Transfixed in awe and wonderment, Allie scrutinized baby Jake

He was so small, so precious, so beautiful. And he’d practically been dropped into her lap by a good fairy.

Allie frowned. No, she was definitely romanticizing that part. And arrogant English aristocrat, Liam McAllister, had brought the babe to Allie’s door and into her life.

But what had Liam meant when he said he wanted to be involved in “any and all decisions made about the baby”? Since he’d saved the infant’s life, perhaps he had some continued concern for little Jake’s welfare.

But the baby was in good hands now. The right hands. Her hands.

And that was exactly where he was going to stay—even if she did owe Lord Roderick big time….

Dear Reader,

What better way to celebrate June, a month of courtship and romance, than with four new spectacular books from Harlequin American Romance?

First, the always wonderful Mindy Neff inaugurates Harlequin American Romance’s new three-book continuity series, BRIDES OF THE DESERT ROSE, which is a follow-up to the bestselling TEXAS SHEIKHS series. In the Enemy’s Embrace is a sexy rivals-become-lovers story you won’t want to miss.

When a handsome aristocrat finds an abandoned newborn, he turns to a beautiful doctor to save the child’s life. Will the adorable infant bond their hearts together and make them the perfect family? Find out in A Baby for Lord Roderick by Emily Dalton. Next, in To Love an Older Man by Debbi Rawlins, a dashing attorney vows to deny his attraction to the pregnant woman in need of his help. With love and affection, can the expectant beauty change the older man’s mind? Sharon Swan launches her delightful continuing series WELCOME TO HARMONY with Home-Grown Husband, which features a single-mom gardener who looks to her mysterious and sexy new neighbor to spice up her life with some much-needed excitement and romance.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

A Baby for Lord Roderick

Emily Dalton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To Aimee, Lisa’s second little miracle.

Your smile lights up the room!

With love, from your Auntie Danice

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Dalton lives in the beautiful foothills of Bountiful, Utah, with her husband of twenty-one years, two teenage sons and a very spoiled American Eskimo dog named Juno. She has written several Regency and historical novels, and now thoroughly enjoys writing contemporary romances for Harlequin American Romance. She loves old movies, Jane Austen and traveling by train. Her biggest weaknesses are chocolate truffles and crafts boutiques.

Books by Emily Dalton

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

586—MAKE ROOM FOR DADDY

650—HEAVEN CAN WAIT

666—ELISE & THE HOTSHOT LAWYER

685—WAKE ME WITH A KISS

706—MARLEY AND HER SCROOGE

738—DREAM BABY

783—INSTANT DADDY

823—A PRECIOUS INHERITANCE

926—A BABY FOR LORD RODERICK

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

“I have to go, Daddy.”

Liam turned his head briefly from the road and looked down at his small daughter in the seat beside him. In the wan light from the dashboard he saw she’d managed to curl herself into a comfortable ball despite the restraining seat belt. “I thought you were asleep.”

Bea stretched a frail-looking arm in front of her, the heel of her hand jutting out like a crossing guard halting traffic, and yawned. “I was. But now I’m awake and I’ve got to go.”

Liam peered out the windows at densely wooded countryside, broken up now and then by open stretches he assumed were the meadows and alpine lakes he remembered from his last and only visit twenty years ago to this northeastern corner of Utah. It was nearly midnight, black as pitch outside, and raining. His visibility was limited, but he was sure they weren’t passing petrol stations. The last one he’d seen of those was a neglected, two-pump enterprise in a bump-in-the-road berg nearly half an hour’s drive behind them.

“We’re almost there, Bea. Do you think you can wait till we get to Gran’s house to go to the loo?”

Bea unfolded herself till her thin legs hung over the edge of the seat, pushed a tangle of brown curls out of her eyes, then started to squirm. “No, Daddy, I can’t wait. I’ve got to go now.”

Liam supposed he could pull over, fetch the umbrella he’d thrown in the boot of the rented car along with their luggage, and shield Bea from the rain while she squatted by the side of the road. But she’d just gotten over a cold and he wasn’t too keen on the possibility of her getting chilled. She’d lost more weight in the last month and she seemed to catch every bug going around. Besides, she’d be embarrassed. She was only five, but she was as self-conscious as a teenager.

Suddenly they crested a rise in the road and he saw lights ahead. Relieved, he announced, “This is your lucky day, Beatrice Mary McAllister. That’s got to be Annabella ahead. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Liam would be as happy as Bea to finally reach their destination. He’d traveled enough in the United States to be able to adjust quickly to driving on the right side of the road, but he’d driven nonstop from Salt Lake City and was jet-lagged and exhausted. They’d left the main highway, Route 150, quite some time ago and had been traveling along a dark, lonely road as jigsawed as a puzzle piece. And with Bea asleep, he’d had nothing and no one to keep him company but the rhythmic swish and muted thump of the windshield wipers, the resonating vibration of the tires on the wet road, and a country-music station that faded in and out depending on minor fluctuations in altitude.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of falling asleep at the wheel. Nodding on the road had never been a problem. But he’d been doing too much thinking. Since the tragedy that tore apart his world a year ago, he had avoided the quiet situations that left one tempted to replay the best and worst moments of one’s life. But he was forced to agree with Gran that this trip, and the quiet that went with it, was something he could no longer avoid.

He slowed as outlying houses and buildings cropped up alongside the road. They all looked battened down for the night. “Let’s just hope there’s a petrol station or a restaurant open, because it might take a bit too long to locate Gran’s house. She lives on the edge of town, about a quarter mile up one of these mountains, you know.”

Bea sat up and peered over the dashboard. “Is there a McDonald’s here?”

“I doubt it, sweetheart. This is the back of beyond.”

“The back of what?”

Liam chuckled. “That’s just another name for places like Annabella, Bea…towns too small and remote to attract a global hamburger chain.”

“But even Bridekirk’s got a McDonald’s.”

She was right. Even their tiny village back home in England had a McDonald’s, built right across the street from the Nag’s Head Inn, a pub nearly two hundred years old. While he’d been none too pleased when the colorful facade of a McDonald’s had been wedged between far more venerable styles of architecture on the cobbled streets of Bridekirk, he’d give anything to see those golden arches now. The main street of Annabella looked as drenched and deserted as the last two towns they’d passed through.

“There, Daddy! I think I see a petrol station.”

Liam followed the direction of Bea’s pointed finger. It was a station, all right, but it was closed. “Maybe the loo’s outside in the back. Cross your fingers it’s open, or else we’re going to have to find you a tree to pee behind. At least there’s plenty of those.”

Bea nodded and, instead of crossing her fingers, she crossed her legs.

Liam pulled off the road and behind the station where a yellow light flickered forlornly in the rain, revealing a small rubbish bin resting against the wall between two white doors, their paint blistered from the sun. He ordered Bea to stay put for a minute and made a dash through the rain to check the door marked “women.” It was locked—or jammed—and the knob was sticky. He grimaced and, without much hope, tried the men’s door next. The knob turned.

Liam gingerly pushed open the door and flicked on the light. He was surprised to discover the facilities relatively clean. Since there was no urinal, there’d be one less thing he’d have to explain to his curious daughter; the condom machine was going to be difficult enough to put a name and a purpose to. He rolled out some paper towels, wetted them and cleaned the toilet seat for good measure, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he straightened to wash his hands.

He noticed, but wasn’t distressed by, the way the indirect lighting in the washroom accentuated the smudges under his eyes and made his dark hair seem dull and lifeless. He had a five-o’clock shadow, too, giving him a gaunt appearance. His looks had often been touted by the British tabloids as comparable to Daniel Day-Lewis “in one of his hunkier roles.” With an indifferent smirk at the haggard reflection staring back at him, Liam decided that Daniel should definitely be offended by the comparison.

He went back to the car, got the umbrella out of the boot and popped it open, then went to the passenger side and lifted Bea out, carrying her like an American football under his arm. She weighed next to nothing. He set her down inside the washroom and shut the door, waiting outside while she did her business.

Liam gazed where the lights of the idling Jeep Cherokee shone into a stand of spruce and aspen trees. He took a deep breath of rain-washed mountain air. It was cold…colder and wetter than he’d thought Utah would be in September, although perhaps it would warm up some once the storm passed. He was glad he’d dressed Bea in a sweater and jeans, but was still anxious to get her back inside the heated car.

Large raindrops plopped steadily against the top of the umbrella, dripped off its rim and made mini-explosions on the black asphalt at his feet. The noise was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the static of misery that crackled in the back of his mind. He was used to keeping busy to avoid those dark thoughts….

What was that? He cocked his head. Had Bea called him? He turned and tapped on the door with a single knuckle. “You say something, Busy Bea?”

“No, Daddy. I’ll be done in just a minute.”

Liam turned away and resumed his pensive observation of the weather. Then he heard it again. A faint mewling sound, like a kitten. It was coming from the rubbish bin.

Liam took a tentative step toward the bin, its lid propped open several inches by a large sack of garbage that stuck up above the rest. He peered inside the receptacle, which smelled pungently of decayed food and motor oil, and saw nothing moving. He stepped away, convinced that if a kitten was somewhere inside, it was better off there than outside in the storm.

The noise came again, but this time it sounded less like the plaintive crying of a kitten and more…well…human. Liam got a fluttering feeling in his stomach and told himself he was just imagining things. Surely that wasn’t whimpering he heard. Whimpering, like a baby fussing in its crib. It had to be an animal of some sort, an animal that only sounded human.

A shaft of light appeared on the asphalt. “Daddy, I’m done.”

Liam turned to see Bea in the doorway of the washroom, her arms crossed, her hands gripping her knobby shoulders. Quickly he scooped her up and carried her to the car. “Wait here, sweetheart. I’ve got to check something out. I think there might be a kitten or some other small animal in the rubbish bin.”

Her face tilted to his, her eyes shining and hopeful. “Can we keep it? It must need a home or it wouldn’t be sleeping in a stinky old rubbish bin.”

He made a wincing smile. “We’ll see.”

He closed the car door and returned to the rubbish bin. He knew he was probably being stupid, but he couldn’t rest now till he knew what was making that noise. He hoped he wouldn’t be racing to hospital in a couple of minutes to get a rabies or a tetanus shot…or both.

He waited till he heard the cry again—so pitiful and weak it tugged at his heart—then carefully but rapidly began to remove the garbage in the area he thought the sound was coming from. He felt an urgency that belied the rational voice in his head that kept telling him he couldn’t possibly be unearthing from a rubbish bin something…someone…human. But stranger things had happened and life just wasn’t fair. Some people were willing to die to bring a child into the world, and some people threw children away.

Underneath a large paper cup that dripped the sticky remnants of a soda and a mustard-smeared wad of fast-food wrapping paper, Liam found the source of the noise. He was so stunned and horrified, he thought for a moment he was going to vomit. He gulped back the bile and breathed what amounted to a prayer and a curse. “Dear God.”

It was a baby. Wrapped loosely in a small, faded patchwork quilt, it lay with its head at an awkward angle against a grease-soaked paper sack, its fists raised above its bare chest, trembling and pale with cold. Its dark hair was still slick from the birth canal and the stump of its umbilical cord was reddish-brown with blood.

Liam forced himself to set aside his horror, his revulsion toward whoever had tossed this baby in the garbage, and focused on saving its life. He threw down his umbrella, pulled off his sweater, then gently picked up the infant. It was a boy. A boy like the newborn son Liam had lost a year ago…along with Victoria, his wife.

Liam discarded the sticky quilt and quickly wrapped him in the sweater, still warm from his own body heat. Clutching the child to his chest, he hurried to the car and slid into the seat. The baby felt so cold against him, Liam was scared to death it was too late to save him.

“Daddy, show me the kitten! Can we keep it?”

“Bea, it’s not a kitten. It’s a baby. He’s very cold and I’ve got to get help quickly or he might—” Liam caught himself before finishing the sentence. But Bea was no dummy. Since her mum’s death, his daughter was all too aware that bad things happened to people. She stared, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, while Liam reached with a shaky hand to turn up the heater full-blast.

He laid the baby in his lap and quickly rewrapped him in the sweater, taking care to cover his head but not obstruct his breathing. The baby had stopped the pitiful crying that had alerted Liam to his presence in the first place, but the quiet was almost more disconcerting.

He was tempted to rub the baby’s skin to warm him up, but had a vague recollection of having read that that was not a good thing to do in hypothermia cases. As well, he had no idea whether or not hypothermia was the only danger this newborn was facing. Had he been injured during the birth? Manhandled afterward? Were his lungs functioning properly? The dire possibilities seemed endless.

Holding the baby in the crook of his left arm and tight against his chest, Liam punched the car into gear and circled the station, looking for a phone booth. When he didn’t find one, he pulled up to the road. He tried not to feel desperate as he looked up and down the dark street, wondering which way to go.

“Are we going to hospital?”

Liam heard the fear in Bea’s voice, the residual terror of hospitals since her mum’s death. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his teeth stuck to his dry lips. “We’re going to find a phone booth and call for help, Bea, or knock on a door if we have to,” he managed. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll get help.”

Bea’s bottom lip quivered and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Please don’t let the baby die, Daddy.”

ALLIE WOKE UP with a start, soaked in sweat, her heart hammering, her mouth dry. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television while watching Sabrina, the original one with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart, and now an infomercial was on. A man gleefully pulverizing fruit in a mixer touted the benefits of a diet comprised only of juices, while a buxom blonde in a body leotard posed nearby and smiled vacuously.

Allie glanced distractedly at the digital clock on the VCR. It was ten minutes past midnight. She swung her legs over the side of the couch, propped her elbows on her thighs and rested her head against her trembling hands.

What a dream. What a horrible dream.

And it was still so vivid….

She was sitting on the porch in Grandma Lockwood’s squeaky old rocker. She held a baby in her arms and crooned to it the same nonsensical words her grandmother had sung to Allie when she was an infant.

“Hi-dumma, do-dumma, hi-dumma-diddle-dumma, hi-dumma-diddle-dumma-day.”

Allie smiled contentedly into the baby boy’s pink and peaceful face. Her heart swelled with mother’s love.

Suddenly the precious weight of the baby’s body in Allie’s arms disappeared. She found herself holding only the patchwork quilt her grandmother had made for Allie’s firstborn. Terrified, she stood up and began searching for the baby.

She looked everywhere. In his crib by her bed. On the couch. Under the couch. Under the couch cushions.

With the fantastical illogic of dreams she found herself looking in spaces no normal-sized baby could fit. In the sewing box. Under the TV guide. Down the bathtub drain. And all the while her horror and desperation grew.

Where had he gone? Where was her precious child?

It was such a relief to wake up and realize there was no baby to lose.

No baby.

Allie shook her head, wry and resigned. This was the first time one of her baby dreams had ended badly, but maybe it was her subconscious mind trying to wake her up to the reality of her situation.

It had been going on for months. Three, sometimes four nights a week, she’d dream of a baby. It was a different baby each time, a child as real and individual and detailed in her morning’s memory as if she’d held it in her arms the night before.

At first the vivid dreams frightened Allie. She thought her sterile state was making her, quite literally, go crazy. But, over time, she started looking forward to them. They filled a need. They allowed her to hold, to bathe, to nurse, to rock and to sing to babies of every description. Sometimes they were blond and blue-eyed, sometimes dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-skinned. The only thing they all had in common was that they were hers. Hers to love and care for.

Ironically the dreams hadn’t started when Allie found out her fallopian tubes were nothing more than stringy cords of scar tissue and she’d never be able to have a child of her own. They hadn’t started when she found out her husband of half a dozen years had been sleeping with Rhonda Middleburger, the waitress at Bill and Nada’s Diner, nor did they begin when she and Doug divorced nine months ago. They’d started just when she thought she’d come to grips with the realities of her life.

It had been New Year’s Eve. In the first moments of the new year she’d made an important resolution. She was going to quit feeling sorry for herself. So what if all she’d ever dreamed of beyond obtaining her medical license was to be a mother, to fill her house with kids and noise and the type of wonderful family chaos she’d enjoyed in the home she’d grown up in? She, Althea, was destined for something different. No children, no noise, and, apparently, no husband, either. But that was okay. She’d have a wonderful, full life anyway.

“But first maybe I need to see a shrink about these dreams,” Allie grumbled to herself as she reached for the remote to turn off the TV. “It was weird enough when they were nice dreams, but—”

Allie was startled by the sound of the doorbell ringing, then a fist hammering on the front door. She dropped the remote and hurried down the hall toward the front of the house, straightening her oversized, sleep-creased flannel shirt so that the buttons at least marched in a straight line between her breasts. She ran a hand through her short blond hair, but knew she must still look a mess. Whoever was on the other side of that door probably wouldn’t care, though, or even notice how she looked. As a doctor in a small town she’d been summoned from bed many times to take care of an emergency, but most people called first and told her they were coming.

“Allie, you in there? Open up!”

It was Doug’s voice. His tone wasn’t cajoling or tender, so he must be knocking on her door in his official capacity as Sheriff instead of for the usual reason he bothered her in the middle of the night.

“I’m coming!” she called, flipping on the lights as she jogged through the living room, then made short work of the dead bolt lock that secured her front door. When she’d purchased the security item at Harv’s Hardware, Harv had just looked at her, wondering, she supposed, what she thought she needed with a dead bolt in a town where no one bothered to lock their doors. She marvelled now at the irony of willingly opening her door to the man she’d meant to keep out by installing the dead bolt in the first place.

“Doug, what’s wrong?” The words were spoken as she opened the door, before she was able to look past her ex-husband’s tall, uniformed figure to an even taller man standing just behind him.

Now she was speechless. It had been years since she’d last seen Liam McAllister in person. Twenty years. He’d been thirteen years old and she’d been eleven. He’d spent a week that summer with his grandmother and Allie had spied on him for hours at a time from the tip-top branches of the big cottonwood tree on the edge of Mary McAllister’s property.

Since then Allie had heard of Liam, read about him and seen his pictures as part of numerous media stories. The public’s fascination with the former playboy aristocrat turned devoted husband seemed insatiable, and reporters had relentlessly stalked him through the sad and happy dramas of his life till he must have felt like screaming…or finding a secluded island to escape to.

But why on earth to Annabella? To see Mary, she supposed. But what was he doing on her front porch in the middle of the night instead of Mary’s, and why did he have such a stricken expression in his eyes?

“Allie, we’ve got a sick child here. Maybe dying.” Doug slipped past her frozen form and into the living room. Liam followed, along with a small, thin girl who clutched the back of his shirt. She appeared frightened and pale, but hardly at death’s door.

Confused, Allie bent down and peered into the child’s pinched face. “Don’t you feel well, honey?”

“It’s not Bea,” Liam said shortly. “It’s the baby.”

Allie straightened up. She’d registered the name “Bea.” She’d read that Liam had a five-year-old daughter named Beatrice, nicknamed Busy Bea, but she’d never seen a picture of her because Liam refused to allow her to be photographed. She’d read about and sympathized with his tragic losses a year ago, but since his premature son had died along with his wife that terrible day, Allie wasn’t sure what baby Liam was talking about.

She gave a helpless little shrug. “What baby?”

Allie had been so shocked to see Liam, she hadn’t noticed that he was clutching what looked like a balled-up sweater in his arms. Now he tipped his bundle toward her and turned back the sweater to reveal a baby, sallow and still, its umbilical stump raw from an obviously recent birth. Allie’s breath caught in her throat, rattled there for a stunned, horrified moment, then gushed out with her next words.

“Bring him back here to my office.”

Chapter Two

All business now, Allie jogged ahead of them to the back of the house where the three rooms that constituted her home office were located adjacent to the den, where she’d just been sleeping in front of the television and dreaming of a baby. The dream coinciding with a real baby’s arrival at her office would seem weird…if she didn’t dream about babies most of the time. She flipped on the bright overhead lights, making everyone wince and blink, then immediately moved to a large stainless steel sink and turned on the hot water tap.

“Whose baby is it?” she asked over her shoulder as she soaped up her hands and rinsed them in scalding water.

“We don’t know,” Liam answered. His brows drew together as he closely observed her movements. “I found him in a rubbish bin.”

“The Dumpster behind Johnsons’ Gas ’n Go,” Doug clarified.

Allie’s whole body revolted at the idea of someone putting a newborn baby in a Dumpster to die a cold, miserable death. She was again stunned into momentary silence and immobility. Liam’s frown stirred her to action, though, and she quickly grabbed a wad of paper towels and dried her hands. “When?”

“Fifteen minutes ago,” Liam said, then abruptly, “What’s taking you so long? Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

“I am doing something,” Allie replied calmly, attributing his uncivil tone to worry and fear. “You don’t want him to get an infection on top of everything else, do you? Put him on the table.”

Allie noticed a muscle ticking in Liam’s jaw as he laid the baby on the examining table. Then, without being told, he spread his hand on the baby’s midsection to keep him from accidentally rolling off—unlikely with a newborn, but still you couldn’t be too careful—leaving Allie free to rummage through her supply drawer.

She ripped open a sterile plastic bag containing an infant-sized oxygen mask, attached the tubing to the free-standing tank by the table, adjusted the flow and placed the mask over the baby’s nose and mouth.

“Hold this over his face, while I adjust the strap.”

Liam obeyed instantly, one hand holding the mask in place while the other hand remained securely on the baby’s stomach.

Allie found it rather unnerving ordering Liam around, and she didn’t suppose he was at all used to it. But she had learned to be as bossy as necessary when it came to saving lives, not holding back even when male egos were involved…or in this case, the ego of a viscount with the fancy-schmancy title of Lord Roderick, who also just happened to have been the romantic hero in some of her more vivid girlhood fantasies. She supposed it was all those hours in the tree, watching him, making up stories about him….

She grabbed the digital thermometer from the countertop and swiped the probe with an alcohol swab.

“Do you need me?” Doug demanded. “Because if you don’t, I’d better get back to the Gas ’n Go. I’ve called Lamont and I’m meeting him there.”

Allie looked up. “You called Lamont out tonight?” Lamont was the county’s Crime Scene Investigator.

Doug nodded curtly. “Attempted murder is pretty serious stuff, Allie. Got to get the evidence while it’s fresh.”

Murder. Allie could hardly believe something like this was happening in Annabella. She nodded, then said, “Go to the hall closet and get the small quilt Grandma Lockwood made, please.”

Doug immediately turned and headed for the door. She caught sight of Bea hovering just behind her father, trembling with either excitement or fear. “Get a blanket for Bea, too,” she called after him.

Doug was a lot easier than Liam to order around, even if he only did what he was told when he wanted to, or really needed to, as now. Besides, he knew where everything was.

She turned back to the baby, pushed the sweater just far enough aside to expose his bottom, and inserted the probe. She could have used the ear thermometer and got an instant reading, but she’d found the rectal thermometer to be more accurate and it took only a few seconds longer.

Liam kept his hand on the child’s chest and stomach, his fingers making tiny, caressing circles. With his free hand, he reached back and rubbed Bea’s neck and shoulders, trying to calm her. Once upon a time Allie had watched those hands whittling sticks, building a birdhouse, digging in the dirt for nightcrawlers or for stones to skip on the pond by Mary’s house. Liam’s grown-up hands were elegantly shaped, the fingers long and tapered, the nails immaculately groomed.

But it was the way he was trying to comfort both children at once that made her smile up at him and say, “Don’t worry. I think the baby’s going to be fine. By the looks of him, he has only a mild case of hypothermia…thanks to you. You must have found him very soon after the birth. You did just the right thing bundling him up in the sweater and finding help. I’ll know exactly what to do, too, as soon as I get this temperature reading.”

Liam didn’t return her smile. His green, matinee-idol eyes stared back at her for a moment, then his gaze shifted to the baby. Her overture rejected, Allie felt a little stab of hurt, of annoyance.

The thermometer beeped and she read the temperature with a sigh of relief. She was tempted to smile, but remembered the response to her first smile and didn’t. “Just as I thought, his temperature is only slightly below normal. We can treat him here and save him the trauma of a trip to the hospital tonight, particularly since it’s still raining like gangbusters. He’ll be much safer, warmer and dryer here than en route to a facility seventy miles away.”

Liam straightened up and pulled Bea against his side. “I called the operator from a pay phone. She told me to wait there for the sheriff. He showed up about two minutes later—which was quite a relief—then I followed him here. But I assumed he called for an ambulance. Wouldn’t that be routine?”

Allie picked up her stethoscope and hooked it around her neck. “Not necessarily, but we’ll ask Doug. On a night like this, we’d be lucky to get one. Our nearest ambulance center is located in Kamas, same as our nearest hospital. They both service an area that’s sparsely populated but very large in terms of miles. And getting to some of the more remote areas can be tricky on the system of highways we’ve got in this part of the state. We’ve learned to take care of what we can on our own, or drive like the wind to get someone to Kamas if there’s a life and death situation.”

Liam gave a slight, disapproving shake of his head. “What if this had been a life and death situation? What if it still is?”

Allie was now convinced of something she’d suspected all along…that Liam didn’t have a gnat’s worth of faith in her abilities. Again she told herself that he’d just been traumatized and was probably not his usual charming self.

She took a deep breath and forced an understanding smile. “Trust me, Lord Roderick, the baby will be fine. I really do have the situation under control.”

At his continued doubtful scowl and silence, she spoke up again, this time her words more clipped and pointed. “I may practice in a rural area, but I’ve still got all the skills necessary to be a doctor. There’s no time to poll the townspeople for an opinion of my abilities, but I’ve got a pretty darn good reputation. If you’ve got doubts about my credentials, however, my framed diplomas and certification documents are displayed over my desk in the next room.”

If Liam was chagrined by her mild sarcasm and felt an urge to apologize, Allie didn’t wait to find out. She fit the stethoscope to her ears and listened to the baby’s heart and lungs. Although slightly tachy, his pulse was strong and had a regular sinus rhythm. His respirations were a little shallow, but the airways sounded clear as a bell. There was nothing unexpected, nothing she couldn’t treat right there in the office.

Next she removed the oxygen mask—he was pinking up very nicely already—and checked the baby’s pupils and reflexes. They were normal. Then she gently moved the baby’s arms and legs, probing and testing for possible breaks or bruises. He seemed fine, but follow-up X rays at the hospital tomorrow would be a good idea.

During the entire examination, the baby didn’t make a peep. He just lay there, listlessly staring. Allie figured he didn’t have the energy to cry, but she’d soon fix that.

Doug came back in the meantime and confirmed her suspicions that he hadn’t bothered to call an ambulance at all. He’d decided to wait for Allie’s take on the situation. Despite everything else wrong with their relationship, at least Doug believed in her abilities as a doctor.

Now her ex-husband was standing at her elbow, looking uncomfortable as he held out the small quilt. Allie understood his discomfort. Grandma Lockwood had made and given the quilt to Allie in anticipation of a great-grandchild, and had died still believing that she and Doug would someday have a baby of their own. Allie had always intended to give the quilt to someone who could actually use it, but despite lots of friends and relatives having babies, she just couldn’t bring herself to part with such a precious gift. It would be like giving away a dream.

After Allie took the quilt, Doug handed a regularsize blanket to Liam. Liam had picked up Bea in his arms to cuddle and soothe her while Allie examined the baby, and now he quickly settled her in a chair by the door, tucking the blanket snugly around her from neck to toes.

Bea remained silent, but her worried look must have prompted Liam to say with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, love. No need for the hospital. The doctor says the baby’s going to be just fine.” Then he stooped and kissed her on the top of her head.

Bea’s pinched little face relaxed a bit. Now if only Bea’s father actually believed what he was saying, Allie thought wryly.

“Anything else you need before I go?” Doug asked.

“I’ve got premixed bottles of formula in that bottom cabinet in the kitchen by the fridge. You know, where I’ve always kept the bottled water? Heat one for a minute or so under the tap. Room temperature would normally be fine, but this little guy could use something warm.”

Doug hesitated, staring down at the baby with a worried look on his lean, tanned face. “Is he really going to be all right?”

Allie was glad he’d had the tact to whisper the question. “Yes,” she assured him. “If he doesn’t take the bottle, though, I’m going to do an IV. We need to get his blood sugar up and some fluids in him.”

Doug, still rooted to the spot, dragged a hand through his thick blond hair, his expression part disbelief and part grim fury. “Hell, Allie…who could have done this?”

Allie shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I knew everyone who’s pregnant around here and I can’t imagine any one of them doing such a thing. Besides, if you’re pregnant, then suddenly you’re not, people are going to wonder what happened to the baby. It would have been a noticeable pregnancy, too, because this baby looks full term.”

“Well, whoever it was deserves to be strung up…or thrown naked into the same Dumpster on a night like this. Hopefully there’ll be plenty of evidence at the station that will help us find the mother.”

“Well, get me the bottle, so you can go,” Allie said. “I’d ask Lord Roderick, but he doesn’t know how to get around the house like you do.”

Doug flicked a surprised glance at Liam, obviously recognizing the famous name. The name was even more famous in Annabella than it was in other more sophisticated parts of the world—or perhaps it would be more correct to say “infamous.” Liam’s grandmother had a history with the town that had become local lore. Hazarding her first direct look at Liam since her reprimand, she saw, and thought she understood, his grimace. He hated being recognized.

“Doug…?” Allie prompted.

Doug left the room. Liam gave Bea another reassuring pat before walking back to stand next to Allie. “You should have let him go,” he said. “I think I could have found the kitchen if I’d tried. England’s another country, not another planet.” After an infinitesimal pause, he added, “Or maybe, because of my title, you don’t think I’ve ever been inside a kitchen?”

Allie looked up at him, surprised. “Believe me, I haven’t given any thought to what rooms you may or may not frequent, Lord Roderick. Why are you being so touchy? I know you’re stressed out over this. We all are. I didn’t mean to insult you…even though you don’t seem to mind insulting me.”

He looked equally surprised. “When did I insult you?”

“You didn’t think I knew what I was doing and was worried that I was going to—” she lowered her voice “—let the baby die.”

“No. No,” he objected. “It’s not that I thought you didn’t know what you were doing. It’s just that he’s so small, and he was so cold and so—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head, his disapproving scowl replaced by a more appropriate look—in Allie’s opinion—of sober concern. “Never mind. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. But do you think a bottle is enough? Why not do an IV just to be sure?”

Softened by his apology, Allie altered her tone and answered patiently. “Despite what they show on all those hospital TV shows, starting an IV isn’t always the first thing a doctor does when a patient is brought in for emergency treatment, Lord Roderick.” She stooped to tuck the blanket around the baby and lift him gently into her arms. “I think we can—”

Her sentence trailed off as she absorbed the shock of an immediate, almost overwhelming surge of feeling for the child as she settled him against her chest and smiled down into his small face. He had the usual newborn look, complete with squinty eyes and a slightly misshapen head topped with sticky black hair.

Allie thought the baby was beautiful…cone-shaped head, squinty eyes and all. The feel of him, the welcome weight of him in her arms, was just like one of her dreams.

“You were saying, Doctor?”

Allie realized that Liam was staring at her, and his disapproving scowl was back. Caught feeling foolish and vulnerable as she drooled over her dream-baby, she tried to sound as professional as possible.

“As I was saying, I think we can stabilize this child without drugs or invasive procedures. His hypothermia is mild and he checks out normally in all other respects. He just needs to be wrapped up, snuggled in someone’s arms and given a warm bottle. If he’s too sluggish to suck, we’ll do an IV. Later, once his temperature’s risen sufficiently, we can put him in a warm bath and get that blood and gunk off him.”

Unable to resist the urge any longer, she threw her professional image to the wind and bent to lingeringly kiss the baby’s sticky forehead. “Poor little thing smells like the dump on a warm day,” she whispered.

Liam said nothing and Allie didn’t dare look at him. Besides, she was perfectly content looking at the baby.

Doug was back with the bottle. “I tested it, but you’d better test it, too.”

Allie agreed. Doug knew squat about babies and bottles. But to Allie’s surprise, the temperature of the formula was just right.

“It’s fine, Doug. Thanks.”

“Then I’ll be going.” He was already striding toward the door. He pointed a finger at Liam. “I’ll need to talk to you some more, so don’t leave town, Lord…er….”

Liam winced. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather you—all of you—weren’t so formal. My name is Liam, and I have no intention of leaving town for at least a month. Oh, and look by the rubbish bin…er…Dumpster…for a patchwork quilt like that one.” He motioned toward Allie and the baby. “He was wrapped in one very like it when I found him.”

Doug nodded briskly and left, allowing Liam to turn his full attention back to Allie and the baby. She wished his lordship would leave, too. She’d give anything to be alone with the baby so she could feed him and enjoy him without feeling watched and self-conscious. Certainly this unsmiling peer-of-the-realm would find something wrong with the way she was holding the bottle or question the wholesomeness of the formula brand.

Sure enough, just as she raised the bottle to the baby’s lips, Liam interrupted.

“Can I hold him and give him the bottle?”

“No, I need to monitor his response firsthand.”

Liam looked skeptical but backed away. He leaned his hips against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his intense gaze on Allie and the baby. He may have backed off, but he was still staring at her.

Fortunately Bea’s imploring expression must have caught his attention. Looking contrite and concerned, Liam went to Bea, lifted her up and slipped into the chair, settling her comfortably in his lap.

Now both of them were staring at her.

“Shouldn’t you call your grandmother?” Allie asked on a sudden inspiration. “I’m sure Mary’s worried sick by now. There’s a phone on my desk in the next room.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Oh, and while you’re in there, please feel free to look over my medical credentials.”

Liam gave her a baleful look, which she answered with a guileless smile. He left, carrying Bea in his arms.

Allie finally had the baby to herself.

Smiling down at him, she observed that his color was already much better. Normal, in fact. Now, if she could just get him to take the bottle. But his eyes were closed. He might have fallen into an exhausted sleep.

She touched the rubber nipple to the baby’s lips, a tiny drop of warm formula seeping out to pool in the corner of his mouth and dribble down his chin. “Come on, sweetie,” Allie coaxed. “I know you’re tired. This has been a doozy of an opening act, but now’s not the time for a siesta. Open up. I think you’ll like this. It’s going to make you feel much better.”

The baby’s eyes fluttered open. His mouth caught the nipple and clamped onto it. Thank God for the sucking instinct, Allie thought.

The baby’s forehead furrowed with surprise as he took a couple of involuntary swallows. His eyes widened, blinked twice, then drifted shut as he continued to suck. Allie gave a sigh of relief and smiled, her heart swelling with that wonderful “motherly” feeling she’d experienced before only in her dreams.

MARY ANSWERED halfway through the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Gran, it’s me.”

“I’ve been worried, Liam!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It took us longer to get into town than I expected, then Bea had to go to the loo and we stopped at a petrol station.”

“At a petrol station? Nothing’s open this late in Annabella. Where are you, Liam?”

“We’re at Doctor Lockwood’s.”

“What’s wrong? Is Bea sick?”

“No, Bea’s fine. I’m fine, too.”

“Then why—?”

“It’s a long story, Gran. I’ll tell you everything when I get to the house.”

“How soon will you be here?”

“In just a few minutes.” Liam hesitated, then asked, “How well do you know Allie Lockwood, Gran? Has she been in Annabella long?”

“Allie’s family’s been in Annabella since the dawn of time, just like mine. Our tribe moved away, but she and…a couple of her family stayed on.”

“Okay, so she’s a longtime resident, but is she a good doctor?”

“I’ve never needed her services, thank God, but everyone swears by her around here. If she’s half as good as her grandfather was, though, I’d say she’s an excellent doctor.”

Mary’s voice had gone suddenly wistful. That’s when Liam remembered something he’d heard about Annabella. Something he’d been too distracted to remember sooner. Lockwood. Lockwood was the name of that man from Gran’s past. The man she’d jilted to marry his grandfather. He’d never heard the whole story before and was suddenly consumed with curiosity, but now was not the time to drag out skeletons.

“Liam? Why do you want to know if Allie Lockwood’s a good doctor? I thought you said you and Bea were fine?”

“We are.”

“But—”

“Bea and I will be there in just a few minutes, Gran. I’ll explain then.”

“All right, then. See you soon. I’ll have hot chocolate ready for you.”

“Goodbye, Gran.”

“Goodbye, love.”

Liam hung up and looked down at Bea, curled up in the corner of a small sofa in Allie Lockwood’s tiny cubicle of an office. She looked so tired, so frail, so anxious. As traumatic as the past hour had been for him, he imagined it had been even worse for her. And he’d been so preoccupied with making sure the baby was okay, he’d neglected her a little. He forced his lips into a smile.

“Gran’s got hot chocolate waiting.”

Bea nodded. “Good. But what about the baby, Daddy?”

“I told you he’s going to be all right, Bea.”

“I know, but…but are we just going to leave the baby here? Who’s going to take care of him?”

“Doctor Lockwood, for now. As for later, I don’t know, Bea. Probably—”

Bea’s brows drew together and her large brown eyes darkened. “Because I’ve been thinking, Daddy,” she said in a tone that struck Liam as being heartbreakingly serious and grown-up for such a small child. “Why can’t we take care of him? He needs a home, doesn’t he?”

“It’s not that simple, Bea.”

“I think God sent him. We lost our baby, so God sent us another baby to take his place.”

Sure, if life was fair, if there really was justice in the world, Liam thought to himself, the infant he’d found tonight might be able to help fill the void that had been left by the deaths of his wife and child. And the baby would be needing a home…. But Liam wasn’t even an American citizen. And with the circumstances of the baby’s birth and the crime committed still unknown, he’d be crazy to get involved. He’d done his part by fishing the baby out of that rubbish bin and now they must part ways.

“It doesn’t work that way, Bea,” he finally answered. “But we’ll talk about it again tomorrow, if you want. Right now Gran’s waiting for us. Let’s go say goodbye to Doctor Lockwood.”

Bea struggled up from the couch and looked so pale and weary, Liam picked her up in his arms, keeping the blanket snugly wrapped around her.

Bea giggled. “I’m not a baby, Daddy. You don’t have to carry me.”

“But just this once, you don’t mind, do you?”

She put her arms around his neck and tucked her head under his jaw. “No, I don’t mind.”

Liam walked to the door of the examination room and looked inside. Allie stood with her back to them, gently swaying back and forth. One elbow was in the air, as if she was holding a bottle. Good. The baby must be taking the formula.

“Doctor Lockwood?”

Allie turned around and the radiance on her face startled Liam.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” she said. She looked and sounded pleasantly dazed, and not at all displeased that they were about to depart. It struck him then that her attachment to the baby was unnaturally quick and unprofessional.

In fact, if looks could kill, he’d have been dead the minute he suggested giving the baby the bottle instead of her. But all Liam had wanted was to hold him just once more, now that he was safe. To hold him without that awful feeling that he might die in his arms at any moment. Was that so much to ask?

As he stared at Allie Lockwood and the baby he’d fished out of a rubbish bin, Liam suddenly realized that it wasn’t going to be possible to simply part ways with this child. And he wasn’t going to wait for God to fix things and make them fair, either. It was impulsive and possibly stupid, but Liam determined at that moment that he would play God for once and try to bring about a little justice of his own.

“I’m leaving, but I’ll be back,” he told Allie. “I care about that baby and I want to be involved in any and all decisions made about him.”

Before Allie could answer he turned and left the room, but her radiant look had been replaced by one of suspicious dismay. He knew he’d come across as arrogant and had undoubtedly overstepped his bounds…especially considering he had no rights whatsoever in the matter. In fact, he knew his whole manner from the moment they’d arrived with the baby had been abrupt and rude. He supposed his painful concern for the baby’s welfare was the reason he’d behaved so badly, and he shouldn’t have taken it out on Allie Lockwood.

But, he admitted, there was another reason he’d reacted to the doctor the way he had. The thing was, Allie Lockwood seemed to be finding it just as impossible as he was to be emotionally objective about this baby. She was so proprietary. Too proprietary. Did she want the baby, too?

Liam set his jaw. Too bad if she did. Besides, what was stopping her and her Sheriff boyfriend from making babies of their own? They had to be an “item.” What other explanation was there for Sheriff Renshaw’s familiarity with Allie’s house?

DOUG HAD NEVER SEEN such a bloody mess in his life. It was all he could do to keep his dinner down. Sure, Annabella wasn’t known for its violent crime and he’d only been on hand for a couple of domestic disturbances that involved shootings, but not even Homer Bledsoe’s gushing neck wound had prepared Doug for the women’s bathroom at Johnsons’ Gas ’n Go.

Whoever had given birth to that baby had lost a lot of blood doing it. Which made him wonder if it wouldn’t be a good idea to check the hospital at Kamas for recent admissions. He’d better check the morgue, too.

“I smell like hell.” Lamont Johnson, the county’s one and only full-time Crime Scene Technician, was standing in the Dumpster in waist-high garbage. “Kelly’s not going to let me in the house tonight.”

“Why should tonight be any different, Lamont?” Doug stripped off the latex gloves he’d been wearing and carefully put them in a plastic bag, tied it off and stuffed it back inside the pouch on his belt.

Lamont snorted. “You’re one to talk. Allie’s still lockin’ you out, I hear.”

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip. Besides, my situation with Allie is different. We’re not married anymore.”

“Just wished you were, eh?” Lamont straightened up, pressing his knuckles into the small of his back. “I’m done here. There’s more than enough evidence in the blood samples I collected to match DNA to a likely suspect.”

Doug grabbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck and grimaced up at the dark sky. It had finally stopped raining, but the clouds still blocked any hint of stars and moon.

“There’s the rub. We haven’t got any suspects. And besides the blood, all we’ve got is that ratty old quilt.”

Lamont struggled out of the Dumpster. “Think Captain Hightower will send you some help?” he asked on a grunt as his feet hit the asphalt.

“Maybe if I ask for it. But I’m not going to ask. This is my town and I know it better than any of those jokers Hightower might send me from the main office. I know the people and I know how to talk…and not talk…to them. I’ll have better luck with this investigation if I do it on my own and in my own way. Besides, if news of this got beyond Annabella that that royal pretty boy, McAllister, found the baby, the national media might grab hold of it and the town could be overrun with paparazzi. It’s best if we try to keep this local, and Hightower agrees.”

Lamont nodded and hiked up his drooping pants. “Well, that makes sense. But you’re taking on a lot, Doug. If you don’t have a clue who the perpetrator is, you’re goin’ to be doing a helluva lot of overtime.”

Doug shook his head and gave a ragged sigh. “Lamont, when I think about how hard Allie and I tried to have a baby, then someone just throws one away like that…The whole damned thing just makes me want to puke.”

Lamont snapped off his gloves and gave Doug a keen look. “I guess you really want to solve this case?”

Doug nodded grimly. “Yeah, Lamont, I guess I sure as hell do.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.