by Paula Munier
“The hiker who called it in says the child seems okay,” she said. “But who leaves a baby alone in the wilderness?”
“Sounds like a story out of the Old Testament,” said Troy.
“Moses or Abraham?” Delphine was a good French Catholic who sang in the choir at Our Lady of the Lake in Northshire at the ten o’clock Mass every Sunday.
“Either way it worries me. We can’t get a helicopter or a truck in there,” said Troy.
“The hiker found her off-trail,” Delphine told him. “So she’s carrying her down to the trail to meet you. Just as well. There’s a big pileup on Route 313 down by Arlington, overturned semi, lots of folks injured. Most everyone who’s available has gone down there. That plus all the holiday nonsense means you’re on your own.”
“I’m on it.”
“The sooner we get her to a hospital, the better.”
“Roger that.” Troy signed off and jogged back some fifty feet along the shoreline of Branch Pond, where an enthusiastic troupe of ten-year-old Boy Scouts hankering for a fishing badge waited for him. He’d been lecturing them on the brightly colored brook trout that made the lake their home.
But the dozen ten-year-olds were so busy playing with Susie Bear that they barely registered his return. The big black shaggy dog was leaping in and out of the lake, splashing the Scouts. She was a Newfoundland retriever mix he’d adopted a couple of years ago, and named for the character in John Irving’s The Hotel New Hampshire.
One hundred pounds of muscle and shiny obsidian fur punctuated by a thick pink mottled tongue that hung out of the side of her mouth like the holster on a cowboy’s thigh. Everybody loved her. Which was good for Troy, who relied on his sidekick for comic relief as well as search and rescue. An important part of his job—the most important part, Captain Thrasher always said—was communication, and Troy was not a big talker. When he struggled to find the right words, Susie Bear stepped in and won over the crowd every time.
“Sorry, guys.” He whistled for the dog. “We’ve got to go.”
The Newfie mutt did her canine version of the twist, and the water flew from her fur, spraying the laughing boys. She bounded over and slid to a stop right at Troy’s side, big wet paws slopping the tips of his boots. Together they hustled back along the trail to the government-issued dark green Ford F-150 truck, which served as his mobile office as well as his transportation. The front seat held his radio system and citation book; the backseat was loaded with food, water, and energy drinks, a 12-gauge shotgun, a semiautomatic patrol rifle, a Smith & Wesson M&P40 semiautomatic pistol, pepper spray, handcuffs, dart weapons, hunter orange, night-vision goggles, extra batteries, towels, and all kinds of paperwork, from extra licenses and lifetime-license applications to field-interview forms and hunting regulations. All in containers or neatly secured in order to leave enough room for Susie Bear, who commanded most of the space.
He jerked the door open for her. There was nothing she liked more than a ride in a truck, except maybe a dip in a lake. And she’d already had that this morning. The big lady hurtled her thick body into the backseat, damp fur soaking the thick Orvis seat cover that supposedly protected the interior of the truck.
Nothing like the smell of wet dog, thought Troy as they bumped along on the rough logging road that ran through the national forest, bordering the Lye Brook Wilderness. There were no roads inside the wilderness, so he parked at the trailhead. They got out, and he added the deluxe first-aid kit and an extra blanket to his pack and pulled it onto his back, then stocked Susie Bear’s pack with more water and slipped it onto the dog.
Troy locked the truck and shouldered his rifle. “Let’s go get that baby.”
* * *
HALF AN HOUR of huffing up the mountain later, Troy sighted a huddle of living creatures up the trail. He pulled out his binoculars for a closer look, and zeroed in on an attractive young woman, a sleeping baby, and a good-looking Belgian shepherd.
“Heel,” he said to Susie Bear, and jogged up to them, stopping about ten feet away on account of the dog.
The woman had seen him coming, and put the baby in a carrier and slung it onto her back. She was about five feet eight inches, but she seemed taller, thanks to a lean build and an erect carriage that spelled military in his book. Her chin-length hair was as red as a burning bush in October, framing a freckled, finely boned face that looked upon him with a mixture of relief and reserve. She did not smile.
“Stay,” she said to the Malinois at her side, and walked over to Troy.
“Mercy Carr. I’ve got ID in my Jeep down by the trailhead.” She held out a long-fingered hand, and he shook it. A firm and forceful handshake. Definitely military.
“Troy Warner, state game warden,” he said. “This is Susie Bear.” The dog wagged her tail in welcome, and the woman smiled. Troy got the feeling that she liked dogs far more than people.
She stared at him.
“‘We need a good, smart bear,’” she quoted from the John Irving novel, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. But loud enough so that he’d know she got the reference.
Troy smiled. She was a genuine New Englander. Who looked vaguely familiar to him, although he could not place her at the moment. But it would come to him.
“That’s Elvis.” She tossed her head over her shoulder in the direction of her dog. “And this is Baby Doe. She’s taking a nap.” Her voice held the warning of all females poised to protect sleeping children.
Mercy Carr turned her broad-shouldered back to him so he could see the baby for himself. He lifted the blanket and peeked at the dozing child, who looked content enough despite the fact that she’d been abandoned in the woods like some cursed child in a fairy tale.
“She’s got some deerfly bites that need attending to, and she’s probably dehydrated. I did give her a bottle and changed her diaper.”
“Let me get her to the hospital,” said Troy.
“You’re alone?” She looked at him with blue eyes bright with disapproval.
“I was nearest to the scene,” he said evenly. What he didn’t say was that he covered three hundred square miles of Vermont woods on his own as a matter of course. Not to mention that most of Vermont’s law enforcement was down in Bennington this holiday week. The Senator was in town with his family, and would be the guest of honor at the Fourth of July extravaganza at the Bennington Battle Monument on Sunday. Security was even tighter than usual. Add in that multivehicle collision Delphine had told him about, and they’d be lucky to get any help with babies or anything else until the holiday weekend had come and gone.
“We’re coming with you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Carr.”
“Call me Mercy.”
“Troy.”
Her blue eyes softened. “We found her, Troy, and we’ll see it through.”
Troy wondered if she were speaking in the royal we, and then realized she was talking about herself and her dog. He nearly grinned, as he was often guilty of the same thing. It drove Captain Thrasher crazy.
“Besides,” she said, “you’ll need to take my statement and come back to check out the scene. We can show you where we found her.”
Military police, he thought. “It may take a while.”
“Understood.”
He didn’t see as he had much choice. The first priority was the baby. Finding whoever left her alone was secondary. But Troy would find them.
“Is Elvis okay with other dogs?”
“Is Susie Bear?”
She was a prickly one, as his mother would say—and had said more than once about his estranged wife.
“My truck’s down at the trailhead, too.” He waved her ahead with his arm. “After you.”
“Come,” she said to Elvis.
Troy stood there with the Newfie mutt at his side and watched the comely trio of woman, baby, and dog waltz by them single file down the narrow trail.
Good-looking shepherd, Troy thought again, as he and Susie Bear took up the rear.
* * *
THEY MADE GOOD time. Mercy Carr was tough and fast and used to a quick march. Troy was impressed. She reminded him of Sarah Thibodeau, a resourceful and resilient game warden assigned to the northern district known for her dogged pursuit of poachers. Only Mercy was cuter, in a girl-next-door kind of way.
When the trail widened enough to allow him to step up beside her, he quickened his gait and then matched hers, stride for stride. She turned and smiled at him for the first time—and her pretty pale face brightened into a fine beauty.
Again he was struck by the feeling that he knew her, and again he could not place her. His confusion must have registered on his face, because she laughed.
“You don’t remember me,” she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’M TRYING. ARE YOU FROM NORTHSHIRE?”
“I was born here, and spent most of my summers here as a child.”
“Is that a hint?”
“Yeah. Sort of. It was a long time ago.”
She ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch, jiggling the baby, who slept on. “You were a lifeguard at the town pool. You and your friend Hunter Boggs.”
A murky memory of a long-legged red-haired kid diving into the town pool over and over again drifted in and out of his mind.
“I was fourteen.” She laughed again. “I had the biggest crush on you.”
“Me?” He and his best bud had scored the sweet jobs as joint lifeguards at the Northshire Center Pool the summer after graduation. But as always Hunter was the one all the girls swooned and stuttered and sillied over. Hunter was the gold to Troy’s silver. They’d competed against each other for everything since they were freshmen—from grades to goals to girls. For every A Troy won, Hunter won an A-plus. For every hockey goal Troy scored, Hunter scored two. For every girl Troy dated, Hunter dated three.
“Most of you girls went for Hunter.”
“Not all of us.” She looked at him, her blue eyes lit with mischief. “He was so full of himself. Always checking himself in every rearview mirror when he walked across the parking lot.”
“That’s true.” Troy laughed. Hunter never saw a mirror he didn’t like. “You were a very observant fourteen-year-old.”
She shrugged. “Nothing to do but swim and read and watch the cool kids.”
“Cool.” Troy shook his head. “I was not so cool. But Hunter was.”
“Only in his own mind.”
He frowned. She sounded like his estranged wife. Madeline, the prettiest girl at the pool. Hell, the prettiest girl in the county. Who shocked everyone when she chose him over Hunter.
“Didn’t you marry Madeline Renard?” Mercy asked, as if she could read his mind.
“Yes.” The only time he ever triumphed over Hunter. She’d been Hunter’s girl all along, until that summer. When she threw him over for Troy. Or Hunter threw her over for Harvard. Or some combination of both.
“I imagine she’s as beautiful as ever.”
“Yeah,” he said, not trusting himself to say any more.
Mercy looked at him. “I remember the first time I saw her at the pool, she looked so … otherworldly, like something out of a story. Snow White in a pink bikini.”
“Yeah.” He remembered, too.
“I begged my mother for a bikini just like that one for years. But she refused. It was all one-piece racing tank suits for me.”
“And now?” He imagined she would look pretty good in a pink bikini. Maybe as good as Madeline.
“Now I hike in cargo pants.”
He nodded his approval as they approached the trailhead.
“Mine’s the red Jeep.” She pointed to the vehicle parked a couple of spaces beyond his Ford F-150. “I don’t have a car seat. Do you?”
“No. We’ll all have to go together in the truck.” Troy rearranged the stuff in his backseat to make room for her, the baby in her carrier, and the Malinois. All that hustle and bustle woke the baby up, and she started to fuss. Mercy rocked the carrier gently, murmuring a lullaby, while he settled in front with Susie Bear. He strained to hear the woman softly singing what sounded like “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman. Toy Story. Sweet.
The medical center was only three miles down the road in Northshire—a ride just long enough for the baby to fall asleep again and just short enough that conversation was limited to the Fourth of July traffic. When they arrived, Mercy hurried out of the vehicle with the baby; Troy brought along the carrier. They left Elvis in the truck and Susie Bear outside tied to a tree. Just in case the dogs took a sudden disliking to one another in their absence.
Once inside the hospital, Mercy turned Baby Doe over to the ER nurse with reluctance. The baby cried for her, and she insisted on waiting close by while the doctor examined the infant.
Dr. Sharma was a young, confident physician with a faint Indian accent who cooed at the little girl as he gently examined her.
“Very odd to be finding a baby in the woods,” he said to them as he jiggled the baby’s fingers and toes. The baby laughed, a sweet little gurgling giggle that reminded Troy of his niece Charlotte, who was about the same age. “Especially one who apart from this disturbing incident is seeming well cared for.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mercy said.
“And you have no idea who the parents are, or why they are leaving her all alone?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think so. We hike there most every morning, and we have seen hikers with babies from time to time, or at least heard them. But not today.”
“She seems to be all right,” said Dr. Sharma. “We will be treating the bites and making sure she is well hydrated. But we are running some tests to make sure she is as well nourished as she looks. We will be keeping her overnight for observation.” Mercy appeared as relieved as Troy was that the doctor had proclaimed the baby safe and relatively sound.
“What will happen to her after that?”
“We will be contacting Child Protective Services,” Dr. Sharma said. “If no one is coming forward to claim the child…” He shrugged.
“CPS. Right.” The way she said it made Troy believe her experience with that organization had not been good. She turned to Troy. “Here’s hoping that you find her family before that happens.”
“I’m sure law enforcement will do everything possible to track down her next of kin,” Troy said to both of them.
But unless someone had put out an AMBER Alert, odds were they wouldn’t know who the baby was until he found the mother himself. The holiday weekend meant law enforcement was out in force to protect and serve and keep the drunks off the roads and the trails and the waterways—himself included. “I really need to get back to the scene. And I’ll be keeping this.” He pointed to the baby’s yellow blanket by the carrier, which sat on a plastic chair in a corner of the examination room.
“Of course.” The doctor nodded.
“Thank you,” said Mercy, looking back at the baby before she walked away. Troy could tell she hated leaving the child here, no matter how nice Dr. Sharma was.
“We are taking good care of her,” said the doctor.
Troy wondered how many times a day he said that to comfort people, and how often it actually worked.
“Bye, baby,” Mercy said, and the little girl looked up and stared at her with those slate-blue eyes.
“Come on,” Troy said softly, touching her shoulder gently. He led Mercy down the corridor and out of the building.
Without a word, Mercy headed right for his truck. This time, she sat in front, and the dogs shared the backseat amicably. At least so far.
The quick ride was a quiet one. He didn’t want to push her; he’d save his questions for the scene. He wasn’t worried about her forgetting anything; she had all the earmarks of a former MP and he was betting that behind those startlingly blue eyes was a well-disciplined and analytical mind.
Still, this seemed like one of those times when he should say something reassuring, but he wasn’t sure wh
at. What wouldn’t sound trite—the baby’s going to be fine—or lame—she’s in good hands—or even patronizing—you’ve done all you can.
Captain Thrasher would know what to say.
“Do you have any children?”
The question took him by surprise. Involuntarily he looked at the fourth finger of his left hand, curled around the steering wheel but still showing the faint circle of lighter skin left by the wedding ring he’d worn for nine years. He’d finally taken it off a couple of months ago after he caught Thrasher frowning at it one too many times. The removal made him feel like a quitter, even though he knew his marriage was, for all intents and purposes, over.
And kids were one of the reasons for that. He wanted them. His wife didn’t. Madeline preferred cats. Namely Tiffany, a moody Siamese who hated him, and proved it by clawing at him every time he moved within six inches of her.
Madeline threw a fit when he brought Susie Bear home. Dogs and kids are too much work, she told him. When she left, she took the cat with her.
“No,” he said to Mercy, careful to keep his eyes on the road. “No kids. Not yet.” That was the only good thing about his wife leaving. The possibility of children. Someday, with someone else. At least that’s what his mother kept telling him. She never much liked Madeline or her cat. “You?”
“Not yet,” repeated Mercy, and he could hear the catch in her voice.
“I have a niece about the same age as Baby Doe,” he told her. “My brother’s little girl. Charlotte. She’s a pistol.”
“My older brother has a little boy. Toby. He just turned two.” She turned toward him and smiled. “He’s just like my brother, hell on wheels, only shorter.” Her smile faded. “I’m just trying to imagine the circumstances under which his parents would leave him alone in the woods.”
“And?”
“All I can come up with is some kind of Hail Mary pass to save the child.” Mercy shrugged.
“And you caught it?”
“Maybe.”
Troy eased the truck into the parking lot at the trailhead. Nearly full now. The Fourth of July festivities were approaching full swing; there would be more people on the trail now. More people to muck up his crime scene.
