Enchanting Baby. Darlene Graham
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him back down Desert Valley Road into the center of town. After he turned off of Paseo de Sierra onto the short street that led to the Morning Light, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw that the cop was gone, but he hoped he hadn’t seen the last of that guy. The cop knew where Ashleigh Logan was.
Greg had no trouble relocating the bed-and-breakfast he’d spotted earlier. He stepped through the door and headed toward reception. A rambling adobe villa with huge bougainvillea plants hanging from the eaves, stuffed with antiques, Pueblo pots and Indian trade blankets, the Morning Light was the kind of charming place that would have made Greg feel right at home under normal circumstances.
But tonight, the serene atmosphere did nothing to settle Greg’s churning thoughts. He followed a friendly older woman to an upstairs room, where he tossed his duffel bag into the closet and threw himself down to brood in a sagging horsehair chair by the darkened window.
Right now he’d like nothing better than a good stiff shot of his grandfather’s whiskey. But he was too nauseated to tolerate it, and what if the cop, finally willing to give him Ashleigh Logan’s location, called? He wanted to be ready to jump back in the Navigator and go straight to her.
And then what?
He let his head fall back against the hard, scratchy back of the chair.
Then, of course, all hell would break loose.
CHAPTER THREE
ASHLEIGH LOGAN STRUGGLED to arrange her girth in a comfortable position on the plump leather couch as she waited through a series of frustrating clicks while the long-distance connection went through.
Apparently, Enchantment, New Mexico, did not have the best phone service in the West. No surprise there. This place was isolated, all right. Her cell phone had gone into remote mode shortly after they hit the road that wound up from Taos, and the signal had ceased altogether when they got up on this mountain.
She surveyed the cabin that would be her prison for the next three months—at least she hoped she could hold out for the entire three months. For the baby’s sake.
The Coleman’s cabin was a lodgepole pine behemoth perched high on the mountainside, at the end of a steep, winding road. The decor of the place was rustic but luxurious. The great room where Ashleigh now reclined had a high ceiling spanned by twenty-foot-long cross beams with a moose-antler chandelier at the center. A wall of glass with a deck beyond framed the three highest peaks in the Sangre de Cristo range.
The rest of the place was all dark leather, rough-hewn cedar, native stone. Thick Navajo rugs. Huge, colorful Native American paintings interspersed with tall banks of windows.
Her mother was merrily clattering around in the adjacent kitchen, which would have been rustic, too, except for the marble countertops and heated travertine floors.
Ashleigh made a wry face. She supposed she could stand this joint.
“Hello?” Finally, Megan picked up.
“Hi, Sis!” Ashleigh forced a bright, upbeat note into her voice. “We’re in Enchantment. And I think we made it up here without being seen. Mom made sure the Suburban we rented had tinted windows, and I didn’t even stop for a potty break after we left Taos.”
Megan released a controlled sigh. “Ashleigh, let me say this again. I do not like this ill-conceived plan.” Ashleigh’s sister could cram more drama into one sentence than Ashleigh could milk out of a half hour of blather on her TV talk show.
“It’s not ill-conceived. The cops okayed it. My doctor approved it. Dr. Ochoa, the obstetrician in Enchantment, is one of the best in the nation, and Lydia Kane is simply top-notch—”
“But—”
“And we’ve already alerted the local police—”
“Well that’s good, because I’m trying to tell you something! After you and Mom left for Taos, a guy showed up here, looking for you.”
Ashleigh sucked in a breath and sat up straighter against the couch pillows. “What guy?”
“The cops said his name was Greg Glazier.”
“Never heard of him. Is he with the media or something?”
“No. He’s some kind of land developer. Has a great big horse ranch out east of Denver.”
“The cops told you that?”
“Yeah. They checked him out really well. Evidently he’s very well known and respected. And he’s a deputy sheriff. The cops don’t think he’s your stalker.”
“Then what did he want with me?”
“He told the cops you two had some holdings in common and he needed to talk to you about it.”
“Holdings in common? I never heard of this guy!”
“Exactly! Some stranger comes looking for you and the cops just let him go and now you’re way off in New Mexico. I don’t like any of this one bit!”
Ashleigh imagined Megan’s pinched little frown as clearly as if they were standing face to face. “Now, Megan, there’s no point in getting all upset. I’m doing everything reasonable to protect myself. I’ve practically become a hermit because of all of this.” Ashleigh rushed on before Megan could argue. “But it’s okay, because you should see this cabin. My gosh, it has every amenity you can imagine!”
“That cabin is also fairly remote,” Megan inserted quickly, going back to her point. “What if something happens and you need emergency care? Think of all you’ve been through to get this baby, think of—” Megan’s voice choked with threatened tears for a moment before she sputtered on with her argument against this plan—for the hundredth time.
Ashleigh listened to Megan’s diatribe, thinking that she didn’t need her sister undermining her resolve. Megan—a worrier, a crier, a sentimental sap—drove Ashleigh right up the wall with her roller-coaster emotions. But when it came to this baby, she supposed Megan was entitled to a little angst. From the start, this pregnancy had been incredibly emotional, for all of them. Ill-conceived. Ashleigh wondered if Megan realized how apropos her wording sounded.
Ashleigh had made her decision, firmly, six months ago, and in her heart, she knew Chad would support it. Ashleigh closed her eyes and bit her lip. She couldn’t allow herself to go into meltdown now. Her obstetrician in Denver had warned her about that. A woman battling preterm labor had to remain calm. Calm. Don’t think about Chad now, she warned herself. Think of the baby. His baby. At least you have his baby. Thank God they had decided to freeze Chad’s sperm before he had started his chemotherapy.
“Listen, Megan,” she said, finally interrupting her sister. “I’ll be fine. The local cops have been alerted. And when we drove through town we even stopped to see Lydia Kane at the clinic.”
“Oh. The Birth Place? How was it?” This diversion worked. Like her sister, Megan was fascinated by anything that had to do with babies.
“It’s adorable! Quaint. Real adobe, nestled in pine trees.”
“But do the midwives seem competent?”
“I’m sure Lydia runs a first-rate operation.” It hadn’t been easy, convincing her Denver obstetrician to transfer her to the care of an isolated clinic. But when Ashleigh had told Dr. Hill that the clinic was run by Lydia Kane, the impressive midwife she’d interviewed on her show a year earlier, he agreed to her plan. Ashleigh thanked her lucky stars she’d had Lydia Kane as a guest on the show and that when she needed a place to hide, Enchantment had come immediately to mind. It was geographically close enough to make a cautious road trip without stressing her system, but remote enough that the Denver media wouldn’t follow her. The story of the baby guru becoming pregnant with her dead husband’s sperm wasn’t exactly breaking news anymore, but it was bizarre enough to attract a dogged follow-up.
She didn’t blame the media. Their pursuit of her was nothing personal.