Enchanting Baby. Darlene Graham
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“I know you feel like it’s your baby, Greg. But the truth is—”
“No.” His interruption was harsh, like a slap intended to wake her up. “The truth is, I am this baby’s father, not Chad.”
She swallowed and put her spoon down with a shaky hand.
“I love you, Greg, and I know what you are trying to do.” She tried again in a low voice. “And that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. But you know very well where this baby comes from. And you know very well that this is not your baby. We don’t have to pretend otherwise. We’re both grown-ups here.”
“You’re not hearing me.” He swiveled his chair toward her, with his legs spread wide, forming a V around the chair where she sat. He grabbed her hands, and the seriousness in his deep gray eyes scared her. “This is my baby.”
Dear Reader,
You are holding in your hands the first book in an exciting new series set inside the Enchanted Circle north of Taos, New Mexico.
When I first visited that remote setting, I had to agree with Francis X. Aubry, an early explorer on the Santa Fe Trial in the 1850s: “There is something in the air of New Mexico that makes the blood red, the heart beat high and the eyes…look upward. Folks don’t come here to die—they come here to live, and they get what they come for.”
Greg Glazier and Ashleigh Logan have both fled to New Mexico for the sake of a new life—literally. As they struggle to protect the unborn baby they both cherish so dearly, they find an unexpected gift along the way: each other. True love between a man and a woman is as mysterious as the Enchanted Circle itself. And as you will see in this story, its power cannot be denied.
I joked with my editor that creating this series felt a bit like a long gestation that led to the birth of a beautiful baby. Or rather, six beautiful babies. Writing this series with six other wonderful authors was a blast. I thank each of them for their creativity, insights and most of all, friendship. Each of the books in THE BIRTH PLACE series stands alone, of course, but I think once you visit Enchantment, you will be drawn there again and again.
So join me now in the enchanting world of THE BIRTH PLACE.
My best to you,
Darlene Graham
I treasure your letters! Contact me at P.O. Box 720224, Norman, OK 73070. And visit my Web site at www.superauthors.com/Graham.
Enchanting Baby
Darlene Graham
For Devyn, who endured so much to give us the precious gift of Ava Rose.
And for Damon,
the most devoted and protective Daddy I have ever seen.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER ONE
THE NAME OF THE PLACE, Enchantment, struck Greg Glazier as slightly ironic. After all, hadn’t he driven to this remote town as if under some kind of spell, chasing the illusion that he was going to find and bond with the woman carrying his baby—a baby that was nothing more, at this point, than an enchanting fantasy?
And what about the woman? What was she to him? A cutesy television personality? A pretty face on the screen? Another illusion.
On her weekly TV show, Ashleigh Logan came across as intelligent and charming, but God only knew what she would be like in person.
The town lay in the valley ahead like a scene from a picture postcard. From his vantage point on the winding highway, Greg could see a desert vista to the south, grassy ranchland to the east, and to the north and west, the vast aspen-rimmed pine forests that rose to the mystical snow-capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
Greg might have attributed the breathless sensation in his chest to the stunning view if he hadn’t known it was actually altitude sickness, mixed with a walloping dose of anxiety and fatigue. Battling a killer headache and an unslakble thirst, he took a deep pull on his water bottle, then gritted his teeth as he steered his Lincoln Navigator around another curve as the highway snaked into the valley ahead.
He should have had more sense than to travel over the mountains straight off the eastern Colorado ranching plains. He’d lived in the shadow of the Rockies all of his life, but every time he went up into the thinner air, as soon as he ascended those steep, winding roads, he got sick.
But he didn’t have time to lay low now. Ashleigh Logan already had a two-day head start on him.
When Greg’s efforts to contact Ashleigh at the TV station and then at her home failed, he’d tried her sister’s house, but the woman had acted spooked when she answered the door.
“Ms. Miller?” he inquired while she peered at him with the privacy chain still fastened. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for your sister. Ashleigh Logan?”
The one eye he could see grew wide with surprise…or was it fear? “Wait here” was all the sister said. Then she slammed the door.
The next thing he knew, a black-and-white patrol car came zipping up to the curb. In short order, the officer made him produce identification and vacate the premises.
That’s when Greg had decided that somehow, this Ashleigh Logan woman had figured out what he was after and had bugged out on him. So he’d hired himself a detective.
In Greg’s opinion the private investigator in Denver had taken too long to figure out where Ashleigh Logan had vanished to. But what did Greg know? Even in his days as a deputy sheriff, he’d never done anything this crazy. No, he corrected himself. Chasing down the woman carrying his baby wasn’t crazy. It was vital. All-important.
But two precious days had ticked by before they traced Ashleigh Logan here, to Enchantment, New Mexico.
Enchantment. So named, Greg supposed, because it lay nestled in the heart of the Enchanted Circle north of Taos. He had to admit it was a pretty little town, with its clear mountain air, expansive blue skies, gurgling silver streams. Wide meadows flanked the curved road into town, where the highway narrowed and became the main drag of Enchantment, Paseo de Sierra. Avenue of the Mountains. The name made sense since the street pointed straight toward the Sangre de Cristo range, centering on Wheeler Peak, the highest point in New Mexico.
Centuries ago, the Spaniards had apparently thought Sangre de Cristo—blood of Christ—was an apt name for this rugged mountain range. Legend said they had come from the west and saw the range painted red by the setting sun. Coming from the east, the peaks actually looked hazy, purple, backlit by an apricot sun dipping below a bank of atomicorange clouds. It was aspen-turning time—late September—and the thick stands of shimmering