“You’re here early this morning,” Kim said, greeting Devon and Trish with a smile.
“So are you,” Trish threw over her shoulder as she headed off to the storeroom for the towels.
“I have a mother in labor coming in,” Devon explained. “What’s your excuse?”
“I need to leave a couple of hours early today. I’m going shopping for some new towels and sheets for the guest bedroom. Nolan evidently missed Martha Stewart’s checklist on what to keep on hand in your linen closet. My foster parents will be here at the beginning of next week, you know.”
“Just in time for the wedding plans to swing into high gear. Have you borrowed Martha’s checklist for that?”
“Not Martha’s. My own.” Kim opened her briefcase and selected a pale-green folder from the neatly arranged contents. “Flowers, check. Music, the organist for the church and the DJ for the reception. Food, Slim Jim’s is providing all the barbecue and fixings. And the beer and wine. I’m making the punch myself. Trish gave me the recipe. The cake’s coming from a baker in Taos. Father Ignacio’s honorarium. The rings…”
She looked up at Devon’s chuckle. “I thought the groom was in charge of the rings?”
“Do you honestly believe I’d leave a detail that important to Nolan?” Kim said with absolute sincerity. “The man hasn’t bought a set of sheets since Bush Senior was in office.”
“Right,” Devon said.
“Besides, I believe it’s the best man’s responsibility to make sure the groom has the ring. I’m putting them directly into Miguel’s hand at the rehearsal dinner. I love Nolan dearly, but he is a man, and a forgetful one.”
“It sounds as if you have everything under control,” Devon said a bit wistfully. Her life was so fragmented at the moment she couldn’t help but envy Kim her situation.
“Well, we don’t have everything under control,” Trish said, bustling back into the waiting room. “Serena and her husband just pulled up in the back. Her water broke about twenty minutes ago. Her contractions are now four minutes apart and hard. They decided not to chance the drive over to Red River to her mother’s. She’s meeting them here to help with the older children.” She glanced at the clipboard on her desk that listed the day’s appointments. “Your grandmother has a home visit on her schedule for this morning. I imagine she’s already left her house. I’ll call Gina for backup for you, Devon.” The phone rang. Trish rolled her eyes as she picked up the receiver. “Ladies, I have the feeling it’s going to be a very busy day.”
IT WAS A BUSY DAY and by two-thirty in the afternoon, when Devon and Hope bundled Serena Cartwright and her new son into the back seat of their car, Devon was feeling the effects of her sleepless night. Her back and shoulders ached from kneeling beside the big tub where Serena had spent most of her short labor, massaging the woman’s neck and shoulders, then later supporting her legs and knees as she gave birth. Hope had arrived in time to catch the squalling and red-faced little boy while Devon assisted. Serena’s husband proudly cut the umbilical cord, and only minutes later the newest Cartwright was introduced to his awestruck sisters and doting grandmother.
For most of the morning the birthing room had been filled with the positive energy that always seemed to flow from a successful birth, and it had kept Devon’s exhaustion at bay. But now that the happy family was on their way home, she felt fatigue drag at her again. She shielded her eyes with her hand against the afternoon sunlight as she waved the Cartwright caravan out of the parking lot.
Inside the clinic once more, the hallway leading back to the birthing rooms seemed dark in contrast to the outside. She stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust, and that was when she heard a familiar imperious voice coming from the reception area. She knew there were at least half a dozen women scattered around the room waiting for appointments with one of the midwives or Celia Brice, but there was no mistaking her mother’s voice. Devon hurried past the open door to the birthing room where Hope and Gina were finishing tidying up, and stopped just inside the archway leading into the reception area.
Her mother was talking to her grandmother, using the extravagant hand gestures that were so much a part of her personality. She’d told them she’d be here in the early afternoon, and as always, she was as good as her word. Myrna shared the same tall, rangy build as Lydia, but there the similarities ended. Myrna’s body was toned and lithe. Her hair was cut in a sleek curve that fell just below her chin. It was a lighter blond than Devon’s without a single strand of gray.
Myrna was the senior vice president of West Coast operations for a Fortune 500 company. She had worked hard to get where she was in life, and she didn’t mind flaunting her success. But to give her mother credit, she had never once faulted Devon for not following in her footsteps.
From the set of her grandmother’s shoulders and the slight frown on her father’s face, she could tell that Myrna had already said something that Lydia disagreed with. Devon didn’t immediately step into the fray. She stayed where she was, just out of Myrna’s line of sight, to study her father’s face for a moment. Sam Grant, now in his mid-fifties, was balding and round faced. Not a big man, he stood only a few inches taller than Devon in his stocking feet, but in her eyes he was ten feet tall and always would be. He was a partner in a small but prestigious architectural firm. He enjoyed his work, but it wasn’t the focus of his world the way Myrna’s had always been.
Born while both her parents were struggling through college, Devon had grown up an only child. If her father had been as driven to succeed as her mother, Devon’s childhood would have been far less happy than it was. He’d always been home when she came through the door after school, always there for her basketball and soccer games. The few times her mother had volunteered to chaperon a school dance or field trip, it was because Sam insisted she do so.
Patients were beginning to take notice of her standing quietly in the archway. Her father turned his head and his eyes met hers. “Devon,” he called, smiling and opening his arms for a hug.
“Hi, Dad.” She let him wrap her in a big bear hug, pressing her cheek against his.
“You’re right on time.”
“Did you think your mother would let me miss her ETA by more than fifteen minutes?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length.
“You always get her where she wants to be on time,” Devon said, one hand still held in his.
“We’ve already checked in at the Morning Light.” Myrna held out her arms for a hug of her own. Her mother may have looked as if she stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, but she paid no attention to her clothes or hair as she folded Devon into her embrace. “We’ve missed you, baby. You look so tired.” She studied Devon worriedly. “Have you been getting enough sleep? Are you sure taking care of those children on top of all the hours you spend here isn’t too much for you?”
“I am tired,” Devon said, having learned long ago not to try to bluff her mother. By phone she’d explained as truthfully and succinctly as she could to both her parents the reasons she’d taken the children under her wing. They had been surprised, somewhat apprehensive, but for the most part supportive, as they always were. “But it’s not because of the kids.” At least not completely. It was because of a certain lawman, but she wasn’t about to let her mother get an inkling that she had trouble with her love life on top of everything else. “It’s because I’ve been up since five and I just got done delivering a baby.”
“Boy or girl?” Sam asked.
“A bouncing baby boy.” Devon grinned. “With lungs like a rock star.”
“How many does that make for you now? Four hundred?”
“I…I’m not sure. I’d have to look it up.”
“Well, it’s the three who are living under your roof I’m interested in,” Myrna said. “I want to meet these kids, you know. What if we all go out to dinner tonight? Angel’s Gate, maybe? There was a write-up in the travel section of the Chronicle a few weeks ago. I’ve been dying to see the place.”
>
Angel’s Gate. Devon had intended to drive up there herself today to try once more to contact Lucia Molina, but Serena’s labor had derailed her plan.
“We’ll be at Angel’s Gate next Friday for the rehearsal dinner,” Lydia inserted.
“I don’t want to wait that long,” Myrna said impatiently.
“It’s not exactly geared for children,” Devon cautioned. The kids would find her mother overwhelming enough without subjecting them to the added strain of dinner in the trendy Angel’s Gate dining room, even if they did come across their aunt Lucia at the resort. Especially if they came across their aunt Lucia.
“She’s right, Myrna. And we’ve been traveling all day. How about carryout from Slim Jim’s? I’ve been thinking about their barbecue since we got off the plane.”
“Sam, your cholesterol,” Myrna warned.
“One sandwich won’t hurt. I’ll eat chicken the rest of the week.” Sam gave Devon a wink, the private signal they’d shared for years when he knew her mother was threatening to run roughshod over anything or anyone in her path and he was aiming to slow her down.
“Slim Jim’s? Well, I suppose—”
“Thank you, Mom. That’s a great idea. The kids will enjoy it,” Devon said. “And it will be less stressful for them to meet you at the cabin than in a public place.”
“All right. But tomorrow the four of us are going to Angel’s Gate for lunch. That’s what Mother and I were discussing before you arrived, Devon. A family lunch.”
Lydia squared her shoulders, a sure sign she was ready to do battle. “I was telling Myrna that I don’t know what Kim’s plans might be for tomorrow. It’s getting close to the wedding. She might have last-minute details to attend to.”
“Surely Kim can spare two hours for us tomorrow? We’re her family.” Myrna’s lips narrowed and her gray eyes took on the color of an approaching thunderstorm. The same obstinate expression was mirrored on her grandmother’s face.
“You know I won’t be able to make it if one of my patients is in labor, or Devon, either, for that matter.”
Myrna raised an eyebrow. “Et tu, Devon?” she said, and sighed with exaggerated resignation. “Midwives. I know you might have to cancel at the last minute, Mother. I learned that lesson long ago.”
“I’m sure Kim will be honored by the invitation. I know she has plans for today, but I think she’ll probably be able to work lunch into her schedule tomorrow,” Devon said hastily before Myrna’s oft-repeated lament escalated into a real quarrel.
“I’ve got a tee time tomorrow at eleven,” Sam reminded his wife.
“I know, dear. Go play golf.” Myrna smiled, content now that the world was once more ordered to her satisfaction. “I want this to be just the four of us. The Kane women together at last. Now where is my niece? I want to meet her.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“THIS PLACE IS REALLY VERY NICE,” Myrna said the following day at lunch, as she settled into her seat. “I was expecting lots of antler chandeliers, Navajo rugs, pottery bowls everywhere. You know the whole Southwestern, après-ski sort of thing. “The artwork is really quite exemplary. It’s far more sophisticated than I imagined, rather stark, actually. I suppose they decided to underplay the interior to take advantage of the view.”
“Angel’s Gate is beautiful,” Kim said, unfolding her napkin to place it in her lap. For a woman who had been alone most of her life, it must be slightly overwhelming at times to suddenly find herself part of a family, Devon thought. Yet Kim radiated a quiet happiness, a serenity that hadn’t been there when Devon first met her a year earlier. Finding Nolan and Sammy, the family of her heart, had obviously given her the confidence she needed to take the appearance of long-lost blood relatives in stride.
“Outstanding,” Lydia agreed, looking out the window over the top of her reading glasses. They were occupying a table near the fireplace, not far from where Devon and Miguel had been seated the night they’d come here. This afternoon there was no fire on the massive stone hearth, but it looked as if there’d soon be fireworks outside. A low-pressure system was set to collide with unusually cool air coming down from the plains states directly over the Sangre de Cristos. Thunderstorms were predicted for the nighttime hours. Storm clouds were already attempting to form to the south, but the air was so dry that little if any of the rain that fell from them would reach the ground. It wasn’t the rain that worried Devon—it would be welcomed—but the lightning strikes that were sure to accompany the storms.
“The views from this room are breathtaking, Devon,” Kim said, leaning a little forward to catch Devon’s attention. “Now I see why you wanted to have the rehearsal dinner here. Thank you so much for arranging it.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Devon said, giving Kim’s left hand a quick squeeze before she could object.
“Did you know they did a feature on Angel’s Gate in The San Francisco Chronicle a few weeks ago?” Myrna asked as she perused the wine list, nodding approval of the choices.
“You mentioned that the other day.” From the corner of her eye, Devon watched the waitstaff as they went about their duties, just as she’d noted the desk clerks and the office personnel as they’d come through the lobby. None of the women she’d seen looked like the children’s description of Lucia Molina. But what if she was part of the kitchen staff, or housekeeping? It would be harder to find her in those off-limits parts of the hotel.
“Oh, I did, didn’t I. The chef’s said to be first-class.”
Devon could have affirmed the chef was first-class, but that would mean admitting she’d been here before. And that admission would elicit more questions from her mother. She wasn’t ready to speak of Miguel, might never be able to say his name again without choking up.
“We should know soon. I’ll have a diet soda,” Kim smiled at the waiter who came to take their drink orders.
“Lemonade,” Devon said. She had two patient exams scheduled for later in the afternoon.
“Ice water, please.” Lydia gave her order and picked up the leather-bound menu.
“No one’s going to join me in a glass of wine?” Myrna asked.
“I don’t want to fall asleep in front of my computer this afternoon,” Kim demurred.
Myrna held up her hand to forestall Devon’s explanation. “I know. I know. You and Mother have patients to see. Very well, I’ll have a glass of chardonnay. I don’t mind drinking alone.”
For once Devon could find no fault with her mother’s tendency to take charge of any conversation she was engaged in. She suggested they order salads and then splurge on a truly decadent chocolate dessert that the Chronicle article had recommended, and permitted herself a satisfied smile when everyone agreed. She pronounced the venue absolutely perfect for Devon and Miguel’s prewedding party, and then she turned her attention fully on Kim and demanded to be told everything there was to know about her wedding plans.
Devon joined in the conversation when she was obliged to do so, toyed with her fruit salad and watched the staff come and go from the corner of her eye. The hour passed surprisingly quickly, but when the attentive waiter had cleared their coffee cups and laid the bill folio by her mother’s plate, she still hadn’t spotted any woman that might be Lucia. She was going to have to detach herself from the group and go looking for her. She simply couldn’t waste the opportunity.
“Excuse me, Mom. I need to use the rest room.”
“Go ahead, dear. Kim and I are going to go out on that marvelous terrace and enjoy the view. Mother, do you want to join us?”
“Uh, yes, of course.” Devon could feel her grandmother’s shrewd gray eyes on her as she walked away from the table. She did use the rest room, but only to see if there was an attendant who might be the woman she was looking for. The gleaming tiled room was empty. She walked into the lobby, deciding to find someone in the business office who might be able to tell her if Lucia had returned to work, or at least agree to deliver a message to her when she did return.
She
came to a halt before the gleaming copper-and-teak reception desk, unsure which of the branching hallways might lead her to the personnel office. “May I help you?” asked one of the smiling clerks. She was a beautiful young woman, perhaps a couple of years younger than Devon. Her name tag said Felicia. Her raven-black hair was pulled back into an elegant twist at the back of her head. Silver droplets dangled from her ears. The charcoal-gray blazer and skirt that all the female front-desk employees wore complemented her olive skin and dark eyes.
“Uh, yes.” Devon stepped forward and took the opportunity offered. “I’m looking for someone actually. An employee. Lucia Molina? Would you perhaps know her?”
Some of the warmth left the girl’s smile. She looked down at the Rolodex on the counter in front of her. “I’m sorry, señorita. I don’t know anyone by that name who works here.”
“Perhaps I could talk to someone in your personnel department. I do know that she’s employed by the lodge. But she was off duty when I called to inquire last week. I need to find out if she’s working today. It’s very important.”
“I’ll ask if our human resources director has a moment to speak to you.”
Devon turned her back on the desk. She could see her mother and Kim and Lydia strolling along the terrace, the backdrop of mountain and storm cloud behind them echoed in its soaring ceilings and walls carved from the living rock of the mountain. The young woman returned with a middle-aged African-American woman. “This is Mrs. Greencastle, our human resources director.”
“How may I help you?” she asked in a voice with a Caribbean lilt.
“I’m Devon Grant.” Devon held out her hand. “I’m looking for a woman who works here. Lucia Molina.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Grant.” She returned the handshake. “Yes, Lucia works here, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. It is our company policy not to reveal information about our employees without their permission.”
The Midwife and the Lawman Page 16
