WHOSE CHILD?

by Susan Gable

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

  © 2004

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  * * *

  Prologue

  ^ »

  Lexie Jacobs had never felt more afraid or alone in her life.

  That said a lot, since the two sensations had become near-constant companions in the past few months.

  "I don't know how I'm going to pay you," she said for at least the eighth or ninth time. "I don't have any money." Yesterday she'd given her last twenty to the old man who'd offered her a room in his enormous old Victorian house. After her car had died just outside of town. In the snow. She had a total of $4.63 left in her pocket. "And I don't have any insurance—" Searing pain radiated through her body as her uterus contracted, transforming her semicoherent babbling into a twisted moan.

  "I told you, don't worry about that. This baby is coming into the world now, whether you've got money and insurance or not. And since I'm not about to let you deliver on the sidewalk—good! The baby's head is crowning, Lexie. We're almost there," the young doctor said, looking up at her. "Push!"

  The nurse, an older woman with black hair, propped her upright. "Come on, honey. Push hard!" She started counting.

  Lexie scrunched her eyes shut and bore down with everything she had. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. Time blurred, measured in sets of ten-counts as she pushed and the unbelievably short minute-and-a-half rest periods between contractions.

  Relief came as the child was pulled from her body.

  "It's a girl," the doctor announced.

  "Congratulations, honey," the nurse murmured as she lowered Lexie to the exam table.

  Eyes still closed, she tried to catch her breath. A girl. She'd brought a little girl into the world.

  All by herself.

  The sharp, reedy wail of the newborn elicited cheers from the waiting room beyond the faded curtain of the tiny medical clinic in the equally small town of Mill Creek, Montana.

  Not exactly where or how she'd expected to deliver this baby.

  No, that was supposed to be Millcreek, Pennsylvania. And David was supposed to be at her side.

  "Boy or girl?" someone shouted.

  "A baby girl," the doctor answered.

  Applause thundered back, and a chorus of "Happy Birthday" began from the other patients who'd been forced to wait when Lexie, clutching her enormous belly, had stumbled into the clinic on the arm of the old man who'd insisted she call him Pappy.

  Warmed by the response from these people, she opened her eyes to see the doctor pass the squirming, squalling infant to the nurse. The nurse's smile faded, and her expression held a question as she looked down at him. He shook his head slightly.

  "What? Is something wrong?" Lexie's voice caught as a sliver of panic swelled in her throat. "Can I see her?"

  "Everything's fine," he said. "Let's just have Martha clean her up for you first, and then weigh and measure her. Besides, we're not finished here. We still have more work to do."

  "Everything's there?" she asked, not reassured. Her prenatal care had been lacking recently. Being on the run would do that. "All the fingers and toes, and everything else?"

  "Ten perfect little toes, ten long fingers—this one's going to play the piano," the nurse answered from the other side of the curtain where she'd disappeared with the baby.

  Exhausted, Lexie closed her eyes again, barely registering the doctor's soft-spoken comments as he delivered the afterbirth and whatever else went on after a woman had a baby. She was too tired to care.

  At least, about that. She had more important things to worry about.

  A while later, a warm masculine voice penetrated the haze of drowsiness she couldn't seem to shake. "Lexie?"

  "Hmm?"

  The doctor—she kept thinking of him as the young doctor, even though he had to be several years older than she was, but then, she'd aged a heck of a lot in the past four months—stood beside her, a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. "Does she have a name?" he asked gently.

  A name.

  It wasn't supposed to be her responsibility to name this child. But now… An overwhelming flood of homesickness poured through her—the same empty ache that had driven her off the main highway onto the Pintler Scenic Route

  , in the direction of a tiny town that shared its name with her hometown. How she wished her own mother could be here. "Sarah," she choked out. "Her name is Sarah."

  "That's pretty." He edged closer, his eyebrows drawing together. "Now, before I give her to you, I want to explain something."

  Lexie's stomach did a double cartwheel. "Something is wrong." She rose up on her elbows, reached out one hand toward the baby. "What's the matter?"

  "It's not serious. I just wanted to give you a little warning. She has a port-wine birthmark on her face."

  "Let me see her." She accepted the wiggling bundle swaddled in a white blanket. Round, chubby cheeks, tiny button nose, wisps of dark hair—and the right side of her little face blotched with a deep purple mark, as though someone had spilled grape juice on her.

  Lexie's lower lip trembled and tears welled up, blurring her vision. "It's my fault," she whispered. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  She looked at the doctor through a watery haze. "Is it genetic?" Bad genes triggering the birthmark would go far to soothe her guilt.

  He shook his head. "No. It's just something that happens."

  "Then how do you know it's not my fault? I haven't seen a doctor in months, and—"

  "It just happens," he repeated firmly. "No one's at fault."

  Lexie returned her attention to the newborn in her arms. The tiny mouth stretched open in a yawn. She stroked the baby's unblemished cheek, causing the infant to turn her head. Soft pink lips pursed in a sucking motion.

  A surge of warmth flamed across Lexie's chest, tightening her throat, making it hard to breathe. Despite the fact that her milk wouldn't come in for a few days, her breasts ached with the need to nurse the baby. This child was depending on her. Had been depending on her for some time. And Lexie wasn't going to let her down.

  She'd protect her from everything and everyone.

  "They're doing great work with new lasers on port-wine stains," the doctor was saying.

  Borderline hysterical laughter bubbled from her. "I'm sure $4.63 will take care of that." The chuckling continued even as tears coursed along the line of her nose. "I don't even have a place to go."

  A wrinkled hand clasped the edge of the curtain, and drew it back. A face deeply lined from too much sun, wind and numerous years appeared. "You and that baby can stay with me, Missy, for as long as you want. I told you that. I got me more room than I need in that big old place."

  "Oh, Pappy." If angels really existed, Lexie knew they didn't have wings, but wore battered Montana Grizzlies baseball caps to cover snow-white hair. "Thank you."

  "A few of the ladies are already putting together some stuff for you and the little one."

  "Stuff?" Lexie sniffled. The doctor offered her a tissue, and she wiped at her nose one-handed.

  "Old baby clothes, blankets, that kind of thing."

  A tiny flicker of hope blossomed deep inside her. She wasn't alone anymore. A little girl now shared her life. And the town of Mill Creek had adopted them both.

  Pappy leaned closer, peering down at the bundle in Lexie's arms. "Aw. Look at that sweet face."

  Once again, she silently blessed this old man with the enormous heart for not mentioning the baby's obvious birthmark.

  "I think she kinda looks like you, Missy."

  "Really?" she blurted out, taking another long look at the infant she held.

  "Yup. Definitely has
your nose."

  Huh. That was interesting.

  Considering the child wasn't hers.

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  Chapter 1

  « ^ »

  Almost four years later…

  The cardboard coffee cup trembled in David Mitchell's hand. And he hadn't even taken a sip of the high-octane espresso yet. Few people lingered in the café area of the Barnes & Noble. The final Saturday of September had brought Indian summer with it, so everyone was probably enjoying a last hurrah down on the Peninsula or someplace else outdoors before the long Pennsylvania winter descended.

  He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was she?

  As if summoned by his thoughts, the fifth, and hopefully last, private investigator he'd hired appeared around the half wall that separated the rest of the store from the café. Short, stocky, with an olive complexion and hair more gray than black, she looked more like someone's Italian grandmother than a P.I. or ex-policewoman.

  When she met his gaze, Betty Leicester's face lit up. A broad grin appeared as she hurried toward the table he'd claimed in the corner.

  David hastily set the coffee down as the liquid sloshed toward the rim. Surely an expression like that meant good news, right?

  She dropped into the chair across from him, laying a black leather briefcase on the table. "I told you my methods would work. I found her."

  The muscle along the side of his jaw tensed. He sat up straighten "Where? And? What's the story?"

  "A small town out West." She reached over and patted the back of his hand. "Congratulations. You have a daughter."

  A daughter.

  For four years he'd wondered if the child he'd fathered had actually been born or not. Worried he or she was out there, living without him. Living without a father's guidance, support…

  And now he knew.

  He had a daughter.

  His hand curled into a tight fist and he resisted the urge to cover his mouth with it—or smash it down into the wooden tabletop, torn between shouting with glee and venting his frustration at having four years of his child's life stolen from him. Torn between elation, and hanging his head with shame. "How is she? Are they together? Is she okay? How did you finally find them?"

  Betty held up a hand with a chuckle. "Whoa, easy there. One thing at a time. Yes, they're together, and your daughter is being extremely well cared for. Lexie is an excellent mother, so there's nothing to worry about there."

  David raised an eyebrow at Lexie Jacobs being referred to as his child's mother. He'd thought of Lexie as many things over the years, but mother of his child—that concept took enormous getting used to. It wasn't what they'd planned on. But after almost four years … his child surely thought of her as her mother.

  He chugged back a swallow of the now-lukewarm coffee to prevent a sharp retort. He hadn't told this P.I. everything. It wasn't her business.

  Besides, the full story sounded almost like something you'd read in one of those trashy tabloids from a grocery checkout counter—a tangled web of relationships, intrigue and … betrayal.

  "How I found them…" Betty's face grew serious, and she shifted in the chair. "David, I found them through a temp receptionist who did some work for a plastic surgeon. It was the lucky break we needed. I knew those missing-persons posters and the Internet exposure would get you a better response."

  "Plastic surgeon? Lexie went that far to hide from me?"

  The older woman shook her head. "Not for her."

  "I don't understand."

  She reached into the briefcase. "Your daughter, whose name is Sarah, by the way—" she shot him a look that said he'd failed in some way by not asking "—is being treated for a birthmark on her face." She laid several three-by-five photographs across the table.

  His fingers shook as he reached for them. Definitely too much caffeine in the espresso. The first picture, of a small girl with a tentative smile, sandy-brown curly hair and a purplish stain marring a large portion of her one cheek, made him suck in his breath.

  His little girl.

  A bizarre sensation struck, as though a giant had grabbed him and was squeezing his chest.

  "Do you still want her?" Betty asked softly.

  His head jerked up from the photo. "What kind of question is that? This is my child, for God's sake. You think a mark like that is going to make a difference to me? If anything, it makes me more determined to get her back."

  The investigator smiled and reclined in her chair. "Good. Because the way that woman loves that sweet little girl, if you'd said anything less, I'd have been sorely tempted to return your retainer and keep their location to myself."

  "How do you know so much about the relationship between my daughter and Lexie?"

  "Lexie manages a bed-and-breakfast in a little town called Mill Creek, Montana." Betty's expression turned bemused. "Gotta give her that one. Who'd look for someone in a town with the same name as home? I spent three days with them last week. On your tab."

  "And your evaluation of their relationship is based on … what? Your years as a cop?"

  "No, it's based on raising three kids of my own and having five grandkids." Betty pulled out a manila folder. "My complete report is in here." She grinned. "Along with my bill." She held out her hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mitchell. I wish you lots of luck in reuniting with your girlfriend and child."

  He closed his fingers around her hand, pumped it a few times. "One more question. Do you think she'll run again?"

  "Only if you scare her. You take it nice and slow. Avoid making ultimatums. Get to know her again, and your daughter. Court her some."

  He nodded. "Thanks, Betty. I can't tell you how much it means to me to find my little girl."

  She rose, picking up the leather bag. "Send me an update. I want to know how it all works out."

  So did he.

  After she left, he dumped the folder's contents onto the table. A brochure for the Mill Creek Bed-and-Breakfast offered several images of the huge white Victorian house his daughter called home.

  And knowing Lexie, it was a home. For him, the word conjured images not of the house he'd lived in as a child, but the house down the street where he'd spent countless hours. Lexie's home. With Lexie's two older brothers, her mother and father.

  David picked up the stack of photographs. One showed Lexie, with Sarah cuddled up next to her on a burgundy leather couch, reading a book. No surprise since Lexie had been a children's librarian in Erie. Briefly.

  Before she'd run.

  She'd named his daughter after her own mother. A woman who'd been as much of a mother to him, as well, as his own had.

  Guilt, mingled with anger, swirled over him.

  Stuffing everything into the folder, he tucked it under his arm and strode from the bookstore, squinting against the bright afternoon sunshine. He tossed the package to the passenger's seat of his Toyota 4Runner. Settled inside, he pulled out his cell phone and stared at it awhile before dialing a number he hadn't called in quite some time.

  He cleared his throat as a woman answered. "Mrs. J.? It's me … David."

  "David! Oh, it's nice to hear from you. How are you?"

  "Good. More than good. I—I have some news."

  "News?" Her voice quivered. "About Lexie?"

  "Yeah. I finally found her."

  "Oh my." He could hear a chair scrape across the floor and visualized Mrs. J. sinking into it. "She's okay?"

  "Yes. She seems to be doing quite well."

  "And … the baby?"

  "I have a daughter. Named Sarah."

  A deep sob echoed through the phone, followed by muted crying.

  Making him feel even worse for what he was about to do. What he'd done. They'd never openly blamed him for Lexie's taking off. Except for Marc, her older brother, who'd been David's best friend since second grade, the best man at his wedding. The guy who no longer spoke to him and gave him frosty glares when they happened to stumble into each other around town. At least the r
est of them were civil to him. Kenny, the younger brother, still talked to him. David had even been invited to Kenny's wedding three years ago, but hadn't gone, not wanting to cause chaos on Kenny's special day. Marc had threatened him with bodily harm if he showed up.

  "Where is she? I want to talk to her."

  "Mrs. J., I'm sorry. I can't tell you that. I need some time first. I don't want to spook her so she runs again before I can get to her. I want my daughter home with me, where she belongs."

  The soft sniffling sounds stopped. "And I want my daughter home with me, David Edward Mitchell. Don't you give me any lip. Where is my Lexie?"

  "I can't risk it. I'm sorry. Really."

  "Then you bring them both home. Wherever they are, whatever it takes, you bring them both back here to Erie."

  Erie was the last place he wanted Lexie Jacobs. He wanted Sarah, but not the complication of Lexie. She'd betrayed him. Stolen his child.

  "You tell her right off the bat about Angela, and I'm sure Lexie will come home. Do you hear me, David?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I hear you." But he didn't want to think about Angela. Not now, not ever, if he could manage it. The ache it caused deep in his gut … talk about betrayal.

  "Oh, I have to call Tim. He and Marc are fishing at Walnut Creek. They're both going to be so happy! Thank you for letting me know she's safe, David."

  "You're welcome." At the very least, he owed them that much.

  He'd already lost too much time. Missed too many things. Three birthdays and Christmases had happened without him, first steps and words, too many other things he didn't even want to consider. He needed to settle some details with his software-design company, but being the owner helped a lot with flextime and working out of the office.

  He'd have his daughter back home long before the next round of holidays. She'd celebrate her fourth birthday with him.

  "Momma, I want the mousie cupcakes for my birfday." Sarah's plaintive voice rose to overpower the rattle of the now-empty cookie trays in the wooden wagon as it ka-chunked along the cracks in the sidewalk. A cool breeze stirred the just-turning-gold leaves on the cottonwoods, but the bright sunshine warmed Lexie's face. Not bad for the first Saturday in October.