Enchanting Baby. Darlene Graham
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covert glances. Someone, he saw, had erased the Logan name from the board in the back.
The phone jangled again and the receptionist answered it, turning her face away from Greg. She mumbled into the handset while the rest of the room grew quiet and the other women kept their gazes fixed on Greg. Greg eased away from the counter as the place grew oddly still.
The midwife reappeared, walking fast, followed by a tall, distinguished-looking woman. The midwife slipped behind the counter with the other women, but the tall older lady walked right up to Greg. She was in her seventies, perhaps, but her movements were brisk and her posture was ramrod straight.
“I’m Lydia Kane,” she announced, “the director of The Birth Place.” She was almost as tall as Greg, who stood at just over six feet. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun that accentuated her angular, rawboned features. Her outfit—a simple white linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of well-worn khakis—would have seemed austere except for a large pendant that hung from her neck on a long silver chain. Greg collected western art and artifacts, and that thing looked like a nineteenth-century heirloom, or a convincing copy. The oval stone at the center resembled genuine rose onyx, but Greg knew it couldn’t possibly be. All of the rose onyx in existence was embedded in the walls of the Colorado State Capitol Building in Denver. But the swirling patterns of cream and maroon forming the silhouette of a Madonna and infant, similar to the logo he’d seen out front, certainly resembled the rare material.
She covered the pendant with her fingertips when she noticed him frowning at it. “How, exactly, may I help you?” Her tone was wary, cool.
For a moment Greg considered making an excuse to leave, waiting down the road, then following the midwife Katherine up to this Coleman cabin. But Katherine, huddled behind the desk with the others, apparently wasn’t going anywhere now. In fact, all of the women kept staring at him as if he was Jack the Ripper. Something warned him that all was not kosher at The Birth Place, and that maybe he’d better play it straight. “I hope it’s not any trouble, Ms. Kane, but I’m looking for a woman who might be a patient at this clinic,” he said.
“We don’t give out information about our patients, Mr….” Lydia Kane waited for him to fill in the blank.
Greg didn’t oblige. As a major land developer in Denver his name was fairly well known, but surely no one as far south as New Mexico would recognize it. Even so, having his identity linked to the highly visible TV personality Ashleigh Logan didn’t seem wise. He wasn’t ready for anyone to be privy to the reason he was in Enchantment. He hadn’t even decided what he was going to do when he found Ashleigh Logan, except that he was determined to somehow be a part of his child’s life. Greg was terrible at lying, and long ago he’d learned that it was better to simply be judicious with the truth. Nobody said you had to slap all your cards on the table at once.
“I understand about patient confidentiality, ma’am.” Greg kept his voice low. “But I have reason to believe that the woman I’m looking for might have come to your clinic for prenatal care and I don’t know how else to find her. I really need to see her. It’s…it’s fairly urgent.”
The expression in Lydia Kane’s sharp blue eyes indicated she was not inclined to divulge any information. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, making it sound vaguely like a threat instead of an apology, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
Greg realized, a little late, that maybe he should have sent the private investigator to Enchantment to flush out Ashleigh Logan before he came tearing down here himself. If he invented a fake name his poor lying skills would undoubtedly trip him up. But if he said anything now besides a name—my name’s not important or I’m nobody or she wouldn’t recognize me—it would sound lame, even suspicious. And if he kept up this lying now, what would they think of him when the baby came?
Again, he opted for a diversion, a partial truth. “I understand that you can’t give me any information, but I have…something she needs, and I was hoping you might at least contact her for me.”
Lydia Kane didn’t look at all amenable to that idea, either, even though she asked, “And what is her name?”
“Ashleigh Logan.”
“Ashleigh Logan…” Lydia repeated in a musing way, as if she were trying to place the name. “Ashleigh Logan.” She fingered the pendant again and glanced over Greg’s shoulder.
“Maybe you’ve heard of her?” he persisted. “She has a syndicated TV show. All About Babies. I mean, in your line of work—”
“I have seen that show,” Lydia said slowly. “So, is this urgent business somehow related to Ms. Logan’s television show?”
“Uh. No. It’s personal.” Again, Greg settled for a vague truth.
“I see.” Lydia shot another quick glance over Greg’s shoulder, toward the women clustered behind the receptionist’s desk. “Is it a medical matter?”
“Well, no. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it was urgent. It’s not anything of immediate importance….” Greg hesitated while he did some fast thinking. His gaze flitted to the pictures of healthy babies decorating the clinic walls. If this woman ran this clinic, then the welfare of babies must be a very high priority for her. “But it might eventually impact Ms. Logan’s unborn child.” That was the absolute truth, so Greg had no trouble keeping his expression sincere.
“I see.” Lydia Kane shot another furtive glance out the large window, then in the direction of the small waiting room, toward her patients, who appeared to be tuned in to the conversation. Even the two little children had gravitated toward their mothers and now sat still and quiet.
“I’d like to help you. But I’m afraid we’re very busy right now.” She smiled nervously at the women in the waiting room. “Would you mind waiting back in my office while I check on something?”
Greg decided there was definitely something fishy going on at this clinic. “Oh, that’s okay,” he said casually. “I’m running late, actually.” He looked at his wrist as if to check his watch, and realized that in his hurry to hit the road, he hadn’t put it on. The futile gesture seemed to undermine his credibility even further. “I think I’d better be on my way.”
“It will only take a minute. Please. My office is this way.” She swept a graceful arm toward the long hallway.
The woman was clearly trying to detain him—he saw that now. It was what she’d been doing all along. And in the next instant, Greg understood why.
The whoop of a siren caused everyone to turn to the paned window. A black-and-white cruiser braked behind Greg’s Navigator and a trim, muscular young cop jumped out and trotted around the trunk of the squad car. He was wearing a gray Stetson, a flawlessly pressed uniform, dusty brown cowboy boots and a sidearm in a swivel holster. He came bursting into the door of the clinic like a marine at a battle landing.
“This is the man, Miguel,” the Lydia Kane woman said loudly. She had stepped farther away from Greg.
“Come with me, sir.” The cop was about Greg’s size, clean cut and serious-looking. His heavy dark brows formed into a sharp chevron as he indicated the door with one outstretched palm. His name tag read “Eiden,” but this guy didn’t look German. With his hawkish nose and piercing dark eyes, he looked like he could be part Hispanic or maybe Navajo. The deep dimples etched on either side of his mouth somehow made his appearance even more threatening.
“Now, wait a minute,” Greg said as he backed up. Why in the hell did the cops show up every time he started asking questions about Ashleigh Logan?
“I need you to step outside, sir.” The cop reached for Greg’s arm, but again Greg instinctively backed away. The women and children had receded to the far edges of the room.
“Are you arresting me?” Greg demanded. He knew the law, and knew he hadn’t broken it.
“I’m simply conducting an investiga—” The cop’s shoulder radio squawked.