Enchanting Baby

“Weird deal, huh?” he prompted when the cop didn’t say anything.

Eiden looked up.

“So maybe you can understand why this is so urgent to me,” Greg pressed. “What if she finds out the truth before I get to her? What if she’s come here to do something…rash?”

Eiden put a hand up. “They don’t do stuff like that at The Birth Place.” He looked at Greg as if he wanted to tell him more, as if he wanted to help. “Are you staying somewhere in town?”

“I was thinking about getting a room at that bed-and-breakfast down the way.”

The cop looked at his watch. “The Morning Light?”

Greg nodded.

“We’d better get you over there, then. Morning Light fills up pretty early during aspen-turning time.” He tugged on the brim of the cowboy hat.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where she is?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Glazier. For tonight, I want you to sit tight, okay? I’ll give you a call as soon as I clear up a few details.”

THE SUN HAD SLID BEHIND the mountains now.

After dropping Greg in the circular drive at the clinic, the cop waited, gunning the engine of his cruiser, with the alley lights blazing on Greg’s back as he walked up to the door of the Navigator. Greg wondered what the guy thought he was going to do. Break into the clinic? Rifle through the file cabinets? Dig out Ashleigh Logan’s records? Not a bad idea, actually. He assumed it was frustration that was making him think like this.

Greg got in his vehicle and fired it up, wondering if this whole odyssey was worth the grief. Maybe he should just head back to the family ranch and forget about this baby—if indeed there still was a baby.

The people at California Fertility Consultants had refused to give Greg the name of the man whose sperm had been confused with his, had refused to confirm that Greg’s sperm had indeed been used to inseminate some unknown woman. It was only the intense publicity surrounding Ashleigh Logan’s pregnancy that had finally tipped him off. When he’d seen the name of the clinic in that article in USA TODAY, he’d figured out the dates—her husband’s sperm would have been stored at about the same time his was. The article said the sperm bank was proud of the fact that they had successfully stored specimens for that long. Well, their storage techniques weren’t the problem. It was what they had done when they put the “specimens” into storage that had caused the damage.

Now two lives were thoroughly messed up. No, make that three lives. At first Greg had wanted to sic his lawyers on the idiots at that sperm bank, but after he’d calmed down, he’d realized that the threat of a lawsuit was his trump card. And he’d used it well.

Why, he asked himself again, was he doggedly pursuing this baby at all? It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to occupy his time between the ranch and his business pursuits in Denver, especially now that Gramps had passed on. But the sad reality was that even though there was plenty of work to do, plenty to distract him out in Last Chance, Colorado, there was not a soul to share it with. There was no one to love.

In the last few years Greg Glazier’s world had narrowed down to two things: horses and money. Neither one seemed like enough of an anchor to hold him for the next forty or fifty years of his life. Hell, if he was anything like Gramps—and he was—his life might go on for another sixty years. Family, Gramps had kept repeating in his final days, whispering it over and over in the end, like a parting prayer. Family.

Greg drove the Navigator like a little old lady as Officer Eiden followed 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!”