The Midwife and the Lawman

by Marisa Carroll

  “What is it?”

  Hope spoke next. “It’s about my baby, Devon. The child I gave up for adoption. I care too much about both of you to let you go on thinking the worst of Lydia’s actions that night.”

  “I understand—” Devon began automatically.

  “No, you don’t. Or only a little. Beginning with the fact that you didn’t even know my baby was a boy, not a girl.”

  “Not a little girl? Not Autumn?” Over the past decade, she’d thought of Hope’s baby at different times, always identifying her with the name Hope had picked for her—Autumn. Now Devon focused on her grandmother’s face, but Lydia stared past her at the empty grate of the fireplace. “You lied to Hope about the baby’s sex, as well?” Devon hadn’t meant to let the harsh words slip out but couldn’t stop them.

  “I thought it was for the best,” Lydia said. She was still clutching the woven bag with both hands. Old regret and new weariness echoed through her words. “If I had told Hope her baby was a boy, she would have been convinced she could keep him safe from her uncle and the polygamist cult he’s involved in. It would have been too difficult for her to raise a child alone, so I let her go on thinking the baby was a girl. At risk from the Brethren.”

  Hope’s voice was gentle, serene. “You were right, Lydia. I was young and alone. I had no education, no money. No resources. I would probably have grown so discouraged I would have returned to my family.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “To the control of the Brethren. And my son would have been as much in their power as a daughter would have been. I know that now.”

  Parker drew Hope close and said, “Devon, Hope’s child is my son, Dalton.”

  Parker’s son? She’d always assumed Hope’s child had been taken out of state, or at least away from Enchantment.

  “When did you find out the truth?” she asked Hope.

  “After I returned to Enchantment last year. Devon, believe me, I had no idea you knew anything about what happened the night Dalton was born. Lydia never told me you came to see me or that you overheard her…and Parker’s father-in-law discussing the adoption until recently.”

  “He was the man with you in your office?” Devon asked Lydia.

  “Yes.”

  “I was there, too,” Parker added.

  “I only overheard bits and pieces of what was being said. I…I didn’t know you were there at all, Parker.”

  “Nor I, you,” Lydia said very softly.

  “As I remember, my father-in-law did most of the talking,” Parker continued. “He was, and is, a powerful and influential man, Devon. A hard man to say no to.” Devon felt a little shiver. She’d never forgotten the voice she’d overheard. A man’s voice accustomed to command, cajoling and threatening by turns. Would she have been able to refuse his demands to hand over the child if she’d been in Lydia’s place?

  She turned back to Hope. “All these years your baby was right here in Enchantment?”

  “Yes.” Hope reached out from the comforting circle of her husband’s arm and pulled Devon closer. “Loved and cherished just as I prayed he’d be.”

  “Dalton made Vanessa’s, my former wife’s, last months on earth happy ones, Devon. Hope, and Lydia, gave us what she wanted and needed most in the world.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth before tonight?” Once more Devon focused on Lydia’s strained features. She had learned to live with the ache of their estrangement, but this was a new wound and a painful one.

  This time Lydia met her gaze head-on. “I gave Hope my word.”

  “You didn’t trust me enough—” Devon stopped abruptly. Trust. She couldn’t trust anyone with her secret about the three children she’d taken into her home, either. Too much was at stake.

  “We asked Lydia to keep Dalton’s parentage a secret because of the damage it could do to The Birth Place and to Lydia and my father-in-law’s reputations,” Parker said.

  Hope nodded agreement, adding, “But mostly because we feared that my uncle might try to come for him. He’s a terrible man, Devon. I told you back then how frightened of him I was, remember?”

  “I remember.” Devon had ached for Hope, but in her innocence she’d never really understood how badly Hope had been scarred by her upbringing in the repressive society of the Brethren.

  “Now he’s in prison and not likely to ever be free again. When I realized that Lydia hadn’t told you about Dalton, I released her from her promise.”

  “How long ago was that?” Devon addressed the question to Lydia. She was appalled at herself, but once more old hurts so long repressed insisted on being voiced.

  It was Parker who answered. “As soon as we could be sure Hope’s uncle and the Brethren were no longer a danger. That was a week or so before Lydia’s heart attack.”

  “I meant to tell you,” Lydia whispered.

  “But you didn’t. Why?”

  She shrugged and Devon saw how old and frail she looked. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Lydia replied.

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Devon said, but she didn’t mean it and they all knew it was a lie. “I’ll honor my grandmother’s promise to you, Hope. I’ll keep Dalton’s parentage a secret for as long as you want me to.”

  “I never had the slightest doubt of that. You were my only friend in those days, Devon. I haven’t told you how much that friendship meant to me when I had no one else in the world. What your grandmother did then was what she thought best for all of us.” She leaned forward and rested her cheek against Devon’s. “Talk to her, Devon. Make it all right again, please,” she whispered. “Your grandmother loves you and respects you more than any other person in the world.”

  Devon returned the hug. “I think it’s time you and Parker went home to your son.” Hope looked at her with stricken eyes, but said no more.

  “You’ll see that your grandmother gets home safely?” Parker said.

  “Of course.”

  Parker and Hope left by the front door. Devon heard the lock turn behind them and moments later their car drove away.

  Lydia remained seated. “If only I’d known at the time that you overheard my conversation with Parker’s father-in-law that night, so many things would be different between us.”

  “I was afraid to say anything. I didn’t want you to get into trouble,”

  “It was the second-hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. The hardest was to give my own child, Kim’s mother, away.” Devon had no desire to see her grandmother suffer from memories even more painful than those that had been dredged up in the past few minutes.

  She held out her hands to her grandmother. “Let’s go home. We can talk in the morning when you’re not so tired.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep.” Lydia made no effort to rise. She reached out and took Devon’s hands between her own. Devon knelt at her feet. Her grandmother’s touch was ice-cold and her fingers trembled like aspen leaves in a storm. “You do believe I was acting in Hope’s best interest, as well as my own, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Devon whispered.

  “You shocked me so that day in my office when I asked you to take my place on the board and you told me you had known all along. But at the time Hope had no idea where her child was. I couldn’t tell you any more than I did. I…I had to remain silent.”

  “I understand. It’s all mended now.”

  “Is it?” Lydia had picked up on the uncertainty in her words. “Can we go back to what we had when you were sixteen and thought I had hung the moon?”

  “I’d like to try.”

  “But it might be too late.” Lydia sighed and disengaged her hands from Devon’s. “I knew it would be difficult for you to give up your life and come to take over the clinic. But I didn’t think it would be impossible. Now I can see why you thought it would be.”

  “I gave up the lease on my apartment,” Devon said. “I arranged to put my furniture in storage. I’m going to stay in Enchantment, at least for the time being.”

  The flare of hope in L
ydia’s eyes made Devon’s breath catch in her throat. “Then you do forgive me for what I did?”

  “I forgave you a long time ago.” Devon had forgiven, but she hadn’t forgotten, nor had she understood. Now with her deception heavy on her conscience, she felt the weight of Lydia’s burden on her own shoulders.

  “I’ve only ever kept two secrets from you in my entire life, Devon. That I gave my own child up for adoption so many years before and the truth about Hope’s baby. Keeping the first secret cost me my marriage, and sometimes, I fear, the best parts of my relationship with your mother and uncle. The second cost me your respect. I swear I will never lie to you again.”

  Devon looked across the lamp-lit room to the last glimmering of twilight beyond the windows. Tears clogged her throat and stung her eyes. She needed her grandmother now more than she ever had. She needed her wisdom and guidance with Sylvia’s pregnancy. She needed someone to confide in about all her other worries and fears. Lydia had promised she would never lie to her again, and Devon believed her.

  But Lydia was still recovering from her recent heart attack. Devon couldn’t add to the stress she was under by confessing her own secrets.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEVON LOOKED OUT over the valley beyond the low wall that followed the edge of the terrace. To her left were the ski slopes of Angel’s Gate. To her right a view of Mount Wheeler, backlit by the setting sun. The resort’s restaurant was a beautiful setting, especially now with the sunset gilding the tops of the ridges and night shadows on the march down the opposite slope.

  Their dinner had been excellent, the chicken subtly flavored and tender, the salmon moist and flaky. The wine, the same vintage they’d chosen for the party was very good, also. She’d had two glasses, something she almost never did. But tonight she had no mothers ready to go into labor and Gina and Hope were on call, so she had no need to worry about an emergency summons from the clinic.

  “Okay, tell me what’s up with these kids you’ve taken in.”

  “What?” Devon was startled by Miguel’s question. She shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine. It had lulled her into a sense of well-being that she hadn’t felt in a long time, and left her vulnerable to attack. In reality the question was asked in a tone of friendly curiosity, not confrontation. It was only her guilty conscience that made it seem otherwise.

  He poured the last of his beer into his glass, but didn’t lift it to his mouth. She could watch his hands forever. He had big, hard hands, but they could be gentle, too, coaxing and caressing a woman’s body…. “The kids you brought up from Albuquerque,” he elaborated. “Tell me about them. How old are they? How long are they going to be staying with you?”

  “I…I don’t know how long they’ll be staying. Several weeks at least.” She took a sip of wine and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

  “They’ll want to be back home when school starts, I suppose.”

  “Yes. But there’s a complication.” No one had met the children yet. No one knew that Sylvia was pregnant. Not even her grandmother. Nothing had changed between her and Lydia since the night Hope and Parker had told her the truth about Dalton’s parentage. There had been no miraculous, instantaneous healing of the rift between them. Years of silence couldn’t be mended overnight. And beyond that there was the fundamental difference in the way they viewed their profession. Those differences were evident every time they stepped into a birthing room together. Lab tests, ultrasounds, fetal monitors were the backup technology that augmented Devon’s midwife and nursing skills. To Lydia they were unwanted and unnecessary interference in the most natural and woman-affirming process on earth. Tears and a hug were even less likely to bridge that gap than they were the other one.

  “Another complication beyond these three orphaned kids being left alone while their cousin heads to Mexico for an unspecified length of time? You must have been very good friends with their mother to take on such a responsibility.”

  Devon couldn’t quite meet his steady gaze. She looked down into the golden liquid in her glass. “The kids need me. I’m all they have right now.” That simple and undeniable truth that took precedence over all the rest. The children needed her. She was able to look at him now. Her voice was stronger too. “Sylvia, the oldest girl, is pregnant.” Suddenly she was eager for his advice. No one she knew was more level-headed than Miguel. She leaned forward a little, her hands wrapped around her wineglass. “She’s barely sixteen. The boy who’s the father has ducked and run. She’s terrified of giving birth, and I’m not sure exactly what to do next.”

  Miguel gave a low whistle and settled back in his chair. She waited, growing accustomed once more to his silences and to the inner discipline that kept his face free of easily read emotion. “The kid ought to be held responsible for what he did. But what’s right and what gets done are usually two different things.”

  “She’s not sure of her due date, although I think it will be soon. I’m not even certain she’ll be here to deliver.” As hard as she’d tried, she hadn’t yet earned Jesse’s complete trust. He was proud and protective, and he was scared of being sent back to Mexico, a country he hadn’t seen since he was a small child. If he got spooked and took off, the girls would go with him, regardless of how close to term Sylvia might be.

  “You mean the cousin might not be gone all that long?” Miguel asked, and she imagined his tone was more probing than it had been a moment before.

  Reality pricked her again. She had to weigh each word before she spoke, every time she spoke, or she would give herself away. “Yes, that’s what I meant. Sylvia needs stability right now. And medical care. I hope the cousin can be persuaded to leave the kids here with me.” What was she thinking? Miguel was the last person on earth she dared confide in. One thing she did know about him was that his duty as an officer of the law would dictate he turn the children in to the proper authorities if he learned their true circumstances. They would be taken away from her, probably separated. Right or wrong, she couldn’t let that happen. She’d never felt quite so alone in her entire life.

  “Is the girl healthy?”

  Devon relaxed a fraction. The sun was down now, the sky a wash of pink and gold high above, shading to gray and indigo along the far ridge tops. She shivered a little as the mountain chill crept over the retaining wall and curled around her ankles. She was glad she’d worn a dress with a jacket. “As far as I can tell, she’s had no prenatal care at all. She hid the pregnancy as long as she could.”

  “That’s not unusual, is it?”

  “No.” Devon sighed. “It’s actually pretty common.”

  “Why didn’t the cousin see she got care when he did find out?”

  “It’s all come to a head in the last few weeks. And to top it all off, the boy’s father is his boss.”

  Miguel’s dark brows pulled together in a quick frown. “That’s not much of an excuse.”

  “I didn’t think so, either, but then, it’s not my job on the line.”

  “But when it’s your flesh and blood who’s been wronged.” Navajo tradition set great store by family ties, she knew. And so did all the varied cultures that made up Miguel’s complex heritage. He would be a good husband. A good father. She had always been aware of that about him, someplace deep down inside her.

  “The kids don’t have relatives to turn to right now. They only have me.” A waitress came through the sliding doors and began lighting candles on the tables. Only two other sets of diners occupied the terrace this evening, and both those tables were several yards away. Devon looked up as she approached. So far she’d seen no middle-aged Hispanic woman who fit the description Sylvia had given her. This waitress, although one she hadn’t seen before, couldn’t be the kids’ aunt, either. She was too young, and Anglo besides.

  “Anything else that I can get you?” she asked. “Another glass of wine. Perhaps a nightcap? Or coffee?”

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” Miguel said to Devon. “Unless you need to get back to the ki
ds.”

  “No. They’re okay. They’re pretty self-sufficient. I’ll have coffee, too. Decaf. Black.”

  “I’ll have the high-octane,” Miguel directed. “Black.”

  “I’ll be right back.” The waitress collected their empty glasses and the beer bottle, retreating back into the main dining room where candlelight glowed on the tables and a fire blazed in the massive fireplace across the room. If she had been alone, Devon would have asked the friendly young waitress if anyone named Lucia Molina worked at the resort, but that was impossible with Miguel sitting across from her. She would have to come back to Angel’s Gate alone to make her inquiries.

  And what if Lucia was also an illegal? Would she bolt and run when confronted with the knowledge that her nieces and nephew were abandoned and seeking her aid? Would she be able to care for them if she didn’t? It seemed that every way she turned, the situation grew more complicated. She shivered with a chill that didn’t come from the night air.

  “Would you like to go inside to have coffee?” Miguel asked, observantly catching her slight shudder. “It’s getting chilly out here.”

  He didn’t look cold. He looked warm and solid and sexy as hell. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his shirt was open at the neck. A dark jacket and khaki slacks completed his outfit. His skin was copper against the white of his shirt, and his eyes were as dark as the valley shadows. His hair had grown a little from the almost buzz cut he’d been sporting when she arrived in town. It would be thick and silky against her fingers, soft against her breasts and the skin of her belly as they made love.

  She wasn’t cold anymore. She was on fire. And she couldn’t take one more step down that imaginary road or she’d be lost.

  “It is chilly,” she said. “Let’s go inside.”

  The waitress reappeared with their coffee and led them to a small table near the fireplace. The warmth of the flames felt good. Devon held her coffee cup between her hands and let her eyes wander the room. There were only two other waitresses in view, and neither of them fit Sylvia’s description of her aunt. Devon couldn’t stop the disappointed sigh that escaped her lips.