He made the turn onto the access road. While he was out here, he might as well check the place out. The big SUV was almost too wide to maneuver through the second-growth pine and aspen. He kept his speed under five miles an hour. He didn’t need any of the city council stopping him to ask where he’d come by the big scratch through the center of the town logo.
Miguel parked the truck just past the plank bridge that spanned Silver Creek and relayed his location to Doris at the station. “Ten-four, Chief,” she replied.
“Anything going on in town I should know about?” he asked, resting his wrist on the steering wheel. It didn’t hurt as much as it had the first couple of days, but it wasn’t healed enough to go without a bandage yet.
“Melvin Whitehorse backed into Striker Martin’s Jeep at the corner of Paseo and Sage. Just a fender bender, but Melvin’s claiming Striker was stopped dead in the middle of the street. He’s threatening to sue. I sent Hank Jensen to take care of it.”
“Why would Striker be stopped in the middle of the street?” Miguel wondered aloud before he realized his mike was still open.
“Probably checking out the Widow Barkley’s driveway for competition. I heard Earl Lazenby’s been very attentive…”
Miguel didn’t respond to the observation. Too many people monitored the police band with their scanners. Doris had a penchant for knowing more about what was going on in the town than was good for her, and she grabbed any opportunity to talk about it.
“I’ll be ten-seven for the next fifteen minutes or so. I want to check out the old mine entrance and make sure it’s still secured. Eiden out.”
He turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck. He’d walk the rest of the way in. No need to advertise his presence to anyone who might be snooping around the place. No birds sang in the trees that lined the almost dry creek bed, although that might be due to the hawk circling high above him. Nothing moved along the main street of the abandoned town except dust devils, the small tornadolike whirlwinds that had fascinated him as a child, and still drew his attention when he spotted them swirling across the landscape.
He and Diego had played out here as kids. Hell, half the kids in town had spent summer afternoons playing war among the derelict buildings. Then he’d gone to war for real, more than once now, when you counted his stints in Bosnia and Afghanistan, and he didn’t know if he’d want a kid of his own playing that same game.
A kid of his own.
He hadn’t thought much about settling down and starting a family over the years, his mother’s not so subtle hints aside. Not until lately. Not until after the night with Devon when part of him had hoped she would be pregnant from it. Now he thought he understood why. That part of him, the part of him that made lifetime commitments, was waiting. Waiting for Devon to come back to Enchantment.
Miguel climbed the steps of the old hotel. One pane of the big front window remained intact. If he wasn’t an officer of the law he would be tempted to heave a rock through it himself. He pushed open the big double door and looked inside. Dust and broken bits and pieces of furniture, animal scat, bird droppings. Nothing had disturbed the dust for a long time. He hooked his thumbs inside his belt and surveyed the rest of the town from the sagging wooden porch. Quiet as the grave.
He turned his steps to the mine opening. As he climbed, his thoughts circled back to Devon, the way the hawk circled above him. He’d always been able to talk to her. Even as a hormone-laced teenager, he’d been able to spend time with her that wasn’t all about sex. They’d laughed together, hiked together, planned their futures together. He was going to be commandant of the Marine Corps. She didn’t want to climb the corporate ladder like her mother and father. She was going to be…exactly what she was now. A midwife. Except she was going to be the world’s best midwife and her grandmother’s partner at The Birth Place.
Something changed between Lydia and Devon that summer. He’d never figured out exactly what it was, but he had his theories. Hope Tanner had given birth about then and disappeared for ten years. Now she was back and married to Parker Reynolds. And if you asked him, Parker’s son looked an awful lot like his new wife. He doubted too many other people had made the connection, but it was his business to watch faces, and body language, and he’d done a lot of it over the weeks Parker had asked him to keep an eye on his place while Hope’s uncle, a scumbag member of the Brethren cult, had been out on bail.
Lydia, Parker, Dalton. And now Hope. What had gone on between the three adults back then? And how much did Devon know?
The details of those days had stayed fresh in his mind because it was the first time he’d made love to Devon. He’d been awkward and probably a little rough. Hell, it was his first time, too. He’d tried not to hurt her. Tried to make it good for her, but once he was inside her, the thinking part of his brain shut down and his body took over. Afterward he’d held her and she cried and said it was fine, wonderful, but he knew it was not. He promised to make it up to her.
And things did get better. He grinned. Way better. But nothing like that night a couple of months ago. He wasn’t a gangly kid anymore, and she wasn’t a half-scared, half-aroused teenager. She was all woman. And she’d taken as much as she gave before she’d fallen asleep in his arms. It had been good, better than good, and this time he wanted her forever. He tried to tell her that up on the mountain. He hadn’t done a very good job of it, but next time he would.
He was still smiling when he got to the mine entrance. The wire fencing was loose at the bottom corner, but there weren’t any footprints visible on the stony ground. He unhooked the big flashlight from his belt and shone it into the darkness on the other side. Nothing. No sign anyone had been inside for years. He’d been very young when Teague Ellis’s body had been found, but that hadn’t stopped him and his brother from speculating about it when they were old enough. Had he been a skeleton? Had animals scattered his bones? Was his chindi—the evil spirits that the traditional Navajo believed were all of a person that was left behind after they died—still hanging around in there?
He turned to head back down when he caught a flash of reflected light. Something inside the half-opened door of the derelict barn below the mine was brighter and shinier than anything that had been there for the past seventy-five years had a right to be. He switched the heavy flashlight to his left hand, wincing at the pain from the still-tender burns as he curled his fingers around it, and opened the flap on his holster. Better safe than sorry this far out in the sticks.
He moved to the left, out of line of sight of the sagging door, coming up on the barn from above. He took off the big, gray Stetson and laid it on the ground beside the window, then looked inside. A pickup truck that had seen better days was parked there. The back end was half-full of odds and ends of camping gear, a couple of plastic garbage sacks that might contain sleeping bags or blankets, and what looked a lot like the mattress and folding chairs his granddad had reported missing a month ago.
Miguel slipped inside the door and scouted the pickup. He tried the passenger door. It wasn’t locked and opened easily enough. He checked the glove box. It was empty. He wasn’t surprised. He switched on the flashlight, checked under the seat. Clean as a whistle. Someone had taken a lot of care to clear out anything that might identify the owner.
Including the license plates, Miguel discovered, as he checked the back of the vehicle. It would make it harder to track down the owner, but not impossible. He strongly doubted it had been reported stolen from anywhere close by, though.
He decided not to call in to Farley’s Garage and have it towed.
Whoever owned it would probably be back sooner or later. Not many cars traveled this road, and few of the ones who did got past his granddad’s place without attracting his attention. He’d stop by on his way back to town and ask the old man to let him know when someone did come up this way.
He jerked on the drawstring of one of the plastic bags and looked inside. An old lantern, a beat-up skillet and cooking pot a
nd not much else. The familiar logo on a fast-food sack caught his eye. He lifted it out and opened it, and found it filled with napkins and straws, little packets of ketchup and salt and non-dairy coffee creamer. A miser’s hoard of freebies—or a hungry person’s gleanings from a restaurant’s condiment bar? A cash-register receipt was stuck between two napkins. He picked it up. It was dated a week or so before his granddad had started noticing things missing. The restaurant’s address, printed at the top, was in Phoenix. Hell of a distance to drive for a hamburger. He upended the sack and a plastic figure rolled out. A doll, maybe three inches tall, a fairy princess of some sort, with a sparkly magic wand in her hand, and long blond hair. The kind of thing a little girl would get in a “kiddie” meal. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
He had an idea who’d driven the truck up here and why it had been abandoned. But he was going to keep it to himself just like his suspicions that Dalton Tanner’s birth mother was his new stepmother. If Hope and Parker wanted the town to know the truth of Dalton’s birth, they’d tell everyone in their own good time.
And if Devon wanted him to know the truth about the three kids living under her roof, he hoped she’d tell him soon, before he had to do something official about this truck, and their being in Enchantment.
DEVON CLOSED THE DOOR to the birthing room quietly behind her, although it would take more than a closed door to keep the echo of Carla Van Tassle’s sobs from her ears.
Lydia came out of her office and waited, arms folded. “She miscarried?” Lydia’s usually brisk tone had softened to a near whisper.
“Yes,” The affirmation sounded more like a sigh. “She woke up with cramps this morning and when they got worse and she began to bleed again, she called me. I’ve been with her ever since.”
“How’s she taking it?”
“She’s pretty upset, but she understands that some pregnancies can’t be sustained. Still, it was a shock. She’s had no other symptoms except that early spotting.”
“And because of me, she didn’t have an ultrasound.” Lydia looked old and tired, and her gray eyes were sad. Miscarriages were inevitable in some pregnancies, but they were always wrenching—for the midwives, too.
“There’s no guarantee it would have shown that the baby was not developing correctly. And it certainly wouldn’t have prevented the outcome. The miscarriage was spontaneous. Carla should be able to conceive again with no problem. Although I’m sure Dr. Ochoa will agree with me that she should wait a few months, for her emotional well-being as much as her physical healing. Celia’s with her now, and she’ll give her all the counseling she’ll need later. And we’ll be here for her, too.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Lydia didn’t sound convinced, and her uncertainty wasn’t like her, either.
“I know I am.” Devon hoped her confidence wasn’t misplaced. Carla and Rick were young. They already had a fine healthy little boy. They would heal from their sorrow and go on to produce beautiful babies. It was only a matter of time.
Was that what was bothering Lydia? That she might be running out of time? Devon rarely thought of her grandmother as old, but she was getting on in years, and her heart was no longer reliable. Was Devon’s indecision on taking over the clinic adding to her anxiety?
Lydia touched the tip of her finger to the medallion at her throat—seeking solace, Devon knew. “Still, the ultrasound…”
“Wouldn’t have changed a thing.” Devon laid her hand on Lydia’s arm. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? We have a full day of appointments again tomorrow. It seems as if half of Arroyo County is having babies this month.”
Lydia looked at Devon’s hand on her arm. “Yes, it does seem that way. Devon?” She looked up and managed a smile.
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing.” Lydia apparently changed her mind. “I forgot to tell you your mother called a couple of hours ago while you were with Carla. She and your father have decided to come a few days early for the wedding.”
Devon tensed. The last thing she needed was her well-meaning but incurably nosy mother complicating the already difficult situation with the children. “When?”
“Next week. Tuesday afternoon, I believe they said. They’re renting a car in Santa Fe and driving up, so no one needs to meet them at the airport. She told me to tell you they’ll be staying at the Morning Light. I offered my spare room, but she says there is no way your father will sleep on a futon again in this lifetime.”
Devon let the statement pass without comment. Lydia and Myrna had been butting heads since Myrna had learned to talk, maybe before, or at least that was what her uncle Bradley always said. Thank goodness he and Irene hadn’t decided to come to town early, too.
The door to the birthing room opened, and Celia Brice stepped out. Her long blond hair, held back by tortoiseshell clips, swung free halfway down her back. She looked poised and sophisticated, but the illusion of coolness dissolved with one look at her warm blue eyes and compassionate smile.
“How’s she doing?” Devon asked as the three women moved toward the reception area of the clinic.
“She’s sad and feeling very fragile, and a little apprehensive about going to the hospital. I told her you would stay with her as long as she wanted. Was that all right?”
“Of course,” Devon replied. “Hope has agreed to see my last patient for the day, so we can go over to Arroyo as soon as she feels strong enough to walk to the car.”
“I think she’ll do fine. I explained that people will react to her loss in various ways. Some will want to know all the details. Some will want to pretend it didn’t happen. I’ve suggested short-term grief counseling. I think she and Rick are open to it.”
“I’m glad.”
Suddenly Celia smiled again, but this time it was a smile so dazzling that Devon blinked and turned instinctively to see who or what had brought such joy to the other woman’s eyes. “Patrick.” Celia held out her hand to her fiancé. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“I finished up my business ahead of schedule and decided not to hang around another day in rainy, gloomy San Francisco when I could be here enjoying the sun and the mountain views. I thought I’d take you and Trish to Angel’s Gate for dinner this evening if you’re free.”
“I am and I’d love to go. I know Trish would love it, too. I can’t believe you got past her at the front desk.” She attempted to look over his shoulder. “Where is she?”
“My mother is absent from her post. Shall we form a search party?” he asked with a grin so sexy it even raised Devon’s pulse a beat or two.
“She had to make a trip to the post office,” Lydia said. “She should be back at any moment.”
“Wonderful. Hello, Lydia.” He held out his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Very well, thank you.” Her haggard looks said otherwise.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Patrick’s eyes sought Devon’s and for a moment she saw concern before he banished it with another sexy smile. “Devon, it’s good to see you again.”
“Hello, Patrick.”
Trish’s voice preceded her around the corner. “I’m back, Lydia. You can switch the calls back through— Patrick!” She came forward with outstretched hands, her face flushed with pleasure. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t stay away.” He took her hands in his and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Trish’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “I’m so glad you’re back. Will you be staying long this time?”
“I think I can manage a week or maybe two.”
“Wonderful. Then you’ll be here for Kim and Nolan’s wedding.”
He looked at Celia. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Trish’s smile was radiant. For thirty years she’d suffered the abandonment of her baby in guilt and shame. Now she was reunited with the man he’d become, and the healing for both of them had begun.
“Excuse me,” Devon sai
d. “I need to return to my patient.”
Patrick stepped back so that she could pass. As she moved down the hall, she could hear the conversation resume again. The low rumble of Patrick’s voice, the pleased murmur of Trish’s replies. But it was the look in Celia’s eyes that stayed with her as she opened the door to the room where Carla and Rick waited.
It had been a look of love, deep and abiding, and it had echoed in Patrick’s dark gaze. Patrick and Celia no longer had any secrets that must be kept. They were free to love—and Devon was not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DR. OCHOA HAD BEEN CALLED away to do an emergency C-section by the time Devon arrived at Arroyo County with Rick and Carla. The two hours’ wait before he made it to the E.R. had been tense and stressful. Carla had called her mother’s house to talk to her little boy, and he’d started crying apparently. Then Carla had started crying, and by the time Devon had talked her through another bout of exhausted tears, she was wound so tightly herself she thought she might never relax.
When she returned home, Sylvia made her dinner—chicken breast and salad—but she ate only a little. Jesse was still at Manny Cordova’s as he had been every day since the fire. Devon tried not to worry. Manny would send him home before dark, since Jesse was adamant that he wouldn’t accept a ride from the old man every night. If nothing else, Jesse was resourceful. He’d gotten his sisters from Phoenix to Enchantment and kept them safe along the way. Still, Devon didn’t like the idea of the teenager riding the old Schwinn along the twisting mountain roads between her place and Manny’s in the dark.
Jesse’s safety on the road wasn’t her only worry. She suspected Manny was paying the boy in cash, and the first day he had free, he’d take the bike and head up to Silverton to work on his truck. He’d agreed to remain in Enchantment for Sylvia’s sake, but he was wary and watchful, and Devon was aware that it wouldn’t take much to spook him—all three of them—into running again.
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