irene, is too emotionally distraught. I’ve thought about advertising.”

“I don’t want a stranger,” Sam said, conveniently forgetting that half an hour ago Kim Sherman had been exactly that. “Please let Kim be my baby-sitter.”

So far his niece hadn’t asked him for anything. Not so much as a chocolate-chip cookie.

“Sammy, your uncle doesn’t really know me.”

“No, I don’t. But Sammy seems to like you.” Was he crazy to be considering her offer? She had a responsible job. Harming six-year-olds probably wasn’t one of her policies.

“I have various volunteer and work activities on week nights. What I need is someone to come by the house on Tuesday and Thursday after dinner. Just for a few hours.”

Kim Sherman nodded. “That sounds fine to me. Since today is Thursday, I guess I’ll see you later? I presume you want me to come to the address on your check.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Sammy clapped her hands, then willingly went to Nolan when he held out his hand. Seeing his niece’s happy face, Nolan felt some of the pressure he’d been feeling the past two weeks ease off a little.

Kim Sherman was right. She wasn’t a people person. But she seemed to be a Sammy person. He hoped that would turn out to be enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

KIM COULDN’T SHUT her office door fast enough. She leaned against the wooden barrier and closed her eyes, torn between equally strong desires. To never see Nolan McKinnon again. And to comfort his poor niece. It was so obvious the man didn’t have a clue about children.

Sammy’s plight triggered emotions Kim couldn’t afford to feel. When she’d moved to Enchantment she’d promised herself two things. She would only stay one year at most, less would be better. And she wouldn’t get involved with anyone who lived in Enchantment.

So why had she agreed to baby-sit Sammy? What could she really do to help the little girl? Sure she empathized with losing a mother, losing the only family you’d ever known. But Sammy was Nolan’s niece. It was up to him to help the little girl deal with this tragedy.

If only the guy wasn’t so hopeless with kids.

Surprising really. So many of his editorials were about helping teenagers. That drop-in center was just one example. Was it only younger children he couldn’t relate to then? Because he obviously wasn’t relating to his niece.

Kim smoothed her hair, straightened her skirt. She’d committed to the baby-sitting, so no sense fretting over the situation. Maybe she could give Nolan a few pointers on relating to Sammy. Also, she could suggest grief counseling. Celia Brice, a local psychologist who worked part-time at the center, was supposed to be amazing with children. The key was helping Sammy without getting personally involved.

Kim returned to her desk and fished out her glasses, trying not to think about her motives for removing them in the first place. She did not care what Nolan McKinnon thought of her looks.

Anxious to put the recent episode behind her, Kim pulled out the binder she’d started for the Mother and Child Reunion. She needed to verify the addresses on her guest list. Some were fifty years old. She hoped she’d be able to trace at least a few of the birth center’s original patients. Lydia would like that.

She tried to draw a line under the name next on her list, but the pen wavered so much she had to stop.

When would the shaking stop?

Some herbal tea might help, but she didn’t want to face anyone yet. Not Trish, or Parker, or Lydia. One glance at her face and they’d see something was wrong.

Work, her usual solace, would have to pull her through.

She set aside the guest list and began crunching numbers to figure out if the per plate estimate from a local bistro would be better value than the fixed price deal she’d been given from a caterer in Taos.

But all she could see was the pain emanating from Sammy Davidson’s big eyes.

Something in a child’s heart died when a parent was lost. In one moment you weren’t a child anymore, but you weren’t an adult, either. You became…

Nothing.

Kim made fists of her hands and pressed them into her eyes.

Who could love a child the way a mother did? The simple truth was—no one. Not a new foster mother, that was for sure.

And probably not an uncle, either.

WHILE MAKING NOTES on a chart in the room behind the reception counter, Lydia noticed Mary’s brother, Nolan, enter the birth center. His niece, Sammy, followed behind him.

What were they doing here?

She heard him ask Trish if he could speak to Kim Sherman.

Some sort of accounting matter, then. If Lydia had her way, they would erase any debt the Davidsons owed to The Birth Place. She’d already spoken to Kim about it, but the accountant was adamant that businesses couldn’t be run that way. Unfortunate outcomes did occur now and then: babies born with Down’s syndrome, spina bifida, other less severe genetic deformities that were no fault of the birth center.

Lydia had been forced to accept that the Davidsons’ bill had to be paid. But she still didn’t like it. She hated worrying about profit and loss and the bottom line. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was to provide top-notch care to mothers and babies. And she wasn’t above bending the rules to do so, when the situation called for it. As she had for Hope Tanner’s baby.

She’d acted in the best interest of the birth center and the baby that time. And look where that had gotten her—estranged from her beloved granddaughter. Oh, how Lydia missed Devon. She was such a special woman, so caring and intelligent…and stubborn.

Fifteen minutes later, noises out in the hall regained Lydia’s attention. She peered out the glass window. Nolan McKinnon was about to leave. His body language screamed frustration, maybe even anger, but he was gentle enough with the child.

Common courtesy required that Lydia step out into the hall and ask how they were doing. She hadn’t spoken to either one since the funerals.

But she couldn’t.

Not an hour of the day went by that she didn’t think of Mary. She couldn’t help but imagine how the baby would be growing if he had survived. At two weeks he’d be gaining weight and beginning to settle into a schedule.

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