Читать книгу Alias Mommy - Linda O. Johnston - Страница 10

Catherine Calvert Elkins leaned as close to the unyielding steering wheel as she could. Her fingers had nearly become attached to the wheel over the past long, long hours, and her cramped hand ached from clutching the leatherlike surface.

The car took curves well, thank heavens, as she forced it to careen through the night. Sheets of rain threw the glare of her headlights back into her face, stabbing her moist, smarting eyes. She blinked, trying to keep them open.

She was exhausted. She had barely stopped to rest over the last what—four days? Five? She had not slept more than a couple of stolen hours at a time along her circuitous route.

“And now, the local weather report,” said a disembodied male voice. She’d turned the radio up to blare over the rain’s pounding and the rushing air of the defogger, which failed to clear the windshield. Only local news was on now. She had no interest in local news—except for the weather report. More thunderstorms coming, the man informed her cheerily.

Of course.

She hated driving in the rain, especially in the dark. It was one of many newly discovered dislikes. As with the rest, she had never experienced this one before. There had always been someone….

No. She didn’t dare think of that now. She had to concentrate on…what?

Oh, yes. Driving.

But she was tired. So tired.

And numb. The debilitating terror she had felt when starting out had dissipated. For now.

There weren’t many cars out this night, not here among the dark mountains along the curving highway. Smart people didn’t go out in this weather.

Smart people had a choice.

She had pushed herself nearly to the limit. She knew that. And she was hurting more than herself.

She reached down and lifted the large paper cup from the holder on the console. Making a face, she forced herself to take a swig of the cold coffee she had bought a few hours back. It smelled like brackish water. But she needed the caffeine.

Okay, she promised herself. First cheap motel she spotted off the interstate after daylight, she’d get a room.

It would be a long time till daylight, she knew. And still the rain smashed down on the road, her car, isolating her from the rest of the world.

That was fine. She needed to be alone. She…

Had to…

Stay awake…

She blinked suddenly, alert, as the headlights caught a metal railing dead in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, spun the steering wheel.

Screamed as the car plunged through the rail, “No…please, no!”

Her last conscious action was to curve into a protective curl.

NEITHER RAIN NOR HEAT nor gloom of night stayed the Selborn Peak, Colorado, city council from its regular Thursday night meeting, Reeve Snyder thought ironically as he carefully guided his Volvo through the blinding torrent.

Nor thunderstorms.

It wasn’t as if the business just conducted was so earthshaking that it couldn’t have waited a week. But he wasn’t the only one who had another demanding job, or a dislike of being out in awful weather. And this wasn’t as bad as winter’s snowstorms, which he abhorred for good reason. Still, if he had complained, his fellow councilpersons would—

His cellular phone rang. “Yes?” he answered tersely. He knew what the call was likely to be about at this hour, and on such a night: a medical emergency.

“Doc?” The voice was shaking. “This is Ernie Pride.”

Reeve had just left Ernie at the council meeting. “Yes, Ernie. What’s up?”

“I just saw a car go off the interstate in front of me. I called 911 and help’s on the way, but I figured you’d be closer than anyone. Can you come?”

“Sure.” Reeve got the particulars and in moments was heading toward the spot, his heart pounding. He was one of a few doctors who lived in this small town, so he was summoned frequently in emergencies. No matter how many times he responded, he couldn’t help feeling the rush of anticipation—and dread.

He never knew how bad it would be till he got there.

It didn’t take long. Half a mile after pulling onto the interstate at the entrance Ernie had named, Reeve thought he saw stationary red lights ahead through the still-pouring rain. Sure enough, as he drew closer, he noticed Ernie’s Land Rover on the shoulder of the road. He pulled behind, tugged off the jacket and necktie he’d worn to the meeting and, grabbing a flashlight, leaped from his car. Drenched as quickly as if he had jumped into a cold shower with his clothes on, he snatched his medical bag from the trunk and looked around. The shoulder was narrow, and the fence that was supposed to protect drivers from the steep slope below was broken by a large gap. Looking down the hillside, Reeve soon spotted another light. “Ernie?” he called.

“Here, Doc!” The response was muffled by the pounding rain.

Reeve slid through scratchy brush and oozing mud down to the scene of the accident—fortunately, not far below the road. The car was small; it must have been traveling too fast, since it had severed the fence so completely. It rested on the passenger side, the driver’s side up in the air. The front was caved in.

Reeve found Ernie perched on the upper edge, prying open the driver’s door with a tire iron. It opened with a shriek of metal. “Too smashed to open regular,” Ernie said, hopping down. A building contractor, Ernie was a short, wiry man, and Reeve had no doubt he’d have opened the car door with his bare hands if it had been possible.

“Who’s inside?” Reeve began climbing up to the opening.

“One person, far as I can tell. There.”

Ernie held his hand up to shine his light inside, and Reeve peered in, increasing the illumination with his own light. A woman lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom, against the passenger door. She seemed unconscious, strewn with glass from the smashed windshield, and what he could see of her head and arms was bloody.

His professionalism keeping him calm, Reeve climbed in and lowered himself to where she lay, careful not to step on her. The car reeked of gasoline, plus a hint of spice, as though of rich perfume—and the metallic stench of blood.

Finally kneeling beside her, he turned her over, automatically reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.

A pain so sharp that it might as well have been physical pierced Reeve’s heart.

The woman was visibly near term pregnant.

“Damn it,” he swore shakily.

He would not lose either one. This time.

KNUCKLES WHITE as he steered his Volvo, Reeve followed the shrieking ambulance to the emergency room door, then parked behind it. As he jumped out of his car, the ambulance’s flashing red light swept over him and reflected on the wet pavement. The rain was slower now but had not completely stopped.

The emergency medical technicians responding to Ernie’s 911 call had arrived not long after Reeve did. He had already stanched the flow of blood from a severe laceration on the woman’s arm, and together they had stabilized her. Her baby was alive but in distress.

Holding an intravenous bag in the air, the EMTs wheeled the woman into the medical center on a gurney. The staff had been alerted to expect the emergency, and Larry Fletcher, a fine obstetrician and a friend of Reeve’s, was waiting.

“What do you think?” he asked Reeve without looking at him. He was already checking over the woman. “Was she conscious at all? Do we know how close the baby is to term?”

“No. She looks pretty far along, though.” A wave of helplessness washed over Reeve, but he quickly set it aside. “The baby’s heartbeat is weak and thready,” he told the obstetrician. “The trauma may have caused a separated placenta.”

“If so, emergency C-section’s the way to go,” Larry stated. “Nurse!” He called to one of the emergency room team and began issuing orders.

For the first time, Reeve got a good look at the injured woman. Her short, dark hair, still containing shards of glass, was a stark contrast to the color of her pale skin. Her long, thick eyelashes were a lighter shade than her hair. There were bloody scratches on her face and arms in addition to the deep cut that had bled so profusely, and she had a large bump on her forehead. She wore a loose maternity dress that bulged out in front. She seemed a pretty woman, and she looked utterly fragile.

Her pallor was deathlike.

Anguish he’d thought he had forgotten threatened to swamp Reeve, but then he noticed her eyelids flutter. Her lips parted, and she seemed to be trying to talk. He leaned toward her. “What did you say?” he asked gently, though a voice inside screamed for him to lift this woman, hold her, force her baby and her to be immediately healed.

Her eyes opened just a slit. He couldn’t tell what color they were, and he doubted that they were focused on him. Her brow was furrowed as though she was in pain.

He saw her hand rise slightly from where it rested beside her on the gurney, and he clasped it in his. It was cool and damp and seemed as limp as a shroud.

This time, when she spoke in a quiet rasp, he made out the words. “Help me. Please.”

“I’ll do all I can. I promise.” His blood pounded in his ears. What if—

No, that was another mother, another baby. He had no business thinking about them now. He was the only physician with pediatric experience at the hospital at this hour. He had work to do.

CATHERINE’S EYELIDS WERE heavy. She struggled to open them. They fluttered first. With concentrated effort, she managed to raise them just a little.

She saw only a blur of white. “You are awake,” said a deep, soothing voice. A familiar male voice. It made her feel relaxed. Safe.

“I thought so. Can you tell me your name?”

She didn’t want to talk. Too tired. But she had to respond to the calming voice. “Ca—” she started to say. She stopped, trying to remember why she didn’t dare mention that name. “Polly,” she finally said. The word came out as a croak. That was the answer she had to give. She had to think of herself as Polly, not Catherine. But as muzzy as her mind felt, she was not sure why.

“Polly what?”

“Black,” she managed to answer. Why did she hurt so badly? She felt as though she had been run over by a truck.

Truck? No. The car. She had been so tired, and then…and then…

She came fully awake as suddenly as if she had been pinched. “The accident,” she gasped. Why didn’t her head clear? She was in a bed in a strange room. A man wearing a white jacket hovered over her. Did she know him? He wore a name tag. She struggled to focus on it. Dr. R. Snyder, it read. A doctor? Where was she?

She looked around. She lay in a narrow bed with railings on the sides. Her sore left arm was hooked up to a long tube that led to a bottle hanging upside down: an IV. Her right arm was swathed in bandages. The place smelled of something sweet and antiseptic. Obviously, she was in a hospital. White sheets were tucked over her nearly flat belly.

Flat?

Everything came back to her suddenly. “My baby!” she screamed, struggling to sit up despite arrows of pain stabbing through her. “What happened to—?”

“Shh.” The doctor pushed her back gently onto the bed. “It’s all right. You have a beautiful little girl. She’s fine.” His baritone voice was tranquil and familiar, though she didn’t recall ever meeting him. But he sounded as if he cared about her. “Sleep now, and when you’re feeling a little better I’ll make sure someone brings her in to see you.”

“Now.” Her heart pounded unmercifully, magnifying each pain.

Nothing alarmed her as much as the fear that the doctor, despite his kind, calming voice, had lied to her. That something was wrong with her baby.

Or that someone had stolen her away.

She searched the man’s eyes. They were a golden brown beneath thick ginger brows, and like any good doctor’s, they were filled with compassion. But she couldn’t trust him.

She couldn’t trust anyone.

“Please,” she said, making her voice as forceful as she could. “Let me see my baby.”

“I think we can arrange that. She was small, you know. And we were worried about her condition after the accident. That’s why we delivered her right away. She’s doing well, but she’s been under observation since she was born.”

“When was that?” Polly was almost afraid to ask. How long had she been unconscious?

“About—” the doctor pushed the sleeve of his lab coat up from a broad, hair-dusted wrist and looked at his watch “—ten hours ago.”

Ten hours. Her baby had been born that long ago, and she hadn’t been awake to see her. To hold her. Polly felt tears rise to her eyes. “You’re sure she’s all right?”

“I’m certain, though we’re keeping close tabs. I’ll have someone bring her soon.”

She tried to watch him leave the room, but instead her head fell back onto the pillow. She felt miserably dizzy, and there was a fierce ache at her forehead. She lifted her hand to put pressure on the spot and felt a large lump. Oh, my. She must have hit something hard.

If only the seat belt hadn’t been so uncomfortable around her large abdomen—but who knew what condition she and the baby would have been in if she had been strapped to the seat?

Then there was the pain that burned from beneath the bandage on her arm.

She felt awful. And confused. Where was she? In a hospital, of course, but where? She looked around the small, sterile room, but it gave no clue.

She tried to stay awake. She was aware that she dozed off, then awakened again. That was all right, as long as she did not fall into a deep sleep. She had to be sure….

“Here you are,” said a high, cheerful voice, startling Polly fully awake. A uniformed nurse stood beside the bed, smiling. “Doc Snyder examined this little darling again. He’s a careful one. And then he had to check with Dr. Fletcher to make sure it was all right for you to have a little visitor. Dr. Fletcher is your attending physician.” In moments, Polly felt a soft bundle being snuggled against her right side. She heard a small squeaky sound and looked down.

There, swaddled in a white receiving blanket, was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen: a tiny pink face, with just a smattering of light brown hair. The eyes were closed.

“Oh,” Polly said wonderingly, suddenly engulfed in a wave of deep emotion that was a conglomeration of relief, tenderness and fierce protectiveness. Ignoring the fuzziness in her head, she maneuvered with care to pull the baby into her arms, mindful of the IV still attached to her, and the pain when she moved. Nuzzling the little head, Polly smelled the soft sweetness of baby powder.

Uncertainly, she unwrapped the baby. She’d had little experience with infants, but she would learn. Quickly. And right now, she had to be certain that this little one was truly all right.

Exposed to the coolness of the hospital air, the baby made little gasps of protest. Her blue eyes opened, though they didn’t focus on Polly, and her dimpled little hands punched unevenly at the air. She had the right numbers of tiny fingers and toes, and the little dark stump of her umbilical cord was a contrast against her pink skin. A disposable diaper was fastened over her, and rather than removing it, Polly pulled it away from the baby’s tiny tummy and peered inside.

“Perfect,” she sighed as she wrapped the baby back into the blanket. She held the small form protectively against her side. I won’t let any of this touch you, she thought.

“How are you doing?” asked a deep, male voice.

Startled, Polly looked up. It was the same doctor who had come in earlier: R. Snyder. The one who looked and sounded familiar. Standing beside her, he seemed tall, though it was hard to tell how tall while she was lying in a hospital bed. His gingery hair, lighter than his brows, was tousled, as though he had just gotten out of bed. There was a shadow beneath his deep-set eyes and a gauntness in his cheeks that also indicated he could be tired. But the boyish smile he aimed at her with his wide mouth was contagious, and she found the corners of her lips twitching in return.

“I think they’re fine,” said the nurse. “Both of them.” She was much shorter than the doctor, and her platinum hair formed a mass of short waves about her round face. Her chin was just a little too shallow, but she beamed at Polly and the baby as though she had something to do with everything being perfect.

Maybe she did. “How did I get here?” Polly asked. “And the baby…I mean the delivery…Were either of you here? I don’t remember anything about it.” She felt sore all over.

“You were in good hands for the delivery,” the doctor said. “Dr. Larry Fletcher is Selborn Community Medical Center’s obstetrician. The baby’s heartbeat was a little weak, so he delivered her by cesarean section nearly as soon as you were brought in.”

“Don’t be so modest, Doc,” the nurse ordered. “I’m Nurse Frannie Meltzer, Polly. This is Dr. Reeve Snyder. He stopped you from bleeding to death from that lacerated arm of yours at the accident site. And then, soon as she was born, he took care of the baby. Right, Doc?”

“Well, more or less.” The man sounded nonplussed. Polly had to be reading that wrong. Doctors were like politicians, weren’t they? Egotistical? Never wrong?

She shuddered, and the movement enhanced the pain in her head, her arm. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She noticed that his expression froze. Had she sounded aloof? She didn’t have to trust him, but neither did she need to be rude. “Thank you,” she repeated more fervently, gently hugging the baby to her. “For everything.”

“You’re very welcome.” He smiled once more—not with the same warmth as before, though. She felt suddenly sorry, as though she had somehow lost a friend.

She shook her head a little. He wasn’t her friend. No one here was her friend.

No one anywhere, except for her former roommate, Lorelei.

“So where am I?” she asked. The doctor had mentioned the name of the medical center, but Polly couldn’t recall it.

“Selborn Peak, Colorado,” the nurse said, arranging a blanket around the baby. “It’s a ways west of Denver, but much, much smaller.”

“Our medical center serves half a dozen communities around here,” Dr. Snyder told her, crossing his arms in his lab jacket. Even when he spoke about trivialities, his voice was low pitched and soothing. Polly enjoyed listening to it. “If you had to be injured at all, you were fortunate,” he continued. “You were closest to Selborn Peak, even though we’re several miles off the interstate. But when I first saw you in the car…” A haunted expression that she couldn’t interpret crossed his face but it made her suddenly want to offer him words of comfort. Strange. He was the doctor, she the patient.

And she was hardly in a position to comfort anyone.

“I’ll stop in later,” he said, “if that’s all right.”

The baby began to cry, a gaspy, sad sound, and Polly rocked her gently. “Please come back,” she said to the doctor, realizing she meant it. Maybe she could pretend, at least, that she had a friend here.

“Okay,” said Nurse Meltzer after Dr. Snyder had left. “We’ve been taking care of this little one, but I know she’s been waiting for you.”

She discussed with Polly how to breast-feed, then showed her how to hold the infant, who quieted immediately.

Then they were alone—Polly and the baby, whom she moved again, into a position that didn’t put so much pressure on her aching side. Laurel. That was what she would call her, after Lorelei. Laurel Black, just as her ID showed her to be Polly Black.

Polly reveled in the tiny, uneven tugging as the newborn suckled at her left breast. She hugged her warm, sweet baby to her, watching her in wonder.

Her baby. Hers alone.

“We’re going to be just fine, Laurel,” Polly whispered. “Just you and me.” She began to hum a soft, soothing song to the nursing infant, moving again slightly to ease her pain.

This hadn’t happened the way she had planned: to give birth by C-section in a hospital in some small Colorado Rockies town while running away from everything she had ever known. Or not known, which was closer to the truth.

To have an aching, mixed-up head, an arm that burned when she moved.

To have been so banged up that she had to postpone the rest of her flight for…how long? She didn’t yet know.

But nothing in her life was the way she had planned. She, of all people, would never have pictured herself a single mother thousands of miles from the town where she had grown up. A fugitive. All by herself, with Laurel, being cared for by the kindness of strangers.

She had learned, so abruptly, to count on no one’s kindness.

Still, she thought of Reeve Snyder. His profession was to help people. But he’d done more than just help. He had saved her life, hers and Laurel’s. Maybe that was why he seemed so familiar. Perhaps she had been conscious of him, somehow, as he took care of her.

A kind man? It certainly seemed that way. Good-looking, too; despite how frightened and miserable she had felt, she couldn’t help noticing his handsome features, youthfully pleasant yet maturely masculine.

Even those golden-brown eyes of his looked sincere. Concerned. Kind.

But why had he suddenly appeared so troubled?

It didn’t matter. She would never know him well enough to find out. The only thing that counted now was survival.

Survival for Polly and Laurel Black.

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, sitting on the stiff, ancient leather chair in his medical center office, Reeve tried to go over some of his insurance billings. But his mind wasn’t on preferred providers and allowed amounts and deductibles.

It was on the woman in the building next door, whom he had last seen that morning. Polly Black.

From what he had heard, the records office hadn’t been able to find her family from the scanty information on her ID. Had she contacted her husband yet? Even now, a frantic man could be on his way here from some unknown town, scared to death about the condition of his wife and baby.

Reeve could identify with him.

So much so, in fact, that he had to know. “Donna!” he called to his receptionist as he hurried down the hall. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“But—”

He didn’t stay to hear her objection.

The door to Polly’s room was partly closed. He knocked.

“Come in.” Her voice was stronger now, healthy. Feminine, yet not too high or shrill. A pretty voice. Reeve wondered how it would sound singing lullabies to her baby.

He pushed the door open. “Hello, Polly. I—” He stopped.

The hospital bed had been mechanically cranked up to support her back as she sat. She held the baby at her side, its tiny head against her small, firm breast as it suckled.

Though he took care of both adults and children, this kind of scene was one he seldom viewed. He felt embarrassed at interrupting such a private, intimate moment. But only for a second, for then a rush of tenderness and something else Reeve could not immediately identify swept through him, and he found himself clutching the door frame for support.

Loss. Sorrow. He realized anew that this woman, her accident and her baby evoked emotions he thought he had put behind him long ago.

“Hi, Dr. Snyder.” Thankfully, Polly’s words interrupted his bleak musings. Apparently flustered, she quickly maneuvered a blanket over the baby’s head to cover herself. Chewing her bottom lip with small, even teeth, she looked at Reeve expectantly, as though waiting for him to take her pulse or ask how she was feeling.

Of course she would consider him just another of the hospital crew parading through her room to check on her welfare. “Hi, Polly. I’m here to see how the baby is doing.”

For a moment, a hurt look passed over Polly’s pretty but bruised face. “She’s doing fine.” Her tone was bright, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

Had she hoped he was here to see her? The idea pleased him, and he felt his lips twitch toward a grin. He was here to see her as well as her child. He cared about her welfare, too.

Professionally, of course. That was all.

“I’m a primary care doctor, Polly,” he said gently. “You’ve been assigned Dr. Fletcher as your obstetrician. If it is all right with you, I’ll be your baby’s doctor while you’re here.”

“Oh. Of course. I’d like that.” She smiled then. Though Polly was still pale enough for her complexion to contrast starkly with her short, black hair, her color had improved. Her eyes were the soft gray of dove feathers, and they regarded him with a warmth that stirred ashes cooled long ago deep inside him. “I can’t imagine a better doctor for Laurel. That’s her name, you know. You’ve done so much for us already, Dr. Snyder.”

“Reeve,” he said. “This is a small town, and we go by first names here.” Not always, of course. But he somehow didn’t like the distance that “doctor” put between them.

“Reeve,” she repeated softly. The melodic sound of the single syllable tripping off her tongue made him want to request an encore. He took an involuntary step toward the bed, and his eyes met Polly’s soft, gray stare for an infinite, exquisite instant. He felt his pulse pound in his veins, wondered if he should grab a cuff to see how elevated his blood pressure had become.

The baby began to cry. Reeve welcomed—and cursed—the interruption.

“Shh,” Polly crooned softly. She cradled little Laurel, maneuvering the blanket over the flimsy hospital gown—but not before Reeve got another glimpse of an exposed curve of breast. The sight sent a wave of heat immediately to his groin.

What was wrong with him? Even if he hadn’t been here as her doctor, he was a professional.

Polly cuddled the tiny, swaddled body close. “Hush, Laurel,” she pleaded. “You’re all right, little one.” As the baby’s wails grew more frantic, Polly looked helplessly at Reeve. This was probably her first baby, and the new mother was still a neophyte. She didn’t look very old, after all—maybe midtwenties. Her complexion was nearly as smooth as her daughter’s, and despite the bump on her forehead she didn’t need any makeup to appear beautiful. Her nose was narrow and perfect, her eyes large with a thick fringe of lashes, her mouth just a little too wide.

“Here,” Reeve said. He repositioned the infant on Polly’s shoulder, then patted the baby’s back gently. The receiving blanket was a soft spun acrylic, warm from being against Polly and her daughter. In a moment, Laurel gave a small burp.

Polly laughed. It was a relieved, merry sound that made Reeve’s heart fill. “I should have figured that out.”

“You will the next time.” Reeve hesitated. “I imagine one of the staff has already gone over this with you, but I understand they weren’t able to locate your family. Can we call someone for you?” Your husband, he wanted to ask. Where is he, and why did he let you travel alone when you were so close to term?

She blanched as white as the sheet behind her, and her gray eyes grew as round and frightened as a captive doe’s. “You can’t.” She sounded almost frantic. Then her lips curled in an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. Her voice was much calmer. Even. Too even, as though she were reciting a memorized line. “Actually, I don’t have any family to notify. I was orphaned as a child, and my husband and I were divorced months ago because of my pregnancy.”

It didn’t take a psychiatrist’s credentials to know she was lying.

Reeve couldn’t breathe suddenly, as though someone had put a tourniquet around his windpipe. He felt his own color deepen. “I see. Well, good luck to you, Ms. Black.” He turned and strode toward the door. He had to get out of there.

It wasn’t his problem. Not this time. But he still felt as though he had been gut punched.

He heard a soft noise behind him, like someone crying.

None of his business, he told himself. But he found himself turning back as he reached the door.

Polly held her squirming baby against her. Tears ran down her cheeks beneath tightly shut eyes, and she was shuddering.

Reeve had to stop himself from taking a step toward her. He wouldn’t comfort her. He didn’t want to.

If she were keeping this baby away from her husband, Reeve could only despise her.

Unless she had a damned good reason.