In The Arms Of A Stranger

Luke studied the faint outline of the woman, sensing her presence as much as anything. She was small. That much he could tell. Her ragged breathing spoke volumes in the darkness. She was obviously scared as hell. Whether or not she was telling the truth was temporarily irrelevant.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, but…” She shifted and he thought he heard a soft grunt as if she were hiding an injury.

He glanced over his shoulder at the window, at the faint outline of light that shone through it. “Stay where you are,” he commanded.

Luke felt his way along the interior wall of the ranger’s cabin, finally reaching a bookcase. He knelt, hoping his memory of the place was still worth a damn. His fingers brushed along a row of books, finally reaching cold metal. The flashlight. Paydirt. He inched his way back down the wall, then covered the small distance between himself and the woman, grabbing her by the arm.

“We need to get to an interior room,” he said as he half dragged her through the cabin. She made a small cry of protest and followed clumsily behind him.

The cabin’s layout flashed in his head. It was practically one room, with a small kitchenette adjoining the den area they’d entered. There was a bedroom but it had a window. He mentally dismissed using it for that reason. A supply pantry off the kitchen was the only choice, and he pulled the woman toward it, finally hauling her through the door.

As soon as he released her, she began to fall. Luke caught her arm again and flicked on the flashlight. The floor was littered with supplies, and the woman had inadvertently stepped into the circle of a coiled water hose. The flashlight’s beam focused first on the hose, as she stepped clear of it, then on the woman’s boots and slender, jeans-clad legs. Mud and moisture clung to her thighs where they met an oversize down coat. Luke’s gaze traveled upward but stopped abruptly at the hand that protectively cradled her full abdomen.

She was pregnant.

He inadvertently flashed the beam of light toward her face, and she used her free hand to protect her eyes.

“Please…”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Luke sat the flashlight on the floor, its beam of light pointed toward the ceiling, softly illuminating the small room. He hoped she understood that the apology included manhandling a pregnant woman.

The woman immediately ducked her head, straight blond hair falling about her shoulders as she concentrated on unzipping her jacket. Her actions were frantic, her fingers trembling. Was she hurt? The sound of the jacket’s zipper lowering was punctuated by a shrill cry.

Time seemed to freeze as the woman reached into the bulky coat and pulled out an infant.

Luke suppressed a nervous laugh as he took in the blue-patterned sleeper that covered the baby from chin to toe. What had he expected? Considering he’d thought the woman was pregnant just moments before, not even a naked newborn would have surprised him.

She hugged the baby against her for a moment before easing herself to the floor. Laying the infant against her thighs, she inspected every inch of him, ignoring Luke during the process. “Thank God,” she finally whispered.

Luke knelt down next to her. “Is he okay?”

The woman glanced up, making eye contact for the first time. Luminous gray-blue eyes stared back at him, her cheeks flushed with color. Disheveled blond hair covered her shoulders, and a trail of dried blood had stopped midway down her left cheek. Beautiful. The thought registered, though it had no logic in the time and place. He frowned, reaching out to inspect the wound.

She didn’t pull away, but he watched her bite her lip as if the action frightened her. He turned her head slightly, noting that the wound wasn’t a threat, then forced his hand down. “Your baby—is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s… Wind rattled the walls of the cabin, and she jumped, her eyes searching the open doorway. “I think he’s okay,” she whispered.

“What’s your name?”

A look of surprise crossed her face. “Dana Langston.”

“I’m Luke Sutherlin. I’m the local chief of police.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. He realized then that she probably expected him to look more official. He’d slid on his oldest pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt before making the trip up the mountain. The brown leather jacket he wore was hardly official either. Luke pulled out his ID and passed it to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Relief softened her features as she examined the ID and returned it. Her gaze returned to the baby. “There was an accident. The car went off the cliff…”

Luke summoned his patience when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Ma’am?” He gently touched her chin with his fingers and tipped her face upward. “I need to know what’s going on so that I can help.”

“I tried to help.” She pulled the baby against her chest when he began to fret. “Someone started shooting at me.”

“Why would someone shoot at you?”

The baby began crying and the woman tried to soothe him, glancing nervously at Luke and then at the door. He let out a piercing yell as she rocked him against her shoulder.

“You’ve got to get him quiet,” Luke growled, knowing the infant’s cries were like a beacon in the darkness, blowing any cover they had.

“I know.” She shifted him, patting his back frantically. “I think maybe he’s hungry. I’m really not sure.”

“I hope you have the answer in that diaper bag.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her chest. “Unless you need some privacy, in which case you’re right out of luck.”

“No.” The woman looked confused then angry as she pulled the diaper bag to her. “I think I saw some formula in here.”

Luke frowned. “You think? Why don’t you know?”

Dana Langston looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “This is not my baby.”

She began frantically searching the diaper bag with her one free hand while Luke digested her words. “The baby was in the accident?”

“Yes.” She cupped her hand over the side of the baby’s face, as if shielding him from her next words. “His mother is dead.”

Luke cursed, his gaze scanning the confines of the cabin. He needed backup. Why hadn’t he gotten the damned two-way radio out of the Jeep?

He forced his next words to sound calm. “You’re telling me someone died in this accident?”

“A woman. I assume she was his mother. She was the only other one in the car.” Her voice took on a faraway tone, and he glanced up to find her staring at the baby as if she didn’t hear his cries, her expression fixed and her pupils dilated. “Her car went off the cliff. I climbed down and found them. I took the baby and then…”

“It’s okay.” He forced himself to speak the words softly and to postpone the other questions he wanted to fire at her. Luke laid his gun on the floor and jerked the diaper bag from her hands. Inside it was a cell phone. “You have a phone?”

“It doesn’t work,” she answered, patting the crying infant on the back.

“Figures,” he muttered, substituting the word for a stronger one that came to mind. He turned his attention back to the diaper bag. There were several miniature glass jars full of milky-looking fluid and a canister of powder. He turned the label to the light. Powdered Baby Formula. Fat good that did. He found a couple of bottle nipples in the bottom of the bag but no bottle. The baby’s cries became even more frantic and Luke dumped the contents onto the floor, growing a little frantic himself.

“Here—hold him. I’ll do it.”

As Luke looked up, Dana thrust the baby into his arms. He felt a surge of panic as the baby squirmed against his grip, arms and legs flailing. He instinctively pulled the infant against his chest, his gaze falling to his gun, judging how many seconds delay lay between him and his weapon. Any delay could cost them their lives.

“I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Luke looked up to find a sad smile playing about Dana’s mouth. The expression snagged some emotion within him, and he had to force himself to follow her gaze. When he did, he found the baby had pulled his pinky finger to its mouth and was gumming it frantically. “Beginner’s luck,” he replied.

She lifted her hand. “Should I try?” Luke saw that she’d opened one of the small glass jars and capped it with a bottle nipple.

“Yes.” He thrust the baby toward her and she popped the bottle into the infant’s mouth before he could protest.

Luke watched as she covered the baby with the hem of her long jacket, and decided that she instinctively knew what to do. Unlike him. He retrieved his gun, relieved to hold something that he actually knew how to handle. He stood and covered the door, assessing the dark cabin, listening. He glanced down at Dana and the baby. The infant greedily consumed the bottle, but the woman’s eyes were glued to him.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.