Baby in His Arms. Linda Goodnight
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at the mercy of strangers.
The idea twisted in Creed’s gut. Through a cap of fine dark hair, he could see a pulse in the infant’s head. The sight scared him silly. “Maybe we should call Dr. Ron.”
“The social worker will make that determination. She ought to be here any minute.” The back door opened. “See? I told you. Howdy, Melissa.”
“Chief Farnsworth.” A surprisingly young woman wearing very high heels with a black business suit and crisp white blouse bustled into the room. Before Creed could say a word, she took the baby from him.
He didn’t think he liked her.
* * *
Haley Blanchard got the call at ten o’clock. She stripped off her gardening gloves, stuck her feet into a pair of flip-flops and jumped into her minivan. Never mind that her hair had escaped its topknot and now danced in auburn wisps around her face, or that she was sweaty, grubby and needed a shower.
A baby had been abandoned. The thought quickened a sinking sensation deep in her gut, a moment of deep pity. But this was her job. Fostering was what she did. If a child was in need of a temporary home, she provided one. She didn’t let her emotions get in the way of doing the right thing.
Haley reached Dr. Ron’s clinic in less than ten minutes, a thousand questions and thoughts racing through her head. Who found her? Where? Was she healthy? Who would abandon a baby in Whisper Falls?
As she entered the building, flip-flops smacking the tile, she was greeted by Chief JoEtta Farnsworth and a social worker, Melissa Plymouth. The three were well-acquainted, having worked together on child welfare cases many times.
“Where’s the baby?” Haley asked.
“Dr. Ron’s checking her out.”
“What happened? Where was she found?” Haley ran her hands down the sides of her dress, glad for the hand sanitizer hanging on the wall.
The chief gave her a brief rundown, answering the questions she could. At the moment, no one knew why the baby had been left at the church or by whom.
“Did Reverend Schmidt find her?”
“Actually, no.” Chief Farnsworth stepped to the right, creating a space between herself and the social worker.
Haley’s gaze snapped into focus.
A deeply tanned, dark-haired man slapped a magazine shut and stood. “I did.”
In her haste to speak with the women, Haley hadn’t noticed the man sitting against the pale green wall. Now she did. Creed Carter, the helicopter pilot. She’d seen him around, mostly at the Iron Horse Snack Shop, knew he flew a helicopter all over the place and was too good-looking for anyone’s good. He was the usual well-built, compact size for a pilot. Dark spiky hair, black cargo pants, black golf shirt with a bright yellow helicopter logo on a very nicely formed chest.
She yanked her attention from his chest to his dark chocolate eyes and found those every bit as compelling as the rest.
His lips twitched. He’d caught her staring.
Haley lifted her chin and eyed him coldly.
Arrogant. Overconfident. A typical flyboy. She decided not to like him.
“What were you doing in a church that early in the morning?” Her words were sharp with suspicion.
“Praying.”
His mild expression pricked her conscience. Okay, so she’d been a little rude. The man reminded her of someone she’d dated. Well, a lot of someone she’d dated.
“Why would anyone abandon a baby in a church?”
“Why would anyone abandon a baby at all?” A muscle ticked under his left eye.
“Good point.”
Clearly, he wasn’t happy to be here. Typical of a flyboy. But he’d stuck around, and that was the part—the only part—that interested Haley, regardless of how good-looking Creed might be.
“There was a note,” he said.
JoEtta Farnsworth, who scared Haley a little with her gruff demeanor, dug inside her brown leather vest and produced a folded piece of notebook paper. “Looks like it was ripped right out of one of those spiral notebooks kids use in school.”
“What does it say?”
“Not much, but enough to know the mother thought she had no other choice. She seems desperate and certain she’s doing the right thing. Tragic.”
Tragic didn’t cover it as far as Haley was concerned. Irresponsible. Selfish. Some mothers were. No one knew that better than Haley. “May I read it?”
“Sure.” The chief passed the note over.
Haley read the note and then looked up. Creed Carter watched her from beneath hooded eyes, arms crossed over his black shirt.
Okay, so he was really good-looking.
She did her best to ignore him while she read part of the note out loud. “Please find the perfect family for my baby. Don’t look for me. I won’t take her back. I can’t. I prayed at Whisper Falls, and this was the answer. Tell her I’m sorry and I love her.”
“The mother sounds very young and frightened,” the social worker said. “I hope she’s all right.”
Creed’s feet shifted against the tile, a tense, masculine presence Haley found unsettling. She was here now. He could go.
“Will you look for her?” he asked in a voice Haley could only describe as dark, rich chocolate.
“Have to,” the chief said with a sniff. “She broke the law.”
After reading the note, Haley wanted to protest. The girl, whoever she was, wasn’t a criminal. Nor was she anything like Haley’s mother. The girl sounded hopeless and alone, two emotions Haley understood very well. She’d broken the law a few times herself when she’d been young and stupid and under the spell of her crazy mother.
Before she could say anything, though, Dr. Ron and Wilma, the doc’s bun-haired assistant, appeared from the back carrying an infant. Wilma held a bottle of formula against the tiny face. Every adult in the waiting room turned in their direction. Creed Carter’s expression, Haley noticed with interest, went from cocky to concerned...and bewildered.
“She appears healthy and full-term,” Dr. Ron said.
The only doctor in Whisper Falls, the forty-something physician handled anything that came his way from delivering babies to setting bones. Issues outside his abilities he sent to Fayetteville or Little Rock. Haley liked the youthful-looking doctor with his freckles and cowlick and affable bedside manner. She’d committed more than one foster child to his efficient care.
“Does she need to go to the hospital?” Haley asked.
Creed stepped up beside Haley, bringing with him the scent of woodsy aftershave and pressed cotton. She tried not to notice but she liked scents. She liked them a lot.
“I can fly her there.”
Haley shivered at the thought. No way was she going up in his death machine with a baby. Or with anyone else for that matter.
“Thanks, Creed,” Dr. Ron said, “but no need at this point. Right now, the baby looks good. Not very big, but at six pounds two ounces and eighteen inches long, she’s big enough. Formula and diapers and a lot of love should fix her right up. If anything medical presents, Haley will let me know. Right, Haley?”
“Absolutely.” She reached for the baby. Too late, she saw the grass stain on her fingers.
“You’re not taking her, are you?” Creed’s voice was incredulous.
Haley bristled. As Wilma transferred the baby to Haley’s arms, she said,