Читать книгу Rookie Cop - Nikki Benjamin, Nikki Benjamin - Страница 8

A shrill ring cut through Megan Cahill’s deep, dreamless sleep, drawing her into reluctant wakefulness. Eyes still closed, she responded automatically, reaching out with one hand, aiming to shut off the alarm clock on her nightstand. When her fingers brushed against the solid, fabric-covered cushions lining the back of her living room sofa, she groaned softly, shifted and sat up.

Vaguely aware that the ringing had stopped through no effort of her own, yet still too groggy to place exactly where it had come from, Megan rubbed her bleary eyes. Then she looked around the sparsely furnished living room of the house she had recently bought from her old friend, Emma Dalton Griffin, as she tried to collect her thoughts.

Across the room, the television screen flickered luminously as the host and hostess of an early-morning network talk show bantered back and forth, their low tones much too cheery for her liking. She must have left the television on the night before. Must have fallen asleep in front of it, she thought, eyeing her wrinkled white T-shirt and navy-blue shorts with distaste. Just as she had done so many nights since she had moved back to Serenity, Texas, two years ago.

The shrill ring sounded again, jarring Megan fully awake. Someone was jabbing at her front doorbell with an awfully impatient finger. But why? she wondered. What could anyone want with her so early in the morning?

She couldn’t recall making any plans for the day that included anyone except herself. And in the two years she had lived in Serenity, she had avoided making the kind of close friends who would ask for her help in an emergency. Maybe her elderly neighbors, living across the street, needed assistance of some sort. She was on speaking terms with Mr. and Mrs. Bukowski, after all, though only in the most casual sense.

For the third time the doorbell rang, this time followed by a round of urgent knocking on her front door.

“Just a moment,” Megan called out, tamping down her momentary annoyance at the unexpected intrusion into her solitary life.

Since returning to Serenity, she had made sure she was beholden to no one and no one was beholden to her. That way she couldn’t disappoint anyone, nor would she, herself, be disappointed. It was a lonely way to live, but less painful in the long run. Your illusions couldn’t be shattered if you had none.

Someone obviously needed her help, though, and she hadn’t shut down her emotions so completely that she could turn the person away without a second thought.

Shoving a hand through the chin-length tangle of dark curls she could never seem to tame, Megan padded toward the front door, the polished wood floor cool against her bare feet. As she turned the key in the bolt lock, she heard the faint shuffle of running footsteps on the porch.

Suddenly realizing that she could be the latest victim of the teenage pranksters who had targeted various other Serenity High School teachers since school had let out for the summer a week ago, Megan flung open the door angrily and stepped outside. Being awakened at the crack of dawn to come to someone’s aid was one thing. Being awakened at the crack of dawn just for the fun of it was something else altogether.

With the sun not quite topping the horizon yet, shadows still hovered in the far corners of the wide front porch. A quick glance around assured her that no one was lurking there, though.

Hoping to catch at least a glimpse of whoever had rung her doorbell, then run off, Megan strode toward the short flight of steps leading to the walkway. Looking out across the lawn, she wasn’t immediately aware of the baby stroller parked a few feet from the front door. Only the heart-stopping wail of an infant slicing through the early-morning quiet—straight into her soul—made her pause and glance down just in time to prevent what could have been a serious accident.

Megan stared in utter amazement at the tiny, barely discernible form tucked securely into the sturdy, steel-framed, padded canvas stroller. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, no… Oh, no, no, no,” she whispered as she scanned the front yard again, searching for some sign, any sign, of whoever had made the mistake of leaving a baby on her doorstep.

“Come back,” she called out urgently, nearly shouting now. “Please, please, come back.”

Megan didn’t try to hide the desperation in her voice—a desperation that clutched at her throat with a frightening stranglehold. Some foolish, misguided person had left a baby on her doorstep. Someone who obviously had no idea what a poor choice they were making. She was the last person on earth to be entrusted with a child’s care—the very last person on earth.

The twitter of birds greeting the dawn and the baby’s increasingly plaintive cries were the only answer to Megan’s plea. She was sure that the person who had left the baby on her porch hadn’t gone far. But she couldn’t leave the baby alone while she went in search of her.

Taking a steadying breath, she set aside her reluctance and bent over the stroller.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” she murmured, the words coming softly, naturally, as they had so often in the past. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry…”

Reaching down, Megan loosened the pale blue, light cotton blanket covering the infant, then slipped her hands under him, gently cradling his head and bottom as she lifted him from the stroller. His cries faded to little snuffles as she held him close, his downy head nestled under her chin in a way that made her heart ache.

“Ah, sweet Will, sweet little Will. Mommy’s here, she’s here now….” Megan whispered, though she knew, to the very depths of her soul, that the child she held wasn’t her child…wasn’t her precious Will, and never could be.

Still, her grip on the baby tightened just a little more as she closed her eyes and feathered tiny butterfly kisses along the warm, soft-as-silk curve of his cheek. The weight of his little body, curled against her shoulder, was so solid, so familiar and so very, very real. She couldn’t help but pretend, for just a moment, that she had taken a step back in time, back to the place where she had once been strong and whole in body, mind and spirit.

The place where she had been all she had ever wanted to be—a wife and a mother.

A rustle in the shrubbery planted along the far end of the porch caught Megan’s attention, dragging her back to the present. She heard the distinct thump of feet pounding across the lawn then running down the sidewalk. Holding the baby firmly against her shoulder with both hands, she shoved the stroller out of her way with her hip and scrambled down the porch steps as quickly as she could.

“Don’t go,” she called out. “Please…don’t go.”

Megan could barely make out the tall, lithe form skimming away along the sidewalk through the tree-cast shadows. Instinctively, she knew it was a young woman—a young, healthy woman who, for whatever reason, had chosen to leave her baby behind.

By the time Megan finally reached the sidewalk, the woman had disappeared from sight around the distant street corner. Even if she hadn’t been holding a baby in her arms, Megan knew she wouldn’t have been able to catch up with her. Weighed down as she was, and barefoot to boot, there seemed to be no sense in trying. She would only risk taking a bad fall, and what good would that do?

With a rueful shake of her head, Megan turned and walked back the way she’d come—through the little gate in the white picket fence fronting the yard, along the narrow walkway edged with pink and white impatiens, then up the porch steps.

There had to be a reason why the absconding young woman had chosen to leave her child at 1209 Bay Leaf Lane, she thought. But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with one that made the slightest bit of sense to her.

Although she hadn’t gotten a good look at the baby yet, she was fairly sure the poor little thing wasn’t more than a couple of months old. Of the few people she knew in the small town of Serenity, Texas, none had given birth recently. So who, outside her limited circle of friends—acquaintances, really—would be desperate enough to leave a virtual newborn in her care?

And what, exactly, was she supposed to do now that someone had?

Back on the porch again, Megan crossed to the stroller she had shoved aside a few minutes earlier. With the first rays of sunlight chasing away the shadows, she saw that a quilted denim diaper bag had been left behind, as well. What appeared to be a note with her name written on it in bold block letters had been pinned to one of the straps.

She pulled the single sheet of notebook paper loose with her free hand and unfolded it. The message it held, also printed in bold block letters, was short and to the point, but it did very little to enlighten her.

Mrs. Cahill, the note began. Please, please take care of my baby for me. He is two months old and his name is Matthew.

Frowning, Megan folded the note again and tucked it into the side pocket of her shorts. Still holding the baby securely against her shoulder, she picked up the diaper bag and plopped it in the stroller. Then she wheeled the stroller into the house.

In the living room, she parked the stroller by the sofa, crossed to the television and turned it off. At the front window, she opened the blinds, letting in the morning sunlight, then returned to the sofa with the baby.

“Okay, let’s have a look at you, Matthew.”

Perched on the edge of a sofa cushion, Megan gingerly shifted the baby onto her lap. Gazing down at him, she studied him closely. With a downy soft thatch of blond hair, clear, fine-as-porcelain skin and bright blue eyes, he was truly a beautiful baby.

Will had been a beautiful baby, too, but he’d had her dark curls and his father’s brown eyes. He had also been more sturdily built than Matthew was. Which had made it all the harder to believe he hadn’t been strong enough to fight off the devastating illness that had claimed his life.

Though maybe he would have been if only she had realized sooner—

With a firm mental shake, Megan warned herself to stay focused on the moment at hand. She wouldn’t do herself or little Matthew any good by allowing painful memories of a past she couldn’t change to overwhelm her now.

Directing all her attention on the baby lying on her lap, she noted that he seemed to be strong and healthy. He kicked his little legs and swung his arms, cooing and gurgling quite contentedly. He also seemed to have been well-cared-for. He not only looked clean, he also smelled clean. And though the pale blue, one-piece cotton knit romper he wore was obviously secondhand, it appeared to be freshly laundered.

Unless Megan was badly mistaken, little Matthew had been looked after with loving tenderness prior to his arrival on her doorstep. Yet he had been abandoned like unwanted baggage.

No, that wasn’t really true, Megan admitted, trying to be fair. He had only been left when it was certain that he was safely in her care. And his mother—for surely it had to have been his mother running down the sidewalk—had also left behind a diaper bag, thus making sure that all his immediate needs could be met.

Taking the diaper bag from the stroller, Megan unzipped the top flap and opened it wide. As she fully expected, she found at least a dozen tiny disposable diapers, a container of wet wipes, several cans of formula, two baby bottles with nipples, a box of plastic bottle liners, and several changes of clothes and bibs.

She found nothing more to identify the baby’s mother in the diaper bag, though. Nor did the stroller, itself, offer any further revelations. It, too, was obviously secondhand, but of excellent quality and construction.

“So, your mom loves you very much, young man,” Megan said, offering her index finger for the baby to grasp. “But she’s left you here with me…of all people. Any idea why?”

In response to the sound of her voice, Matthew kicked his legs even faster, then screwed up his darling little face and began to fuss.

“Okay, okay, we’ll talk about your mom later,” she murmured, shifting sideways on the sofa so she could set him down beside her. “Right now, we’ll change your diaper and get you a little something to eat. How does that sound?”

With the supplies provided, Megan replaced Matthew’s soggy diaper with a dry one. Then she fished out a can of formula, a bottle and disposable liner from the diaper bag, and with Matthew nestled securely against her shoulder, she headed for the kitchen.

It had been a long time since she had prepared a baby’s bottle single-handedly, but apparently the skill, once learned, was never really forgotten. After a quick warm-up of the bottle, they were back on the living room sofa where Matthew eagerly sucked down the formula in slow, steady gulps.

Watching him, Megan recalled all the times she had fed her own baby in much the same way. She had been able to breast-feed Will, though. Just remembering the urgent tug of his tiny mouth made her breasts tingle instinctively. He had been such a hearty eater….

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Megan once again willed away the memories that were still too raw, too painful for her to dwell upon. Recalling, instead, the wording of the note she’d stuffed into the pocket of her shorts, she frowned thoughtfully.

Please, please take care of my baby for me.

She could think of nothing she would rather do than care for Matthew…today, tomorrow and every day thereafter. Holding him close, inhaling his sweet baby scent as she listened to the soft sounds he made as he nursed, she could almost believe that she had been given a second chance, that she had her own baby back again.

In her heart of hearts, she knew better, though. Just as she also knew that she couldn’t allow herself to pretend, even for a few moments, that Matthew was her child to keep.

He had only been left in her care temporarily. He had a mother. A mother who would surely come back for him before too long.

Matthew had been cared for with such obvious consideration that Megan couldn’t believe he had been casually abandoned on her doorstep. His mother had wanted him to be safe and secure, and for reasons yet to be determined, she had chosen Megan to look out for him. But only until she was able to provide for him again herself.

Becoming too attached to him in the meantime would be a big mistake. She had lost one child. She wasn’t about to set herself up for the pain of losing another.

As she had when she’d first found the baby on her front porch, Megan wondered who Matthew’s mother might be. Again, she had to admit that she had no idea at all. Nor did she have any idea why she had been chosen to provide his safekeeping. Surely his mother must know other women in Serenity more capable of caring for a baby. Women his mother had to know better than she knew Megan Cahill.

When Matthew finished the last of the formula in his bottle, Megan set it aside, lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back. He rewarded her with a series of hearty burps, making her smile. Then he snuggled against her with a tiny, contented yawn.

“What a good baby you are,” she murmured, brushing her lips against the top of his downy head. “What a good, good baby…”

As she continued to pat his back, Matthew stuck one little fist in his mouth and closed his eyes.

“So, you’re ready for a nap, are you?” she asked. “And here I thought you could give me some idea of what we should do next. She’s your mother, after all. Do you think we ought to wait here in case she decides to come back for you? Or should we turn you over to the proper authorities without delay?

“I’m tempted to wait here for a while, sweet baby—so very, very tempted. But I’m not really the best person to look after you, no matter what your mother thinks. How about giving her an hour or two? Then I think we’d better take a little walk to the police station.”

Matthew’s deep, even breathing was the only reply Megan received.

“Okay, that’s what we’ll do, then,” she decided as she stood and headed for the staircase leading to the second floor of the house.

In fact, the Serenity police station was the last place Megan wanted to go that morning. Under the circumstances, however, it was also the best place she could go. That was where she would most likely find the one person capable of helping her track down Matthew’s mother.

Unfortunately, Serenity’s chief of police, Jake Cahill, also happened to be her ex-husband.

Megan had been avoiding Jake ever since he had returned to Serenity a year ago. He had given up a rewarding career as an FBI agent to take a job that he couldn’t possibly find fulfilling. A gesture of reconciliation, or so he had seemed to have wanted her to believe. But it had been too little, much, much too late. As she had told him plainly the one time he had come to the house to see her.

Jake had abandoned her when she had needed him the most, just as her parents had done when she was a child. They hadn’t thought twice about flying off to a Third World country to cover a military coup, and she’d been left an orphan. And Jake hadn’t thought twice about going undercover for weeks at a time to catch a killer, leaving her to cope alone with a sick child.

Megan knew she hadn’t occupied a very important place in her parents’ lives. Too late, she had realized, as well, that she—and Will—hadn’t occupied a very important place in Jake’s life, either.

Leaving Jake had been the only way she’d been able to cope with that knowledge. And shutting him out when he finally followed her back to Serenity had been the only way she could keep from falling under his spell again.

She had loved him once—loved him and trusted him with all her heart. She hadn’t been about to let him lure her into doing it again, no matter how sad and lonely she had been without him in her life.

While Megan couldn’t allow herself to trust Jake personally, she knew, however, that as a law enforcement officer she could trust him to look out for Matthew’s best interests. After all, Jake, like her parents, had always put his job first.

At the top of the stairs, Megan paused and eyed the closed door of the bedroom she had studiously ignored since moving into the house she’d rented, partially furnished, from her friend and former foster sister, Emma, just two years ago.

When Emma and her husband, air force colonel Sam Griffin, had moved to Colorado Springs, Megan had arranged to have most of Emma’s furniture shipped to them. But Emma had asked Megan to donate the baby furniture in the spare room to one of the local churches, a task that Megan was still unable to take on.

Believing that someone less fortunate than she might benefit from her loss, thus making that loss a little easier to bear, she had given away Will’s baby furniture before moving back to Serenity. Standing quietly, watching as her precious child’s belongings had been carried out of the town house, she’d felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest. Supervising the removal of another crib, dresser and changing table had been more than she could bring herself to do.

Now, as fate would have it, she had a crib all ready for Matthew. Well, not exactly ready. After months of neglect, the spare room was too musty and dusty for a baby. And it would be foolish to take the time to tidy it up when she would only be responsible for him another hour or so at the most.

Putting Matthew down on her bed, with pillows on either side of him serving as bolsters, would be much easier, she decided, moving past the closed door. And if he began to fuss while she took a shower, she would be better able to hear him if he were in her bedroom.

Better to keep things as simple as possible, and to remain matter-of-fact, Megan reminded herself. By afternoon, the baby would either be reunited with his mother or placed under the care of one of the social workers assigned to the county’s Children’s Protective Services while Jake began an investigation of some sort.

As for her, she’d be home again with a new curriculum to plan for her Texas history class at Serenity High School.

Settling Matthew in the center of her bed, then arranging the pillows around him in a protective circle, Megan smiled sadly. He was such a good, sweet baby. But he wasn’t her baby, and he never would be.