"I know you feel like it's your baby, Greg. But the truth is-"

"No." His interruption was harsh, like a slap intended to wake her up.
"The truth is, I am this baby's father, not Chad."

She swallowed and put her spoon down with a shaky hand.

"I love you, Greg, and I know what you are trying to do." She tried
again in a low voice. "And that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever
said to me. But you know very well where this baby comes from. And you
know very well that this is not your baby. We don't have to pretend
otherwise. We're both grown-ups here."

"You're not hearing me." He swiveled his chair toward her, with his legs
spread wide, forming a V around the chair where she sat. He grabbed her
hands, and the seriousness in his deep gray eyes scared her. "This is my
baby."

i Dear Reader,

You are holding in your hands the first book in an exciting new series
set inside the Enchanted Circle north of Taos, New Mexico.

When I first visited that remote setting, I had to agree with Francis X.
Aubry, an early explorer on the Santa Fe Trial in the 1850s: "There is
something in the air of New Mexico that makes the blood red, the heart
beat high and the eyes...look upward. Folks don't come here to die-they
come here to live, and they get what they come for."

Greg Glazier and Ashleigh Logan have both fled to New Mexico for the
sake of a new life-literally. As they struggle to protect the unborn
baby they both cherish so dearly, they find an unexpected gift along the
way: each other. True love between a man and a woman is as mysterious as
the Enchanted Circle itself. And as you will see in this story, its
power cannot be denied.

I joked with my editor that creating this series felt a bit like a long
gestation that led to the birth of a beautiful baby. Or rather, six
beautiful babies. Writing this series with six other wonderful authors
was a blast. I thank each of them for their creativity, insights and
most of all, friendship. Each of the books in THE BIRTH PLACE series
stands alone, of course, but I think once you visit Enchantment, you
will be drawn there again and again.

So join me now in the enchanting world of THE BIRTH PLACE. My best to
you, Darlene Graham

I treasure your letters! Contact me at P.O. Box 720224, Norman, OK
73070. And visit my Web site at www.superauthors.com/Graham.

1

Enchanting Baby

Darlene Graham

2

HARLEQUIN

3 TORONTO NEW YORK LONDON

AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM ATHENS TOKYO MILAN MADRID

PRAGUE WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLAND

4 If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed"
to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received
any payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN 0-373-71152-2 ENCHANTING BABY

Copyright ©2003 by Darlene Gardenhire.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission
of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road,
Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of
the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same
name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual
known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

®and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are
registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the
Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A.

5 For Devyn, who endured so much to give us the precious gift of Ava Rose.

And for Damon, the most devoted and protective Daddy I have ever seen.

6 *****

7

CHAPTER ONE

The name of the place, Enchantment, struck Greg Glazier as slightly
ironic. After all, hadn't he driven to this remote town as if under some
kind of spell, chasing the illusion that he was going to find and bond
with the woman carrying his baby-a baby that was nothing more, at this
point, than an enchanting fantasy?

And what about the woman? What was she to him? A cutesy television
personality? A pretty face on the screen? Another illusion.

On her weekly TV show, Ashleigh Logan came across as intelligent and
charming, but God only knew what she would be like in person.

The town lay in the valley ahead like a scene from a picture postcard.
From his vantage point on the winding highway, Greg could see a desert
vista to the south, grassy ranchland to the east, and to the north and
west, the vast aspen-rimmed pine forests that rose to the mystical
snow-capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Greg might have attributed the breathless sensation in his chest to the
stunning view if he hadn't known it was actually altitude sickness,
mixed with

8

a walloping dose of anxiety and fatigue. Battling a killer headache and
an unslakble thirst, he took a deep pull on his water bottle, then
gritted his teeth as he steered his Lincoln Navigator around another
curve as the highway snaked into the valley ahead.

He should have had more sense than to travel over the mountains straight
off the eastern Colorado ranching plains. He'd lived in the shadow of
the Rockies all of his life, but every time he went up into the thinner
air, as soon as he ascended those steep, winding roads, he got sick.

But he didn't have time to lay low now. Ashleigh Logan already had a
two-day head start on him.

When Greg's efforts to contact Ashleigh at the TV station and then at
her home failed, he'd tried her sister's house, but the woman had acted
spooked when she answered the door.

"Ms. Miller?" he inquired while she peered at him with the privacy chain
still fastened. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for your
sister. Ashleigh Logan?"

The one eye he could see grew wide with surprise... or was it fear?
"Wait here" was all the sister said. Then she slammed the door.

The next thing he knew, a black-and-white patrol car came zipping up to
the curb. In short order, the officer made him produce identification
and vacate the premises.

That's when Greg had decided that somehow, this Ashleigh Logan woman had
figured out what he was

8 9

after and had bugged out on him. So he'd hired himself a detective.

In Greg's opinion the private investigator in Denver had taken too long
to figure out where Ashleigh Logan had vanished to. But what did Greg
know? Even in his days as a deputy sheriff, he'd never done anything
this crazy. No, he corrected himself. Chasing down the woman carrying
his baby wasn't crazy. It was vital. All-important.

But two precious days had ticked by before they traced Ashleigh Logan
here, to Enchantment, New Mexico.

Enchantment. So named, Greg supposed, because it lay nestled in the
heart of the Enchanted Circle north of Taos. He had to admit it was a
pretty little town, with its clear mountain air, expansive blue skies,
gurgling silver streams. Wide meadows flanked the curved road into town,
where the highway narrowed and became the main drag of Enchantment,
Paseo de Sierra. Avenue of the Mountains. The name made sense since the
street pointed straight toward the Sangre de Cristo range, centering on
Wheeler Peak, the highest point in New Mexico.

Centuries ago, the Spaniards had apparently thought Sangre de
Cristo-blood of Christ-was an apt name for this rugged mountain range.
Legend said they had come from the west and saw the range painted red by
the setting sun. Coming from the east, the peaks actually looked hazy,
purple, backlit by an apricot sun dipping below a bank of

10

atomic-orange clouds. It was aspen-turning time-late September-and the
thick stands of shimmering golden trees added to the feeling of rarefied
light. If he hadn't been sick as a dog, he might have appreciated the
stunning beauty.

In the village core he passed charming gift shops and rustic ski-rental
establishments, plus a small adobe post office, a civic complex and
library building, an American Legion hall, the office of the Arroyo
County Bulletin-the town newspaper, he presumed-and an
interesting-looking bed-and-breakfast. He'd come back there later, get a
room and crash.

"After I find Ashleigh Logan," he muttered to himself, and took another
swig of water.

Finding her might prove harder than he thought. The town looked bigger
than he'd imagined. From the base in the valley, new construction
sprawled far up onto the mountainsides. Southwest-style log cabins,
Alpine A-frames and classic chalets shared the foothills and
mountainsides with cozy hotels and weathered homesteads. Subsistence
farms dotted the lower surrounding countryside, while farther up, the
vast windows of the lofty retreats of the wealthy glittered in the
setting sun.

The main street led straight to an old Spanish-style square where there
were more shops, restaurants and art galleries. Like the name implied,
it was all very...enchanting.

But the place wasn't totally charming. On the

11

southern edge of town, Greg saw evidence of poverty-dusty, dented
pickups, ramshackle trailer houses.

Why had Ashleigh Logan run away to this remote place?

If it was because she already knew the truth, Ms. Logan was certainly
going to a hell of a lot of trouble to evade the father of her child.
But he would find her and he would demand his rights. He would not allow
anything to separate him from the only child he would ever have.

As close as he could tell, Ashleigh's decision to come to this
particular town was connected to a birthing center run by a bunch of
midwives. The place was called-he glanced at the notes the private
detective had given him-The Birth Place. It had better not be some
hippie-dippy asylum where they used herbal remedies and scented oils
instead of real medicine. Not if his baby was going to be born there.

He checked the map he'd printed off the Internet and turned the
Navigator onto the narrow Desert Valley Road, where yellowing cottonwood
trees on either side created a fluttering golden canopy overhead. He
found the clinic at the end of the road.

Tucked in among sheltering pines, the place was a sleepy-looking
two-story adobe building with softly rounded walls and deep-set
mullioned windows, trimmed in that ubiquitous New Mexico turquoise. The
little sign out front, modest enough, had

12

the words The Birth Place stenciled in the same shade of turquoise
against a snow-white background. A silhouette of a Madonna and babe, the
clinic's logo, he supposed, completed the sign.

His tires crunched over the rock-and-sand semicircular drive as he
bumped to a halt. His was the only vehicle in sight. He chugged down the
last of his water, eased out and slammed the door.

The place felt as quiet as an abandoned homestead. He hoped he hadn't
arrived too late. No clinic hours were posted-he glanced at the sun
disappearing over the mountain-but it had to be near closing time.

Greg stepped inside a rough-hewn cedar door, and was appalled by what he
saw. His child was going to be born here?

The place was a cacophony of clutter, noise and activity. Behind a high
reception counter, phones jangled, a copier hummed and zipped, and a
teakettle whistled from somewhere beyond an open door. Muted voices came
and went as doors opened and closed down a long narrow hallway. Despite
the late afternoon hour, a couple of patients, grossly pregnant, still
sat waiting in the small reception area. Their conversation was subdued,
but their two small children were having a noisy fight over a toy in a
corner play area, and lively female laughter rang out from the room
behind the reception desk.

He cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter while every woman in
the place, pregnant

13

ones included, fell silent and gave him her rapt attention. Greg
imagined his appearance was a little rough. He'd been traveling
hell-bent all day in his worn ranching clothes. He was unshaven,
unkempt, and probably looked a little gaunt and pasty to boot.

The middle-aged woman behind the desk frowned at him while she pressed
her ear to a phone, holding up one finger that told him to wait.

"Sounds like her water broke," she was saying into the phone.

Greg felt like an eavesdropper and stepped back, focusing his gaze away
from the desk. The place reminded him more of someone's home than an
organized office. Lush potted plants rimmed the periphery of
Mexican-tile floors that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the
multipaned windows. The whitewashed walls were covered with a jumble of
Southwest art, photographs, homemade educational posters...even a few
animal skins. A giant bulletin board held hundreds of overlapping baby
pictures, as thick as leaves on a tree. In one corner, a rounded adobe
fireplace still held the ashes from a recent fire. It was all very cozy,
but for his baby, Greg had envisioned something stainless steel and
sterile, a real clinic, for crying out loud.

"Trish!" a younger woman called as she sailed out of a back hallway.
"I'm headed up to the Cole-man cabin."

Was this a nurse? Greg wondered. He had been told the clinic made house
calls or home visits or

14

whatever they called them. She was tallish and slender, wearing brown
overalls and clogs, with a long graying braid hanging down her back. She
stepped up to the high counter and set down a box containing some kind
of equipment. As she donned a jacket she continued, *'Would you sign me
out?"

Trish made a not-now-I'm-busy face and continued to listen intently to
the phone.

"I'll sign you out, Katherine," a pleasant voice called out from the
open doorway behind the reception desk. A short round Hispanic woman in
a denim jumper poked her head around the doorjamb, briefly eyed Greg,
and then said to the woman in overalls, "You be careful out on that
Switchback Road, sweetie!"

She disappeared back into the room, and then something, the
ominous-sounding name of Switchback Road, his newfound suspicious state
of mind- something-made Greg lean back slightly so that he could see
through the open door. The chubby lady was using a marker to write on a
dry-erase board next to floor-to-ceiling shelves housing a rainbow of
patient charts. A wildly painted cabinet-pinks, oranges, blues in an
artsy design that mimicked the patterns of a Navajo blanket-snagged
Greg's gaze for one instant before his eyes snapped back to the board
and what the Hispanic woman was writing there, or rather, what she was
writing next to...the name Logan.

15

His heart kicked against his ribs and his mouth went dry. Well, drier.

"May I help you?" The woman in the overalls stepped toward him as she
studied his expression.

Greg nodded at the stethoscope around her neck. "Are you a nurse?" he
asked as a stalling tactic, trying to decide if he should merely follow
this woman when she left. The idea of sneaking around following people
made him feel like a jackass, but on the other hand this nurse might
lead him straight to Ashleigh Logan. How likely was it that the name
Logan on that board was just a coincidence?

"No." She smiled kindly. "I'm one of the mid-wives. Katherine Collins."

Greg nodded and smiled, reluctant to reveal his own name. He looked
around the waiting room as if searching. "I was looking for a friend who
was supposed to be here, but I guess she's already gone."

"We have a couple of patients in the exam rooms." The midwife's voice
was gentle and pleasant. "If you'll tell me her name-and who you
are-I'll see if she's in the back."

"Uh...her name..." Involuntarily Greg's eyes darted to the big board in
the room beyond.

Immediately the midwife stiffened. Her eyes cut to the dry-erase board,
her cheeks pinkened, then she stammered, "Would you, uh, would you wait
here, please? I'll get someone to help you." She shoved the box on the
counter toward the Trish woman with

16

a meaningful look, then shot off down the long hallway.

Greg, meanwhile, quickly glanced in the box. Sure enough, the tab on the
chart inside read Logan, Ashleigh M. The equipment, surrounded by a nest
of webbed belting, looked like some kind of fax machine. It occurred to
him that the thing could be a uterine monitor.

With her eyes making a wary sweep of him, Trish hung up the phone and
snatched the box away. The two women in the back room had sidled out to
stand near the receptionist. All three cast one another 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

17

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.

18

"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

19

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?"

20

"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

21

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

22

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.
He listened, then touched it off. "I just need you to come outside and
answer a few questions."

"Why?"

When Greg still didn't move, the cop said, "Okay. Sir, I'll need you to
turn around and put your hands behind your back."

''What?" Greg couldn't believe this.

But the cop had already reached behind his belt and flipped out a pair
of handcuffs. His other hand was poised near his holster.

"Okay!" Greg threw up his palms like a criminal in a TV drama. What
choice did he have? He wouldn't be much good to his baby if he got
himself shot.

Before he could so much as blink, Eiden twisted Greg's arms behind his
back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. With one hand on the cuffs and
one hand on Greg's shoulder, the cop pushed him outside.

23

Stunned, Greg tried to turn his face toward the man. ''Officer, are you
arresting me?"

The cop gave the cuffs an instructive jerk. "I could. For interference
with official process. But I'll settle for taking you down to
headquarters for investigative detention."

"What is this all about? I haven't done anything wrong.''

The cop didn't answer. He quickly patted Greg down, making Greg grateful
he'd left his firearm in the lockbox inside his Navigator.

When the cop was satisfied that Greg was clean, he said, "Please get in
the vehicle, sir." He opened the back door of the squad car.

"What about my vehicle?" Greg jerked his head toward the Navigator.

"I'll lock it. If necessary, I can impound it later. Otherwise, I'll
bring you back here to get it."

Again, Greg had no choice but to climb into the musty, plastic-lined
back seat. He'd only ridden in the front of a squad car, never in the
back. He'd never been on the bad end of an arrest, either. He felt
awkward, like an animal in a cage, forced to sit sideways in the cramped
space because of the cuffs. As he stared at the Plexiglas barrier to the
front seat he thought, Great. This Ashleigh Logan woman is complicating
my life more by the minute. He'd been in this backwater town less than
an hour and already he was being hauled down to the local pokey.

24

CHAPTER TWO

As soon as the door closed behind the men, Lydia Kane and her staff
rushed into the waiting room where the two mothers were clutching their
toddlers to their pregnant bellies.

"Everything's all right." Lydia stretched her arms forth. "He's gone
now. Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," both of the patients answered at once, but their
expressions remained wide-eyed and fearful.

"Was that guy dangerous?" one of them asked.

"I hope not," Lydia soothed. "But we couldn't take any chances. We have
a patient here who has a restraining order against a stalker back in
Denver, so we can't be too cautious." She turned to her staff. "Lenora,
why don't you go ahead and move these clients back to exam rooms where
they can be more comfortable?"

As soon as the patients were gone, the receptionist, Trish, covered her
mouth in shame. "I shouldn't have put her real last name on the board."

Lydia patted her shoulder. "It's been a hectic day and you were just
following the routine."

25

"Don't worry, Trish," Katherine said, adding her reassurances. "While
Lydia was calling the cops, I called Ashleigh and warned her. Another
officer went out to the Coleman cabin while Miguel was on his way here."

"Still, that awful man saw her name. Now he knows she's in Enchantment!"
Trish wasn't going to forgive herself so easily.

"You had no idea he'd look back there," Katherine reassured her further.

"I'm so glad you were alert!" Trish's shoulders relaxed a bit.

"Yes. Good job, Katherine." Now Lydia patted the midwife's shoulder.

"And you did the right thing, Lydia." Katherine smiled at her boss. "If
that is the stalker, thank God Miguel has hauled him off."

"Yes." Lydia looked out the window as the cruiser pulled away. "Miguel
Eiden isn't about to let that guy hurt anybody."

The police station was back on the main drag, Paseo de Sierra. The sun
had disappeared behind the mountains so that Greg couldn't see much
through the grimy rear windows as they pulled into the gravel parking
lot. But it looked like the police department was connected by a short
breezeway to the civic complex that housed the library and the chamber
of commerce. The building was a timber-

26

And adobe structure that looked as if it had been restored and added
onto a couple of times.

The cop took him inside and led him down a narrow hallway to a tiny
office, brightly lit and sparsely furnished. He unlocked the cuffs and
said, "Take out your driver's license and have a seat."

Greg pulled his license out of his billfold, then sat down in a folding
chair at a bare utilitarian table. A yellow legal pad and pen were
already in place there.

The cop removed his cowboy hat and pitched it onto the table. Before he
sat down he snatched up a beige wall phone.

"Ernesto? Miguel here. I've got the guy in the interrogation room. Go
ahead and start the tape."

"Tape?" Greg said, "You're taping me? Isn't that illegal?"

The cop pulled a wry smile. "Get real." He checked Greg's driver's
license, then sat in the chair facing him.

"This is unbelievable." Greg leaned forward in his chair while the cop
scribbled some notes. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

A pretty young woman stuck her head in the door. "Officer Eiden-" her
voice was saccharine sweet "-you want this?" She waved a sheaf of papers
at Miguel. Without looking up from what he was writing, the cop held out
a hand and she took her time sauntering the few steps across the room to
deliver the papers.

27

"Thanks, Crystal." Giving his full attention to the papers, the cop
dismissed her.

But she lingered at Miguel's shoulder, giving Greg an avid once-over.
"You think this is the guy?"

The cop cut her a sharp glance. "Crystal. You can go now."

She swished out, and the cop perused the pages, occasionally stopping to
copy something he'd read onto the legal pad. He looked like he was about
Greg's age-early thirties, maybe. In this part of the country there were
a lot of people of Navajo descent, and this man's bronze skin and
straight dark hair hinted at this heritage. When he finished reading he
made a two-fingered signal at a picture-window-size mirror set into one
wall, then he favored Greg with a cool, assessing squint. "I suppose you
think just because this is a small town, we don't tape perps?"

"So I'm a per/??"

"You tell me." The cop looked at his watch and jotted something else on
the yellow pad.

"What is it that you want me to tell you?"

Still writing, Miguel said, "Just answer a few simple questions...and
don't forget to smile for our

camera."

Greg refrained from waggling a sarcastic wave at "Ernesto," who was
evidently already videotaping from beyond the dark glass.

"What's your full name?"

Through the Plexiglas in the cruiser Greg had

28

seen Officer Eiden writing down the tag number on his Navigator, and he
assumed what the cop had in his hands was an NCIC report-and maybe some
additional information from the Denver police. But Greg knew this
tactic. The cop would make notes of Greg's answers to see if they jibed
with the official report. "Gregory McCrae Glazier."

"Age."

"Thirty-four."

"Occupation."

"Land developer."

The cop calmly jotted down this answer without comment. A lot of people
didn't know what a "land developer" did-buying and opening up new plots
of land for housing and business. Greg was anxious to skip ahead. While
this cop was playing twenty questions, Ashleigh Logan could be crossing
another state line.

"And-" Greg leaned forward, hoping this would help move the process
along "-at one time I was a deputy sheriff."

This, the cop did not calmly jot down. He fixed his gaze on Greg. "Was?
Are you retired? Ex-cop? What?"

Greg was well aware that within the brotherhood of the badge, the
difference between an ex-cop and a retired cop was vast. An ex-cop was
suspect. Had he been drummed out of the force? Had he screwed something
up bad? Couldn't he handle it?

29

"I'm an auxiliary deputy, but for all practical purposes I'm inactive."

The cop frowned. "From what agency?"

"The sheriffs department out in Last Chance, Colorado. My dad was the
sheriff until he got killed in the line of duty. My grandfather was the
sheriff before him. I guess you could say I inherited the job."

"Why'd you quit?"

"Technically, I didn't quit. I had to spend all of my time in Denver for
a couple of years." When Kendra's kidneys had failed entirely, he'd
moved her near the dialysis center. ' 'I found a good replacement, a
foreman on my ranch. Ever since, I've been inactive."

He might as well have quit. Greg was through with law enforcement. He
had stopped trying to fill his father's shoes as soon as he found out
how sick Kendra was. Playing deputy and keeping the ranch going in the
years after his father died had siphoned off precious time that he
should have spent with Kendra. Time he could never regain. But to keep
from having to explain all of that to this cop, he gave the simple
answer. "I still carry a commission card."

And my gun, he added mentally. He wasn't sure that fact would win points
with this guy, either. "But I don't do much duty."

Eiden was a bit of a bulldog. "Why not?"

"It's pretty quiet where I'm from. The sheriff

30

only calls us if he needs backup on something. Not much call for crowd
control out in Last Chance."

Okay. I get it." Eiden scribbled another note. So, how long have you
been a deputy?"

Since I was nineteen. I was sworn in right after my father was killed."

"In the line of duty, you say?"

"Yeah. It was a long time ago." Greg was growing impatient. It was,
indeed, a long time ago. And they were all gone. His dad. Kendra.
Gramps. All that mattered now was the baby.

Eiden was studying him with the instinctual squint of a cop who
suspected he wasn't getting the whole story, but Greg was in no mood to
share. The fact that he'd made a lot of sacrifices-including his ability
to father a child-in his desperate but futile battle to save Kendra's
life was nobody's business.

"Why am I here?" Greg was anxious to focus the conversation back into
the now.

The cop put his pen down. "Ms. Kane told me you came to the clinic
looking for a woman, someone you believe is one of her clients."

Greg frowned, thinking, So? What a weird little burg this was. "Do you
haul everyone who walks into that clinic looking for someone over to
police headquarters for interrogation?" It was all so bizarre that Greg
couldn't help adding, "Is that some kind of crime in Enchantment, New
Mexico?"

"Would you mind giving me the woman's name?"

31

"Ashleigh Logan. The one with the TV show."

Greg noticed Officer Eiden didn't have to write that down. He waved the
pen. "I know who she is. Why are you looking for her?''

"It's personal." That answer had seemed sufficient at the clinic. Well,
no, it hadn't. The people at the clinic had called the cops.

And this cop, evidently, didn't like that answer, either. "I can detain
you if you don't cooperate with me, Mr. Glazier."

"On what charges?" Greg wondered if he should call his lawyer, who was
all the way back in Denver.

"I said detain. I didn't say arrest. If you're a deputy you know that I
can put you in investigative detention. Now, I think you'd better tell
me what business you have with Ashleigh Logan."

If Lydia Kane's furtive behavior hadn't convinced Greg that the woman he
was seeking had, indeed, come to Enchantment to hide, this cop's
pressure tactics sure did. Greg had the creeping sensation that he was
dealing with something sinister here. That thought sent a chill through
him, because if Ashleigh Logan was in some kind of danger, so was the
child inside of her-his child.

The cop's eyes glittered like dark polished stones while he waited for
Greg to answer. No one, Greg decided, could look more threatening.

"Look," Greg said, trying to sound reasonable. "I need to find Ms. Logan
for reasons that are mine

32

alone. It's something between the two of us. Is she in some kind of
trouble or something?"

"I asked you why you're looking for her."

"I'd rather not say. I need to explain the full situation to her first.
She deserves that much. Like I said, it's personal."

The cop leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table with his
smooth brown hands fisted together over the legal pad. "You her
boyfriend or something?"

Greg took a measure of the guy, deciding whether to trust him or not.
Miguel Eiden seemed solid and clean cut. Except for a scar on his square
jaw that looked as if it'd been earned in a fight. So maybe the guy had
a bit of a history. Didn't everybody?

Eyeing him, Greg bet his top stud horse that the guy knew exactly where
Ashleigh Logan was.

And if Ashleigh Logan was in Enchantment, the sooner he talked to her,
the better. He had tried not to let himself consider this possibility,
but if Ashleigh Logan had already found out about the disastrous
mistake...well, she might do something rash if she was devastated
enough. He had to make her see that there was more at stake than she
knew. He suppressed his fears by reminding himself that she was the star
of a show about having babies, and that her own unorthodox pregnancy had
already been highly publicized. How would it look to her viewers if
cute, bubbly Ashleigh Logan opted for a late-term abortion? And The
Birth Place clinic didn't look like

33

the kind of place where a woman would come for such a procedure, anyway.
Still, Greg couldn't quell a certain sense of urgency. This was his
child, the only child he would ever have. He had to ask.

"You know where she is, don't you?"

Miguel Eiden's mouth formed a tight line. "I asked you a question, Mr.
Glazier. What is your relationship to Ashleigh Logan?"

They had clearly reached a Mexican standoff, and since the cop had the
gun on his hip, Greg was bound to lose. He decided he'd have to tell the
guy the truth if he was ever going to get out of here.

"I don't have a relationship with her. We've never even met."

The cop's frown deepened.

Greg could see he was going to have to tell the guy all of it. "This has
to be kept confidential."

The cop leaned back and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I'm a
police officer, not a gossip columnist."

Right. As if Greg needed reminding. "Ms. Logan is pregnant."

The cop gave him a sarcastic frown that said, duh. Ashleigh Logan had
chronicled every step of her pregnancy on her nationally syndicated
cable TV show for all the world to see. "And?" Eiden pressed.

"The baby is mine."

The cop's eyebrows shot up. He dropped his threatening pose and his
expression became

34

incredulous as he leaned forward. **I thought you said you've never met
her."

"I haven't."

"Then you'd better tell me what gives, Mr. Glazier." He leafed through
the papers as if he'd missed something. '"Cause this deal is sounding
stranger by the minute."

Greg sighed, suddenly feeling beaten down by the combined effects of his
bizarre situation and the nagging altitude sickness. "Strange isn't the
word for it. Seems like my whole life has been strange, and incredibly
unlucky."

"I wouldn't call you unlucky, exactly." The cop continued to study the
printout. "I guess you realize we ran an NCIC on you. They had your
prints- your being a deputy and all. And Denver had more."

Greg nodded. The visit to the sister. Why were the cops so interested in
him? Maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe he should be asking why
they were so interested in Ashleigh Logan.

Eiden went on. "In the last two years you've made a killing off the
property boom around Denver. You've been in the news a few times, doing
civic stuff. On paper, you look like a real Boy Scout, unless you count
a couple of speeding citations that you racked up out on Highway 63.
Running back and forth to your ranch out on the Big Sandy, I'd guess."
The corners of Miguel Eiden's mouth

35

peaked downward grudgingly, as if to say Greg's profile was no big deal.

"Yeah, that about sums me up." Greg raked a hand over his face. Except
for the fact that the love of his life had died a painful death at the
age of twenty-nine, and his father had been shot dead by a pack of
rodents, and his druggie mother had skipped off with some hippie when
Greg was barely out of diapers, leaving him to be raised by his
eccentric grandfather. "Could I please have some water?"

The cop went to the beige wall phone. Soon the flirtatious Crystal
showed up with a plastic cup of ice water. Greg drank some, then started
in. "When she decided to have a baby, Ms. Logan went to the sperm bank
where she had stored her deceased husband's sperm."

The cop looked genuinely surprised at that, but he muttered, "To each
his own."

"So, she got artificially inseminated and she thinks she is pregnant
with her late husband's child. But I found out that's not true. They
made a mistake. The child is mine. I came here to tell her that."

The cop's face showed that something had finally clicked. "And that's
why you were trying to contact Ms. Logan in Denver?"

Greg nodded and the cop made a note. Greg hated to see this information
go on record before he'd had a chance to explain this to Ashleigh Logan,
but he supposed there was no help for it.

36

"You plan to tell her there was a mix-up at the sperm bank?''

"For starters."

"Is there some way for me to verify your story?"

"I could put you in touch with the sperm bank in California. They would
back up my story if I told them to release the information to you."

"Okay." Eiden poised his pen. "Give me the number."

Greg pulled a card from his wallet and handed it over.

After he copied the number, Eiden said, "Okay. We're done for now. I'll
take you back to your Navigator." His chair screeched on the linoleum as
he stood and reached for his cowboy hat.

"Wait!" Too fast, Greg also jumped to his feet. A wave of dizziness
struck as he felt himself break into a cold sweat. A sudden sense of
panic mixed with altitude sickness for a moment as he clutched the table
and focused on the fact that he wasn't going to leave here until he
found out where Ashleigh Logan was. He had to say something to convince
this cop that he needed to know where she was, right now. "There's
something else you should know." He shook his head to clear it.

One of the cop's black eyebrows spiked up. "You okay?"

"Altitude sickness."

"Sit down."

Greg did so, gratefully. He sipped some more cold

37

water, then said, "This pregnancy-this baby. This is it for me. I won't
get any more chances. The sperm bank...mine's all gone. They, uh, they
accidentally let it...uh, defrost."

The cop looked as if he was struggling to hide a split second of
involuntary disgust, then his dark eyes flitted sideways with something
like sympathy. "I get it." He tugged his cowboy hat down, looking
uncomfortable, embarrassed, as if he didn't like discussing another
guy's sterility problems. Well, Greg didn't like talking about it,
either. But there it was. He was sterile. Though he wasn't about to
explain to this guy how that had come about. The salient fact was, this
baby, Ashleigh Logan's baby, was Greg's one and only chance to be a father.

"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?"

4 'I was thinking about getting a room at that bed-and-breakfast down
the way."

The cop looked at his watch. "The Morning Light?"

38

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

39

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

40

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

41

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.

42

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 lodge pole 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

43

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-"

44

"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

45

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.

46

"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.
Ashleigh herself had hounded

47

sources to the ends of the earth to get something fresh, something
startling.

Most important, hiding in Enchantment put distance between herself and
this nutcase stalker.

"Lydia even came out to the Suburban to talk to me-" Ashleigh continued
to try to sound upbeat for Megan "-so I didn't even have to walk in.
Isn't that sweet?"

"I remember when you had her and those two mid wives as guests on your
show."

"Yeah. Remember that?" Ashleigh encouraged her sister as Megan's tone
became less glum. "She's a real earth mother. She listened to the baby's
heartbeat with a handheld device she called a Doppler, and she said a
midwife named Katherine would come to the cabin this evening to get the
home monitor set up. I'll send in a reading by phone every morning and
then I'll go into the clinic tomorrow, and then once a week a midwife
will check up on me here at the cabin. The cops and the staff at the
clinic are the only people who will ever see me. The clinic has a
private entrance in the back that leads straight to the birthing rooms.
I guess it's so the moms in labor can arrive in their nighties and robes
if they want to. When I've safely reached thirty-seven weeks, I can even
have a home delivery with a midwife if I want. In the meantime, I'm
getting plenty of rest. Right now, I'm stretched out on the biggest old
leather couch you've ever seen, and

48

that's where I'll stay until Mom fixes dinner, so stop worrying."

Again, Megan sighed dramatically. 'Til try. I just wish this were over.
You know we'll do anything we can to get this baby here safely," Megan
reiterated. "Anything."

Ashleigh smiled and felt a wave of pure love for her little sister.
"Right now, getting this cabin for me was the best thing you could have
done. If I'm going to be on restricted activity, this is certainly the
place for it. Lots of windows looking out over the mountains. Wonderful
light. Very peaceful, you know?"

"I thought you'd like it. It's about as far from urban chaos as you can
get."

"Are you sure I can stay here until I have the baby? Three months is a
long time to use somebody else's house."

"The Colemans are good friends and they don't mind. They hardly ever go
to that cabin now that their kids are grown. And they can be trusted to
keep a secret. How does Mom like the place?"

"You know our mother. She can cheerfully adapt to anything. She's in
there cramming the cabinets full of nutritious food even as we speak."

"God, Ash." Megan's voice grew quiet, sad. "Three months. I'm sure going
to miss you. I wish I could come and rub your back or your feet or
something."

Ashleigh knew that Megan meant it. But they

49

could not risk a visit from Megan or even from Ashleigh's dad. The
stalker might try to locate Ashleigh through her family.

Now that Ashleigh and her mother had made it to this remote New Mexico
town, the plan was to stay put until the baby came. No one, except for
Megan, their father, the local cops and people at The Birth Place, would
have the slightest clue to their whereabouts.

"You just take care good of little Tyler and Justin, sweetie. When my
baby is safely delivered, he'll want to play with his cousins."

"Oh..." Megan's stifled squeak at the mention of the baby sounded as if
she might start to cry again. "Don't...don't let anything h-happen," she
choked, "to either one of you."

"/ won't. I'll be careful, and Mom will be careful, too, okay? I've got
really good medical care. Now, don't cry. We've got to hang up now. This
phone bill will probably be ridiculous."

"Okay." Megan sighed dramatically one last time. "Bye, Sis. I love you."

"I love you, too."

When they hung up, Ashleigh felt immediately bereft. She scooted down on
the couch and turned onto her left side, as her doctor had instructed
her. She cradled an arm under her growing abdomen and tried to imagine
Chad's face, wondering if the baby would look like him. But after five
years, she couldn't clearly conjure up his features without the

50

help of a picture. With a pang, she realized she hadn't brought a
picture of Chad with her. She consoled herself by thinking that soon she
would see their baby's face, and that was all that mattered. All she had
to do was hold on and stay safe for the next thirteen weeks. Thirteen
weeks that already felt like thirteen years.

She looked at her surroundings and felt like an ingrate with her grumpy
attitude.

As she'd assured her sister, the Coleman cabin was exceptionally
comfortable, built to accommodate a large family on ski vacations. It
wasn't as if the place was claustrophobic. A high deck wrapped around
the great room and master suite, facing the mountains, and several
upstairs bedrooms were connected by open walkways that looked down over
the great room. At the back of the long, sunny kitchen, down a short
flight of steps, there was a large, airy mudroom, with coat hooks and
storage lockers for skis and winter apparel, a deep enamel sink, even a
washer and dryer. She surveyed the beautiful but foreign surroundings
again, then closed her eyes and steeled her emotions, ordering herself
not to give in to self-pity.

She hadn't closed her eyes for long when the phone rang. Megan, she
thought, stop your worrying.

But the caller wasn't Megan. It was Ashleigh's new midwife from The
Birth Place, Katherine Collins.

51

"Ms. Logan, there's a man here at the clinic," she explained in a rush.
"He's looking for you."

"Oh, my gosh," Ashleigh breathed. "You didn't tell him where I was, did
you?"

"Certainly not. Lydia's on another line, calling the police right now."

"Oh, my gosh." Ashleigh sat upright, fighting to stay calm, for the
baby's sake. She placed a protective hand on her belly. "Did he say what
he wants?''

"No. But don't panic. He could just be somebody from the media or
something." But Katherine's voice didn't sound too sure.

"What does he look like?"

"Tall, muscular, dark hair. Early thirties, maybe. Actually, he's sort
of decent-looking-handsome, even. Except he's dressed kind of rough.
Threadbare flannel shirt. Worn jeans. Scuffed boots. A heavy five
o'clock shadow. But he's driving a new-looking champagne-colored Lincoln
Navigator. I'm looking at it out the window of Lydia's office, but I
can't make out the tag. Hold on."

Ashleigh heard Katherine talking to someone, then the midwife came back
on the line.

"Lydia just told me that an officer is on his way up to your cabin."

"Good," Ashleigh said confidently.

But after she hung up she and her mother waited for the police to arrive
like two women anticipating a jury verdict. Pensive. Intermittently clasping

52

hands. Finally Maureen insisted on making hot tea, her cure for
everything, but Ashleigh couldn't even swallow a sip.

What if Megan was right? What if this whole plan to go into hiding
turned out to be...ill-conceived? What if her fanatical stalker had
traced her to this remote town? Where could she go to be safe then?

It occurred to her that she should have asked Megan for a description of
the strange man who had appeared at her door. What was his name? Greg
Glazier? She was about to call Megan back when they heard a car engine
outside.

Her mother went to look out the front window of the cabin. "It's the
police," she assured Ashleigh.

The officer, an older guy with a paunch, told the women not to worry,
that Officer Eiden had taken the man at the clinic into custody for
questioning. He told them he'd stay parked outside until they got word.

The next time the phone rang, Maureen answered it. She said the caller
was Miguel Eiden, the handsome cop who'd talked to Ashleigh and Maureen
when they'd first arrived in town.

Maureen McGuinness took the phone out on the deck so Ashleigh couldn't
hear. After the cop had assured her he'd keep a close eye on the Coleman
cabin while Ashleigh was hiding up there, his tone had shifted, as if he
had bad news. Now he was informing her that a man named Gregory McCrae

53

Glazier had tracked her daughter all the way to Enchantment, New Mexico.

And when Officer Eiden told Maureen why Greg Glazier had tracked
Ashleigh here, she was glad she'd retreated to the deck. Because it was
all she could do to keep from dropping the phone.

54

CHAPTER FOUR

Maureen sat in a booth by the wide window of a small coffee shop,
watching as the police cruiser rolled up at the curb. At the sight of
it, her chest tightened with dread.

She reminded herself that Ashleigh trusted Officer Eiden. And for that
matter, so did she. He had shown her the papers on the man from Denver
and had convinced her that this man's story checked out with the sperm
bank in California-the same one Ashleigh had used.

But before this man dropped his terrible news on Ashleigh, Maureen had
convinced Eiden to arrange this meeting. Her daughter had endured enough
stress in the last three days, the last three weeks. Truth be told, for
the last five years.

Why did Ashleigh's life seem to only get more and more complicated? All
Maureen McGuinness wanted out of life was for her driven daughter to
settle down and be happy and for her type-A husband to finally retire
and share some golden years with her.

But Marvin was working harder than ever, and her beautiful, talented
daughter kept having one

55

major crisis after another. Chad's illness had been so hard on Ashleigh,
and Maureen had watched her daughter struggle to regain her balance ever
since.

Maureen hadn't approved of this controversial pregnancy, not at all.
She'd wanted her daughter to look to a real future, with a real
relationship, instead of finding one more way to wallow in the past.
She'd wanted Ashleigh to find a good man and enjoy a happy marriage, the
way her sister Megan had. But Ashleigh had forged ahead, intrepid as
always, making her own tough decisions, executing her own bold plans.
Maureen sighed. She did admire her daughter's spunk.

But now it appeared all of the torture of Ashleigh's decision had been
for naught. This baby, apparently, wasn't even Chad's. It was a
stranger's baby.

Maureen's jaw tightened with resolve as a dark head and a pair of broad
shoulders emerged from the passenger's side of Officer Eiden's cruiser.
They would make the man prove his claims beyond a shadow of a doubt. She
supposed the only logical answer was that they would perform paternity
testing on the newborn. Ashleigh's baby. Her grandchild. That man's baby.

She rubbed her brow, having no idea how to proceed. What was the proper
course of action in such a bizarre situation? After all, this was
Ashleigh's child and therefore Ashleigh would have to make any decision
about its welfare. Maureen was only

56

the grandmother. Maybe Ashleigh would actually be glad to have a father
for her child, if he was decent and kind.... Then a troubling thought
struck Maureen. What if this man had been watching Ashleigh on TV and
had some kind of thing for her? What if he was the stalker?

No. That didn't make sense. Eiden had shown her the report. Oh, it was
all so confusing. She had to realize she couldn't make everyone's life
perfect. And if Ashleigh found out that Maureen had secretly met with
this man... Maureen felt like she was wading into very deep water here.

She hated leaving Ashleigh alone at The Birth Place, but she trusted
Lydia and the midwives to watch out for her, and it was the only way to
talk to this Glazier man alone. They didn't have much time. She was
pretending to get milk. She would have to remember to stop at the store
before she went back to the clinic. Maureen sighed. She despised subterfuge.

The little bell above the door of the cafe tinkled as it swung open, and
there stood Officer Eiden. From behind him a handsome young man about
Ashleigh's age studied Maureen as curiously as she studied him. His dark
hair needed a trim, but he had compassionate gray eyes that conveyed a
worried, saddened state of mind. Well, this was a sad situation, wasn't
it? The fleeting thought that this man would probably father pretty
babies crossed her mind, but she quickly banished that idea. Ashleigh

57

did not want this man's baby. She wanted Chad's baby. What this man was
claiming would throw her daughter's whole world into chaos.

The two men approached her booth, but when the young officer started to
speak, she raised a hand to silence him. "Not here."

She slid from the booth, and with a jerk of her head indicated that they
should follow her out onto the cafe's wraparound deck, which featured a
panoramic view of the mountains. When she was satisfied that the picnic
tables out there were unoccupied, she pulled the collar of her jacket up
around her ears, folded her arms tightly under her bosom and faced the
two men.

"We don't have much time. My daughter expects me to pick her up at the
clinic soon. First of all, let's get one thing straight. I don't want my
daughter to know we've had this conversation." With an impatience that
betrayed her anger, she slapped a silvery strand of hair away from her
eyes. "Is that understood?''

The man, the one claiming to be the father of Ashleigh's child, pushed a
lock of his dark hair back against the mountain wind as well, then spoke
quietly. "I assume you are Ashleigh Logan's mother?"

She nodded tightly, flustered that she'd charged ahead without the
proper introductions. Normally, she prided herself on her self-control
and impeccable manners. But this was not a Junior League tea. This was a
squaring off in a strange little town,

58

facing a man who could destroy her daughter's peace of mind, what little
was left of it. A man who could simply be lying, for whatever twisted
reason.

"I'm Greg Glazier." He stuck out a strong, wind-chapped hand, but he
quickly withdrew it when Maureen kept hers tightly closed in the folds
of her jacket.

"I am Maureen McGuinness," she said tersely.

He continued in a calm voice. "Thank you for letting Officer Eiden
arrange this meeting."

Eiden had stepped away and propped a boot on the rail of the deck,
keeping his back to them.

"I'm not sure I had a choice, considering your outrageous claims."

The aspen trees beside the deck made a golden flutter, and the pines
whispered with a gust of wind that made Maureen shudder.

Seeming to notice her discomfort, the young man called to Eiden, "Is
there somewhere where we can sit and talk privately, out of the wind?"

"I'm fine." She pressed her lips together.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not."

Maureen examined Greg Glazier more closely. He did look a little wan.
His eyes, she noticed again, were kind and sincere. Not the eyes of a liar.

"Greg's not well," the cop explained as he stepped up.

"Altitude sickness," Glazier elaborated. "It'll pass."

"I refuse to go anywhere where anyone could

59

overhear us." Maureen stood firm. "My daughter has endured enough
negative publicity and speculation and gossip and stress as it is. I
don't want to take a chance that some hideous rumor might get back to
her that might upset her again. And I don't want any media to get wind
of this."

"I understand that, ma'am," Greg Glazier replied mildly. "I agree."

"We can go sit in the squad car," Eiden offered, in an effort to temper
Maureen's palpable antagonism.

Maureen gave a short nod of agreement, and they rounded the side of the
cafe and descended the plank steps to the sidewalk. Officer Eiden opened
the back door of the cruiser for Maureen. "There's a Plexi-glas shield.
So I'm afraid you'll both have to get in the back seat if you want to
have a private conversation. But I'll be right here in the front seat if
you need me."

"Thank you." Maureen climbed inside.

The space inside the cruiser was cramped, and with his long legs and
broad shoulders, Greg Glazier made it seem even more so. As she settled
herself next to him, he adjusted his muscular frame and held it stiffly
canted so that his knees didn't crowd Maureen.

Maureen did not waste words on niceties. "What is this about switching
the sperm samples, Mr. Glazier?"

"It's true." Glazier scrubbed a hand down his

60

handsome face and released a tense breath. "Even though it's hard to
believe. The cryo bank in California contacted me about a month ago."

"California Fertility Consultants?" Maureen bit her lip. She shouldn't
have given him any additional information. She reminded herself to be
careful with this stranger. He could be some kind of weird im-poster,
trying to get near Ashleigh. He could have made all this up, based on
the storm of publicity that Ashleigh's pregnancy had created. He could
even be the stalker, although that seemed unlikely. Apparently he was a
former deputy sheriff.

"Yes, ma'am. California Fertility Consultants. They informed me that the
mix-up actually occurred way back at the time of...the storage."

"Five years ago?" Maureen bit her lip again, rueing the slip, but she
found this whole story utterly incredible.

"Yes. Your daughter's husband and I both elected to bank our sperm at
the same time, in October of '98-"

"I know when it was, Mr. Glazier. It was just before my son-in-law
started chemotherapy."

"I'm sorry he didn't make it." Again the man's hand scraped down his
face. He was nice-looking, but right now his skin looked pale, clammy.
Was that because he was lying? Maureen wondered if Marvin knew anything
about this Greg Glazier. She'd have to make it a point to ask him, the
next time she caught him between meetings.

61

'With the passage of time, our family has adjusted to Chad's death."

"I know how that is, believe me. And believe me, I don't want to cause
your family any more pain, but you've got to hear me out."

"That's why I am here."

"The day the lab received your son-in-law's samples, my samples from
Colorado arrived in California in the same shipment. We used the same
doctor in Denver."

'I see. If I may ask, why did you elect to freeze your...sperm." Maureen
felt genuinely uneasy, having this highly personal conversation with a
stranger. "If I may ask."

Greg swallowed. He shot a look at the back of the cop's head that told
Maureen he was as uncomfortable about having this conversation as she
was. "I'd rather not say," he spoke quietly. "It's not important now.
The point is my samples were somehow confused with Chad's."

"But the lab in California told my daughter that they took extra
precautions. Each client was given their own separate storage unit. Each
storage unit had a duplicate in another location, in another part of the
state."

"Yes, the same process was explained to me."

"Then how..." Maureen's voice trailed off. It seemed pointless to argue
this. No matter what he said, there would have to be paternity testing
when the baby came.

62

"They didn't discover the error until the brownout at their main site.
When they went for retrieval of the backup samples at the alternative
site, they discovered that the ones in both my storage unit and in
Chad's storage unit were actually Chad's."

"Which means that both the samples at the main storage facility were yours."

"Exactly. When they went back and checked the containers that had gone
bad during the brownout, they found that both storage tanks-mine and
Chad's-indeed had had my samples in them."

Maureen covered her mouth with a shaky hand, suddenly seeing how the
mishap had happened. "So," she whispered through her fingers, "they kept
all of your samples at the original facility, and sent all of Chad's
samples to the backup facility."

"I'm afraid so."

"And Ashleigh was impregnated with..."

"Mine."

Maureen's tears were hot and angry. "How could they make such a horrid
mistake?"

"It's very rare." His voice was gentle with cornpassion. "Like I said,
Chad and I used the same doctor in Denver. Our samples were shipped
together and they got confused when they divided them up to create the
duplicate containers. We would never have known any of this if the
brownout hadn't occurred."

"Why not?" She dabbed at her eyes. "Weren't you planning on using
your...samples someday?"

63

"No." His look became slightly bitter before he amended. "Not unless I
remarry."

"You're single?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"May I ask why you were storing...do you have some kind of health
problem? We are talking about my future grandchild here. It's something
Ashleigh will want to know. She knows all about babies, including all
the things that can go wrong."

"No, ma'am. I'm perfectly healthy, except for this altitude sickness."
His disparaging smile might have been engaging, but Maureen wanted no
part of it. His expression grew serious again. "My reasons for storing
my sperm-it's a long story. Let's just say I wanted to be sure I could
have children if that ever became possible."

"But now..." Maureen drew a sharp breath, realizing another horrible truth.

"Now," he confirmed sadly, "I have no samples left. All of my...material
was destroyed in the brownout."

"But we still have Chad's."

"Yes, ma'am. That's true. And I hope that will be some comfort to your
daughter in all of this. But this baby...this baby is mine."

Maureen sat as still as a stunned bird, staring at the Plexiglas shield,
blinking while she absorbed the awful truth. And it was the truth, she
was convinced of that now. Something else occurred to her then, and the
thought made her angry. "How did you

64

know Ashleigh was the patient who was impregnated with your last
remaining sperm? The lab should never have told you that!"

"They had to tell me they...used it. But they wouldn't tell me her name,
at first. I figured it out from all the publicity about her pregnancy.
Seems your daughter's decision to carry her dead husband's child made
quite a human interest story."

Silently, Maureen damned the media again for what they had done to
Ashleigh's life. "The publicity, I'm afraid, has exposed my daughter to
an undesirable element."

"I don't understand."

"Unfortunately, Ashleigh's situation with this baby has drawn a stalker.
And I'm afrai-"

"Wait a minute." Greg thrust a palm up. "Wait just a damn minute. A
stalker? What stalker?"

At the anger in his voice, Maureen flinched.

"I'm sorry." He immediately softened his tone. "But when somebody uses
the word stalker in the same sentence where she's talking about my baby,
my alarm bells go off."

Maureen understood perfectly.

"What kind of stalker?" He kept his voice calm now.

She supposed, if the baby really was his, he had a right to know about
this threat.

"The police think it's some kind of fanatic. They only know his first
name. Simon. We don't have a last name. He first called in to the Q and
A segment

65

of Ashleigh's show months ago. He seemed obsessed with the topic of
babies and fertility. He started saying strange, startling things,
trying to engage Ashleigh in an on-air debate. He expressed some truly
bizarre attitudes about things like fertility treatments and surrogate
mothers and human cloning. The producers figured out he was a nutcase
and wouldn't take any more of his calls. You have to understand-" she
gave Greg Glazier a pleading look when she saw that his jaw was
tightening in anger "-almost every media personality attracts these types."

"When did he start to bother her?"

"A couple of months ago. He's the reason Ashleigh finally took herself
off the air and let someone else do the show. At least for now."

"Why do the police think he's stalking her?"

"Well, when Ashleigh's pregnancy became public, this Simon tried to call
the show for one reason or another almost every week. He seemed to think
Ashleigh had no right to become a single mother. Of course, her staff
never let him get through to her, except once when he used a different
name."

"Did he call himself John?"

"Yes." Maureen was surprised. How did he know this?

"I, uh, I taped her last show." He seemed embarrassed, admitting that.
"When I became suspicious about the mix-up. So this guy is the caller
Ashleigh had to cut off."

66

Maureen nodded. ' 'Mr. Glazier, do you have any idea how distressing it
is to be a public figure, having your privacy invaded all the time?"

"What else had this stalker done?"

"E-mails. Calls to her home phone. Notes."

"What kind of notes?"

"Messages left at the front desk at the studio, on the windshield of her
car, in her mailbox at her condo. It seemed like he was trying to show
her that he knew her movements and that he could get very close to her
if he wanted to. And the content-very creepy stuff. Simon, or should I
say whoever wrote the notes, seems to think that what Ashleigh has done
is evil. He threatened Ashleigh...and her baby."

"Threatened?"

"I can't remember the exact words. But this person is deranged-some kind
of pseudo scientist. He seemed to think that what Ashleigh was doing was
unnatural, that she should be punished. That she doesn't deserve to be
the mother of her baby. The police seemed convinced that he could do her
real harm."

"So, that's why she's hiding up here in the mountains."

"Yes. We had to choose our hiding place carefully, given Ashleigh's
condition, but we also hoped to get far enough away that he couldn't
locate us."

"Oh, man," Greg sighed. "It must have freaked you out when I showed up
in town."

67

"Yes. It alarmed the people at The Birth Place, too. But though the
police have no real idea what this Simon person looks like, they do know
his voice, and it's nothing like yours."

"I'm so sorry for the stress I've caused you." He turned his kind,
sincere eyes on Maureen. "I thought she might have chosen this remote
place because she was hiding from me-because she already knew about the
baby."

"No. This is the first we've heard of you."

' 'So the people in California didn't tell her there'd been a mistake,
or even about the brownout?"

"No. The lab most certainly did not contact my daughter." Maureen eyed
Greg Glazier. "Why didn't they?" She had a feeling this young man knew
the answer to that question.

"I, uh, managed to convince them to agree to let me be the one to tell
the mother. I thought it might be easier if she met me-''

"Exactly how did you convince them?" Maureen interrupted, thinking he'd
probably used money or influence or some such thing.

"I agreed not to sue them for the mix-up in exchange for letting me find
Ashleigh in my own way and tell her the truth in my own time."

Maureen's eyes went wide, as the whole situation became suddenly clear
to her. This young man had been as injured as Ashleigh had been.
Ashleigh was not carrying Chad's child as she believed, but this Greg
Glazier would never have any other children.

68

At least Ashleigh could still have Chad's child in the future if that's
what she chose. Both Ashleigh and this man had been robbed of their
dreams. Both would be completely justified in seeking legal recompense.

Greg Glazier looked up at her with an apology in his eyes, waiting for
her to speak. Here was a man who valued his child, and perhaps even her
daughter's feelings, more than money, more than winning, more than being
justified or proved right in a court of law.

"Mr. Glazier, forgive me for being so personal, but you have to admit
this is a highly personal situation here."

He swallowed and nodded.

"You are obviously a handsome, successful person." Like my daughter,
Maureen thought, and a fleeting notion occurred to her that this man
might be a good match for Ashleigh. "Someday, surely, you will marry and
build a life with some equally attractive and successful young woman.
Surely, under the circumstances, you don't want to complicate your
future by laying claim to the baby of some other woman, a woman you
don't even know."

"This is not some other woman's baby." A fierce determination under
girded his words. "This is my baby."

"This baby means that much to you?"

"This baby..." He swallowed again and the

69

sound was dry, desperate. "Mrs. McGuinness, this baby is the only person
I have left in this world."

Maureen stared at the young man who threatened to turn her daughter's
life inside out. "I have to think about this," she said, finding she was
barely able to draw a full breath. "I have to discuss the best course of
action with Ashleigh's doctor, if that's possible without her consent."
She rubbed her brow.

"I understand," he said very quietly, with a slight frown forming
between those dark brows. "But you have to understand that I also have
to do what I think is right. I'm still going to try in every way I can
to make contact with your daughter."

Maureen stared at him, hoping he wasn't remembering that she'd said
Ashleigh was at the clinic. As she stared at his strong profile, it
struck her again that it was a shame Ashleigh couldn't have met him
under different circumstances.

"I have to go," she said.

There were no door handles on the inside, so Greg tapped on the
Plexiglas barrier and Officer Eiden got out and opened the door of the
cruiser. Maureen scrambled out like a fleeing prisoner.

"Goodbye" was all she said to the cop before marching down the sidewalk.

"I'll get in the front," Greg told Eiden as he scooted across the
plastic-covered seat.

Maureen looked back before rounding the corner of the cafe. She saw Greg
Glazier unfold his long

70 ***** 70

frame and step out into the New Mexico sunshine with the slow, steady
movements of a man who could wait forever, if necessary, to get the one
thing he really wanted.

71

CHAPTER FIVE

The first thing Simon Fischer did when he got to Enchantment was locate
the clinic called The Birth Place. On the way here from Denver, his car,
a battered old Ford Crown Victoria, had started smoking from the
tailpipe, and he wondered how far he would be able to make it once he
hit the road with the baby. Mexico? That would be good.

In his trunk he had baby things he'd bought at a thrift store. He'd made
up a fake e-mail address and sent one last message to Lydia Kane at The
Birth Place before he had emptied his bank accounts and sold his only
item of value-his computer. Then, he'd bought some photography equipment
at the same pawn shop.

None of that mattered now. Simon was on a mission.

He sat in his car in front of the clinic, while the oily exhaust pumped
out of the tailpipe and his tortured mind pumped out his risky,
thrilling plans.

Simon felt his mind was his best weapon. When he'd discovered that
Ashleigh Logan had left Denver, like a computer quick-searching files,
his mind had fed him the name of this place. And then Simon

72

remembered-oh, Simon Fischer had a great, long, ferocious memory-the All
About Babies episode where that Lydia Kane woman and the two mid-wives
had been guests. They were from this remote birthing clinic in the New
Mexico mountains. A small town called Enchantment. With only a little
time on the Net, Simon's search efforts were richly rewarded. He printed
the maps to Enchantment, counting on two things: Ashleigh Logan would
feel safe in this remote place; and these women at the clinic wouldn't
mind a little publicity.

If he was wrong, he still had thirteen weeks to find Ashleigh before the
baby was born. And when that baby was born...

He fantasized about getting the baby to a safe place where he'd find a
job, any job, and hire a good sitter-a nice, humble, God-fearing woman,
not some sharp-tongued strumpet like the child's mother. And they would
live happily ever after, Simon and his baby that he had rescued from the
clutches of evil, manipulative women.

Women. The very word made Simon angry. It had all started with his
ex-wife-that murdering bitch.

Tears clouded his eyes as self-pity overwhelmed him, thinking of his own
loss so many years ago. His wife had thought herself a brilliant
reproductive researcher. He had told her and told her that the pregnancy
didn't bother him. It would not interfere with her plans to finish her
doctoral degree. He,

73

Simon, would raise their baby. Over and over, he told her. She had the
abortion anyway.

A lady came out of the clinic. He shoved his thumbs under his glasses,
wiped his misty eyes, then watched her closely.

She had a long gray braid and was wearing overalls and carrying a big
tote bag. Her face looked nice. She pulled a sheepskin-lined jacket
across her front as she crossed the gravel drive to a Jeep parked under
a bare cottonwood tree.

Braving it, he turned off the engine, looped the camera over his
shoulder and got out.

"Ma'am?" he said, approaching her with his most disarming smile. Simon
knew that with his mild-mannered Boy Scout looks, his glasses, his
thinning hair, his teddy bear build-all he had to do was add that
uncertain smile and he posed no threat.

She stopped before rounding the fender of the Jeep. "Yes?"

"My name is Morris Reed." Simon had been reading Morris Reed's articles
about cloning and such for some time. He'd also thoroughly searched the
Internet for any pictures of Mr. Reed. There wasn't a single one. It was
the perfect alias. "I was wondering who I might talk to about The Birth
Place. I've been asked to do an article on midwives for Reproduction and
Sexuality. It's a professional journal. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"I have!" She smiled in recognition. "You e-mailed Lydia about it."

74

"Yes." Simon smiled, straightening his stocky frame. "Do you work at the
clinic?"

The woman's smile widened. "Yes. I'm one of the midwives."

"I know it's late, but could someone possibly answer a few questions for
me?"

She looked at her watch. "I can't. I'm running late for a home visit. We
do have a Web site, you know."

"Oh, I know. I've seen it. But there's nothing like firsthand
information...and firsthand photos." He hitched the camera up. "But I
guess I'll have to try again tomorrow."

At his crestfallen expression, she said, "You could go inside and talk
to the receptionist. Her name is Trish. She can give you some brochures
that should help you. Someone may even have a moment to show you around."

That, Simon thought, would be most helpful. The more he knew about the
layout of the place, the better.

"Thanks!" He smiled and waved as the midwife went on to her Jeep. As he
walked toward the clinic he noticed a side drive that led around back.
He'd have to check there for a rear entrance.

The first step in his plan had gone smoothly. Since he knew
approximately when Ashleigh Logan was due-she'd made such a big deal out
of the early stages of her pregnancy-it was just a matter of finding out
when the blessed event would actually

75

happen. That might prove harder, but he had to be there shortly after
the baby's birth. But how? As he turned and watched the midwife drive
away in her Jeep, Simon suddenly realized he might have a way. He looped
his camera around his neck and went inside to schmooze the women in the
clinic. Would Ms. Kane give him a tour? Answer a few questions? Consent
to having her photograph taken for a respected professional journal?

It was easy enough for Greg to find Maureen McGuinness after Eiden took
him back to his vehicle. She was wearing a distinctive black wind suit
stitched down the front and shoulders with a colorful Native American
design. He caught up with her at the small town square as she climbed
into a late model red Suburban with tinted windows. Behind those
windows, Ashleigh Logan would soon be concealed.

He pulled to the curb at the opposite corner of the square and edged his
Navigator into the shadow of an overhang as he watched her fasten her
seat belt and start the engine.

When she left, Greg pulled into traffic and followed. The Suburban
turned onto Desert Valley Road, no doubt heading to The Birth Place, and
Greg slowed to a crawl while he debated about whether or not to follow.
He figured his chances of being spotted along the narrow, sparsely
populated road would be high. But if Maureen did see him, all

76

she could do was avoid him or call the cops and report him. And they
both knew that the cops in Enchantment already knew who he was, and why
he was here.

He yanked the Navigator into a sharp turn and headed down Desert Valley
Road. When Maureen's vehicle got to the clinic, she bypassed the
circular rock driveway and instead took the narrow dirt lane at the side
of the building that led around to the back. Greg pulled onto the gravel
shoulder and parked off road, in the shelter of some low pine trees. He
got out and trotted off into the trees, approaching the clinic on foot
by a circumspect route, which made him feel like the very stalker he now
despised. But desperation drove him. He had to have a glimpse of
Ashleigh Logan, if that was remotely possible. He circled far around the
back, where from a small parking lot the land sloped sharply down into a
ravine. He worked his way up the slope, staying low in the sagebrush and
junipers, like a cowboy sneaking up on a foe in a B movie.

He heard a car door slam, but when he raised his head to get a clear
view of the parking lot, all was quiet. He found a place to hide behind
some large boulders. There he waited. All he wanted was a glimpse, he
told himself. One quick look at Ashleigh Logan in the flesh.

His patience was rewarded fifteen minutes later when the back door of
the clinic swung open and the two women emerged. Maureen, silver-haired and

77

chic in the black wind suit, and a younger woman- Ashleigh.

Unlike her stylishly dressed mother, Ashleigh was wearing a shapeless
calf-length denim maternity dress topped with a baggy, navy-blue hooded
sweatshirt. She hugged the jacket over her big belly as the wind kicked
up. On her feet she wore some ugly printed knee socks and a pair of
clunky Birkenstock sandals. She slid a pair of sunglasses onto her face
as she walked toward the Suburban alongside her mother.

She was much smaller than she appeared on TV. And she looked more
fragile, even if she was six months pregnant. His eyes traveled to her
bulging abdomen and stayed there for a moment. Was it a boy or a girl?

As she made her way across the gravel lot, Ashleigh's movements were
gentle, feminine. When she hitched a tiny purse up on her shoulder, her
full bust came into sharp relief. When she tossed her head, her long,
wavy blond hair caught the fire of the sun lowering over the Sangre de
Cristo mountains.

Ashleigh and her mother were walking close to each other, talking
confidentially, and when her mother hooked her arm under her daughter's,
obviously making some teasing remark, Ashleigh's face lit up with
laughter. The distant sound made Greg's gut tighten. Her face was truly
beautiful, far more beautiful in person than her made-up TV image.

They went to their separate sides of the Suburban,

78

Ashleigh with the slower, slightly awkward gait of a gravid woman who
hadn't had enough exercise lately. Transfixed, Greg watched her every
move as she opened the door and angled herself up into the high seat,
while the fabric of her dress stretched over her pregnant front. He
hadn't expected his first reaction to Ashleigh Logan to be so strong. He
felt as if his foundation had just been shaken and he couldn't fathom
why. All he knew was that now that he'd had his little glimpse of
Ashleigh Logan, it didn't feel like enough. And he had to get out of
here before he did something stupid.

He turned from his hiding place, intending to go back the way he'd come,
by the roundabout route down the juniper-studded slope, lest anyone from
the clinic should spot him on the grounds.

But an alarmed female shout caused him to turn back around. In the
parking lot, Maureen was yelling, "No pictures!" as she scurried around
the Suburban toward an enormous man in a windbreaker. The guy had a
camera pressed to his face.

Ashleigh, half in, half out of the Suburban, was holding her hand toward
the lens while the photographer snapped away, closing in, ignoring
Maureen's protests.

Greg plowed through the junipers, knocking limbs out of the way as if he
were ripping the guy's arms off.

"Stop that!" he yelled, but the photographer only dodged past Maureen
and swooped in closer on his

79

prey. Ashleigh tried to pull the door of the Suburban shut to hide
herself, but the guy actually blocked it with his body, leaning in to
snap close-ups of her face.

The guy was bigger than Greg, but with a strategic jerk on the camera
strap Greg hauled him away from the Suburban by the neck, like a trainer
jerking a bear's chain.

"Hey!" the guy shouted.

"The ladies said no pictures!" Greg flung the guy to his knees.

Lydia Kane emerged from the door of the clinic, rushing forward like a
tigress. "What do you think you are doing?" she demanded of the
photographer.

Greg went to the door of the Suburban, where Ashleigh Logan recoiled on
the seat with her hand pressed over her mouth.

"Are you all right?" he said, touching her elbow. She was trembling.

She swayed toward him and he tightened his grip. "Just lean back for a
sec," he said, guiding her back in the seat.

"I'm okay." She braced a hand on his shoulder and Greg felt a surge of
feelings he hadn't felt in a very long time. Was it this woman's
vulnerability? Her beauty? Whatever it was, her touch felt amazingly right.

She looked at him as if reading his mind. She took her hand away. "Who
are you?"

"I'm Greg Glazier."

79 ***** 80

80 ***** "I'

I'm Ashleigh Logan." She smiled, but at the same time he thought he saw
a small flash of wariness in her eyes. The sister had told her about his
little visit back in Denver, no doubt. Or-his heart pounded at this
thought-perhaps her mother had already told her something.

"I know who you are, Ms. Logan. Lots of people do. Which is probably the
reason that creep wanted your picture."

"Yes. Thank you for stopping him."

"Ashleigh!" Maureen came up to lean in beside Greg.

"Mom, he got my picture!" Ashleigh cried through shaky fingers.

"Not for long." Greg whirled around, took two bounding steps to the
photographer, who'd stood up by now, and wrenched the camera off the
man's neck.

He went back to the Suburban, unloaded the disk and presented it to
Ashleigh. "There. No one will see these pictures now."

Behind them, Lydia was saying, "I want you off these premises!"

Greg turned back and tossed the empty camera at the guy's gut. "You
heard her. Get out of here."

The heavy man stumbled around the corner of the adobe building, looking
back once with a strange lopsided smile.

"Call the cops," Greg told Lydia.

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"Call Miguel," Lydia relayed to Trish, who was standing in the open door
of the clinic.

"I am so sorry, Ms. Logan," Lydia breathed, clutching the pendant around
her neck. "In over forty years of running this clinic, I have never had
anyone accost a patient like that."

"He came from inside the clinic," Greg accused.

"Yes," Lydia huffed, still breathless. "We were giving him a tour. He
said he was writing an article for a professional journal. He had
e-mailed me. I guess he spotted Ashleigh at some point."

"Obviously. He's another media hound," Ashleigh said. She slid off the
seat, lowered her feet to the ground and straightened her shoulders. She
looked defiant now as she pushed wisps of blond hair back from her brow,
but Greg noted telltale stains of color on her cheeks. The incident had
upset her more than she was letting on.

"Yes. Thank God you stopped him," Maureen said to Greg. "Where did you
come from?"

"I followed you from the restaurant."

"I must admit I'm glad you did."

"I don't get it." Ashleigh's gaze panned from Greg to her mother and
back. "You know him?"

"We met..." Greg started, but Maureen gave him a warning stare.

Greg wondered how Maureen, in this dire moment, could possibly explain
to Ashleigh that she had met Greg Glazier, and that he was far from a
total stranger.

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But Maureen amazed him when she said, "He's the bodyguard your father
hired."

"Bodyguard?" Lydia eyed Greg.

"I, uh-" Greg started.

Maureen explained further, "To provide additional protection while we're
here."

"Then why haven't I met him before now?" Ashleigh turned to fully face
Greg, who towered over her. She studied his face, then pulled her jacket
over her bulging middle and looked away shyly.

"I was going to-" He started again.

"He's supposed to stay undercover," Maureen broke in. "Down here in the
town."

Greg, unsure what Ashleigh's doctors had just told her about her
condition and seeing how upset she was, felt he had no choice but to go
along with Maureen's lie.

"I'll be watching out for you," he said. And that was so true.

"That's good. I guess." Ashleigh sounded unsure as she studied him
again. Greg suddenly wished he'd taken the time to clean up his
appearance more. "Daddy should have told me about this," she said to her
mother. "Not that I'm ungrateful," she added to Greg.

"I'm just glad I could help." Standing so near her like this, looking
into her beautiful eyes, Greg felt himself being assailed by a slew of
surprising emotions. He backed up. ' 'Call me if you need me, then."

83

"I have your number, Mr. Glazier." Maureen took control of the
situation. "And we'll call you if we need you. I think I should get
Ashleigh away from here now." She urged Ashleigh into the Suburban.

When they were gone, Lydia faced Greg. "I am very protective of my
patients, Mr. Glazier. I do everything in my power to see that each of
our mothers has a safe, memorable pregnancy and birth experience."

"I appreciate that. I have the highest respect for you and what you do
at this clinic."

"Ms. Logan's case is special. She sought us out, hoping we could help
her through a difficult pregnancy."

"Believe me, that is my goal, too. I only want to keep her safe."

"If you are Ms. Logan's bodyguard, why didn't you announce that when you
first came to town?"

Greg didn't know how to answer that one. Apparently Eiden had meant what
he said about not being a gossip columnist. "I needed to keep a low
profile." Greg was getting really tired of walking a fine line between
truth and half truth, and as with their first encounter, he felt this
sharp older woman could see straight through him. "We both just need to
do our jobs, Ms. Kane, and get this baby here safely."

"Agreed. I will give Officer Eiden all the

84

information I have about that photographer as soon as he gets here,"
Lydia volunteered.

"And you tell Eiden-" Greg gave the midwife a determined look "-that if
he wants to pick that dude up to call my cell. I'm tailing him right now."

85

CHAPTER SIX

Gregs next few days in Enchantment stretched into restless hours of
talking to his business partner on his cell phone, cruising the roads in
the area to get the lay of the land and strategizing while sipping
coffee at the Silver Eagle cafe.

Now that he'd found Ashleigh, his main priority was clear-protecting the
mother of his child. In this, Greg had found an ally in Miguel Eiden.

"The guy said his name was Morris Reed," Eiden confirmed over coffee the
morning after the incident at the clinic. "And he is from the media,
sort of. He really does write occasional articles for some think-tank
organization called the Association for Reproductive Reform."

"There's something fishy about him," Greg said as he sipped his coffee.

"Maybe. But I didn't have any reason to hold him."

"The guy was taking pictures of Ashleigh without her consent. What if
he's the stalker?"

"Lydia thought you were the stalker at first. And besides, you followed
him. The guy's left town. Maybe he was just looking to make some easy

86

money selling photos of a high-profile television star."

But Greg wasn't convinced. Something nagged at him about this Morris
Reed. Last night he put the videotape that he'd made of Ashleigh Logan's
last live show into the VCR in his room at the Morning Light. He'd
already watched it several times, trying to absorb the fact that the
beautiful woman on the screen was about to become the mother of his
child. Now he watched it again, this time with a different eye.

Ashleigh stood behind a table covered with an array of her favorite baby
products. She was wearing a brightly striped maternity top that hugged
her full bust and rounded tummy. Her blond hair was pulled up in a
colorful clasp, leaving stylish wisps around her face. Flawlessly
made-up, her slender fingers pointed out everything from Diaper Genies
to teddy bears to pacifiers. Her guest that day was a fluffy woman named
Miss Candi, who specialized in shopping for busy, affluent working mothers.

"I can usually outfit your entire nursery, top to bottom, in less than
three days," the woman gushed.

"Wonderful!" Ashleigh winked at the camera. "How about coming to my
house this weekend!" The audience broke into laughter, then applause.

"Enough shopping!" Ashleigh clapped her hands. "Well, let's be honest,
we can't ever get enough shopping-" the audience laughed again ''-but
we've got lots of other information you need

87

coming up on the second half of All About Babies, including what to do
when baby won't stop crying." A picture of a howling infant flashed on
the screen. "Aw," Ashleigh said, sticking out her lower lip. "We gotta
help that little guy." The audience applauded again.

"And stay tuned," Ashleigh hollered over the applause, "for a very
special segment, 'Doctor Can I?' It's all about s-e-x during pregnancy.
Plus," she added, pointing a manicured finger at the camera. "We'll be
taking your calls right after the break. So don't go away!" Wild
cheering and cut to commercial.

Greg muted the sound during the commercial he'd inadvertently taped.

On camera Ashleigh Logan smiled constantly, with dazzling white teeth
and unrelenting charm. He couldn't imagine why a beautiful woman like
that had chosen single motherhood over remarriage and building a family
the normal way. But who was he to judge? He certainly hadn't given
another woman a chance to take Kendra's place in his heart.

"Welcome back. Our first caller is John from Boulder, Colorado. Close to
home, here. Hi, John! What do you think about Miss Candi's shopping
service?"

At first the caller sounded pleasant, teasing Ashleigh for being a
die-hard shopaholic.

Ashleigh only laughed and said, "When it comes to loving baby stuff, I
plead guilty!"

88

But very quickly the caller's voice grew high with emotion, then vaguely
hostile. "But stuff like this maternity-shopping service-that's what's
wrong with our society," he said. "I think it's a sorry state of affairs
when mommies don't even have time to go out and shop for their own babies."

'But, John-"

"Hey, why are you women even having babies these days if-"

Ashleigh's face clouded as she quickly interrupted him. ' 'Well, John,
some mommies must work-''

"Babies come first," the voice retorted. "A baby isn't some toy. It
isn't some extension of yourself."

Ashleigh's on-camera smile faded and her face grew ashen as he rushed on.

"You selfish women are as bad as the scientists doing their somatic-cell
nuclear transfers and parthenogenesis-never worrying about where it will
lead. Just trying to make human clones without thinking about the baby!"

"Whoa!" Ashleigh tried to rescue the situation. "Thanks for your input,
John, but we're not talking about cloning today."

"It's all the same thing. It's all selfishness! The way you got pregnant
is asexual reproduction, pure and simp-"

Ashleigh cut him off by hitting the line button. She forced a smile at
her studio guest. "Looks like that caller thinks using a shopping
service is

89

unnatural or something. But I say a baby doesn't know if Mommy bought
the goods, or if Miss Candi did."

"Exactly." Miss Candi smiled a big, nervous smile. ' 'What baby needs
most is a happy mommy."

"And us working mothers," Ashleigh finished cheerfully, "need all the
help we can get!" She hit another line button.

"Sharon from San Diego, what have you got to say about shopping for baby?"

Greg frowned, still puzzling over the exchange with "John" as he watched
the rest of the show. He played the segment a dozen times, and became
convinced that this pseudoscientific fanatic-this Simon or John or
whoever-was indeed Ashleigh's stalker.

Watching the tape one last time, listening carefully to "John's" voice,
a snake of warning coiled in his gut. The way the guy shouted "hey"
echoed with an odd familiarity. It sounded just like the "hey" Morris
Reed had shouted outside the clinic. Had Morris Reed really left town?

Greg wanted to get to know the area-and hopefully find the Coleman
cabin. Eiden was no help in this regard. He kept his peace-respecting
the wishes of Ashleigh and her mother. So Greg drove up and down every
street in Enchantment, exploring the remote roads that wound up into the
mountains.

Ten miles north of town he found the new ski resort, Angel's Gate, under
construction. If he'd

90

been in town on business, the potential for development on the land
around the site might have interested him. As it was, the endless
driving just aggravated his altitude sickness.

He stopped at the local grocery and bought some more bottled water and a
quart of sports drink in an effort to replenish his depleted
electrolytes. He forced himself to eat a hearty dinner at Slim Jim's, a
rustic steak house on Paseo de Sierra, and thought he felt his strength
returning.

The next day he had the oil changed in the Navigator, got a shave and
haircut. Greg was killing time. Waiting for Maureen to call.

The quiet Hispanic in greasy coveralls at the corner gas station didn't
have much to say, but some elderly locals in the barbershop proved to be
more talkative. As soon as Greg walked into the old-fashioned
establishment, he decided this place was probably Enchantment's Gossip
Central. Two gray-haired guys were getting their hair cut and a third
was lounging in a threadbare upholstered chair. All were yakking it up
with the three young barbers.

Greg took the empty barber's chair, told the barber what he wanted and
soon lay relaxing under a steaming towel, listening to the other
customers banter about town council business, thieves in the
countryside, and finally moving on to their days as World War II marines.

"The thing I remember best was those old tar-paper barracks," one of the
old guys said loudly.

91

From listening to the conversation so far, Greg gathered that the old
man speaking had, in fact, been a Navajo Code Talker. Greg glanced past
the edge of the towel and studied the man with genuine admiration. He
was a tall old fellow-his knees poked high and his dusty boots barely
fit on the footrest of the chair. He certainly looked Navajo. Bronze
skin. Roman nose. Deep, deep eyes.

"You got that right, Elkhorn," another aging voice said. "We froze to
death in them old barracks." This man's speech was softer, with a touch
of the ancient Moorish-tinged Hispanic accent Greg had been hearing
around town. Listening to him, Greg imagined that the old man and his
people had probably lived inside the Enchanted Circle for many generations.

"You froze? I thought Camp Elliot was on the ocean, near San Diego,"
Greg's young barber said as he unwound Greg's towel.

"It is," the Navajo gentleman named Elkhorn explained. "But there's
enough elevation out there that it could get pretty frosty in the
mornings. Particularly if you was lying on your belly on the ground- in
the prone position, you see-" He demonstrated with a flat palm for the
benefit of Greg's barber.

"Trying to hit a target at five hundred yards with an Ml!" the Hispanic
interjected with glee.

The Navajo gave the little Chicano a scowl. "Manny, my friend. It is
rude to interrupt while a man is talking."

92

"Sony, amigo," the old Hispanic said, though he continued
enthusiastically, ' 'but when you are freezing your trasero off, the
target, it keeps moving!" He made a motion like a shivering person
pointing an unsteady rifle and everybody laughed.

Even Greg had to emit a sympathetic chuckle. As a young man, he'd
endured sharp shooting school in the cold Colorado wind.

The Hispanic man leaned forward, as the barber started to lather Greg's
three-day-old stubble. "Don't think I seen you around here before. You
new in town?"

"Just passing through. Greg Glazier." Greg gave him a nod.

"I'm Manny Cordova and this here's Daniel Elk-horn. You here for the
Aspen Festival?" Manny strained the fabric of his bib as he took a
closer look at Greg.

"No. Just, uh...I'm here to look up some...some relatives." This was
true. The baby certainly was a relative. His only living relative, in fact.

"Oh, who're they?"

Greg stared up at the ceiling as his barber took his first swipe at his
neck, glad that the necessity to sit still gave him time to think. He
shouldn't have said that. These old men probably knew almost the entire
population of Enchantment. It struck Greg then that he needed a
plausible excuse if he was going to keep hanging around like this in a
town of only five thousand. And there was probably no

93

better time than now, and no better place than Gossip Central to
establish that excuse.

"Well," he said while his barber wiped the blade clean, "I'm not looking
for relatives, exactly. Just their property."

"Why are you looking for their place?" the Chicano asked.

"Well, my cousins-" Had he said anything about cousins? He hated getting
caught up in the quagmire of another lie. He tried to at least steer
back to something he could talk about convincingly. "With your new ski
area opening up-"

"Angel's Gate," Manny inserted, "going to be a real fancy place."

"Yes. My relatives are wondering how it will impact their property. I'm
a land developer."

"Oh?" Now the Navajo leaned forward. The old guys seemed friendly
enough, but both were looking at him with such keen interest, that it
caused the barbers to pause and study Greg as well. He got the feeling
these men hung out in this old barber shop a lot, chewing the fat, bored
and in no particular hurry, practicing the old marine habit Gramps had
often voiced, Observe everything within sight or hearing.

"Their place is supposed to be out toward Switchback Road, but I'll be
darned if I could find it yesterday." Greg fished for information that
might lead him to the Coleman place.

"Switchback's a bad old road," Manny allowed.

94

"I figured that out," Greg said, remembering his dizziness and nausea
from driving the treacherous, twisting road. It was one hairpin turn on
top of another, with no guardrails in most places.

"Manny lives out there," the Navajo supplied. "Raises horses."

"Really?" Greg was genuinely interested. "What kind?"

"Andalusians."

"Andalusians!" Greg did not have to fake being impressed. "I've always
had an interest in them. I raise Thoroughbreds myself."

Manny looked pleased that Greg appreciated the rare Spanish breed. "I'm
not a big trainer or anything," he said. "My farm is very small." His
manner was humble, but he favored Greg with an engaging smile. "But it's
forty acres of the most beautiful land in the Sangre de Cristos."

"And he's got a prize stallion. Encantado is quite the beast!" Elkhorn
grew excited, boasting on behalf of his friend.

His barber said, "Daniel, please hold still."

Greg smiled, warming to his favorite subject. "I'd like to see this
Encantado sometime."

"I'll show him to you anytime," Manny said generously. "Whereabouts do
you raise horses?" he inquired politely.

"I've got a piece of land up on Colorado's Big Sandy." ¦

"Oh, ho, ho!" Manny hooted. "I know about the

95

rancheros up there! You got a pretty big piece of land up there, eh, anglo?"

"Enough to raise a few horses," Greg allowed. It was close to a thousand
acres, but why get into that? He figured these guys had dealt with more
than one wealthy stranger in their midst and wouldn't be impressed.

The men all shared a knowing chuckle at his cryptic answer, and the
conversation about horse farming continued while the barbers finished up
their work on their three clients. Greg didn't find an opportunity to
directly ask where the Coleman place was located.

Manny's haircut was the first to be finished. "Always feels good to get
my ears lowered." He chuffed at the backs of them while the barber used
a whisk to brush stray hairs from his collar. The barber removed Manny's
cape and the old man hopped down from his chair with surprising agility.

"It was nice talkin' to you." He walked over to Greg and extended his
gnarled hand. "Come out and see Encantado."

Greg shook the man's hand. "I will," he said, and meant it.

Manny smiled. He seemed like a nice, sharp old man, and there was a
peacefulness about him that Greg liked. It was a quality that reminded
Greg of the grandfather who had raised him.

"Mine's the first place on Switchback after you

96

cross the little bridge. It will be worth the drive, I promise you.
Encantado is a beautiful creature."

As Manny settled his battered hat on his head, Elkhorn picked up the
topic of Greg's "relatives" again. "Maybe my grandson Miguel knows those
relatives of yours. He's a local cop."

"Yeah." Manny seemed to agree with this idea. "What's their names again?"

Greg hesitated. Eiden had warned him to lay low. But if these guys
reported his inquisitiveness to the cop-and why would they?-he could
always argue that they had brought it up. And while he was trying to
keep his pledge to protect Ashleigh Logan's privacy, Eiden was
sympathetic to Greg's cause, as well. "Uh, it's Coleman."

The old man shook his head. "Don't know the name," he said. "But there's
two big old cabins built way back up on Switchback, way up on the
mountain. Monstrosities. Vacant most of the time. Could be one of those."

Next, Greg paid a visit to the chamber of cornmerce, which was in the
same building where Eiden had detained him when he had first arrived in
town. At the opposite end of the dim hallway, he entered the double
glass doors and tried to discretely determine if this Coleman cabin was
one of the two "vacant monstrosities" Manny had referred to, and if so,
exactly where it was located.

"If it's that far up on the mountain, it's probably

97

a private vacation home," the woman behind the counter explained, "and
they don't get mail delivery. There's a lot of new construction, what
with the new ski resort going in. But we really don't keep track of the
seasonal people."

The woman had weathered skin, a friendly demeanor, and chic
silver-and-turquoise jewelry. She smiled at Greg. "You could go down to
the county seat in Taos and make a check of the tax records, I suppose.
They might be able to tell you who owns a particular piece of property,
that is, if you knew the exact location."

That was the trouble. He didn't know the exact location. He wasn't
supposed to. All he knew was that the cabin where Ashleigh Logan was
hiding was somewhere up on Switchback Road.

As he walked out he shot a glance through the glass door, toward the
double doors down the hall that had Enchantment Police Department
stenciled above an official-looking logo. He didn't want to be too
openly aggressive in his search and risk alienating his only ally, but
he couldn't just do nothing. Greg Glazier despised idleness.

He went back to his room and made some pointless business calls from his
cell phone-he'd already delegated every task in Denver to his partner.
He took another look at the tape of Ashleigh Logan, finding her more
captivating each time he watched, and finding the sound of the deranged
caller more disturbing. And he waited, and waited, for word of this
woman...and the child she carried.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

After Simon had seen Ashleigh at the clinic that first day, he'd driven
out of town and then doubled back, looking for a cheap place to stay...
and to hide. He'd lucked out and found a For Rent sign in the trailer
park at the edge of town. The place was pretty bad-broken glass and the
smell of propane-but the owner didn't ask a single question. Just took
his cash and handed him the key. The baby would never have to come to
that dump, anyway. Simon was prepared to leave Enchantment the minute he
got his hands on the child.

He felt no guilt about what he was doing to Ashleigh Logan. She would
simply go to the "bank" and withdraw herself another baby.

Ashleigh Logan was the kind of brazen woman who was ruining this
country, destroying the very citadel of motherhood in her selfish,
unthinking wake. Women like skinny little Ashleigh Logan thought they
were so smart. They thought they could play with life itself, with God's
holy plan. Well, God punished people who flaunted His ways. Ashleigh
Logan would have to be punished. And that poor little artificially made
baby would have to be raised

99

somewhere far away from the public eye, far from the cruel publicity its
mother seemed to thrive on. Simon had been prepared, all those years
ago, to take care of his own baby when it arrived. But his wife, the
selfish bitch, had destroyed his chance at fatherhood. Sharon had
already been planning to divorce him, he realized later, the minute she
finished her doctoral degree.

But now, Simon would have himself a baby. A baby who desperately needed
him. It would be no problem for him to disappear and to care for a baby
in some isolated place as if the child were his own. He had few real
friends, no family. Simon would see to it that the child would never
know of its terrible beginnings, its unholy conception. Maybe it was
good that the place where Ashleigh Logan had chosen to give birth was so
isolated. It shouldn't be impossible to kidnap a baby from a remote
midwife's clinic, if he could find a way to get Ashleigh Logan alone
with her baby for a moment. The Birth Place, he was sure, wouldn't have
tight security like a big city hospital.

The days ticked by and Maureen Logan still did not call. Not for a week.
Greg's only conduit to her was Miguel Eiden, and though he was doing
what he could, each time they spoke, he had nothing to tell Greg.

"This isn't really a police matter, Greg," Miguel

100

explained one day when they'd met for coffee at the Silver Eagle cafe again.

"But the stalker is a police matter. I've got a tape I want you to look at."

Miguel frowned.

"It's Ashleigh's last show. The stalker's talking on it."

"Okay. Get it to me right away."

"Will you do one other thing for me? Will you contact me if there's any
trouble out at their cabin? I'd like to do everything I can to keep the
mother of my child safe."

Miguel nodded his understanding.

Though he'd met some people in town and found some ways to stay busy,
Greg's thoughts were never far from Ashleigh after the incident at the
clinic. He kept seeing her face going pale as the man had pushed toward
her. He wondered what life had been like for her in the last few years.
Horrible, undoubtedly. First the woman had buried a young husband. Then
she'd somehow found the guts to salvage what she had, forging ahead with
an artificially inseminated pregnancy, and enduring the stinging
publicity. Before he'd left Denver he'd searched the Internet for media
coverage and found an article blasting Ashleigh for glorifying single
motherhood. Man.

And now she had been forced into hiding in this remote mountain town, in
fear of some unstable stalker. His gut tightened with guilt over the turmoil

101 ***** D ARLENE GRAHAM

he himself had caused these women. Nice move, Glazier, jumping out of
the bushes that way.

But how else would he meet Ashleigh if he didn't catch her in town? He
still hadn't found the Cole-man cabin. What was the alternative to
encountering her in person again? Contacting some shark of a lawyer to
show up and browbeat her? Without sacrificing any of his own rights as a
father, he wanted to approach this whole thing as gently and quietly as
possible.

Greg turned onto Paseo de Sierra, still deeply absorbed in his troubled
thoughts. He thought he'd get to know the town a bit, check out some of
the local businesses. The square was crowded and he had to park in a
narrow alley.

He'd been to the hardware store, Elkhorn's, once already. Greg smiled as
he remembered Kendra saying that hardware stores were like a homing
beacon for men. The place was a rustic combination sporting goods-feed
store with a weathered boardwalk out front, a fogged display window
crammed with ancient implements that would never sell, and closely
spaced aisles overflowing with everything from thermal underwear to
posthole diggers.

The man behind the counter today was the aging Navajo gentleman he'd met
in the barbershop, Daniel Elkhorn. He gave Greg a silent nod of
recognition, and then went back to his conversation with another old
guy, whom Greg recognized from the barbershop as well. What was his
name? Manny

102

Cordova? The two of them were haggling over a shiny new electric space
heater, the kind that had a thermostatically controlled cutoff mechanism.

The Hispanic man pushed his beat-up hat back on his stiff gray hair and
sighed. "I don't got that kind of money, amigo."

"Then I will just give it to you." The Navajo shoved the stove forward.
He reached under the counter. "I got the box right here. Warranty and all."

"No way, man," protested the old Hispanic. "It can wait till I get my
next social security check."

"But you got to have it now, old man. It is going to snow up on that
mountain, maybe even tonight, and them pipes in that old shack of a pump
house of yours is gonna freeze again for sure."

"I got my old kerosene burner. It works fine."

"Yeah. Like when you forgot about it last year, man. I saw that scorched
feed sack. You gonna burn yourself up out there on that dilapidated
farm, you stubborn old coot."

Greg had wandered up and down the cluttered aisles, all the while
listening to the exchange.

"Come on, take the stove," the shopkeeper insisted.

"Naw. Better not," Manny said with stubborn restraint. Greg poked his
head around the corner to see the Navajo shaking his head as he set the
stove up on some high shelves behind the register.

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Manny was fingering a horsehair lariat that was hanging on a post.

"Mr. Cordova," Greg smiled. "Remember me?"

"Oh, hello there," Manny said. "You're the guy who's checking out land
up by Angel's Gate."

Greg wondered how he was ever going to keep his growing list of lies
straight. "Yes. Greg Glazier." Greg put out his hand and they shook
hands again, renewing their acquaintance.

"Hello, Mr. Elkhorn." Greg turned his smile on the man behind the
counter. "I didn't realize you work here. I guess I should have made the
connection to the name. You the owner?"

"Used to be. My nephew bought me out a few years ago." Elkhorn nodded at
a large young man stocking shelves near the back. ' 'I just come once in
a while and do my best to get in the way."

"And give away the merchandise," Manny mumbled.

"What's that you say, old man?" Elkhorn put a mocking hand to his ear.

' 'Nothing. Having any luck finding that Coleman cabin?" Manny asked Greg.

"Haven't found it yet. I was wondering if the offer's still good to show
me around up there, and I'd still like to see that Andalusian."

"Anytime. My place is the first turnoff on Switchback after you cross
the narrow bridge."

* 'How about this evening?'' Greg said.

"Sure. I'm headed home now. Come on up before

104

the sun goes down so you can get a good look at Encantado. I got him
running in the front pasture. You'll see him right away. I won't move
the horses to the barn until dark."

"Great. See you in a while, then."

The bell on the shop door clanged as the old man left.

' 'Now, what can I do for you?'' The shopkeeper spread his palms on the
counter, giving Greg his attention.

"Oh, I was just looking around. That space heater..." Greg pointed up at it.

"Yes?"

"Your friend needs it?"

"He sure does."

"Why wouldn't he take it?"

"He's just stubborn. Manny don't let nobody help him, not even his own
kids. Them boys would have a fit if they came home and found out their
dad was using an old open-flame kerosene heater in his pump house."

"His sons don't live around here?"

"No. Two are in the military, marines like their dad. One of them is
getting close to retirement, I think. I can't keep track of where the
other two live, exactly. One's a doctor out in L.A. Manny goes to see
them once in a while, but the boys don't make it to his place that much.
It's not, you know, the most comfortable house on earth, especially
since his wife passed on."

105

"He lives out there alone? Out on Switchback Road?"

"Yeah. All alone since his Rosa died. He's got his horses, you know, and
lots of friends. He says he likes his old place the way it is. But he
shouldn't be too proud to take a little help now and then, especially
when it's a matter of safety."

"I agree." Greg pulled his billfold out of his hip pocket, rapidly
extracting twenties. "How much?"

"The stove?"

"Yeah."

"You buying it for him?"

"Yeah."

"But why, man?"

4 'Why not? I have plenty of money, and it sounds like he needs it."

"But...this is kind of strange," the old Navajo muttered.

"Not really." Greg laid four twenties on the counter. "Does that cover it?"

"Sure."

Greg put a palm on the stove. "Would you put it in the box? And throw in
that lariat?" Greg pulled three more twenties loose.

"That fancy horsehair one?" The Navajo expressed further surprise.

"He likes it, right?"

"Manny...he won't take no fancy gift. He's very independent. He stays up
on that mountain for a reason. He doesn't want to owe no man."

106

"He won't owe me anything. It's just a way to pay him back for taking
the time to show me around the mountain," Greg said, smiling.

As soon as Greg left the store, Maureen emerged from the aisle where she
had been concealed. Part of her had to admit that watching Greg Glazier
buying gifts for the sweet-looking old man had touched her. But part of
her still wanted Greg to go away and not cause any more problems for her
daughter. She sighed. But the more she saw of Greg Glazier, the more she
realized that wasn't going to happen.

"Did you find everything you need, ma'am?"

"No, actually I didn't. Where would I find one of those intercoms people
use for babies?''

The man scratched his head. "I wouldn't have anything like that. I
imagine you'd have to go to the Wal-Mart down in Taos."

"Oh." Maureen cast about for a solution, something that would let
Ashleigh summon her in the huge cabin without having to climb the stairs.

"Do you have a bell, then?"

"Yeah." The man frowned, seeming unable to make the connection between a
bell and a baby monitor. "I got some bear bells over in the sport goods.
And I got these cowbells." He pointed to the shelves behind him.

"A cowbell will do. And I'll take these light bulbs." She shoved them
forward on the counter. "Do you know that man?" She turned her head

107

toward the display window. Across the street, Greg Glazier was rounding
the corner into an alley.

"You mean the fella who just left?"

"Yes. I heard you talking to him."

"We've met." The old Navajo proceeded to punch the register keys, his
face as impassive as the stone cliffs rimming the town.

The locals around here were so closemouthed, Maureen thought. Their
reluctance to talk or volunteer information was something she had valued
because she felt that would help protect Ashleigh. At least she had
valued their reticence until this moment. "But you seemed to know about
him," she prodded.

"I met him at the barber shop a while back. Nice

guy."

"I see. Who is he?"

"Says he's here to check out property. We get a lot of those."

"I see." So Glazier was telling the townsfolk he was looking at property.

"That'll be four eighty-nine."

Maureen dug out the money. "I heard your friend mention the Colemans. Do
you know them?"

The man frowned at her, then he put the light bulbs and the bell in a
small brown paper bag. "No, I don't. And I thought I knew just about
everybody around here. But with the new ski resort going in, we are
seeing more new people all the time. That Anglo-" he nodded toward the
window "-he

108

claims the Colemans live out on the Switchback Road. Do you know them?"

"No." Maureen snatched up the sack. "Thank you."

She rushed out to the Suburban. When she got inside she quickly slammed
the door, staring pensively out the windshield.

Ashleigh looked immediately alert. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing." Maureen wondered if Ashleigh had seen Greg Glazier going into
the alley.

"Mom, is something wrong?"

Maureen realized Ashleigh must be worrying about the stalker. Sooner or
later they would have to end this charade with Greg Glazier. ' 'No.
Everything's fine. I, uh, I just heard the men in the hardware store
talking about a snowstorm coming in. Well..." She altered her tone,
becoming falsely bright. "Only one more stop and then we'll get back to
the cabin. You must be getting tired."

"Actually, I was enjoying being down in the town for once. The doctor
just said I'm okay."

"Yes. You told me that."

"The midwives haven't seen any activity on my monitor strip since I got
to Enchantment, and my uterus is nice and soft. I think this place is
exactly what I needed."

"Yes." Maureen wondered what would happen to her daughter's health when
she found out the truth about Greg Glazier.

109

"I think the whole preterm labor thing was all a false alarm," Ashleigh
continued. "It was probably just a reaction to all that stress back in
Denver. I have felt a hundred percent better since we got up here. This
place is so peaceful."

"It may be peaceful," Maureen said, glancing out the windshield and
surveying the fading sky as she fired up the engine, "but, according to
the men in that hardware store, the weather can change pretty fast this
time of year." She pulled the Suburban away from the curb. "We'd better
get to a grocery store and then go back up the road before that storm
blows in."

110

CHAPTER EIGHT

The humble home of Manny Cordova rested in a verdant trough of land
surrounded by towering pine trees and overshadowed by the sheer, high
cliffs at the base of the Sangre de Cristo mountains.

Greg found the narrow turnoff easily. It was exactly as Manny had
described it, a rocky, rutted drive that rose to pastures fanning out
behind weathered corrals, a sloping old barn and a tiny, graying cedar
house.

Greg bumped up the winding drive, taking it at a creep and wondering
what tire traps lurked beneath the dry grasses that brushed against the
high underbelly of the Navigator.

Almost immediately he spotted the Andalusian. A magnificent white
stallion, galloping in graceful circles in the far pasture that rose
behind the old house. Tail and head high, eyes wild, the horse had been
spooked, perhaps, by the sudden appearance of the noisy SUV on the
peaceful premises.

Beyond the stallion's solitary paddock, other calmer, quieter horses
shared a sloping split-rail-fenced pasture high on the mountain.

111

Greg pulled up alongside the old man's dented, rusty pickup and climbed out.

He slammed the door of his Navigator and called out, "Hello!"

No sign of human life.

But at the sound of Greg's voice an elderly-looking mongrel trotted
around the corner of the house and barked a belated warning. The dog
looked like he was part blue heeler and part Border collie and every bit
as elderly as his master.

"Hey, boy." Greg put the back of his hand down for a test sniff, and the
dog slinked forward and obliged. "Where's Manny?"

Greg knew he'd driven up to the right place. There was nothing else that
even resembled a driveway coming off Switchback Road, not for miles. He
studied the house. It looked as if it had been listing gently to the
right, for, oh, the last century or so. A small addition with a sloping
roof was tacked onto one side. In the shelter of an arbor styled out of
shaved aspen beams crossed with grape stakes, an array of clutter-pots
and rusting signs and old tubs and deer antlers and farm
implements-littered a cluster of low battered tables. Old Manny, Greg
decided, as he studied the fascinating jumble, must have the soul of an
artist.

And, of course, there was that horse. How many perfect specimens of
white Andalusian stallions could there be galloping around on this mountain?

The dog followed as Greg crossed the weedy lot

112

and hitched a boot up on the fence, waiting patiently until the stallion
stopped galloping long enough to eyeball him. He summoned the horse with
a soft whistle. The horse gave his head a rebellious toss but trotted
over to Greg, nonetheless.

When the animal got close, Greg dug in his pocket and held his palm
forward with a bit of the trail mix that he had nibbled on during his
trip from Colorado.

The stallion took the bait, eating from Greg's hand as Greg reached over
the fence and patted the horse's forehead.

He heard a noise coming from the vicinity of the barn and turned. The
dog lumbered toward the sound, and presently Manny appeared around the
corner with a floppy straw hat shading a knowing grin. "He is too easy,
you see? Just a big old pet."

Greg smiled as Manny crossed the yard.

"A big old baby," Manny chuckled as he approached the stallion. "That's
what you are, Encantado." He reached up to scratch Encantado's forelock.
"How did you know he would not bite, eh? A stallion cannot be trusted."

"I know horses," Greg said with confidence, because he did. "He's a very
fine animal."

"So did you find your uncle's place yet?"

"No luck yet." Greg hedged while he tried, unsuccessfully, to remember
if he'd called his fake relative an uncle or a cousin.

"I got to thinking." Manny ran a gnarled,

113

Nut-brown hand over the horse's cheek and muzzle with expert ease. "It's
odd, you know, how your onkkulfs-" he said the word with that hint of
Spanish accent people in this vicinity adopted when they were a bit
skeptical of something "-how he asked you to come and look over his
land, but didn't give you directions to his cabin. That's a leetle
extrano- strange-is it not?"

"He didn't know I was coming through Enchantment." Greg wondered if his
nose was actually getting longer from all this lying. "He's in Europe
and I don't know how to contact him." Greg jammed his hands in the back
pockets of his jeans and tried not to look like a liar. "And it's my
cousin's place, not my uncle's."

"I see." Manny's gaze panned the endless sky, which was decidedly grayer
and darker than it had been an hour ago. "The wind is kicking up." He
took a big draught of air. "Smell that air. I think it will definitely
snow tonight. Want to come in and have a cup of coffee? I don't get much
company out here."

"Sure. I need to get some things out of my car first." Greg went to get
the stove and the lariat. When he tapped on the small window set in the
door of Manny's house, Manny signaled him inside.

The interior of Manny's place was as humble as the outside. What Greg
could see from the front door was one long room-kitchen at the far end,
living room at the near, and a short hallway that shot off

114

toward bedrooms. The kitchen was U-shaped with a back door-the screen
was patched with duct tape- next to a rounded old fridge. The counters
were hideously cluttered, still bearing evidence that a delightful woman
had once cooked happily at the old wood-burning stove. At the center of
the narrow space was a little square table with a worn oilcloth clinging
to it and four bentwood chairs pushed up around the sides.

The focal point of the living room was a spanking new TV facing a
sagging rust-colored couch and a threadbare Herculon recliner with a
joystick at the side. Impressive Native American-style paintings of
horses dominated the brown paneled wall above the couch, and a lineup of
graduation, military and wedding photos of Manny's boys, with smaller
photographs of grandchildren stuck haphazardly into the frames, marched
along the opposite wall. Beyond the TV, a picture window framed a
glorious alpine meadow flanked by towering ponderosa pines with the
Sangre de Cristos as a massive backdrop.

"Have a seat." Manny, working at a newish-looking Mr. Coffee on the worn
Formica countertop, beckoned Greg toward the table. Greg put his gifts
on the floor beside one of the chairs and seated himself.

"You have a great place," he said in all sincerity, and Manny took his
meaning well.

"It's peaceful," he said, keeping his back to Greg while he poured water
into the coffeemaker. "So

115

quiet in winter you can hear snowflakes ticking on the shed roof.
There's a stream a ways up back- real good fishing. And at night, you
can see every last one of God's stars."

The aroma of coffee immediately started to fill the small space.

When Manny turned his smile fell. He looked at the box beside Greg's
chair. "Did that old Indian at the hardware store tell you to bring that
thing with you?"

"No, sir. It was my idea. I overheard your conversation and I told Mr.
Elkhorn that I wanted to purchase it for you-as a gift," Greg explained
quickly because Manny's mouth had started to draw down with disapproval.
"I wanted a way to show my appreciation for the time you're taking to
show me around-and a fella has to stay on the good side of the only man
with a prime Andalusian stud for five hundred miles around." Greg
carefully laid the coiled lariat on the table. "I hope you'll accept
this, as well."

Manny's black eyes flicked to the lariat for one instant, then he
shrugged and turned back to the coffeepot. "Okay. But you didn't come
here to give me gifts," he stated. "And you don't got no uncle up here,"
he added as he poured the coffee into two heavy mugs. "And no cousins,
either."

Greg didn't even try to deny it. "How'd you find me out?"

116

"Miguel Eiden is Daniel Elkhorn's grandson. He knows a lot about you."

Greg looked out the window at his isolated surroundings. Of course, the
old man had checked him out before he'd given directions to this place.
"Eiden. Figures. What did he say?"

"He said you were okay. A real successful businessman, and that you
really are a horse rancher."

Greg accepted one of the mugs, suddenly ashamed of himself for lying to
this kindly old man. "It was decent of him to give me his seal of
approval, considering that he, uh, hauled me in for questioning on my
first day in town."

Manny nodded and grinned as he brought his mug to his lips. His eyes
twinkled as he sipped. "I know that, too."

Greg smiled into his mug. This old man appeared humble with his short
stature and his baggy pants hitched up by worn suspenders, but under his
bushy brows, his black eyes were assessing Greg carefully, sharper than
an eagle's.

After Manny sipped his coffee again he touched the horsehair lariat and
said, "Thank you. It's a nice gift. So? The truth is?"

"The truth is I'm looking for a woman."

"A woman? Miguel didn't mention no woman."

"That's good. I think the fewer people that know about her, the better."

"Then why tell me, amigo?"

117

"I have reason to believe she's staying up here in the Coleman cabin."

Manny gave him a suspect frown. "This woman- she running away from you?"

"No. She doesn't know me. Not yet. Not that she'll be exactly happy to
meet me. At one time I thought she might be running from me, until I
found out about the stalker."

"The stalker?" Manny's piercing old eyes grew wide.

"Yeah, some guy's been threatening her back in Denver."

"Why? I mean, who is this woman?"

"She's a television personality. Her show comes out of Denver, but it's
on a nationwide cable network. People everywhere watch her. Apparently
some weirdo started threatening her, threatening to harm her baby."

"She's got a baby with her?"

At the question, Greg felt a great heaviness in the vicinity of his
chest. An ache. For his child. Ashleigh Logan had a baby with her, all
right. And not just any baby. His baby. "She's pregnant."

Manny's brows shot up, then compressed into a frown. ' 'No comprendo.
Why are you looking for a woman who's pregnant? Unless..."

There was a sweetness about Manny Cordova, Greg decided, something
innocent and old-fashioned. But at the same time his keen old eyes
radiated a sharp comprehension of human nature, or

118

maybe of everything in life, with an unflinching wisdom. "Unless...are
you the father?"

"Yes."

Manny scratched his jaw. "But I thought you said she doesn't know you."

"She doesn't."

Manny shook his head, barely concealing his disapproval. "I heard of
this stuff. The one-night stand, they call it. I try not to judge, but
this is not my way, not my family's way." Manny's eyes flitted to a
dusty crucifix nailed above the front door.

"It wasn't like that. We never...we were never together like that. This
was an artificial insemination."

At this, Manny's eyes grew truly huge. "Ay, Chihauhau. I done that a few
times with Encantado's seed. But I never met a real person who done it."

"It was not my choice, believe me."

Manny cocked his head and frowned at Greg. "I don't get it. If it wasn't
your choice, how did she get your...?"

"It's really complicated. Let's just call it a scientific mistake. But I
am absolutely positive this baby is mine and I intend to raise it as
mine, to be a real father."

"I see," Manny said, although he was scratching the back of his head as
if he didn't. "I think. So, how do you plan to find this woman?"

"I have no idea. I've already met with her mother down in town. Thanks
to Officer Eiden."

119

"Miguel's a good boy." Manny aimed his mug at Greg.

"Yeah. I like him. But the mother only seems interested in protecting
her daughter. She doesn't think this is a good time to settle this. And
she's keeping me away from the daughter.''

Manny scratched his head again, then hooked one thumb under his
suspender and the other hand around his mug. "There ain't no good time
for such a thing."

"I agree. So I'm going to have to find her on my own. Somehow. I'd
appreciate it if you'd keep your eyes open. They're driving a red
Suburban. You haven't noticed one traveling up and down the mountain by
any chance?"

Manny shrugged with a palm up, as if to say sorry. "I wouldn't mind
helping you find this woman, but I don't see many people out here. My
horses and old Guapo over there are my only cornpany."

Greg smiled at the old dog that came tottering forward at the sound of
his name. Guapo. Handsome that dog was not.

"I appreciate that, Manny," Greg said as he scratched the old dog's
ears. "Don't worry. One way or another, I'll find her," he vowed
quietly. "Somehow I will find her."

Greg helped Manny move the horses to the barn, and by the time he left
Manny's place, the sky was

120

as dark as slate, and a gray veil of mist had shrouded the mountainside.
Icy pinpricks of rain specked Greg's windshield as he rounded the first
hairpin turn coming down. On the third curve, sudden dizziness assaulted
him again, and a pair of headlights coming toward him intensified the
effect. Suddenly, everything pitched off kilter. Disoriented, Greg
jerked on the wheel and the Navigator slid sideways on the slick road.

Greg fought for control, but it was too late. He felt the heavy vehicle
skidding toward the cliff side of the road, where there was no
guardrail. Greg rammed hard on his brakes, but the Navigator tilted
sickeningly and then hurled over the edge, slamming to a halt against a
pine tree.

In the car that had veered toward Greg, Ashleigh Logan and her mother
both screamed as they watched the vehicle careen into a skid and go
bouncing over the edge. Maureen stopped the Suburban on the road's rocky
shoulder.

"Mother, look!" Ashleigh pointed. "They hit that tree down there. I can
see the headlights in the fog!"

"Oh, my God!" Maureen's first thought was to pray that the people in
that car were all right. "I think I may have crossed the center line!"
Her next thought was of her daughter, then of her grandchild. "Ashleigh,
are you okay?"

"Yes." Ashleigh tugged her seat belt from below

121

the globe of her tummy. "I think everything's okay."

"All right. Stay calm. Think of your baby." Maureen unbuckled her own
seat belt, reached in front of Ashleigh, opened the glove box and pulled
out a flashlight, then opened the car door. Her limbs froze when she
recognized Greg Glazier's Lincoln Navigator.

"Where are you going?" Ashleigh reached across and clutched her mother's
arm. "That's a total stranger. You don't know anything about him!
Remember that we're hiding from a stalker up here!"

"I do know him. I'm afraid that's your bodyguard."

Ashleigh stared down at the vehicle where through the broken passenger
window they both could make out the profile of a young man slumped
forward into the inflated white air bag.

"And he's also someone who needs our help. Here." Maureen handed
Ashleigh the cell phone. "Call 9-1-1. And try to stay calm."

122

CHAPTER NINE

Outside the vehicle, the foggy air felt frigid. Maureen tugged her hood
up against the spitting sleet and felt herself slipping on the fresh
coating of crystals as she descended the steep rocky slope toward the
tilting Navigator-the Navigator that belonged to the man who claimed to
be the father of Ashleigh's baby.

Halfway down the slope, she saw Greg Glazier's head moving in the
shattered window. She could make out a dark trail of blood on his face.
Then the crumpled door of the Navigator scraped open. He stumbled out,
his movements jerky and disoriented. He appeared to be dazed, in danger
of wandering away from the vehicle, down the mountainside, away from her.

"Mr. Glazier!" Maureen called out to stop him. "Wait! We're here! Help
is here." She waved her arms and scrambled down the rough, slippery
slope as fast as she could.

She reached him before he got far. "Mr. Glazier," she wheezed, out of
breath, "wait!"

At the sound of her voice coming near to him, he

123

made a clutching motion toward the door of the vehicle.

She clasped his arm. "Greg?"

"Mrs. McGuinness? Is that you?" His breath came out in halting white puffs.

"Yes. Are you all right?"

"Were you driving the car that was coming at me?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Are you...?" He seemed woozy. "Is Ashleigh with you? Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. But you aren't. Your head is bleeding. Is anything
else hurt?"

"I don't...I'm not sure." Greg touched his temple and swayed. "I
can't...I don't think I can..." He blinked rapidly. "I can't seem to see
anything."

"You can't see? But..." For the flicker of an instant Maureen considered
the bizarre possibility that he could be faking, in order to somehow win
her sympathy, or to insinuate his way, somehow, into the car with
Ashleigh. But that idea was too hideous to even consider. For one thing,
he did not seem like that kind at all, and one look at his eyes, even in
the dim evening light, convinced her that, indeed, he could not see.

"Sit down. Greg-" she came around him "-sit down. Please." She grasped
his shoulders as he started to stagger away from her. It was then that
she noticed that the huge bump on the left side of his temple seemed to
be getting bigger. She realized

124

his head must have shattered the driver's side window.

She guided him to sit on a large rock nearby. His breathing was
unsteady, rapid.

"Let me look at you, please."

When she did, his eyes had the glazed quality of someone looking but not
seeing, and the bump on his forehead was definitely mushrooming into a
nasty-looking purple knot. The cut there was bleeding down the side of
his face, but Maureen knew that head wounds often bled excessively.
Still, it looked like it would need stitches. "Can you see anything?"
She shined the flashlight into his eyes.

"A light. I think," Greg replied.

"Mom!" Maureen jerked at the sound of her daughter's voice up on the
roadside. Ashleigh was sticking her head out of the open window of the
Suburban. "Is he okay?"

"I'm helping him, dear. Now, roll up that window before you get chilled."

"Is that Ashleigh?" Greg's voice sounded rapt, as his sightless eyes
followed the direction of Ashleigh's voice.

"Yes, it is," Maureen said. Turning away from her daughter, she kept her
voice low, "and I hate to have to remind you of this now, when you're
hurt, but she doesn't know the truth about you yet. As far as she knows,
you're just her bodyguard. Now, tell me, can you see me at all?''

"No."

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"Lord. Well, I don't know if that's related to this bump on your head,
but you need to see a doctor right away."

Greg touched his fingers to the wound, exploring, then wincing.

"We must get you some help," Maureen said, taking charge. "It's a pretty
steep incline back up to my Suburban. Can you make it?"

"Yes." Greg stood. "My gun," he said. Your what?"

'My gun. It's in a lockbox under the driver's seat. The key is the
smallest one-" he swayed "-on the key chain. Never mind. Just pull the
whole lockbox out from under the seat and bring it with us."

"You have a gun?" Maureen, revising her assessment about his kind eyes
and his dimples, wondered what manner of man Greg Glazier really was.

"It's legal. I'm a deputy sheriff." He seemed suddenly more lucid. "And
I'm not about to leave a firearm registered to my name in a vehicle on
the side of the road where any idiot can come along and find it."

Maureen found the lockbox. It was a bit heavy and awkward, but she
preferred lugging it up the slope to touching a gun. She got a firm grip
on the handle of the thing with one hand and on Greg Glazier' s arm with
the other, and they struggled up the embankment with Maureen guiding the
big man.

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When they got to the Suburban, Ashleigh leaned around and opened the
back door.

"He can't see," Maureen explained to Ashleigh as she helped Greg into
the back seat.

"Oh, my God. That's terrible." Disembodied, Ashleigh's voice sounded
every bit as warm and rich in the confines of the Suburban as it did on
TV. The smoothness of it slipped over him like a wave of silk. "He's
bleeding! You poor man," she crooned. "Let me help you." He could have
listened to this woman talk forever.

But right then he banged his injured head on the door frame, which hurt
mightily, and it made him feel as awkward as a drugged bear. "Careful!"
Ashleigh Logan cried. Then he felt a pair of delicate, gentle hands
framing his brow, gently pressing a wad of tissue over the cut.

With Ashleigh's touch, Greg felt a strange thrill ripple through his gut.

She moved one hand to his arm and guided him into the seat while with
the other she pressed his shoulder back. Again, the warm pressure of her
hands seemed to have too great an impact on Greg; he reasoned that it
was because he hadn't seen her reaching for him. He jerked. He certainly
didn't expect to feel her fumbling at his hip next.

"Here we go," she said as if she'd found something, and he realized she
was going to fasten his seat belt for him.

What with her girth and his blindness, the task

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proved a bit awkward. Their arms and hands-and a few other parts Greg
was determined to ignore- brushed and bumped in the fumbling effort. She
leaned so close that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek and he
could smell her perfume-light and flowery and clean.

"There," she said when she finally got the seat belt buckled. "I'm so
sorry I didn't come down there to help you, but my doctor doesn't want
me to do anything strenuous." She pressed her hand to his arm again, and
he felt more warmth, more unwelcome stirrings. "It's me, Ashleigh, by
the way," she added. "Here. Keep these tissues pressed to your cut." She
guided his fingers up to the wad. "Sorry."

"It doesn't hurt."

"You did tell me your name was Greg...Glazier?" The silky voice sounded
wary.

"Yes." The father of your baby, he added in his mil With that thought he
again worried about how they were ever going to resolve this thing. How
could two total strangers ever find a way to raise a child together?

Greg heard the driver's side door open.

"What on earth is that?" Ashleigh said.

He heard the clank of his lockbox as Maureen tossed it onto the
floorboard beside him.

"His gun," Maureen said.

"His g-gun?"

"The man is a deputy sheriff," Maureen said,

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slamming the door. "And your bodyguard," she added as if reminding
herself of the lie.

"Of course."

Greg couldn't tell if Ashleigh was looking at him or not, but his
instincts told him she was.

"Mother," she said pointedly while he heard Maureen settling into the
seat and buckling her seat belt. "I called the police." Her voice seemed
a little loud, a little stressed to Greg. "And the 9-1-1 dispatcher said
to call her back as soon as you'd checked on the victim."

Greg heard the engine start.

"They said," Ashleigh continued, "they can have help here in
approximately twenty minutes. She's expecting us to call."

"That's too long," Maureen replied.

Greg heard the crunch of gravel and felt the Suburban bumping up off the
shoulder back onto the road.

"I think we should call back and then wait for the police to arrive,"
Ashleigh argued.

"I don't," Maureen countered. "It's freezing out there, and that bump on
his head is swelling rapidly."

"I know a man who lives right down the road," Greg inserted. He blinked
and tried to focus his eyes again, unsuccessfully, though now he could
make out a bit of dim light on the dash. "We could go there. He's
probably got some ice I could put on my head." As Greg said this Maureen
was already

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executing a bumpy turnabout in the road. "I could lie down for a while
and see if my vision clears."

''Absolutely not," Maureen said decisively. "I think we'd better take
you straight to the hospital."

"We're taking him to the hospital ourselves?" Ashleigh sounded unsure,
as well she should, Greg thought. She shouldn't trust anyone, not if
there was a stalker out there somewhere, looking for her.

Greg heard Maureen give a huge sigh, as if she couldn't quite get her
breath. "Yes, we are. He's your bodyguard, Ashleigh. Your dad sent him
here. Everything is all right."

Greg felt the force of gravity and clutched the door as they rounded a
sharp turn.

"Trust me," Maureen repeated as she accelerated. "Everything will be all
right."

The doctor who happened to be in the emergency room at the Arroyo County
Hospital, a Dr. Ochoa, told Greg he was an obstetrician but that he had
also done some family practice. Greg wondered if he was qualified to
treat a traffic accident victim, but he sounded to Greg as if he knew
his stuff. However, what he had to say was not very reassuring.

"You have a low-grade fever, and your dizziness was because of an
inner-ear infection," he said after carefully examining Greg. "I'm not
too concerned about the cut above your eye-we'll stitch that up. And
your head injury is a simple contusion, but this

130

loss of vision...have you recently had laser corrective surgery, Mr.
Glazier?"

"Yes. About a month ago." Right before I found out about Ashleigh Logan.

"I recently read about accidents like this, where the impact from the
air bag temporarily blinded

someone-"

"Temporarily?" Greg's voice lifted with hope.

"Yes, in most cases. The visual impairment usually clears up after a
week to ten days. Of course, to be on the safe side, I want you to see
an ophthalmologist in Albuquerque right away."

"What happens if I don't go to Albuquerque and just wait to see if it
clears up?" Greg was already thinking that he wasn't about to leave
Enchantment when he'd just now found the woman he'd been looking for all
this time.

"Nothing dangerous. It's just that the sooner you are evaluated-"

"I want to stay in Enchantment," Greg said decisively. "I need to stay
in Enchantment."

Out in the waiting room, Ashleigh had been enduring a tense vigil with
her mother. Truth be told, she'd been tense ever since she'd looked down
that slope and seen the pale-colored Lincoln Navigator. Megan had said
her visitor's name was Greg Glazier. When Ashleigh put the two facts
together, she decided that something about this guy didn't add up. And
something about the way her mother was

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acting didn't add up, either. She cut a glance at her mother's face
again. Normally as unruffled as freshly pressed linen, Maureen's brow
was as furrowed now as Megan's usually was. She was actually nibbling on
a hangnail.

"Mother, what gives?" Ashleigh said.

Maureen startled. "What do you mean?"

"You are acting very weird."

"I'm just worried about that poor young man and this whole stupid
accident. And I'm worried about you. You certainly don't need to be
sitting here like this."

"I checked out fine. Dr. Ochoa reassured me the accident had no effect
on me, or the baby, and I can still be up and about some, so sitting
here for a while isn't going to hurt me."

"You're still on restricted activity, that's what he said," Maureen
argued. "Which does not include sitting in a hard plastic chair for
hours in an emergency room. You should be back there in one of those
beds," Maureen fretted. "Where is that doctor?"

"Please stop worrying." Ashleigh studied her mother. She knew how
Maureen thought. Like Megan, Maureen was a magnet for worry and guilt.
But Megan's way of coping was to fret and Maureen's way was to control.
During Chad's illness Maureen had worried about every bite Chad ate,
every little cough. "The accident was not your fault, if that's what
you're thinking."

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"If only I hadn't had my bright lights on!" "You didn't know they were
on. You're not used

to the rental, at least not in the dark. Mother, listen.

I want to tell you something about this Greg Glazier-''

Dr. Ochoa swooped into the room, lab coat flapping.

"How is he?" Maureen stood, and when Ashleigh did, too, Maureen applied
a gentle push on her shoulder, urging her daughter back down.

"Mother, please." Ashleigh stood her ground. "I'm fine. How is Greg?"
she asked the doctor. She couldn't fathom why this Greg guy had shown up
at Megan's house, looking for her. Holdings in cornmon? But her mother
certainly didn't seem concerned about him.

The doctor was still talking, so she decided to ask her mother about the
whole thing later, when they were alone.

"Mr. Glazier's head injury is only a soft-tissue contusion," the doctor
explained. "The swelling should go down in a few days. But the visual
disturbances are another matter. He has what we call flap folds along
the cornea with a little swelling in both the cornea and retina. It's an
injury caused by blunt trauma from the air bag. They've been reporting
it in medical journals for about a year. Seems it happens in patients
who have recently had surgery to correct their vision."

"Oh, my." Maureen covered her mouth with her

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fingers and Ashleigh squeezed her mother's shoulder in support. "I feel
just horrible about this," Maureen mumbled.

"According to Mr. Glazier you didn't cause the accident, Mrs.
McGuinness. He reported that he felt dizzy right before he lost control
of his vehicle. He's been under the mistaken notion that he was
suffering from altitude sickness. But we ran some tests and discovered
the culprit was a chronic inner-ear infection."

He glanced at Ashleigh's girth and put up a reassuring palm at her
concerned expression. "Nothing contagious. And just to be safe, I ran
some blood tests. He's totally healthy, except for the ear infection
which is probably secondary to allergies. I gave him a fairly strong
antibiotic and in a few days he should be just fine."

"But what about his vision?" Ashleigh asked on behalf of her mother, who
was biting that hangnail again. "He's supposed to be my bodyguard."

The doctor frowned. "I gave him the appropriate medication to reduce the
inflammation. My hope is that with a few days of complete rest his
vision will automatically return to normal. I'll need to see him in a
week to remove the sutures on his forehead. At that time I'll determine
if it's necessary to reposition those corneal folds. If it is, he'll
need to see an eye specialist in Albuquerque. The immediate problem is
he doesn't know anyone here and he needs a place to stay and
rest-someone to watch over him until

134

we see if his vision improves. His condition does not warrant a hospital
admission, but obviously he can't drive, and he'll need help with meals
and so forth. I don't want him ambulating-walking about-too much at first."

"He can stay with us," Maureen injected quickly.

Ashleigh gave her mother an incredulous stare. Had she lost her mind?
"With us?"

"Yes." Maureen kept her eyes on the doctor, as if he was the one who
needed an explanation. "We're... he's from Denver. And I know Greg's
family."

"You do?" Ashleigh looked at her mother in utter disbelief.

"Tell Mr. Glazier we'll take him home with us," Maureen said, plowing
ahead. "We have plenty of room in a big cabin up on Switchback Road. I
feel responsible for him, being our employee and all," Maureen added
quickly. She turned on her stunned daughter with a defensive air. "This
is the least I can do."

"Good," the doctor said before Ashleigh could protest further. "Officer
Eiden is in there asking him a few questions about the accident. I'll
tell Mr. Glazier about your offer as soon as he's finished. His vehicle
has been towed to a repair shop in Taos. I've given him a light sedative
and I'll release him to your care if he agrees to that."

"We'll wait here," Maureen said. She shot Ashleigh a look. "He is not
the stalker, okay? So quit worrying."

135 ***** 135

Ashleigh sat down, stunned. Her mother was bringing a man she'd barely
met home so she could play nurse? And the worst part of it was-Ashleigh
swallowed as she admitted this part to herself. It had been so long
since she'd genuinely felt this way that she wasn't at all certain of
it, and, of course, when one was pregnant, life was one crazy emotion
after another. But the worst part was...she thought she might actually
be attracted to this Greg Glazier.

136

CHAPTER TEN

The light, murky and dim, but light nonetheless, informed Greg that it
was morning. Thank God. It had been a long, dark, dreadful night.
Perhaps he should have taken the doctor up on the suggestion to be
admitted into the hospital for overnight observation. But when the man
had told him that Maureen had offered to take him out to their cabin,
Greg couldn't believe his good fortune.

How could he refuse the opportunity to get close to Ashleigh Logan?

It wasn't until later that night at the darkened cabin, when he realized
he'd need assistance to find his way to the John, that he began to
question his own judgment. He'd practically crawled to the bathroom
instead of using the cowbell Maureen had given him. Then he'd lain awake
most of the night, fighting a drugged haze and wondering what in the
hell he'd done. Worse, he kept wondering what he would do if his sight
didn't return.

But now the faint rays of morning light gave him some hope. His loss of
vision was only going to be temporary, like the doctor said. How long
would that give him to get to know Ashleigh Logan? He tried

137

to look around the room, with little success. It seemed the light was
coming from a long, high bank of windows opposite the hard bed where he
lay. He had the impression the room was large, the carpet dark-blue, or
greenish-with wood paneling running halfway up the walls. The place
smelled musty, shut up, as if no one had slept on these sheets in a
while. He tried to focus on details, to see what the woman had done with
his clothes, but the effort of his inventory caused his head to throb in
a queasy rhythm and he was forced to lie back on the pillows, eyes closed.

He heard steps on the stairs. He had a memory of negotiating turning
steps and a couple of narrow landings. There was a tap on the door.

"Come in," he croaked. It must be the medication that was making him so dry.

"Greg?" It was the mother's voice. "It's Maureen. It's late. I assume
you slept all night. I never heard the cowbell."

"The cowbell?" He pretended not to remember.

"Yes. I put it by your bed. Are you hungry? I can bring you up a tray."

"No." He tried to sit up as he heard the door of the room creak open
farther. He could make out a fuzzy form gliding across the room. "I can
make it downstairs," he added. Where Ashleigh was, he hoped. ' 'No need
to keep running up and down the stairs, Maureen. I know you've already
got a lot on your mind."

138

"Well then, at least let me help you get down to the kitchen. I'm
putting your clothes beside you on the bed. We stopped by that
bed-and-breakfast to get your bag last night. I don't know if you
remember-you were pretty groggy. Let me know when you're dressed."

As quickly as his condition would allow, he pulled on his jeans. Getting
his T-shirt over his swimming head was torture. He should probably stay
in bed, but that wouldn't get him what he wanted-to be with Ashleigh.

"I can just stay on the couch today," he told Maureen as she guided him
down the stairs. "Unless that's where Ashleigh needs to rest."

"There are two large couches in the great room."

The air downstairs smelled of pancakes. A radio or TV was on somewhere.
As they came out of the narrow stairwell, the fuzzy light seemed
painfully bright-dazzling, in fact.

"Did it snow last night?" He blinked.

"Oh! Does that mean his vision is returning?" This was Ashleigh's voice.
That deep, sultry, clear, broadcast-professional's voice that was
already becoming familiar to him.

"It just seems unnaturally bright in here." Where was she?

"There are a lot of windows down here," Maureen explained. "It did snow,
but it's melting fast."

With a little awkward bumping around, Maureen managed to get him seated
at a table. He turned his

139

head toward sounds from a kitchen and made out the blurry lines of a
long structure, like a bar. Beyond it, something moved. Something
feminine and blond and...rounded in the front. Then the figure was gone.

"You have no business cooking," he heard Ashleigh's mother say. "Go sit."

The figure swathed in pink floated into Greg's hazy vision and slid into
place at the table. "It's me," she said. "Ashleigh." Then in a whisper
she added, "We're in the same boat, you know. Both trapped in the care
of Nurse Ratched, I mean, McGuinness."

"I heard that!" came the cheery retort from the kitchen.

Greg leaned forward and caught Ashleigh's scent again. Right now she
exuded the most incredible, delicious, woman-in-her-flannel-robe scent.
"Why are you trapped?'' he asked in a low voice, so that her mother, who
knew the deal, wouldn't get suspicious about what he was doing. And what
was he doing? Feigning ignorance now would get him in a lot of trouble
later when he had to come clean with this woman. But he wanted to hear
that voice again, and he wanted to hear it talking about his baby. But
the next words the voice said were a shock.

"Preterm labor. Oh. I forgot. You can't see me. But of course, you know
I'm pregnant. Out to here."

He saw the shadow of her hand sweep in a graceful arc down her front
while his chest remained

140

crushed in the vice of two words: preterm labor. "You're having preterm
labor?" he croaked out.

"Not really. It was all a big scare. A false alarm. It's just that I'm
way too early to deliver and I started having these fake contractions.
They call them Braxton Hicks contractions, or false labor, but believe
me, a first-time mommy can't tell them from the real McCoy, especially
when that mommy's wound up tighter than a cheap alarm clock. Not that
anybody wouldn't be strung out in my shoes. You're from Denver, right?''

All he had to do was nod and she was off and running again. She sure was
a talker. Well, of course, she was. She was a talk-show host. Maybe that
was a good thing, since he was definitely not feeling chatty himself.

"Maybe you saw something about it on the news. Or maybe my father told
you about it when he hired you. I'm the host of the All About Babies
show." She said this so matter-of-factly that he realized there was no
I'm-a-TV-star egomania going on here. She was merely trying to establish
her identity for him.

"He only told me you have a stalker." Greg didn't know what else to do
besides go along with this fairy tale Maureen had concocted.

"Yeah, well. It all started when I got this baby by artificial
insemination. Big flap. Honestly, people can be so cruel. Anyway, that's
not your problem. The upshot is, the publicity and all, the whole thing

141

upset me to the point that now I have to put up with a home monitor and
all this homebound, resting junk. But it's okay. I'll do anything to
protect my baby."

So would he. Protecting them would be easy now that he was up here, that
is, if he ever got his vision back. But how was he going to handle the
rest of it? And how long should he keep up this charade? What had her
mother already told her? He rubbed his forehead in consternation,
wondering if he should politely inquire about the baby's father now,
wondering if that would be downright cruel when he knew the truth.

"Mom has assured me that we can get along for a few days with half a
bodyguard." She chuckled. "Mom's already altered the authorities in
Enchantment to keep a close watch on anyone suspicious hanging around
the town. Do you feel okay?" she asked kindly.

"My head hurts a little."

"I'm sorry." Her warm palm pressed around his arm and again he felt that
crazy thrill. Incredible. "I should not be talking about my problem when
you're in this condition. You must be so frightened, about your eyes and
everything."

"No. It's okay. Listening to you talk actually helps get my mind
off...this." He passed a hand in the vicinity of his eyes. "I'd like to
hear more about...your pregnancy and everything."

But right then Maureen swooped in and set a plate

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of fragrant breakfast food in front of him. "Here we are," she sang out.

Greg felt the touch of Ashleigh's slender fingers again as she wrapped
his hand around a chilled glass of orange juice. "Can you manage?"

"Yes."

The three of them ate. Ashleigh and her mother kept up a steady stream
of distracting chatter, mostly upbeat cooings about the prognosis of
Greg's eyes, while Greg bent low, feeling his plate with his hands and
staring intently at each painstaking bite of food, trying not to
embarrass himself. Greg felt as if he was probably making a mess,
groping for his juice glass and missing his mouth with a forkful of
pancakes.

"Now," Maureen pronounced when the meal was done, "I'm going to put each
of you on one of those opposing couches near the fireplace and you are
going to rest. I have laundry and dishes to do."

"Oh, goody goody," Ashleigh said. "More rest! Come, Greg, and I'll show
you how to rest! I'm an absolute expert at it."

She touched him again, taking his arm, and Greg let himself be led to a
low couch that felt of cool leather. He could see the orangish glare of
flames in a fireplace, but he preferred instead to fix his watery gaze
on the pink mound that came around right in front of his face as she
lowered him to the couch. It looked huge, and all he could think was
that his child was in there.

143

"There you go," she said, then crossed the space between the two
couches. She sat down and put her feet up on the opposite couch. She
settled back, a pink blimp with blond hair at one end and red house
slippers sticking up at the other.

"I take it you're sick of resting." Greg kept his voice low, because
Maureen was banging around in the kitchen.

"That's all my mother says all day long, rest, rest, rest." "Is that
because of your pregnancy?" Greg marveled at his ability to introduce
the topic every time they turned around.

"Yes. Because of that episode of preterm labor or whatever it was. But
like I told you, now they've decided they were Braxton Hicks contractions."

Hearing it repeated, Greg felt somewhat reassured. He'd never even
thought about the possibility that she might lose the baby. There seemed
to be something new to worry about every minute with this woman.

She sighed. "Anyway, my doctor says I shouldn't even be having those
yet. It's so hard to tell anything for sure at this stage. So I have to
rest a lot. I'll be so glad when I get a little further along."

"But your baby's okay?" His heart drummed with the import of his question.

4 'Oh, yes. I heard the heartbeat again yesterday at the clinic. It was
wonderful."

Greg imagined it was. How he yearned to hear

144

that heartbeat for himself. "How far along are you?" He knew, exactly.

' 'Twenty-eight weeks.''

"Have you had an ultrasound?" He hoped he wasn't getting too personal,
but someday, Ashleigh Logan would understand the meaning of his
questions. Someday. "I mean, people usually know what they're having. Is
it a boy? Or a girl?" Either would be fine with Greg; he just wanted to
know. His heart hammered while he pretended to lie still, waiting to
hear if there would be a son or a daughter in his future.

"When I had my ultrasound, the little dickens crossed its legs, so we
couldn't see-" he heard an abashed smile in her voice "-anything."

"Oh." Disappointment muted his voice.

"Hey, enough about me and this baby." Now her voice carried a forced
cheerfulness.

Undoubtedly she was mistaking the reason for his quietness. Undoubtedly
she thought he was a big bore.

"Tell me about yourself," she urged. "Let's see." The pink blimp shifted
to its side. "I already know what you do for a living, deputy slash
bodyguard. Mother filled me in on your background some. Said you also
have a ranch. So, um...how old are you?" She raised her arms and he
could tell she was running her fingers through her long golden hair, a
gesture of the very bored.. .and the very feminine.

145

He wanted to see her face, up close, to study her features, to try to
imagine the baby she was making inside of her. "I'm thirty-four," he said.

"Oh. I'm thirty-five. So. Tell me about horse ranching. Is it fun?"

Talking about the horses wouldn't normally be a chore-ranching was
Greg's great love. But with this woman, he wanted to discuss only one
burning topic. He heard Maureen starting up the dishwasher in the
kitchen. He had to find out if she had told Ashleigh anything, and soon.
He wasn't going to let Maureen McGuinness control the situation forever.
But for now, he reminded himself that as far as Ashleigh was concerned,
they were just two strangers in the getting-acquainted stage. So Greg
forced himself to make small talk.

While Greg Glazier told her a little bit about life on his ranch,
Ashleigh eyed the long, lanky, undeniably good-looking man stretched out
on the couch parallel to hers. Life was so unfair.

Now, when she'd made her fateful decision, now, when she was, in fact,
over six months into that fateful decision, now at long last, here was a
man she was genuinely attracted to. A man who was, in fact, her physical
ideal.

She loved his face, his voice, his hair, the shape of his handsome head.
Lord, it made her heart pound with gladness just to look at him. She
squelched the

146

guilty thought. Was all this excitement good for the baby?

Oh, life was unfair, all right. Now, when all she wanted to do was focus
on her baby, now, when she should be resting as calmly as a cow instead
of getting all excited and infatuated, now, she finally meets the man
that she was sure she would never, ever meet. Not in a million years. A
man who could pull her out of the past and into the future and help her
put the loss of Chad into healthy perspective.

Greg Glazier. Oh! If only she'd never heard his deep voice. Watched his
powerful movements. Seen the straight line of his wide mouth, his firm
jaw with that enticing morning stubble. Because this thing could never
work out.

But there was no help for it. Now that she was lying on a matching couch
not six feet away from him, she could hardly take her eyes off the man.
She was glad he couldn't see the way her gaze constantly trailed back to
his reclining form, as if drawn by some huge magnet.

He fell silent and shifted on his couch. She found herself absolutely
gawking as he moved. His legs were long, lean, very muscled. He had a
cleanness, a solidity, about him that was incredibly appealing. He was
wearing only jeans and a white T-shirt this morning, so that she could
clearly see the proportions of his body. Everything bulged and dipped in
all the right places. His chest was broad, curved with muscles. And as
he lay on his back, his abdomen

147

looked incredibly hard and flat. She cut a glance at her own
bowling-ball front.

Oh well Back to Greg Glazier.

She had no idea what he'd just said.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

His hands and arms were especially beautiful, especially masculine. Not
overly hairy, they were veined, sculpted and tanned-she presumed from
all of the outdoor work on that ranch of his. He had long fingers with
blunt, clean nails and thick pads of muscle supporting strong thumbs.
All of it was just right.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Gramps is gone now." His deep-set gray eyes
were aimed in the vicinity of the fireplace, as if he was lost in
thought. She realized he'd been talking about his grandfather, and she
wished she'd been paying better attention because "Gramps" was someone
he had obviously loved a great deal.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the cushions, and her gaze
fixed for one instant on his magnificent neck. He repositioned his arms
over his chest and she could imagine, with no effort at all, being held
in those arms. He stretched and let out a deep sigh that was almost a
groan. The sound of it did funny things to her insides. She could have
sworn the baby stretched at the same time Greg did.

"Are you okay?" she said.

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His head jerked up, turned in her direction. "Fine." ". "Still thinking
about your grandfather?"

"Yeah. But I try not to dwell on the fact that he's gone."

"How long has he been dead?"

"Six months."

"And you were pretty close?"

"Very. Gramps kind of raised me. My mother left my father when I was
young. He never remarried. I think he was too cantankerous for any woman
to stand him for long. All my dad did was work. He was a sheriff. Then
my old man got killed in the line of duty when I was barely out of my
teens. That was hard on both me and Gramps. Gramps and I have kind of
stuck together ever since."

"Your father was killed in the line of duty?"

4 'In a high-speed chase running down some cattle thieves. They're in
prison now."

"Oh, my. I am so sorry."

"It was all a long time ago. Except for losing Gramps. That's been
recent and...hard to accept."

"Yes, I expect it is..." Her voice trailed off.

"Are you okay?" He suddenly seemed more concerned about her welfare than
his own sad history, which touched Ashleigh. She was a stranger to him,
after all.

"Me? I'm fine. Just a little bored."

"You've got a pretty active life in Denver, with a TV show and all."

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"I love my work. Well, I did. It got a little crazy right before I left."

"What will you do when the baby is born?"

Ashleigh thought it was a little odd that he didn't want to know why her
work got a little crazy. Instead he wanted to talk about her life after
she had the baby. "You mean about work?"

"Yes. Will you stay home and take care of the baby?" An odd question
also, she thought. Most men didn't get too wound up with such topics,
unless it was some weirdo like that Simon creep. She studied Greg
Glazier. Perhaps he was just trying to get his mind off his own troubles.

"Well, the actual taping only takes a couple of hours a day. I'm going
to convert a corner of my dressing room at the station into a nursery
and I'll hire a nanny to come to the studio with me. The rest of my day
usually consists of research for the interviews. I can do my preparation
at home, while I take care of the baby."

Greg Glazier was frowning, as if in his mind he were really weighing her
plan, which was none of his business. Honestly. Why were people such
busy-bodies when it came to single motherhood? It bugged her that
everybody felt free to express an opinion about the welfare of her baby.
And, handsome or not, she suddenly remembered that something about this
man bothered her in other ways. What was he doing here? And why was her
mother acting so weird? Last night, when Ashleigh had con-

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fronted her mother again about taking in a stranger like this, her
mother had become as defensive as an old badger.

"He is not a stranger," Maureen had practically shouted, then she
lowered her voice to a whisper. "I told you, I know his family. And
besides, it's in our best interest to take good care of him."

When Ashleigh asked her to explain that line of reasoning, Maureen had
made a transparent dodge- "Omigosh, his medicine"-and ran up the stairs
where he was staying.

Something about her mother's behavior was so odd that Ashleigh held off
on telling her that Greg Glazier was the man who had shown up at Megan's
house with some story about "holdings in cornmon." Ashleigh wondered if
this guy didn't have something to do with her father. Something...fishy.
A risk-taker of the first stripe, Ashleigh's hard-charging father had
been peripherally involved in some pretty wild, quasi-political
money-making schemes. She eyed Greg Glazier again. He didn't look like
the shady type, but something about him sure didn't add up. Years of
doing television interviews had taught Ashleigh how to read people loud
and clear. This guy was hiding something. And she would get to the
bottom of it, or her name wasn't Ashleigh Logan.

"It won't be easy," she went on, "raising a baby alone. But I have lots
of friends and family for support."

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"Sounds like you've got it all worked out," he said. "That's good. Right
now, I imagine it's really hard, having to lie around like this all day."

"Well, I imagine it's really hard not being able to see."

He sighed. "I'm trying not to think about that."

"I could turn on the TV," she offered, "and you could at least listen to
the news or something."

"That'd be nice."

"CNN okay?"

"Sure."

She picked up the remote and found the channel. He turned his eyes in
the direction of the flickering big screen located next to the fireplace.

The first thing she'd noticed about him, in the dim light on the
roadside last night, were his eyes. She supposed that was because of her
mother's shocking announcement that he had been blinded. She had looked
right at his gray eyes and felt a jolt that had nothing do with learning
of his injury. Because Greg Glazier's eyes were incredible-intelligent,
thoughtful. And kind.

She looked at those eyes now, fiercely hoping that the blindness was
only temporary. Wouldn't it be awful if they could never look into each
other's eyes, if he could never see her? She wondered where such
thoughts of the future were coming from. But Ashleigh Logan had been
through enough in life to know not to question it when fate did finally
smile on her. For so long she'd wanted to feel the desire

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for love, connection, intimacy, and now here it was, here he was. Now,
when she shouldn't be having these feelings. Life really was so unfair.

The second thing she'd noticed, as she'd buckled his seat belt after the
accident, was that he was not wearing a wedding band. And her mother had
confirmed it last night-Greg Glazier was not married. Although Maureen
said she couldn't recall if he was widowed or divorced or what.

"Why don't you just ask him?" Maureen had said, knowing that her
daughter wasn't the least bit shy about asking questions.

From her side of the entertainment pit, Ashleigh shot his profile a wry
grin. She wondered what he would think of her if he could see her now.
Well, she certainly made a fetching little sight these days. Unstyled
hair that had grown out too long, baggy old pink robe cinched over a
T-shirt left over from the days when she'd done a charity run about once
a month, and a pair of fat super size black exercise pants. Thick gray
ski socks and old red slippers. She glanced at her ankles-so swollen-and
then to top off the critical self-inventory, she gingerly palpated the
massive zit that had bloomed on her chin. She was even wearing her big
black-framed glasses to complete the homely picture. Well, he couldn't
see her right now, thank goodness. Horrified at her own
self-centeredness and vanity in the face of his blindness, she bit her
lip and flapped her hand once as if to rebuke herself. There were more
serious things to

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think about here than hair and clothes and how very fat and bloated one
was. She glanced at Greg Glazier again and sighed. Poor, poor man.

He crossed his graceful bare feet at the ankles, causing her to stare.
Even his feet seemed perfect! Oh, this was bad, what she was feeling.
Very bad. She hardly knew this man, but the minute he'd ducked his dark
head into the Suburban, she'd realized that here was a man she could
really fall for. Which was a perfectly stupid thought. How could one
know something like that in an instant? The very idea was insane! But
the idea was there-that's the way she already felt, and there was no use
kidding herself about it.

Maybe it was a good thing she had the baby to consider so she wouldn't
actually act on these crazy feelings. But she hadn't felt this way about
a man- not once-in the five years since Chad had died. Another wave of
giddiness rippled through her, followed by a crushing letdown of guilt.

What about Chad? Here she was, pregnant with Chad's baby, in absolutely
no position to fall in love, and she was actually thinking about it. Oh,
life was really, really unfair. Because here he was at long last, right
in front of her. Greg Glazier. A man she could actually fall in love with.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Greg could feel Ashleigh Logan sizing him up. He tried to look at her
and thought his vision might be clearing a little more. He could make
out the outline of her mounded tummy more sharply against the dark
leather of the couch. Draped in pint Again, he wondered if the baby was
a boy or a girl.

He wanted to grope his way past the small table that separated them and
press his hands over her belly and keep them there until he felt his
baby kick. He wanted to press his ear Xo Ashleigh Logan's swollen
abdomen, listening for any faint sound from within, anything that might
be his baby, moving, growing, alive.

Today, it looked like she had thick, black-framed glasses dominating her
face, and a riot of blond hair. As a fuzzy profile, Ashleigh Logan
looked vulnerable, like a messy little girl. The idea of some creep
threatening to hurt her made him want to punch something.

"Your mom and I were talking earlier-" it was not a lie, though it had
been quite a bit earlier "-and she said you don't know anything about this

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stalker except that he called in to your show a couple of times."

The air in the room became still. Ashleigh muted the TV. From somewhere
nearby in the house came the sound of Maureen humming as she did
household chores.

Slowly, Ashleigh turned her head in his direction. Something about her
pose made him regret what he'd said. He could imagine Ashleigh's fears,
and that by mentioning the stalker, he'd just fanned them. He wished he
could just come clean and tell her who he really was, but he had to talk
to her mother first, find out what Ashleigh knew, what kind of mental
state she was in.

Finally she said, "Yeah. The cops think he's a fan of the show." She
said it very flatly, as if suppressing anger over the whole situation.
Then her tone became incongruously light, defiant. "That's when you know
you're really getting famous. When a fan becomes a stalker."

Unprepared for her flippant attitude, he gave her a confused frown.

"Look," she said, her tone softening. "For my baby's sake, I'm trying my
best not to freak out here. I'm trying to stay calm, you know? I'm
trying to trust that the police can take care of the problem. Even
though about ninety percent of the time the stalker wins. I'm sure that
as a deputy you're well aware of that."

"It'll be okay," he said. It sounded inadequate,

156

but he couldn't say what he was really thinking, that he'd die before
he'd let this creep get anywhere near Ashleigh and his baby.

"It's just hard, lying around all day with too much time to worry about
this stuff."

"I can imagine." He tried to look at her again, squinting, with poor
results. He could make out that she had folded her arms across her belly
in a protective pose. He had to admire her guts. Most people would
buckle under the strain of Ashleigh Logan's situation, but what he'd
seen of her basic disposition seemed as solid as the mountains outside
the window, as tranquil as the New Mexico sky. He tried to see her
better, and when he couldn't, he rubbed his eyes.

"Didn't the doctor tell you not to do that?"

"Uh. Yeah. Thanks for reminding me."

He lay his head back on the throw pillows and let his fuzzy gaze drift
up to the ceiling. "That's good-that you're letting the police handle
things. Could he possibly be someone you know? An old boyfriend? The
baby's father or something?" He knew who the baby's father was, even if
she didn't. It was weak, but it was an opening to discuss what was
really on his mind.

From across the space came a cynical-sounding little "Humph."

4 'Did I say something wrong?''

"I don't have an old boyfriend."

"But you're single, right?" Why was he doing

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this? His duplicity was only going to make her hate him more intensely
later on.

"I'm single and haven't had a relationship in years." She was extremely
candid, he'd give her that.

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, who is this baby's father?" He
turned his head on the pillow and wished to hell he could read her
facial expression clearly. He wanted to see her reaction to this topic,
wanted to test the limits of her candor. But there came another long,
disturbing silence from her side of the room.

Finally she said, "This is my late husband's baby." Now her hands
appeared to be stacked on top of her abdomen in a protective gesture.

"Oh. Your late husband. I'm so sorry." What else could he say? He was
beginning to feel like a creep, pretending ignorance this way. Then he
saw a way to press on. He arranged his face in the confused frown again.
"I don't understand."

"Don't you watch the news?" She sounded a little irate now. "The story
was all over the place."

"I guess I missed it. What story?"

"The story of how I used my long-dead husband's banked sperm to get
myself artificially inseminated with this baby. That story."

Greg hoped he was doing a good job of looking properly astonished. He
wasn't much of an actor, but he assumed that was the effect she wanted
from that blunt tone of hers.

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"I see," he said.

"Do you?" Now her tone became sarcastic. "Well, that's just amazing,
because hardly anybody else does. They all think I'm nuts."

"I don't. I can see why you'd want to have some part of your husband
with you, through his child. And I understand how hard it is to let go
of someone. I'm widowed myself."

"You are?" Her voice softened with awe and she pushed her awkward girth
up straighter on her couch.

"Yes. Three years ago."

"Chad's been gone five years." Her voice conveyed a newfound compassion,
a connection. "How did your wife die?''

"Renal failure. Kendra was getting dialysis and was on the transplant
list, but they couldn't find a match in time. It was actually a massive
stroke that killed her." He worried about telling a pregnant woman such
upsetting facts, but Ashleigh Logan seemed strong enough to handle
anything that was thrown at her. She'd survived a similar ordeal with
her own husband, hadn't she?

"How incredibly sad. Did the two of you have any kids?"

"No. She couldn't have children. Her kidneys had always been bad, so bad
that a pregnancy would have killed her."

"Oh, my." Her voice became softer. "And then she died, anyway. I'm so
sorry."

159

"How did your husband die?" His private detective had already told him
all of the details, exact dates and everything, so that he could
credibly confront the owners of the sperm bank. But it would seem
insensitive if he didn't ask her.

"He had cancer."

"I see."

Her pose was still alert, with her head craned forward from the couch
cushions, as if she was really interested in him now. "I've never met
anyone as young as I am who is also widowed."

"Oh, I have." Greg rolled his eyes. Had the doctor told him not to do
that, too? His grogginess and his head injury seemed to be making it
hard to think clearly.

"Doesn't sound like it was a great experience."

"It was at a singles group at a big church in downtown Denver. I let
some friends talk me into going to one of the dances. A Halloween thing.
Adults in ridiculous costumes doing the chicken dance in a big circle."

"It wasn't fun?"

"No. Hell no. The whole event reeked of desperation."

"Ouch."

"I was twice as depressed after that so-called party. That one drove me
right back to the ranch."

"I know what you mean. I tried dating for a few months myself, mostly to
get my mother and my sister off my back. It was a charming parade. One

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guy wanted to show me his scars-the emotional variety. One told me the
price of practically everything he owned before the salad had even
arrived. One, I think, was an ax murderer."

Greg chuckled. He liked this woman. A lot. She had enough class not to
complain that every one of the men had also tried to get in her pants,
but Greg had seen her once or twice on TV-before the pregnancy. He
imagined that sort of thing was a given in her life.

"Since then, I've sort of distracted myself with my work."

"I can understand that," he said, smiling. "And I really do understand
why you're having this baby. I think it's your right to have a baby any
way you please, and to have anyone's baby you please." He wished he
hadn't added that last part, since she was eventually going to find out
that she wasn't having a baby with whomever she pleased. She was having
a baby with someone she didn't even know.

"I wish to hell this stalker agreed with you."

"Is that why he's stalking you? Because your baby comes from a sperm bank?"

"My baby comes from Chad." Her resonant broadcaster's voice took on a
determined edge that told Greg she was not about to relinquish that
cherished notion easily. "But yeah, this guy is some kind of deranged
fanatic who thinks any interference with the natural process-whatever
that means-is an abomination. He's clearly unbalanced. He has

161

made it clear in a series of creepy messages that he thinks my pregnancy
should be terminated...or that I should be terminated, if necessary."

Greg couldn't stay in a supine position during this kind of talk. He
bolted up, curling his shoulders forward, like a panther wanting to
strike. "Somebody needs to terminate him," he muttered, and felt every
one of his muscles tighten.

"Watching a little TV, are we?" Maureen said as she came bustling into
the room. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Mr. Glazier. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay."

"It's time for your pills-the ones to reduce the swelling." She took his
hand and pressed two tiny tablets into his palm. Then she handed him a
glass of water.

"Thank you."

"How's your headache?"

"Better, I think." Actually it was throbbing, but he'd already taken all
the pain medicine he wanted to. Any more, and he was afraid he'd go to
sleep and miss his opportunity to talk to Ashleigh.

"Ashleigh, can I get you anything, dear?"

"No thanks, Mom."

Maureen started puttering around in the great room, stacking magazines,
fluffing pillows. Greg could sense Ashleigh's impatience and tension
over her mother's presence. It was as if Ashleigh wanted to continue to
talk to Greg alone. Her next words confirmed that hunch.

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"Let's go out on the deck," Ashleigh said. "There are a couple of chaise
lounges out there. What do you think, Greg?"

"Sure." He would go anywhere she took his baby.

"Do you think that's wise, Ashleigh? It's a little chilly out there.
Maybe you should just rest on the couch."

"Mom, the doctor said I am fine. I can be up and about now."

"Within the house." Maureen's tone was condescending.

"I'm supposed to ambulate a little bit, so that when the midwife comes
to see me the day after tomorrow, she can assess how I tolerated it."

Greg had to smile. Ashleigh was a bright woman, and obviously sick of
the role of patient.

"The sunshine and fresh air will do me good." Ashleigh pushed herself
up. "We'll take some blankets."

Greg could make out the bright patterns of a couple of Navajo blankets
as Ashleigh grabbed them off a nearby chair.

She tucked them under her arm and crossed the room to him. She reached
down and took his hand. "I'll help you get settled out there," she offered.

He took her hand and stood up and let himself be led, all the while
enjoying the feel of her warm skin and thinking, This is the mother of
my baby.

Out on the deck, they settled onto the chaise

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lounges with the Indian blankets wrapped around them. It was not as
windy as it had been the night before, but there was enough of a breeze
to make the aspens seem alive as the sunshine twinkled off the branches
framing the second-story deck. Thick stands of the glistening yellow
trees trailed up the mountainside, their color mingling with the deep
green pines. Beyond the nearer view, three peaks rose high, facing the
morning sun. During the chilly night, they had taken on a fresh cap of snow.

"Baldy, Wheeler and Touch Me Not." Greg pointed out each summit without
thinking that he didn't want her to think his sight was clearing up too
fast. He wanted to buy a little time near the mother of his child.

"I only knew of Wheeler." Ashleigh's voice held a note of heightened
curiosity. "You can see them?"

Greg didn't want to tell her he'd been up here before, and he certainly
didn't want to tell her why. Again, he wondered how much her mother had
told her.

"Well, I can see the outlines, yes." He squinted into the distance. * 'I
think a bit of my vision is returning."

"Maybe this Southwest sunshine is too harsh for your eyes." She
struggled to push her rounded girth up off the chaise. "I've got some
sunglasses."

"No." Greg reached across the small space between the lounges and
grabbed her wrist. "I'm fine.

164

I like it out here. The aspens provide plenty of screening." He motioned
at the tops of the trees fluttering at the perimeter of the high deck,
framing it with moving golden color.

"Okay." There was a skeptical tilt to her head and he felt definite
tension in her arm. A pulling away. He thought he felt her pulse racing
as he dropped her wrist.

6 'What are you doing in New Mexico, exactly?'' She adopted a casual
tone. "I mean, I'm aware that you don't know anyone in town. Mother says
that's why she wanted to help you. And she still thinks she was partly
responsible for your accident. It's amazing that she knows your family
in Denver. Isn't it a small world?"

"Yeah. Small." The lying was getting to Greg, and he longed to tell
Ashleigh the real reason why he was here, but he wanted the timing to be
right. Once he dropped his bomb, there would be no turning back. It
would be better if she could get to know him first.

Ashleigh watched Greg Glazier, trying to keep her face neutral. She
feared that even with his bad vision, he might sense the penetrating
quality of her gaze. Something about this deal had her red flags
flapping in the wind. What family in Denver, exactly, were they supposed
to be talking about? He'd just told her his whole family was dead.
Somebody-this man, her mother, or both-was lying,

165

and she would get to the bottom of it. She could be disarming, she knew.
After all, it was her frank, non-judmental manner that encouraged her
guests to talk about such personal matters as birth and sex on her TV show.

She eyed the man next to her again. She figured he could barely make out
the hot yellow of the fluttering aspen trees beyond the deck and nothing
smaller than a mountain in the distance, but he was leaning forward as
if studying the view.

"Do you see a white stallion anywhere on that old farm in the canyon
below us?" Greg suddenly asked her.

She allowed this diversion and pushed her girth forward, bracing on the
arms of her chaise. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. He's right out
there." She pointed.

"That's a rare horse. A purebred Andalusian. I went there to check him
out. Eventually I hope to get the owner to sell me samples from the
stallion."

"Samples?"

"For breeding."

"Oh." That word, from this man, made her feel strangely warm. "Is that
where you were coming from when you had the wreck? That farm?"

"Yes. I'd just seen the horse for the first time. He's a fine specimen."

"I see." She tried to keep her voice from sounding skeptical, but what
was her bodyguard doing out horse shopping?

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She tried to sort out whether her urge to spend more time with this man
was about her attraction to him or finding out the truth But it was no
good. The man was a complete enigma to her. A very handsome, very
intriguing enigma, who, she was certain, was keeping something from her.
Something important.

"What were you doing at my sister's house?"

Before he could answer, the patio door to the deck rolled open, "Time
for your antibiotic, Greg!" Maureen sang out.

She swept up to Greg with the pill and a glass of water, seemingly
oblivious of the tense current running between the couple.

"Thank you," Greg said, and took the pill.

Ashleigh was unable to read his facial expression. She had no idea what
he could be thinking.

Her mother certainly was acting strange, as if this man was some kind of
adopted son or something. She was actually smiling at him.

"Greg, if you want to be first in the shower, I'll help you get to the
upstairs bathroom. The one drawback at this cabin is that the water gets
cold rather quick. The hot water heater is totally inadequate. We'll
have to space out our showers."

"Uh. Sure. I understand. I'll go first." Greg threw off the Indian
blanket and pushed to his feet.

From her chaise Ashleigh watched in pensive silence while Greg took her
mother's arm and was led away into the house.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

When they got upstairs, Greg said, "Maureen, what, exactly, have you
told your daughter about me? I mean, besides the bodyguard bit."

The woman had actually led him into the bathroom. He heard her turning
on the shower.

"Nothing." Her tone was crisp, decisive. "And that's the way it's going
to stay. My daughter's condition, both physical and emotional, is
fragile. I will not have you upsetting her with some story about
mixed-up sperm."

"She has to know the truth sometime."

"Not yet, she doesn't. If Ashleigh can make it to thirty-seven weeks'
gestation, she can have a home delivery with a midwife. I'm sure you can
see why that would be a safer alternative as long as this stalker is on
the loose. So until she reaches thirty-seven weeks I won't have anything
upsetting her."

"She was asking me questions out there." Greg jabbed a thumb toward the
deck area one story below the bathroom window.

"Then maybe you shouldn't be alone with her again. Look," Maureen
continued, "give her some

168

time to at least get used to you. I told her that I know your family.
That's enough for now."

"Well, maybe not." Greg tried to lean a palm against the counter and
missed. It was pretty difficult to try to play this game on his terms
when he needed assistance in the bathroom. "Maybe if we're going to keep
up this little charade, I should tell you something about myself."

"The water's hot now. You'd better get to it while it lasts. Here's a
towel. I'll put it right here on the counter."

"I don't have parents."

Her face, blurry-looking because of his vision, came around to confront
him. He could make out the white towel clutched to her front. ' 'What do
you mean, you don't have parents?"

"My father's dead. My mother hit the road practically the minute I was
born."

"I'm...I'm so sorry. I had no idea. But you have some sort of family,
don't you? Someone I might plausibly know in Denver?"

"Not really. My grandfather passed on a while back. That makes me the
last of the Glaziers. Me and-" he jerked his head in the direction of
the deck "-Junior out there."

"I didn't realize..." Maureen breathed, clutching the bath towel to her
chest.

"I told you. This baby is the only person I have left in this world."

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For Ashleigh, the ensuing days took on a surreal quality. It was as if
they were a little pretend family, all together on fall break in a
remote mountain cabin-enjoying hearty breakfasts together, taking turns
at showers, lounging by the fire. But all the while the secrets simmered
below the surface, ready to erupt at any moment.

A couple of times Ashleigh had started to ask Greg about the visit to
her sister's and she noticed that her mother was always
Johnny-on-the-spot to change the subject.

Maureen seemed determined to involve Greg in charming conversations
about his business success, his horses, his lovely life in Denver and
out at the ranch. Ashleigh got the feeling her mom was doing some kind
of hard sell, trying to convince Ashleigh that Greg was a good guy.

But Ashleigh didn't need convincing. She sensed Greg was a man she could
trust-it was obvious that her mother did, judging from a conversation
Ashleigh overheard.

"Let's see what the midwife says about her condition first," Maureen had
whispered while she changed the dressing over Greg's stitches. "Let's
get her past this danger zone of her pregnancy."

Her pregnancy. Ashleigh released a quiet sigh at those words. She would
try to corral her growing fascination with Greg and focus on her baby-
Chad's baby.

170

On the third day, Katherine Collins, the midwife from The Birth Place,
showed up for her scheduled home visit.

The plan, Greg had gathered, was for Ashleigh to deliver in the secluded
cabin, away from the prying media and the threat of the stalker. To
qualify for a home delivery, Ashleigh had to reach thirty-seven weeks'
gestation, and for a while that possibility had been in question, so she
had continued under the

supervision of Dr. Ochoa.

¦

When Greg heard the midwife's Jeep start up the cabin's rocky drive, he
claimed he needed to lie down and disappeared behind the closed door of
his upstairs room. He waited a few minutes, then quietly crept out to
the landing that overlooked the great room and stood behind the wall.
From there he could hear what the midwife had to say about the
well-being of his baby.

"Everything looks good," the midwife said cheerily. "Let's listen to the
little one's heartbeat with the Doppler, then, shall we?"

Greg's chest tightened in anticipation and he leaned toward the corner,
listening intently. A hollow rushing sound, like static on an untuned
radio, filled the expectant silence of the great room. Then it became a
faint, rapid kawoosh, kawoosh, and Greg knew, without a doubt, what he
was hearing.

His own heart seemed to change its beat in answer to the little one's.
Tears stung his blurred eyes as,

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for the first time, he listened to his child's heartbeat. Little baby,
he thought, your daddy's up here, and he loves you. He loves you very much.

A magnetic force pulled at him as he tilted his head around the corner.
If one of the women looked up and saw him there, sneaking about on that
walkway, he would have some fast explaining to do. But his eyes were
drawn to Ashleigh's orb of an abdomen, exposed where the midwife had
drawn her dark sweatpants down and her top up. Although his vision had
almost completely returned in the last few days, the scene was still a
bit hazy to Greg. But he knew one thing. There, just below Ashleigh's
luminous, tautly stretched golden skin, lay his child. A living person.
His son or his daughter. The name of the nearby town came to Greg again,
as he remembered his thoughts when he'd arrived here, looking for this
very thing. Enchantment.

His eyes traveled slowly over Ashleigh's gravid form. He was fascinated,
looking at her. Her face appeared to be stretched in a smile, with her
chin tucked down, as she, too, seemed to be fixated on the place where
the midwife held the Doppler and the sound came rapidly, steadily:
kawoosh, kawoosh, kawoosh. As he stood there with his back pressed to
the wall, the precious heartbeat of their baby filled Greg's heart and
mind as nothing in his life ever had. Hypnotizing him. He smiled. He was
enchanted, all right.

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After hearing the babvs heartbeat, everything changed for Greg. He had
thought himself determined before, but now his purpose became laser
sharp. This child was his. And he knew he would never rest until he held
his child in his arms. And he was going to do everything in his power to
protect that child and its mother, whether Ashleigh was aware of it or
not. He asked to use the phone in the Coleman cabin and cleared the
decks of his business dealings until after December 19, the baby's due date.

A week later, Maureen and Ashleigh took Greg to Dr. Woodgrove, the local
G.P., to get his stitches removed and have his vision checked. While the
two women sat out in the waiting room, the doctor told Greg the good
news-his vision was almost normal.

"I can't keep up the lie," he told Maureen when they got back to the
cabin. "If I stay up here like this, I'll end up telling your daughter
the truth sooner or later."

Maureen had actually acted disappointed when Greg asked to borrow her
Suburban so he could pay a visit to Manny Cordova.

I'd like to make a deal with you," he said, corning straight to the
point after the old man invited him inside. "I'll help you do some
fixing up around this place in exchange for room and board."

"You found her, didn't you?" Manny's voice was kind, not accusing. "The
young woman who is pregnant?" Manny had not seen Greg since his accident.

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"Yes."

"Miguel told me and Elkhorn about your accident, and that you've been
staying up there in that cabin."

"I see."

"What is she like?"

"She's...she's a very pretty girl, in a pregnant sort of way." Greg
smiled. "And she's fun. Very bright. Talks a lot."

"What does she think of you?"

"I have no idea."

"So. You want to stay here with me now. Why? So you can be close to her?"

"I figure it can't hurt. They're still waiting on a part for my
Navigator down in Taos. She thinks I've been hired as her bodyguard. If
I'm this close, I can at least keep an eye on that cabin."

Manny nodded. "Ah. The stalker. Miguel told me and Elkhorn about that,
too. We keep our eyes open for trouble whenever Miguel tells us these
things." Manny's eyes softened as if he were taking pity on Greg. ' 'I
can see why you worry about her. I guess you could stay in the boys' old
room. It ain't the Ritz or anything."

"I don't care."

"No. I expect you don't."

The boys' old room was a bare, functional dormitory with a linoleum
floor, high, narrow windows without curtains, a bare light bulb in the
middle of the low acoustic-tile ceiling. Four twin beds were

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still crammed against the walls-"Take your pick," Manny said. That very
afternoon, Manny followed Greg back to the cabin in his rusty old pickup
and they moved Greg's things down to the farm.

As Greg looked out the clouded rear window of the truck, thinking of his
child, thinking of Ashleigh, he felt as if he was leaving his family. He
craned his neck and looked up at the towering gables of the Coleman
cabin, and there, on the high deck, stood Ashleigh, her rounded belly
clearly visible as the wind whipped her flowing white lawn dress against
her form. She looked like a princess, trapped in a tower, watching her
true love bumping away down the rocky drive in an old pickup. Greg knew
the idea that she cared for him was a fantasy, as this whole odyssey had
been. He wasn't her true love, but he sure as hell wanted to be.

Manny and Greg spent their days working outdoors, which was exactly what
Greg wanted to do. Being out in the brisk mountain air, free of the
dizziness and malaise of his inner-ear infection, Greg felt his real
strength returning. And with it, his resolve. He wasn't going to let the
mother of his child sit up there in that cabin alone and scared. Even if
Ashleigh didn't realize it yet, she needed him. He would find a way to
fix this. Greg was good at fixing things.

And Manny thought that was just great. Together, they worked hard,
sharing their mutual love of

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horses, the outdoors and the endless, rhythmic work of a small ranchero.
Greg liked repairing things, tackling the stuff held together by Manny's
all-purpose duct tape first.

Their days were long, their meals were simple, and their sleep was
sound. Each morning Greg awoke to the smell of wood smoke and bacon
frying. And each night, as he went to sleep looking at the moon floating
over the pines, his last thoughts were always of Ashleigh, high on the
mountain, sleeping beneath that same moon.

The days passed and Greg watched Ashleigh's pregnancy progress. During
this time, he tried to find ways to perform the kindnesses that would
show Ashleigh he cared, beyond being her bodyguard. He knew it was a
risk, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He took her interesting
books to read and CDs to listen to. Whenever he went to town, he brought
back little treats for her-muffins, scented candles, a stained-glass
bobble for her window. He hung a bird feeder on the deck outside the
master suite and filled it with winter seed. He gave them Manny's phone
number and told Ashleigh and Maureen to call if they needed anything.
Anytime. For any reason.

Every day, he walked the perimeter of the property, just checking. Then
if anything needed fixing at the cabin-from the plugged-up garbage
disposal to a broken window lock-he was there to do it.

When he wasn't up at the Coleman cabin, he was

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working with Manny. Manny had his rituals, and Greg tried to be
respectful of his host's lifestyle and go along with them.

One ritual was to attend mass every Wednesday at noon, as well as on
Sunday. Though not especially religious, Greg went along with his elder
friend and sat in the back pew of the tiny, old Holy Cross Church in
Enchantment. The quiet time soothed him, cleared his mind, let him make
his plans. Greg's mind and spirit had not felt so focused in all the
years since Kendra had died. Manny's companionship, his humble and
sincere devotion, touched Greg in ways that he couldn't explain.

On the third Wednesday of Greg's stay, Manny had agreed to take Greg
down to Taos to pick up the Navigator, which was supposed to be repaired.

But it wasn't.

"Your part still didn't come," the man at the Ford dealership explained.

"Well-" Manny shrugged "-so that the trip won't be totally wasted, how
about we run into the Ranchos de Taos church." Manny smiled. "They have
a nice little mass at noon."

"Fine." If Manny wanted to stop and go to mass, Greg wasn't going to
argue with the simple man who had taken him in and made this tortured
time of waiting more bearable. Greg had heard of the venerable St.
Francis of Assisi Church. The place was as serene as the paintings
portrayed it, essentially unchanged in two hundred years.

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Halfway through the mass, Greg grew strangely restless.

The old church, with its thick adobe walls and fortress like mission
feeling, had a peaceful quality, but Greg couldn't shake a sense of unease.

Today, the small space was peopled by uniformed schoolchildren up front
and a smattering of old-timers like Manny. The atmosphere grew quiet as
communion began. Greg had sat patiently in the back with his head down
and his elbows propped on wide-spread knees, just thinking, about
Ashleigh mostly, when something made him look up as the singing started.

With the gut instincts he'd acquired as a deputy strumming, Greg
surveyed the front of the church. The line of worshipers inched forward
as the priest doled out hosts. Everything looked normal.

On one side of the altar, a statue of the Madonna and infant Jesus stood
frozen in a timeless pose of serenity. Greg stared at it, thinking,
trying to figure out where this strange sense of warning was coming
from. Manny was coming around to the side aisle by then, his gnarled
hands folded in front of his chest, his gray head bowed. Greg watched
him for a moment before his eyes were drawn back up to the statue.

Suddenly, he remembered the story of Mary, having to hide from evil men
to save her baby. She couldn't have done it without Joseph. Greg's eyes
traveled to the statue at the other side of the altar,

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the one of the strong carpenter who had protected Mary and the baby.
Joseph, he thought, must have experienced the same sense of frustration
he felt. Facing an unseen enemy who wanted to hurt his baby. The life of
a child had been in his hands. Suddenly, a spinning sense of foreboding
washed over Greg.

He was overcome with the feeling that he shouldn't be down here in Taos,
so far from Ashleigh and the baby.

Manny was sidling into his pew. He knelt stiffly, just as Greg took
three long strides up the side aisle. An old woman frowned at Greg as he
pressed against the adobe wall and let her pass.

"Let's go," he whispered, bending down toward Manny's bowed head.

Manny didn't hesitate. Quickly he made the sign of the cross, grabbed
his hat off the pew and followed Greg out.

"What is wrong, amigo?" he said when they got outside the doors of the
church.

Greg whipped out his cell phone. "Good. I've got a signal." He punched
the cabin number.

"Ashleigh? Hi. It's Greg. Everything okay up there?"

"Yes." Her throaty voice sounded tinny with the distance, but she
sounded relaxed and happy, though a bit surprised. "Everything's fine.
We're just having a good old boring day."

"Oh." Greg did not know what he had expected

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to hear. The sense of warning inside the church had been so strong. "I
just wanted to check. You're sure you're all right? Feeling all right, I
mean."

"I'm great. Katherine came up for a home visit. Everything checked out
great. She brought me some tapes and childbirth books and baby catalogs
from the clinic. At last I have a reason to get up in the morning."
Ashleigh's voice was joking, happy. "You'd be amazed at the baby stuff
you can order from catalogs these days. All delivered straight to your
door. I was just getting ready to place an or-"

"Don't have it sent straight to your door," Greg interrupted with sudden
insight. "You don't want delivery trucks coming up to the cabin. Someone
could spot one, put two and two together."

"Oh. Right. I hadn't thought of that."

"Give them directions to Manny's place. When I get the stuff, I'll bring
it up to you. Okay?"

"Okay."

He loved that idea-taking her pretty baby things that would cheer her up.

"Would you like a visitor later today?" He'd gotten in the habit of
having a cup of herbal tea with Ashleigh after he made his rounds. "I'm
down in Taos with Manny, but we should be back in about an hour. We
tried to pick up my Navigator, but it wasn't ready."

"That's ridiculous. They've had the thing almost three weeks."

"They're having trouble with one part. They

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should have called me. Miscommunication, I guess." Greg would have been
perturbed about such a screw-up two months ago. Now it seemed like such
a small thing.

"I guess."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"lam fine."

The long drive up to the mountains over the high desert plateau, with
the Rio Grande Gorge winding continuously on their left, allowed Greg
time to think, to settle down.

"I don't know what got into me back at the church," he apologized over
the whine of the old truck engine. "I guess I just don't feel
comfortable being away from Ashleigh for long."

"It's okay, amigo. That church-it's a funny place. The Spirit whispers
there sometimes, you know?"

Greg shook his head. Manny the mystic.

"And you got to do what you got to do."

Halfway to Enchantment, it started to snow.

"Ah," Manny sighed with satisfaction as fat flakes hit the windshield.
"Here comes the first big snow of the season. I thought I could smell it
coming. This one'll stay on the ground for sure."

The hushed quality of the snow drifting down and sticking to the
blackish-green junipers and the reddish rocks on the canyon walls seemed
to invite contemplation. Greg gazed off in the distance, catching

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glimpses of silver water rippling in the deep gorge below.

They rode along in silence for a very long while, enjoying the beauty.

"How long has your wife been dead?" Greg asked suddenly. He'd been
thinking that his over-reaction back in the church had something to do
with his own demons, with his old feeling that, somehow, he had failed
Kendra.

"Oh, many, many years."

"You still miss her?"

"Yes, of course. Do you still miss your wife?"

"Sometimes. For a long time, I didn't think I'd ever love anyone again."

Manny's sharp old eyes assessed him, then returned to the gently winding
highway. "Love is a funny thing, eh? We all want it. We all need it. But
none of us can make it happen. Love is the magic between two people, and
one person alone can't make it happen. But when it happens, it just
happens, and there is nothing we can do to change it."

"I suppose." Greg smiled at Manny' profile. The old man drove hunched
over, both hands gripping the wheel, steering the rickety truck as
intently as a stock-car-race driver. Manny the romantic. Greg had grown
very fond of his new friend's simple ways, his artist's heart and his
oh-so-true bromides. "Anyway, I definitely think it's happening to me."

"Ah." Manny's walnut of a face crinkled into a

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knowing little grin. "I think I seen that one corning."

"Oh? It's that obvious, huh?"

"Amigo, a man in love, he's like a bull elk, sniffing the wind." Manny
chuckled, enjoying his metaphor. "It's the way you look up at that cabin
when you stop to catch your breath while we're working. The way you run
up to that cabin at the drop of a hat. The way you say her name."

Greg released a forlorn sigh.

"What's wrong, amigo?"

"I just wish I knew she felt the same about me. She sure as hell isn't
gonna feel great about me when I tell her the truth about the baby. The
longer I delay, the worse it's going to be, but her mother keeps
insisting that if Ashleigh hears the truth, it will upset her so much
that it will jeopardize the pregnancy. She wants me to wait until
Ashleigh's far enough along that if she goes into labor, the baby can be
born safely at the cabin."

"When is that, amigo?"

"Not until after Thanksgiving."

"Whew." Manny gave a little whistle. "That's a long time to be keeping a
secret that's going to change everybody's lives."

Greg sighed again, staring out at the endless landscape of snow-dusted
buttes and canyons. "I came here thinking that's all I wanted-to make
sure my child was born safely and to forge some kind of relationship
with him. But now..."

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"Now you have fallen in love with the child's mother."

"Yeah. It's a real mess."

"Oh, now. Not such a mess. That's the way it's supposed to be. La madre,
el padre, el bebe." Manny ticked off three fingers. "A family is a
family, however it gets made. Besides, life's usually messy, one way or
another. That's the fun of it, eh? You got the mess. I got the mess.
It's how we clean up the mess that counts."

Greg folded his arms across his broad chest, convinced that his
particular mess would never work out. "Am I nuts? Falling in love with a
pregnant woman?"

"'Course not." Manny's compassionate gaze swept over Greg's dejected
posture. "When my Rosa was pregnant, that's when I loved her the most.
And pregnancy is a great time to get a woman to fall in love with you.
The way I see it-" Manny scratched his chin "-a woman, she needs
attention, and lots of patience, all of the time, but especially when
she's pregnant. It's not unlike training a horse, amigo. You got to give
them plenty of rope, plenty of sugar, plenty of gentling with the hands."

"Gentling with the hands?" Greg cut Manny one of those insider-guy
grins. "I haven't gotten close enough to use the hands yet."

"Some are more skittish than others," Manny said, grinning back. "Just
like the horses."

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" Skittish, huh? I guess this particular woman has got her reasons,"
Greg allowed, "for being skittish."

Ashleigh's reasons became frighteningly real two days later. She was
brushing her luxurious hair, staring absentmindedly out of the windows
of the master suite, when she thought she saw something move in the
trees. With the brush still suspended above her head, she stood
stock-still. And there it was again. The movement had not been from her
reflection! She stifled a cry and hurried to the bedside lamp, switching
it off. She tried to control her panicked breathing as she stared toward
the dark woods outside the windows with wide eyes.

A shadow in the trees shifted. Her stalker had found her.

"Mom!" she cried as she snatched up the cowbell off the bedside table,
clanging it as if house was on fire.

When Manny's old wall phone jangled, Greg was out working by the light
of the moisture-ringed full moon with Manny. They were putting up snow
breaks along the fence in anticipation of another huge snowfall,
predicted by morning. By the third ring, Greg had dashed to the house
and snatched up the phone. He stretched the cord to the window and
looked in the direction of the Coleman cabin. "Yes?"

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Manny came in the back door and stared up at the cabin with him, listening.

"Greg." It was Ashleigh, and the fear in her voice made his chest tight.
"Can you come up here? There is something or someone outside my window.
We called Miguel, but he's nine miles away on a domestic violence call.
The other officers are all tied up as well."

'Til be right there."

Manny went, too. He took a rifle. Greg took his gun.

"Keep your safety on," Manny advised while they drove up. "We got a lot
of teenagers running around in these mountains, especially when the moon
is full. Sometimes they take this road up north to an abandoned mining
town."

"Let's hope it is just kids," Greg said.

"If it is I'm going to scare the pee out of the little dickens and teach
them a lesson about trespassing. I've half a mind to make them think I'm
the ghost."

"The ghost?"

"A teenage boy fell down the mine shaft a long time ago. Must be thirty
years now. The kids say he haunts the mountains when the moon is full."

"If a bunch of kids have been harassing Ashleigh, I'll do more than
scare their little asses."

They parked down on the road, killed the headlights and approached the
cabin in the dark, climbing the rocky, sloping lot on foot.

Greg halted in the pines, putting a hand up to

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signal Manny, coming up behind him. The two men stood as still as
statues in the dark mist. A few minutes passed in silence, and then,
they spotted him. A deer emerged from the trees, a huge buck wagging an
impressive set of antlers. The deer halted and gave them a bold, hostile
stare and then slipped off into the woods.

"That old buck," Manny said as he came up beside Greg. "I seen him
around this mountain before. Tricky fella. No hunter can get him. Antler
clacking don't even fool him."

"Would he venture that close to the cabin?" Greg asked.

"Oh, sure. He's not afraid of anything. I expect that old devil would do
whatever he wanted."

Convinced they had discovered Ashleigh's prowler, Greg and Manny circled
the perimeter of the cabin again, anyway, sweeping the surrounding area
with their high-powered flashlights.

Ashleigh came out to the railing of the lower deck and called out to
Greg. "Do you see anything?" She was wearing a plaid flannel nightgown
and had thrown a pale shawl over her shoulders. Her blond hair shone in
the moonlight.

"Get back inside," Greg commanded.

The men finished their search, finding plenty of deer tracks in the
trees, but no human footprints. They decided to go inside to calm the
frightened women.

They cut through the trees, and just as Manny was

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pushing a large pine limb out of the way, Maureen slammed a door on the
upper balcony. Manny jumped and the limb whacked backward at Greg,
knocking him off his feet.

"Amigo!" Manny cried.

"I'm fine." Greg immediately got up and fingered the clean rip that the
limb had left in the leather sleeve of his jacket. "Just got a hole in
my jacket." But where the limb had scraped his recently healed forehead,
it was starting to sting. He touched it and felt a wet stickiness.

"Amigo, I am so sorry," Manny said. "Hey. Your head-it is bleeding."

"Oh, dear!" Maureen called out. She had apparently rushed to the rail
when she heard the commotion. "Come inside and let me check you." She
disappeared from the balcony.

When he got inside, Greg saw Ashleigh, standing beyond the foyer. Her
long hair tumbled over her shoulders and her eyes were locked on him
with an expression of gratitude. She was irresistibly feminine. His eyes
traveled to her front, as always. He wondered if she noticed how he was
always looking there. He took two steps toward her. "Are you okay?"

"I saw a shadow move," Ashleigh said. "Right outside my window."

"Apparently it was only a deer." Greg led her to the great room and sat
down beside her at the table, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, then

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gently over her shoulders. He couldn't help himself. If Manny and
Maureen hadn't been looking on he would have crushed the woman against
his chest. This stalker ought to be shot. Damn the creep to hell. Who
would frighten a pregnant woman this way?

"You're bleeding," Ashleigh said.

"I startled him and he ran into a limb." Maureen came up beside her,
looking at Greg's bloody temple with concern. "I'll get the first aid kit."

The mere movement of stripping off his jacket hurt like hell. That limb
must have been bigger than he thought.

Maureen came in and put the first aid kit on the table. "I feel awful.
What was I thinking, slamming that door like that when you men were out
there looking for a prowler?"

"No. It was my fault." Manny took off his hat and sat down on the bench
opposite her.

"It wasn't anybody's fault," Greg said.

Maureen bit her lip.

"I'll take care of him, Mother." Ashleigh stepped around in front of
Greg and bent forward, examining. "You'll have to take your shirt off,
too. It looks like your shoulder's been cut."

Greg sat there, stripped to the waist, facing Ashleigh's magnificent
belly again, smelling her wondrous in-a-nightgown-at-midnight smell,
while she dabbed antiseptic on his flesh wounds.

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"Oh, sorry," she cried and Greg realized he was clenching his jaw.

"It doesn't hurt that much," he said.

"Then relax. I'm almost done."

He couldn't relax. Not when her full body, only inches from his face,
begged to be touched. He turned his head to the side, craning his neck
away, trying to lessen the impact of her presence, when out of the
corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement in her abdomen! "God!"
he cried and snapped his head back, staring.

"What?" Ashleigh stopped with a cotton ball in midair. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." He looked up into her face, then straight at her belly again.

"Then what's the matter?"

"It...the baby." He swallowed. "It just moved." Involuntarily his
fingers came up, poised over the area where he'd seen it.

"Yes," she chuckled, every bit the serene Madonna. "There's a baby in
there, and from time to time, the little creature moves."

"No." Greg frowned at her. "I mean it really moved. It looks huge! How
can you stand that?"

"It's not painful." She smiled. "Would you like to feel it?"

Ashleigh didn't know why she said that. Something about their pose
already seemed so full of trust, so tender and close. So intimate.

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Suddenly, she felt painfully aware of the other two people in the room.
She glanced at her mother.

"Will you help me put on some hot chocolate?" Maureen said to Manny.

The old man looked puzzled, but he followed Maureen into the kitchen.

"Do you want to feel it?" Ashleigh repeated. Again, she couldn't imagine
why she was trusting him like this. But something in his eyes looked
almost... hungry. There was no other word for it. Hungry to feel this baby.

"Yes," he croaked.

"Go ahead." She held her hands aloft, one holding a gauze dressing and
one holding a tube of antibiotic ointment, giving him a moment of
trusting access to her front.

Greg looked up into her eyes, then gingerly, reverently, he framed his
palms on her. They felt surprisingly warm through the flannel fabric and
suddenly the whole moment felt slightly forbidden. Ashleigh was suddenly
aware that she was in her nightie, albeit a matronly one, standing right
in front of this man, with her abdomen practically pressed against his
face. And him with no shirt on, his muscles flexing with apparent restraint.

With his hands on her, they waited for the baby to do something.
Ashleigh felt strangely solemn, looking into Greg's eyes.

"Oh, God," Greg breathed as her baby's tiny body flexed. "It moved!" he
exclaimed in disbelief,

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in awe. Beneath his gentle hands, the baby rolled, powerfully, like a
young animal, testing its muscles, testing its bounds.

Ashleigh looked down into his eyes. "Yes." Beneath the muscles of his
chest, she could actually see Greg's heart pounding.

Some seconds ticked by while Greg kept his hands where they were and his
eyes locked with hers. She was certain something unspoken passed between
them as Greg pressed his hands more firmly into her flesh, scrunching
the gown up ever so lightly. Her arms came down and she rested the butts
of her full hands on the thick muscles that tapered from his neck to his
back. She leaned into him with her mouth slightly open. Their breath
mingled for one instant and then abruptly, they turned away from each other.

In the same instant he dropped his hands, balling them into fists on his
knees.

What the heck was that? Ashleigh thought. There was some undercurrent
here that she didn't understand. She cleared her throat.

"Would anyone like some hot cocoa?" Maureen said a little too loudly as
she and Manny came back into the room.

"No," Greg said. "I think we'd better go."

Quickly Ashleigh finished applying the dressing. She wondered if Greg
could feel her fingers trembling.

Not in a million years would she have ever

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guessed she could have these feelings again. And while she was pregnant!
She wished she'd never let him touch her like that.

But it was too late. Now Greg Glazier had looked in her eyes and seen it
plainly. Desire. Pure, undiluted, burning desire. For him.

Maureen and Ashleigh stood at the front door of the cabin and watched as
Greg and Manny faded into the darkness, walking down the rocky drive
toward the road.

Greg turned and looked back once.

Ashleigh closed the door and avoided her mother's face. When Greg
Glazier had looked into her eyes with his hands on her like that, she'd
felt...well, she wasn't real sure what she'd felt, but it was the
strangest, strongest feeling she'd had in a long, long time. It went way
beyond mere physical attraction or infatuation. A pregnant woman had no
business feeling this way about any man other than the father of her
baby. She simply had to get a grip on herself.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A few days later, Manny's old wall phone jangled loud enough to wake the
dead. Greg dived into the back door and snatched it up, breathless, for
the millionth time cursing the fact that cell phones did not work in
most parts of these mountains and that Manny was too frugal and too
old-fashioned to own a portable unit. "Yes?"

"Greg, it's Ashleigh. Come up here quick." "What's happened?" He gripped
the phone. Before he went charging up the mountain, he had to know how
to prepare. "Tell me!"

"It's my father, he's had a massive heart attack." Thankfully, Greg had
retrieved his vehicle from Taos the day before. When he got to the
cabin, Ashleigh answered the door, noticeably shaken. "We just got off
the phone again," she told him, leading the way to the great room. In
there, Maureen sat perched on the edge of one of the leather couches,
obviously in a state of shock, dabbing a tissue at her eyes.

"It's bad," Ashleigh told Greg. "Daddy's in the

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ICU at the Mile High Medical Center. He's going to have to have open
heart surgery right away.

"My sister Megan is with him." Ashleigh looked like she'd been crying,
too. "We're waiting to hear when the surgery will happen."

Greg reached out to run a reassuring hand up and down her arm and was
relieved when she allowed it. Her skin was soft as silk but felt
chilled. "Let's sit down," he said, wanting to enfold Ashleigh in his
arms and warm her.

Greg spent some time reassuring the women as best he could, not sure
what he was called upon to do here. This was something he couldn't fix.
But he did know one thing. It was no good for Ashleigh to be upset like
this. All he could do for now was listen, and be grateful that Ashleigh
had thought of him in her time of need.

Ashleigh told Greg that her father had never had heart trouble before,
but he had led a stressful lifestyle. He smoked and he drank too much
alcohol, but he was getting the best of medical care.

"I told mother she has to go to him immediately," Ashleigh explained.
"That I'll be fine here. He's her first priority now."

"How can I leave you here alone!" Maureen protested. "Unless..." She
looked up at Greg over her soggy tissue. "Ashleigh, could you get me
something for this headache, please?"

Ashleigh got up and started for the kitchen. "I

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need the Tylenol, dear. Upstairs in my overnight bag."

As soon as Ashleigh ascended the stairs, Maureen turned to Greg.

' 'Greg, I must get to my husband as soon as possible."

"I agree. How can I help?"

"I have an idea. Ashleigh already thinks you've been hired to watch over
her. Why don't you come up here and stay in the cabin with her?"

"I don't know, Maureen. Do you think she'd go for that?"

"I think she trusts you. She's certainly had enough time to observe you
from a distance. I even caught her up on the balcony, watching you with
binoculars the other day."

"Watching me?"

"You were out working the fence line with Manny. She seemed very intent
on your every movement."

A strange electrifying thrill shot through Greg at the idea of Ashleigh
covertly observing him with the binoculars.

"Listen to me." Maureen seemed to sense that she no longer had his full
attention. "I would feel so much better with someone right here in the
cabin, not just down the road." She gave him a pleading look. "You've
got that gun-and it will come in handy now. You understand that I must
go to my husband."

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Greg nodded.

"If we both present this to Ashleigh, she'll accept the idea."

Maureen fretted for a moment, wringing the tissue. ' 'We can say Marvin
wanted you to come into town undercover at first because he didn't trust
the local cops, but you've checked them out and we have their full
cooperation. Oh, I don't know. It's not like Marvin will contradict what
we say, anyway. After all he's-" She broke off and pressed the tissue to
her mouth.

Greg felt sorry for her, but even so, he couldn't help giving his head
an incredulous shake. "We're making this too complicated, don't you
think? Why don't we just tell Ashleigh the truth now?"

"Now? When's she's already so upset about her father?"

"Maureen, I don't know how long I can keep up this charade."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Do you want to help her or not?"

Of course he wanted to. He'd do anything that put him in closer
proximity to Ashleigh. And she did need him now-more than ever.

"If you do it my way, I can go to my husband immediately, without
waiting until I find someone to take care of Ashleigh. And we won't have
to come right out and tell her the awful truth about the baby. We can
hold off until she gets past thirty-seven weeks."

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"The awful truth?" Greg made a face. Here he had thought Maureen was
starting to like him.

"You know what I mean. The shocking truth. Promise me you won't tell her
yet. She's too fragile. She's had too many setbacks. Now there's this
horrible news about her father-" Maureen pressed the tissue to her mouth
again.

"I won't tell her," Greg promised. He couldn't make himself the cause of
any more of Maureen's grief.

"Good." She sniffed. "Then I'll tell her that you've agreed to stay here
and watch out for her and that Marvin will give you a big bonus for your
trouble later. You can stay in that upstairs bedroom where you stayed
before." Maureen looked sideways, distracted, as if she were trying to
think of everything at once. "Thank God you have an all-terrain vehicle.
And a gun. Lord. Who knows how long I'll need to be with Marvin. I
better start making my plane reservations now. Can you come and stay
tonight, if necessary?"

Greg listened while Maureen rattled on, but when the real implications
of her proposal began to sink in, he interrupted. "Stay the night? You
want me to stay right here in the cabin, alone with her? Tonight?"

"Why, of course. She needs help, and protection. She's still not
supposed to be on her feet too much. She can't do the laundry and the
cooking and the grocery shopping. Besides, she would be terribly

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frightened up here in this big isolated cabin all by herself, even for
one night. Ashleigh is a city girl."

"Can't you hire a lady or something? Someone from the clinic, perhaps?
One of the midwives, maybe?"

"Greg, I would think you'd jump at this chance. The more she knows about
you, the easier it will be for Ashleigh to accept the truth later on.
Besides, as I said, she trusts you. I know my daughter."

Greg was trying to picture this scenario-the two of them alone up
here-and the images in his mind made him swallow hard. "You honestly
think she'll agree to this?"

"Ashleigh's father does controlling things like this all the time. He's
always hiring people to get things done for me-it's a way of making up
for his constant absences. It's a habit that infuriates Ashleigh. You'll
have to be convincing, though, and keep acting like a bodyguard. But you
can do it. I trust you, Greg." She patted his arm, the way a mother
would encourage a favored son. "I trust you to keep Ashleigh safe.
That's because I know what this baby means to you."

Greg nodded, turning his thoughts from Ashleigh, and thinking about his
child. Surely he could stay up here with Ashleigh and ignore how
attractive she was, if it meant keeping his baby safe. At least he could
do it until the baby came.

"Mother."

They jumped at the sound of Ashleigh's voice.

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She had come out and was looking down at them from the upstairs walkway.
"I'm sorry. I can't find your Tylenol."

"It's okay, dear." Maureen kept her poise. "I'm coming up there."

She turned to Greg and said under her breath, "Are we in agreement, then?"

He gave a tight nod.

Maureen went upstairs to pack her things and tell Ashleigh their newest lie.

Simon Fischer congratulated himself on his excellent detective work.
Sometimes all one had to do was read the papers with an eagle eye. Every
day Simon checked the Denver Post online at the library. He used the
same key words every day: Logan, Ashleigh; McGuinness, Marvin; All About
Babies.

So. Ashleigh Logan's big-shot father had had a heart attack. Avidly,
Simon read the entire article, top to bottom. It was apparently a slow
news day because the reporter had dug for facts to fill every column
inch. Which was good for Simon. He could practically smell something
buried in this piece. Something useful. And here was something: Marvin
McGuinness's daughter, Megan, was the only person permitted to see the
Denver entrepreneur at the hospital. He kept on reading. The daughter
refused to comment to the press on her father's condition. His wife,
Maureen, an anonymous nurse was quoted

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as saying, was expected to fly in from Santa Fe, New Mexico, later that
night.

Would Ashleigh be left alone in Enchantment? That would be almost too
good to be true.

Greg returned to the cabin later that day with his things. Maureen had
already taken off in the rental Suburban to catch a small connecting
plane in Santa Fe.

Ashleigh greeted him at the door of the cabin. With a big smile, she
said, "This should be interesting. Where is your gun?"

"Right here." Greg rattled the lockbox.

Maureen had been right about one thing. It was going to be up to Greg to
put on a good act.

Greg put his things back in the room he'd occupied when he'd been
blinded. He stood out on the walkway, satisfied that he could see the
door to the master suite from up there. And then the two of them settled
in for a strange afternoon.

"Well, here we are," Ashleigh chirped as she sat and put her feet up on
one of the leather couches.

"Yeah. Here we are." Greg noticed that she'd dressed in real clothes for
once. A pair of skinny little black leggings and tiny black flats
revealed feet that were still delicate and legs that were still pixie
trim. Her big red fleece maternity sweater looked new...and it dipped to
a subtle vee over her womanly cleavage. Her glasses were gone. She'd
washed her hair and blown it out to flow over her shoulders,

201

straight and shiny. She was wearing makeup, which she could apparently
apply like an expert. Part of her TV-personality package, he supposed.

The gussying up made him tense. He liked her better in her ratty pink
robe and faded red house slippers. At least then he wasn't reminded of
how incredibly beautiful she was, pregnant or not.

"I hope this setup doesn't make you uncomfortable," he said sincerely,
because the situation sure as hell made him uncomfortable.

"I'm all right. Apparently, my father trusts you."

"I'll try to respect your privacy."

"No problem. You're in your part of the house. I'm in mine."

Another beat passed and Greg let his eyes travel around the room as if
he'd never been here before. He'd never noticed what an exotic, sensual
setting this was. The massive fireplace sat cold today. And it would
stay that way, he decided.

"So." Ashleigh's voice startled him. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No. I'm supposed to take care of you, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She looked him up and down. "The bodyguard.''

Greg was certain her smoky voice had carried an underlying note that
said, / don't believe it for a minute. He wished to hell they could just
have it out, right now. Get the cards on the table. But then he had a
vision of Ashleigh running, hysterical and

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crying, to the master suite. Slamming the door. Sobbing her heart out.
Going into premature labor. Delivering a damaged baby...

He snatched up the remote. "Let's see what's on." He focused his eyes on
the big screen.

"Yes. Let's."

They watched TV. They ate soup and sandwiches. And after dark, they
admired the reflection of the outside lights on the newly fallen snow.
Greg stood at the high windows with her, four feet away, with his hands
jammed in his pockets.

Somehow, they made it through the first day without touching. That
evening, she spent a lot of time on the phone with her mother and
sister, getting updates on her father's condition.

Greg felt conflicted about the fact that Ashleigh absolutely refused to
let him assist her with any personal tasks. It made it easier on his
libido, but as the days went by, he worried that he wasn't doing enough
to help her. What if she needed him in the night? What if she slipped in
the shower or something? A dozen times a day, he'd have a pulse-pounding
false alarm, thinking he'd heard the damned cowbell.

Before the first week was out, the tension erupted into a silly argument
about her going up and down the short flight of stairs to the long
mudroom where the washer and dryer were. He was washing the breakfast
dishes and, out of the corner of his eye,

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saw her floating by with the empty laundry basket propped against her side.

"Where do you think you're going?" "To the mudroom to get my underwear'
"Your underwear? I didn't put in a load of underwear." Greg had been
congratulating himself for at least keeping up with the laundry pretty
well since he'd arrived, or so he thought. Now, he realized he hadn't
seen any of her underwear among the clothes. "I know you didn't. I did.
I don't want you washing my underwear."

"And I don't want you going up and down those stairs."

"Oh, for crying out loud! It's six little steps." "Ashleigh. I'm
supposed to take care of you." They had been going round and round like
this for days. Greg felt as if he was walking a tightrope between
keeping this willful woman safe, and keeping his raging hormones tamped
down. It didn't help that every time he tried to do something for her,
Ashleigh treated him like an overbearing barbarian. "My father hired you
to pack a gun and patrol the grounds," Ashleigh said in her typically
blunt way, "not to wash and dry my anti-man panties." Greg had to grin.
"Your anti-man panties?" Ashleigh blushed at her verbal slip, but her
attitude was cheeky. "Yeah, that's what my sister and I call them.
They're anti-man, all right." She bit her lip and tossed her ponytail
like a tough girl. "Maternity panties are the best birth control on
earth, it's

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just that, unfortunately for some women, they're a few months too late.
I sure don't want some man looking at them."

Greg laughed out loud. Ashleigh was such a case. "What if I promise not
to look at them? What if I just scoop them out of the dryer and throw
them in the basket and scurry up the stairs with my eyes closed?"

"What? Then you'd have another accident."

"Come on, Ashleigh. Stay away from the stairs."

"Oh, stop it." Ashleigh tossed him an ornery grin as she defied him and
headed down the stairs.

No sooner had she gone around the corner than Greg heard her give a
yelp. Followed by a sickening series of bumps.

His heart pounded in terror as he ran to the doorway. He leaped down the
six steps to Ashleigh, who was on her side, pushing herself up on one
arm, with her legs twisted under her.

"Dammit!" he said, grabbing at her with his wet, soapy hands. "Are you
all right?"

"I guess I slipped on a step. But I...I caught myself on the rail."

"Dammit to hell!"

"Will you please stop cursing? The baby will hear you."

He was running his hands all over her, returning his palms to a circular
pattern over her abdomen on each pass. "Does anything hurt?"

"Nothing but my pride." But her flippant attitude

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didn't fool Greg, because when he touched her lower leg, Ashleigh's
breath caught and she winced.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"My ankle." She bit her lip. Straining, she turned herself to sit
squarely on her buttocks with her legs straight out in front of her. "I
think I came down on it pretty hard."

He ran his hands lightly down each of her legs. "This one?"

She winced again. "Yes."

Ashleigh was mortified as Greg carried her back up those steps. He took
her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. He put her ankle up on a
pillow and arranged two more behind her back.

"Lie still," he said, and left.

Ashleigh's ankle was truly starting to hurt and she was so mad at
herself she wanted to pop. She should have let him help her wash her
underwear. She should have let him help her all along, instead of being
so proud and stubborn about everything. Tears stung her eyes as fear
gripped her. Had she harmed Chad's baby?

Greg came back in with a plastic bag of ice. He wrapped it in a hand
towel from the bathroom and gently positioned it around her ankle. When
he glanced up at her, his eyes softened with pity. He knelt next to the
bed, facing her, and stroked her hair back from her face. His touch sent
a wave of

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longing through her so strong that it pulled her eyes closed.

"Now, listen. Don't cry," he said, misreading her emotions. "We're going
to get you checked out right away."

He went to the closet and came back with some loose warm clothes and a
pair of huge yellow sweats. Ashleigh allowed him to help her get the
bulky robe out from under her hips. The thin cotton gown underneath did
nothing to conceal her lush curves, her large, dark nipples. "Where are
your bras and panties?" he said with absolutely no hint of
embarrassment. "All down in the dryer?"

"There." She pointed to the bureau drawer, finding that her own
embarrassment was so acute she could hardly speak.

He came back with the under things. Without asking, he looped the
panties over each leg and inched them to knee level under the gown. "Can
you get these the rest of the way up?"

She nodded, feeling her cheeks flame.

He laid her functional cotton-and huge-bra beside her on the bed.
"Holler if you need help. I'll be right outside the door."

She struggled to get out of the gown-in addition to her injured ankle,
one shoulder felt a little sore- and then into the bra and panties. The
sweats, unfortunately, were across the room on the chair. She pulled her
gown over her front and called out, "Greg?"

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He came in immediately.

"I need my clothes," she said.

He crossed the room, snatched the sweats up and turned, eyeing the thin
gown clutched to her front.

"Ashleigh, let's be honest, okay? I know I'm a man. I know you're a
woman. You know it, too. But we've got an emergency here. Think of the
baby, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? Was it her nakedness that encouraged such sudden
familiarity? But she found the endearment comforted her, made her relax
and believe that he would never hurt her, or even so much as embarrass
her if he could help it.

She remembered taking care of Chad when he was sick, recalled the
tenderness and love, and how unimportant little vanities seemed during
those times. Ashleigh dropped the gown and let him assist her into the
sweats. He put one athletic shoe on her uninjured foot and tied the
laces with the briskness of a daddy getting a little girl dressed for
school. "Okay, let's go." He clutched the ice bag in his fingers and
scooped her up in his arms again, and this time she had calmed enough to
appreciate the ease with which he did it. Even her enormous girth was no
match for his strength.

He stopped at the front door, lowering her gently to the rough-hewn
bench there. He snapped her coat off the hook and helped her wiggle her
arms into the sleeves.

"Stay here," he commanded, and Ashleigh

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wouldn't have moved off that bench for anything. She sat with her palms
on her front, praying for the baby to kick. Just one kick, little one.
Please. Tell your mommy you 're okay.

Greg pulled the Navigator right up to the front door, scooped her up
again and loaded her gently into the vehicle, positioning the ice pack
on her ankle. Then off they went down Switchback Road to Arroyo County
Hospital.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dr. Ochoa told them everything was fine. This news brought a fresh spate
of tears to Ashleigh's eyes and a fresh spate of comforting from Greg.

He had stood right by the exam table the whole time, squeezing
Ashleigh's hand when the nurse picked up a heartbeat with the Doppler,
stroking her forehead while Dr. Ochoa was examining her. When the doctor
pronounced Ashleigh and the baby's health sound-except for Ashleigh's
mildly sprained ankle-Greg had given Ashleigh a glad hug without
bothering to wonder what the doctor might think of them.

Dr. Ochoa kept his face perfectly neutral while he made a note on
Ashleigh's chart. "So, Greg. I take it your vision is back to normal
these days?"

"Yes. It's fine, thanks." Greg was blinking back tears of relief.

"I still want you to see the ophthalmologist in Albuquerque."

"I promise I'll do that, just as soon as I can. Right now, I can't leave
Enchantment."

"I understand." But the look Ochoa gave Greg said he didn't, exactly.

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"It's going to be awkward getting around on that ankle for a few days."
The doctor turned his attention to Ashleigh. "I don't want any
weight-bearing on that leg. Should we see about hiring you some help?"

Greg looked at Ashleigh expectantly, communicating his desire to do
whatever she asked.

"No. I'll be fine. Greg can take care of me." When Ochoa frowned, she
elaborated. ' 'Besides being an old family friend, Greg was hired by my
father to be my bodyguard," Ashleigh explained, as if hiring bodyguards
was an everyday occurrence. The overly casual way she said it made Greg
think, again, that Ashleigh had her suspicions about this whole setup he
and Maureen had cooked up. And he wondered, again, why Ashleigh never
voiced those suspicions.

Ochoa gave Greg a last skeptical look, which Ashleigh did not see. Greg
only hoped the doctor wouldn't share this bizarre story with anyone in
town, but he wasn't too optimistic. His days at the Morning Light had
convinced Greg that a person couldn't so much as take a poot in this
town without everybody else knowing about it.

Ashleigh's twisted ankle required that Greg help her constantly. The
hospital had dispensed crutches, but in her condition, they proved
useless. Worse than useless, because in Greg's opinion, with the cabin's
multiple floor levels and many area rugs,

211

crutches were downright dangerous. So he helped Ashleigh get out of bed,
go to the bathroom, get seated at the table, get settled on the couch.

He didn't mind the nursemaid duty-he had been Kendra's chief caregiver
in her final days-but having his hands on Ashleigh's soft, healthy body
all day, every day, was driving him wild. Even watching her lean forward
while he propped an extra pillow behind her back was a torment. Her
cleavage had become more and more lush as the pregnancy progressed,
totally feminine. Would she breast-feed the baby? Did he have a right to
ask? Of course he had the right! But Ashleigh didn't know that.

The midwife had loaned Ashleigh some educational tapes about
breastfeeding, delivery and such. He hoped the tapes might provide a way
for him to broach the topic, but Ashleigh refused to watch them while
Greg was around.

Her guarded responses about her pregnancy frustrated him. If he was
going to have anything to say about his child's beginnings, he would
have to tell Ashleigh the truth soon. He wished to hell he hadn't
promised Maureen he would wait.

One morning after breakfast, she put a tape in the player. That was her
favorite trick-to watch the videos while he cleaned up the kitchen. He'd
had enough of this. He quickly threw the dishes in the water to soak and
went out into the great room. She hit the stop button on the remote the
minute he came in.

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' 'I think I should watch the tapes about delivery, too, don't you?"

"Why?"

"What if something happens, and you go into labor? Shouldn't I be prepared?"

"Suit yourself." She hit the start button.

Greg's eyes bugged at what he saw. It seemed like a little foal slipped
into the world a lot more smoothly. This tape showed a woman panting,
near exhaustion, pushing until her face was beet red. Really...
suffering. Could he actually help Ashleigh do this?

When they finished watching the tape, Greg went to clean up the
breakfast dishes and contemplate his inadequacies.

"I guess I'll need a little help...you know, getting into the shower."
Ashleigh was standing propped against the kitchen door frame, with pink
cheeks and hair that badly needed a shampooing. She still hated it every
time she had to ask him for personal help.

' 'What are you doing, walking around without my help?" Greg dropped his
dish towel and rushed to her side. "You're supposed to use the cowbell
when you need me."

"I'm so sick of this whole routine," she moaned. "I feel so helpless."

"You are helpless." He looped her slender arm up over his shoulder. They
were getting so used to the feel of each other's bodies that they didn't
even hesitate when they touched. "You're big and

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pregnant with a sprained ankle. Besides, I like taking care of you. It's
no trouble."

"Of course it is. You didn't hire on to keep house and haul me around
all day."

"I said I don't mind." His eyes locked with hers, and it took all of his
willpower not to tell her why. "Let's get you in the shower."

Fortunately, Ashleigh's mother had already ordered a shower stool for
her, back when their biggest worry was preterm labor. Greg would assist
Ashleigh down onto the stool, still clothed, then he'd make sure the
towels and her pink terry-cloth robe were within easy reach. After he
closed the door, Ashleigh would undress, awkwardly, and toss her
oversize T-shirt, socks, undies and sweatpants in a heap outside the
shower. Later, when she was wrapped in her robe, he'd come back in and
help her to the bedroom where he had her clean clothes waiting on the bed.

Then they'd trade spaces, as it were, and Greg would go clean up in the
bathroom, with the door closed, while Ashleigh sat on the bed and got
dressed.

But on this morning, something went wrong. The hot water, always iffy,
abruptly turned frigid while Ashleigh had her hair lathered with
shampoo. The sudden blast of cold water made her shriek.

Greg came charging through the door and was confronted by her full
profile through the fogged shower glass. She had her arms up, grasping,

214

Un-successfully, for the faucet controls high above her head.

"Are you okay?" He jerked the shower door open and stopped the water.

"Greg!" Her arms slapped down over her front and she bent forward,
trying to cover herself, but there was way too much of her for that.
"Get out of here!"

"Are you okay?" he demanded. He snatched a towel off the bar and threw
it over her.

"Yes."

"I thought you'd gotten burned by the hot water or something."

"H-hardly! There was no hot water!" Now he finally realized that she was
shivering.

"Let's get you dry." He reached for the other towel.

*Tm fine" she said emphatically. "Now, please just g-get out."

Two minutes later she emerged, supporting her weight on the doorknob,
wrapped in the robe and a head towel, looking thoroughly chilled. "G-got
r-rinsed off o-okay," she said. But her teeth were actually chattering.

He rushed to her and wrapped an arm around her waist as he led her to
the bed. It was a halting trip, with Ashleigh limping and leaning
heavily on him. Greg threw back the covers and helped her get under them.

Her body was trembling so hard that he pushed

215

the covers up around her in a tight cocoon. Still, she shook and
shivered. It was painful to watch.

Compassion, he told himself, was what drove him to climb into the bed
behind her and spoon his body tightly around hers.

"Oh, th-thank you," she whispered as he wrapped his warm arms gently but
firmly over her quivering middle. "Th-that feels so good."

He closed his eyes and tightened his hold, wanting to tell her that he'd
do anything to make her feel good. Anything.

"Well, I guess you d-done gone and seen me nek-kid," she said,
attempting one of her little jokes.

He squeezed her tighter.

Then the baby kicked, soundly, and Greg's eyes flew open in shock. "Did
you feel that?" he breathed.

"Of course I did, silly. I guess this little guy doesn't like being
ch-chilled, either."

"Little guy?"

"Yes. I'm having a boy." Ashleigh drew in a huge breath. When she
released it, her shivers seemed to subside completely and her body
relaxed. "Dr. Ochoa wanted me to have another ultrasound before I made
the final decision to have a home birth. Dr. Hill-my OB in Denver?-he
wasn't too crazy about that idea and they wanted to make sure everything
looked normal. If I could possibly avoid it, I didn't want to risk a
hospital admission or even going to The Birth Place, where the stalker might

216

find us through computer records or something. I'll feel a lot safer if
I can keep the baby hidden away up here until they catch that creep."

"It's a boy?" Greg bit his lip, the secret he held in his heart almost
too much to bear.

"Yes. Isn't that great? I hope he looks exactly like Chad."

At that, Greg bit his lip harder and made a small strangled sound,
tipping his head forward until his forehead touched the back of her hair.

"What's wrong?" Ashleigh's voice was suddenly concerned.

"I just...I'm glad you're okay, that's all. I thought you fell again,
when I heard you yelling in the shower just now. I thought...when I saw
you at the bottom of those stairs-" He choked off his words, his half
lies, and let the emotions come. The baby was not going to look like
Chad. The baby, a son, might even look like him, like Greg.

"I'm okay. I just got a little chilled, that's all."

When he didn't respond, Ashleigh twisted around to peer into his face.
"Greg? Did you hear me? I said I'm okay."

He kept his head down, feeling as if his emotions were spinning out of
control.

She twisted more to get an even better look at him. "Are you choking up
or something? What's wrong?" She sounded alarmed.

He did have tears in his eyes, but not for the reason she thought-that
her fall had scared him.

217

*'Nothing," he sputtered. Her fall had scared him, and with a fresh jolt
of emotion he realized it was because he loved her, and couldn't let
anything happen to her, not only because of the baby that was inside of
her, but because she was Ashleigh, the woman he loved.

In his mind, it seemed as if Ashleigh and the baby were one now. Maybe
they always would be one to him-his family. How the hell did some men
ever let themselves get divorced? He couldn't imagine it, and he wasn't
even married to this woman yet. All he wanted to do was protect her,
make sure she and the baby were happy and safe. He wanted to hold her
and...how in the hell would a man continue to protect his family if he
was the head of a broken home?

"I'm just glad nothing bad happened when you fell, to you, or to our baby."

He felt her body go extremely still. "Our baby?"

His heart kicked once, then raced with fear at his mistake. "I meant...I
meant your baby."

But Ashleigh was not so easily deflected. "Why would you say that? Our
baby?"

Silence.

"Greg, you're not...are you getting attached here?"

More silence.

"You know," Ashleigh persisted, "to this baby...to me?"

He rose up and propped his head on the butt of

218

one hand so he could look into her eyes. "How could I not be attached to
the two of you?" he murmured. "Being with you, taking care of you like
this, day after day?"

She relaxed her head back against the pillow and let him hover over her,
let their eyes speak to each other, heart to heart, soul to soul. "Oh,
Greg," she breathed. "I knew it."

"Could I feel it-him-again?" Greg asked.

She smiled and nodded.

He placed a palm beneath the covers so he could touch her abdomen, but
stayed on the outside of her robe so her privacy wouldn't be
transgressed. He closed his eyes as he let himself touch her belly,
intentionally, for the second time.

When the baby finally kicked again, they both smiled, and then grew
solemn as the same wave of intimacy passed over them that had engulfed
them that first time.

"This is so weird," she whispered, turning her face up to his again. "I
don't feel strange at all, letting you touch me this way, having your hands

on me."

Slowly, with the full gravity of his intentions, Greg ran one hand under
the robe and over her belly as he dropped the other to loosen the towel
and lace his fingers into her golden hair, something he had longed to do
when he'd first admired it. "Do you wish these were Chad's
hands...touching you now?" He had to know.

219

Ashleigh shook her head slowly. ' 'No. I mean, of course, I wish Chad
had never died. But I can't change that. And if feels so right for you
to touch me. You're the man who's been taking such good care of me these
past few weeks. I honestly couldn't imagine anyone else touching me
right now."

Greg crushed a handful of her tangled wet hair as a powerful wave of
desire sluiced through him. Their mouths drew closer. An inch, maybe
two, and their lips would be touching. "Ashleigh," he whispered, his
voice grown strangely hoarse. He swallowed. "I have to tell you something."

"Okay." She lay looking up at him, wide-eyed. Innocent, and totally
honest. Could he really tell her the awful truth now?

Maybe he should deal with this on a first-things-first basis. After all,
the mix-up at the sperm bank wasn't the most important thing anymore, at
least not to him. The most important thing was that they'd found each
other, even if it had been in a mixed-up, crazy way. Even if they went
on through the rest of their lives with Ashleigh thinking that the baby
was Chad's, he wouldn't care.

"Don't freak out, okay? I mean I know you've got a lot on your mind, but
I just can't keep this inside of me any longer. Ashleigh, I'm...I think
I'm falling in love with you."

She sucked in a little surprised breath, then threw her arms around his
neck, urging him to press his

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torso across her lush body, and then she found his mouth.

Their kiss was not like a first kiss, not tentative, not exploratory,
not awkwardly seeking for an initial fit.

It was the deep, connected kiss of ripened lust, of wild hunger finally
turned loose.

She twined her arms even tighter around his neck, and he worked the
fingers of one hand into her damp hair, grasping her head, turning it to
accommodate his will, while with the other hand he grabbed her upper
arm, forcing it higher and tighter around him.

To deepen the kiss any further would have been like melding them into
one being, but still they tried.

Greg used his tongue the way he knew she wanted him to. She opened to
him, drew him into her mouth eagerly-a promise of more.

With his mouth still fastened on hers, he released her arm and traveled
down the length of her body, running his palm over her ample flesh
possessively, no longer seeking with a reverent, privileged touch in
order to feel a tiny baby's kick. But claiming now. Fondling with
caresses that said, I want this. And this. And this.

Finally, they broke the kiss and looked into each other's eyes. Both
surprised. Both on fire.

"Ashleigh..." He was breathing hard. "We'd better stop. I don't want to
hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Ashleigh was as breathless as he was. "I haven't felt this
wonderful in months. No,

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in years! I don't know if I've ever felt this good. I can hardly stand
it! My God, Greg. Don't you see? I'm in love with you, too!" She
feathered her fingers through his hair at the temples. "When I first saw
you, I knew. It was like I recognized you or something. I thought you
were so beautiful that I couldn't stop looking at you."

He smiled. No one had ever called him beautiful. Kendra had said cute in
high school. Handsome, when he became a man. But never beautiful.
Thinking of Ashleigh secretly admiring his looks when he hadn't been
able to see her doing it, made his heart feel strangely light.

"Oh, my gosh!" Ashleigh slapped her forehead as if something
unbelievable had dawned on her. "I've fallen in love," she practically
shrieked at the ceiling, "with my bodyguard!"

He chuckled. "Let me hold you, you silly woman. Let me hold you the way
I want to...at last."

He did. And after he'd held her for a while, after they'd marveled that
they'd found each other, after they'd blessed their good fortune, Greg
said it was time to get Ashleigh out of the damp robe and towels.

The level of intimacy between them seemed totally altered now. When he
fetched the blow dryer and dried her hair, as he'd done before when she
was too worn out from limping around all day, it felt more like languid
lovemaking than a dutiful ministration. Now she understood the meaning
of his

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touches, which had always felt more tender, more seeking, than they
should have. Now she understood why.

She let him touch her that way the whole day. On the couch he hauled her
legs up onto his lap. He rubbed her feet. He hooked a hand in her inner
thigh. He laced his fingers in hers. And he kissed her. Over and over.

That evening, that very evening, Greg brought up the subject of marriage.

"We need to discuss something," he told Ashleigh as he set a bowl of
chili onto the place mat in front of her. Next to it he had arranged
crackers, carrot sticks, fruit and a glass of milk.

Ravenously hungry as always, Ashleigh grabbed her spoon and started
eating before he had even seated himself. "Yum," she said after the
first heaping bite. "This is fabulous chili, Greg."

"Let's hope it doesn't give you heartburn."

"I'll take my chances." She took a quick gulp of milk. "What do you want
to talk about?"

"I don't want to stop taking care of you once the baby comes."

That brought Ashleigh up short, with a spoonful of chili halfway to her
mouth. "You mean you want to stay on with me, here." Even as she said
this, she was wondering if instead he meant what she hoped he meant.
"You mean as long as I'm still in hiding up here in the cabin?"

"No. I mean I want go back to Denver with you."

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She put the spoon back in the bowl. "But..." She still wasn't sure what
he was asking, exactly, though her heart had started to beat erratically
with an irrational hope. "We don't...we don't really know each other
well enough to commit to anything, to live together...or anything like
that."

"I'm not talking about living together. I want to get married, if you'll
have me."

When her jaw dropped at that, he added, "The baby deserves a father."

"Oh, Greg." His proposal had taken the breath out of her. She didn't
know what to say. Although those were the very words she longed to hear,
she wasn't sure she liked his reasons. She couldn't let him marry her in
a hurry just for the baby's sake. She wanted their union to be about the
two of them, and only about the two of them.

"That's so wonderful of you, but this isn't your baby. It's not your
responsibility. You don't have to marry me just because of the baby."
She grabbed a carrot stick, a distraction.

"I would want to. I want to take responsibility for this baby."

"That's really sweet of you, Greg. But it might make more sense if we
let the baby get a little older, let me get back on my feet, then we can
see where our relationship is going, all in good time." She picked up
her spoon and scooped up another spoonful of chili, trying to get the
conversation back on a rational track.

224

Only then, did she notice that he was not eating his supper. "Greg,
what's wrong?"

For a long moment he sat looking down, with his hands bracketed on
either side of his bowl of chili. Then he drew a huge breath and raised
his eyes to hers. Very quietly he said, "Ashleigh, listen to me. This is
my baby."

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

At first Ashleigh wasn't sure she'd heard Greg right. But then she
realized that, of course, he was speaking metaphorically. "I know you
feel like it's your baby, Greg, but the truth is-"

"No." His interruption was harsh, like a slap intended to wake her up.
"The truth is, / am this baby's father, not Chad."

She swallowed and, with a shaky hand, put her spoon down.

' 'I love you, Greg, and I know what you are trying to do," she tried
again in a low voice. "And that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever
said to me. But you know very well where this baby came from. And you
know very well that this is not your baby. We don't have to pretend
otherwise. We're both grown-ups here."

"You're not hearing me." He swiveled his chair toward her, with his legs
spread wide, forming a vee around the chair where she sat. He grabbed
her hands, and the seriousness in his deep gray eyes scared her. "This
is-" he flattened one warm palm on her front *'-my baby. They made a
terrible error

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at the sperm bank in California. My sperm got mixed up with your late
husband's."

"What?" She jerked her fingers free from his and put her palms on her
sides, protectively. She stared at him, shaking her head slowly in denial.

"I deposited my sperm before I had a vasectomy about five years ago,
right at the same time Chad did. We used the same doctor in Denver. When
the samples arrived in California, they got them confused. All of mine
stayed at the main site and all of Chad's got transferred to the backup
facility."

"What?" she repeated, and pushed his hand away from her.

"They discovered the error when they had a brownout at the main
facility," he explained in a rush. "All of my sperm was defrosted,
destroyed during the power outage. But all of Chad's survived in the
backup storage. You could still have Chad's baby if you want to, but
this child is mine."

As he talked she tried to twist away from him, but he maintained his
pose, with his strong thighs bracketing her. "It's complicated." He
pressed his hands around her shoulders. "But I've verified that it's all
true. I know it's not what you want, but-"

"Complicated? It's insane! I don't believe you!"

"Don't you see?" He squeezed her upper arms. "That's why I'm here.
That's why I came to Enchantment. I wanted to tell you all along, from
the very start, but your mother thought-"

"My mother?"

227

"Yes, Maureen didn't think you could stand the shock in your cond-''

"Mother knows about this?"

"She has, for a while. When I first came to town, I talked to her. I
think that's why she invented the bodyguard story, why she took me in
when I got hurt. I think she wanted us to get to know each other a
little bit better, before...before you found out the truth."

Greg stared at Ashleigh as a horrible apprehension built in his chest.
He was scared to death of what she might do now, of how she might view
their relationship. And he was scared for the baby because Ashleigh was
starting to tremble, and what if Maureen was right? What if the shock..
.he mentally calculated the weeks of her gestation. Thirty six. Would
the baby be okay if Ashleigh went into labor now?

"Listen, Ashleigh." Fear made his words too forceful. "Please. I debated
and debated about telling you this. But I don't want to start our
relationship with a lie between us. And you've got to understand, I want
to be part of this baby's life, from the very beginning."

Ashleigh stood. She stared at him in disbelief. This man was the father
of her baby?

Greg stood, too, blocking her way as if he was afraid she was going to
leave.

"Being my bodyguard-that was all an act?" Greg was starting to feel like
a stranger to her.

228

'Yes. And no. I mean, I have been protecting you. I want to protect you.
And the baby. And I can do that. I have been doing that. You know I'm a
deputy sheriff. Calling me your bodyguard was your mother's idea."

Ashleigh turned away with her hand protectively cupping the baby. Chad's
baby. She closed her eyes tight. "So, do you...do you really love me, or
was that all an act, too?"

"No! Ash! Don't even think that!"

He reached for her, but she whirled away, immediately crying, "Ouch!"
because she'd landed on her ankle.

"Sweetheart!" He grabbed her arm.

"Don't-touch-me!" She yanked away and braced one hand against the table.
Of all the lies she might have suspected, this was never one. Greg
Glazier. The father of her baby.

"You've got to let me help you," he insisted. "You can't walk. You can't
bear weight on that ankle."

"That's very convenient, isn't it?" she hissed. "You waited until I was
totally dependent on you, until we were alone up here, to unload your
horrible news on me."

He drew back, hurt filling his eyes. "Horrible news? Is it such a
horrible thing that you're having my baby? I mean, I could understand
why you'd feel that way before we knew each other. But now...an

229

hour ago you said you were so in love with me you could hardly stand it."

"That was an hour ago, before I learned..." She was beginning to feel
numb. "I knew it was something. I suspected you and my mother were
keeping something from me. I was embarrassed because I thought maybe she
was just matchmaking again or something. But this. Oh, my God!" Her
voice rose. "This is hideous!"

At those words Greg felt his whole body become still-frozen. Even his
breathing grew shallow, deathly quiet. How could she think having his
child was hideous? And how could she think his love was a lie? But he
couldn't blame her. He had lied to her, and now he was paying the price.

"I..." She sounded as if she was going to cry. "I want to go to my room
now."

She allowed him to help her limp back to the master suite. She told him
to put a flannel gown on the bed, and then she made him leave her there,
alone.

He sat down on one of the leather couches in the great room, staring at
the walls of night-blackened glass, trying to sort it all out, getting
nowhere. He needed her. He needed to talk to her, to have her tell him
it was all going to be okay. That they were going to be okay. He needed
her to make one of her flippant little jokes. But an hour later, when he
finally went back to the master suite and listened at

230

the door, he heard the sounds of her sobbing beyond it.

He tapped softly on the wood. "Ashleigh?"

No answer.

"Won't you at least let me hold you?"

No answer.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

'Tm not having any signs of labor, if that's what you mean." The answer
snapped back at him like the crack of a whip. "The baby-" her voice
rose, sounding almost hysterical to Greg "-your baby, is not in any danger."

Simon Fischer was amazed at how easily he could remain hidden. For weeks
he had done nothing but eat and loiter. From his favorite hiding places
he watched the town, the people, and especially the clinic. Especially
the clinic. That was the key. The midwives made home visits in the
surrounding countryside. He remembered Ashleigh Logan's fascination with
that when she had the midwives on her show.

"How quaint!" she had cried. "How adorable and cozy and quaint!"

The trouble was, the midwives came and went from the clinic several
times a day, going in all different directions. One man couldn't keep up
with them. How would he ever figure out which one was visiting Ashleigh
Logan?

Then the answer had hit him while he was thinking about the noisy
comings and goings of the trucks out on the winding highway that ran
near the trailer

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park. A white FedEx truck had gone through town and up into the
mountains once. A brown UPS truck twice. That's when it had dawned on
him. Wouldn't Ashleigh Logan be needing a lot of baby supplies? Wouldn't
a spoiled woman who had oohed and aahed over every silly baby accessory
made for today's materialistic young mothers want all those things for
herself when her time came? Simon had seen the logic of it in the
clarity of a sugar rush after his third doughnut. Today, when the
delivery guy came out of the bank, Simon was going to follow the big
brown truck straight, he suspected, to Ashleigh Logan's hideout.

Simon did not tolerate frustration well. He understood that about
himself. While he waited in the early morning frost, he stuffed a second
gooey bear claw in his mouth, but felt little relief from the gnawing
emptiness that chronically plagued him. Weren't these UPS guys supposed
to be quick? The man in brown had been in that little bank for at least
ten minutes.

Simon became even more frustrated after following the brown truck to a
ramshackle little farm that looked as abandoned as a ghost town, except
for some horses running around out back. Ashleigh Logan wouldn't stay
here. He pulled the Ford off the road and watched as the UPS truck
stopped at the gate. The driver hurried as he opened it. He roared up
the drive, braked, hopped out and left a large package under the shed
roof on the porch. Then the young driver trotted back to his truck,
jumped in and roared back down the drive. He hopped back out

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long enough to close the old welded-pipe gate. When the driver turned
the truck back onto the road, Simon squeezed down across the bench seat
in his car. No point in being seen way out here. The guy was probably in
a hurry to get back to Taos or Raton. He would not report a broken-down
old green Ford stuck in the snow on the side of Switchback Road.

Simon waited until the whine of the truck's engine faded around the
bend. Then he drove up and repeated the driver's procedure with the
gate, except Simon moved sluggishly-he was a big man after all.

He walked up to the old house, certain that a trendy urban princess like
Ashleigh Logan would not take up residence in such a humble abode. As he
stepped up on the porch, the sight of the box made his phlegmatic heart
speed up painfully. He broke into a sweat. He should have been in the
CIA-that's how good he was at figuring stuff out. What he could see of
the label told him it was a stroller, perhaps. A baby stroller.

He knocked at the door several times while a mangy old dog stood his
ground, barking a dry, obligatory guard-dog warning. If someone
answered, Simon planned to claim that he was lost and needed directions.
When he was satisfied that no one was home he took his time examining
the box.

Ms. Maureen McGuinness, the shipping label read, care of Mr. Manuel Cordova.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

For almost a week, Ashleigh had hardly spoken two words to Greg except
when she initiated a tense conversation in which she grilled him about
the exact details of the sperm bank mix-up. He had answered all of her
questions as patiently and thoroughly as he could.

"Will you submit to a paternity test when the baby is born?" she asked
at the end of the week following his admission.

"Absolutely."

He still took care of her, faithfully ministering to her like some kind
of wary penitent.

Thanksgiving came. Ashleigh's sister called and they talked quietly for
a long time.

Greg, busy in the kitchen, couldn't pick up much of what Ashleigh was
saying. And maybe he didn't want to. She was probably telling her sister
what a conniving liar he was.

Ashleigh had spoken to her parents often during that week-mostly about
her father's condition, which had just recently been declared stable.
Greg felt like a rat, listening in on her end of the conversations from
the walkway above the great room. He

234

was hoping she'd tell Maureen that she knew the truth about the baby.
But when she only mentioned Greg briefly, once in obvious response to
some polite inquiry from her mother, his spirits sank. She ended her
chats without saying one word about the fact that she knew Greg was the
father of her baby, or that Maureen had been in on the deception. Maybe,
he told himself, she was just trying to spare Maureen additional stress.
Or maybe she was rejecting the truth, rejecting him.

Manny was off visiting his son in Los Angeles for the holiday week. Greg
had offered to take care of the horses, but Manny said Daniel Elkhorn
would gladly do it, and that he would take care of Guapo at the same
time. Greg missed Manny, and thought how comforting it would be to have
the old man up here in the cabin for the day, maybe even with old Guapo
in tow, a third party to soften the horrible tension between Greg and
Ashleigh.

Manny had gone to town and stocked their groceries before he left, so
Greg tried cooking a festive dinner with all the trimmings, hoping the
aroma of roasting turkey would warm Ashleigh's heart, but when the feast
was spread on the table, she picked at her food and made sparse, stilted
conversation.

It was as if she thought the whole situation was so obscene that she'd
given up and was going through the motions. He worried that she might be
sliding into some kind of prepartum depression, if there was such a
thing. He hoped that if he gave her

235

enough space and let her rest enough, her battered emotions would
somehow heal.

Manny was glad to be back on his peaceful ranchero. The big city did not
agree with him, though his son Robert and his dear wife did their best
to make an old man comfortable.

He planned to go up to the Coleman cabin and take the box he'd found
waiting on his porch up to Ashleigh and Greg. It looked like a baby
stroller. He had a little surprise for them, too. Just a little thing
he'd bought for the baby in Los Angeles. He set the tiny teddy bear on
the kitchen table so he wouldn't forget it.

First, he wanted to start himself a nice big pot of pinto beans.
Robert's Anglo wife was a good cook, but she didn't know beans about
beans. Manny chuckled at his own little joke and started filling his old
dented bean pot at the sink. A knock on the door stopped his preparations.

The man standing there was so large he blocked the sun.

"Hello?" the man said politely. Too politely.

The hair on the back of Manny's neck stood up.

"Si?" Sometimes Manny found it was safer to pretend your English wasn't
so good.

' Is there a Ms. Logan here?''

Manny was not one to judge on appearances. But the man's lower lip
drooped so terribly it made him want to look away, and his thick
eyeglasses were so

236

dirty you couldn't see the color of his eyes. He did not look like the
type of person who would have business with Ashleigh, unless he was this
stalker Miguel was so worried about. Manny tried to search his memory.
Hadn't he seen this fellow around town?

Quien es?

"I have some flowers for Ms. Ashleigh Logan."

Only then did Manny notice the sparse arrangement in a cheap glass vase.

"Si. I take it." Manny reached for the vase, grasping it firmly at the
neck before the man could stop him. There might be something here that
Miguel could use-clues to where he got them, maybe even some fingerprints.

"Is she here?" the man demanded.

"You go. Gracias." Manny slammed the door and bolted it. Something he
never did, way out here.

He went to the living room and looked out through the curtain. The tall
man was lumbering toward a dented and dusty faded green Ford Crown
Victoria. Old model. Perhaps 1985. Manny grabbed the pad and pencil
beside the TV Guide, adjusted his glasses. When the man backed around,
Manny wrote down the tag number.

Forgetting the beans, Manny hurried to the old black wall phone in the
kitchen. First he called Miguel Eiden to tell him to intercept the
battered green Ford at the bottom of Switchback Road. Then he called Greg.

237

Greg's brief conversation with Manny set him on edge. When he finally
reached Miguel Eiden an hour later, he grilled Miguel about the man that
had come to Manny's. Thanks to Manny's quick thinking, Miguel had been
able to stop him.

"It's that character from the magazine again. I don't like the looks of
him," Miguel sighed, "but he wasn't breaking the law."

"Hell, I wasn't, either, but you hauled me in."

"I followed him down the mountain and took him in for questioning."

"And?"

"And he claimed he was using the flowers as a ruse to find Ashleigh, of
course."

"That's stupid."

"Yeah, it is. I checked him out. Nobody at Reproduction and Sexuality
magazine ever heard of him. But lying's not a crime, either. I'll just
have to keep an eye on the guy. Seems he rented a trailer out south of
town."

"Morris Reed," Greg said with disgust, "is your perp."

"But we don't have any hard evidence that he's the guy who's been
stalking Ms. Logan. Denver is working on that. At least I've got his
pretty picture and his prints now."

"Good. Can we get a restraining order on this guy?"

"For what? Delivering flowers? Not exactly assault."

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"Shit."

'Til keep tabs on him."

"I appreciate that, Miguel, but you can't be everywhere at once."

"Which is why you will never leave Ms. Logan's side."

"Right."

Katherine Collins hated Switchback Road. Everybody in the county did.

She rounded the first hairpin turn, shifting gears on the Jeep to
accommodate the steep grade. As she climbed, she was glad to see that
the strong sun had melted most of last night's snow off the road. Let it
stay clear until this baby comes, she thought. Ashleigh Logan's
pregnancy had been a tense one, for all of them.

Katherine would be visiting Ashleigh Logan more often, now that the
baby's due date was approaching. Which meant she'd be climbing this
abominable road a few times a week.

During Simon Fischers daily, vigils, he had learned to identify each of
the midwives' cars. Most of them drove four-by-four vehicles that could
handle the mountain roads. He'd seen the dark green Jeep climb
Switchback Road twice now, both times on a Wednesday, and that was
significant because Switchback Road wasn't where the woman with the

239

long graying braid lived. He'd followed her home twice, also.

Switchback Road was where the old man was taking deliveries of Ashleigh
Logan's baby paraphernalia.

On the third Wednesday morning, Simon crept along the winding curves
behind the midwife, the heavy rear end of his Ford occasionally sliding
on a frosty patch. He ended up at the driveway of a huge cabin jutting
from the south face of the mountain. He parked off the road and quickly,
stealthily, crept up through the trees toward the house. The climb made
him breathless, but it was well worth it. The midwife was standing at
the high double doors of the cabin, stethoscope looped on her neck,
black tote hitched over her shoulder, clutching a clipboard. So, she had
a client in there. And Simon had a pretty good idea who that client was.

His breath came hard as he watched the door open, squinting through his
thick glasses to see who answered. A tall, handsome young man. The one
who had thrown him to the ground at the clinic. Ashleigh Logan's lover?
The guy smiled and opened the door wide for the midwife. Their friendly
greetings and laughter drifted through the trees and over the snow to
Simon's hiding place. Then the door closed.

Simon crouched down while his heart drubbed maliciously in his chest. If
the woman was going to sleep with some guy, why hadn't Ashleigh Logan

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created her baby in the natural way instead of condemning the poor child
to be an outcast, a freak? Never mind. Simon would take care of this
baby. He would protect this poor little baby from the world's judgment,
from the cruel exposure that silly woman seemed to love. It would be
just the two of them, Simon and his child, against a cruel, sinful, sick
world.

Despite the chilly air, Simon was sweating. He turned and trudged back
to his car, glad that the grade was downhill this time. Time to get out
of here before he was seen. He had what he wanted for now, anyway. The
next-to-the-last piece of his puzzle had clicked into place. Soon, his
vigilance would be rewarded. Soon, he would save the baby.

When Katherine had finished Ashleigh's checkup, she was surprised when
Greg Glazier followed her out to her Jeep. "Careful going back down that
road," he said.

"Always," she said, smiling. "Was the snow a problem this morning?" "No.
It's mostly melted by midmorning, usually."

"No patches of ice, either, I guess." "No. There's usually not much ice
by midmorning, either."

' 'What if the baby comes at night?'' "That's why we drive Jeeps, Mr.
Glazier." She waited patiently at the door of hers. This kind of

241

anxious, double-checking talk was common- among expectant fathers. But
Greg Glazier wasn't the father in this case and Katherine wondered why
he was behaving so anxiously. Perhaps it was the responsibility of
guarding Ashleigh. Or perhaps Greg Glazier was falling in love with this
woman, pregnant or not. Katherine thought she recognized the signs.

He looked back up at the house. "Do you think Ashleigh's doing okay?"

"Oh, yes. The fundus is the right height, though the baby hasn't dropped
yet-"

"Dropped?"

"That just means engaged down into the pelvis. Ashleigh's baby is still
floating high." Katherine made a chopping motion with her hand at the
bib of her overalls. "That's not unusual for a first baby. Nothing to
worry about. The fetal heart tones are strong. She's doing very well."

"I meant, do you think she's doing okay emotionally. She doesn't seem
kind of down to you?"

Katherine studied him, again wondering why a bodyguard would be so
emotionally invested in his charge. But looking at him, at his kind eyes
so full of concern, she thought surely he had developed real feelings
for Ashleigh Logan. Well, that was certainly understandable. Ashleigh
was a very beautiful young woman. What did they call it? Star quality?

And maybe that explained Ashleigh's odd little question about
intercourse at the end of pregnancy.

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The final stages of pregnancy were a trial, even under the best of
circumstances, even for stable married couples. But this couple had
endured extraordinary stresses, not the least of which was being
sequestered alone together in this cabin for weeks. That was the kind of
stress that drove people into the shelter of each other's arms. Could
this couple have fallen in love? It was starting to look that way.

"It could just be the inactivity." Katherine kept her answer neutral,
professional, addressing only the concern Greg Glazier had voiced. "It's
too bad the sprained ankle keeps her from getting around much. A little
mild exercise would do her good. You know, just a brief walk in the
woods or something."

Greg Glazier frowned. "I'm worried that her mental state is more serious
than that."

Katherine had the feeling that there was something he was not telling her.

"Has something happened? Another scare with that stalker or something?"
Miguel Eiden and Lydia had been in close communication about this case
ever since that day when Miguel had picked up Greg Glazier at the
clinic. Katherine felt her cheeks growing warm at the memory, though she
knew she had done the right thing. Why hadn't Greg just told them that
he'd been sent up here by Ashleigh's father to guard her? Something
about this whole story didn't add up. But over the weeks, it was obvious
that Ashleigh had come to trust Greg, especially after Mrs. McGuinness
had to leave. And now it was a real

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godsend that he was here, what with that awful man in the old Ford
running around town. It was almost as if Greg Glazier were a nurse's
aide, bodyguard and surrogate husband all rolled into one.

Greg quirked a dark eyebrow at her. "You mean a new development with the
stalker? Not since that weirdo showed up at Manny Cordova's."

"Well," Katherine started, wanting to be reassuring. "Ashleigh may have
seemed a little quiet today, come to think of it. Toward the end of a
pregnancy, some women do withdraw a bit. There's a lot to think about,
even for a woman like Ashleigh, who knows all about babies." Katherine
winked, smiling at her little play on words.

Katherine pressed a calming hand on his muscular forearm. "You're doing
a very good job of taking care of her, Mr. Glazier. I'm sure it's just a
little cabin fever." She smiled again, looking up at the luxurious
cabin. "I mean that literally, I guess. We've only got a couple more
weeks to go. Until then, just try to build a little diversity into her
days if you can."

The first week in December brought an unseasonably warm day. Though the
temperature in the Sangre de Cristos was forty degrees, the blazing
southwest sunlight warmed the chilly air until it felt almost like spring.

"How would you like to have lunch out on the deck?" Greg suggested.

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"Fine." Ashleigh shrugged and laid aside the baby catalog she'd been
perusing. She stood and pulled on a sweater, actually looking at Greg
for the first time in days. His eyes, she thought, held some
message-yearning, second thoughts, something like that. He'd been so
kind. Had her sudden with-drawl hurt him? Undoubtedly it had.

He set up a small parson's table between the chaise longues and served a
tray of soup, sandwiches and raspberry tea.

Ashleigh ate more heartily than she had in a week, and the sunshine
relaxed her. When the meal was done and Greg started to take the dishes
back into the cabin, she stopped him with a gentle touch on the wrist.
"We'll do that later," she said. "I...I have to tell you something."

He put the tray of dishes back on the little table.

"Sit down."

He lowered himself to the chaise, facing her, elbows propped on his
knees, hands clasped in front of him, as if to control his jumpy nerves.
Obviously, he feared what she might say to him. Maybe he was afraid she
would say that she had decided she didn't love him, after all. But that
would be a lie.

"You had the vasectomy because you were trying to save Kendra's life,
didn't you?"

Greg swallowed, looking down at his clasped hands.

' 'You told me that her kidneys were so bad that a pregnancy would have
killed her. That's why you

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had the vasectomy, isn't it? To make sure she never got pregnant."

"It was all a long time ago." Greg glanced up as Ashleigh stared at him
with tears in her eyes. Along with the tears she felt forgiveness
welling up.

His apology tumbled out quickly. "Ashleigh, I'm so sorry for the pain
I've caused you. You've had more than enough pain in your life."

He watched her face closely as he continued. "And I know that all you
were trying to do was get past that pain and move on with your life by
having this baby. Believe me, I get that. If I could have, I would have
walked away and let you go on believing this baby was Chad's. But I
couldn't do that, not after I heard the baby's heartbeat." She bit her
lip and the tears she'd been holding back spilled over. "Ashleigh, I'm
so sorry."

She touched him then, a fierce clasp of his forearm that she hoped
clearly told him all was forgiven. Greg closed his eyes at her touch and
pulled a deep breath of mountain air through his nostrils.

"Greg."

Greg opened his eyes and studied the woman he loved. In the surreal
sunlight, she looked like a radiant angel to him. All golden skin and
golden hair and silver tears sparkling down flushed cheeks. "I'm the one
who should apologize," she choked out. "I've been selfish." Her voice
got stronger and her tears poured freely as she continued. "I've been so
caught up in my own shock and disappointment that

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I haven't stopped to think what these last few weeks have been like for
you. It must have been awful for you, wondering if you were going to
ever see your own baby-the only baby you could ever have."

Greg would have said anything to make her stop crying. Anything. But
words wouldn't come. He looked down at his arm, where she still clutched
him, and hoped she would always hold fast to him this way. He lifted her
hand off of him, opening his arms, leaning across the small space
between them, and she fell into his embrace, weeping loudly on his shoulder.

"I love you so much!" she cried, and Greg's heart pounded with happiness
as he held on to her. No moment in his life had ever seemed as wondrous
as this. He held tight to Ashleigh Logan, while above them somewhere in
the pines a bird flitted past, finding its new place and calling out
something high, something sweet, something that to Greg sounded a lot
like Joy! Joy!

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At last Greg and Ashleigh felt close, truly close, and they adopted a
comfortable rhythm again; this one was far more domestic, far more
intimate, than their previous careful habits. All was known now, all was
decided between them, and Ashleigh let Greg assist her in the most
personal matters with complete trust. Now they could talk freely about
their future, about their baby, even disagree about some things. For
example, what would they call him?

"Gemariah," Greg suggested. "That was my grandfather's name. It's from
the Bible."

"And that's where it should stay," Ashleigh countered. "It sounds like
some kind of ancient disease."

Greg smirked.

"I was thinking we might call him Cory."

"Cory?" Greg grimaced. "Sounds kinda girlie. The little guy's got a
penis, remember?"

When they bantered this way, or when he gave her a back rub, or when
Ashleigh asked him to hold her until she fell asleep, Greg felt as if he
was

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already her husband, except for the one intimate connection that was
temporarily denied them.

He refused to even broach that subject. After the baby comes, he told
himself when his physical frustrations reared up, after the baby comes.

In the meantime, he funneled his pent-up energy into keeping the mother
of his child plump and happy.

Every day after he fed Ashleigh a nutritious lunch, Greg settled her on
the couch with a book or the TV remote and then turned his attention to
whipping through his chores. He'd discovered that if he ignored her at
this time of day, Ashleigh usually drifted off for a little nap. It
pleased him to see her sleeping peacefully, and to think of the little
baby curled inside her doing the same.

But the days weren't all blissful. One morning he was carrying a basket
of clean laundry across the great room, toward the master suite, when a
sound stopped him in his tracks. From the direction of the couches, he
had heard a distinct sniffle. Sure enough, Ashleigh had a fist pressed
to her mouth and her eyes were wet. Her nose was bright red, so she'd
probably been crying for a while.

Greg lowered the laundry basket to his thighs. "What is it?"

As always, he'd kept his voice gentle, but pregnant women, he was
learning, really were juicy little things-seeping from every pore, as it
were. He could understand it when she cried about missing

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her family, or the uncertain state of her father's health, or even from
the sheer boredom and isolation out here.

But in the last few days Ashleigh had oozed tears over a TV show about
unadopted puppies, over the fact that she couldn't find any of her hair
scrunchies, and over his casual confession that he occasionally dipped
snuff out on the ranch. Never mind that he didn't really care for the stuff.

He was trying, masterfully, to maintain his patience, but he wondered
what trivial upset had thrown her gyroscope off kilter now.

But this time it wasn't so insignificant.

"I'm scared," she said.

"Oh, sweetheart." He dropped the laundry basket and crossed the room in
two giant strides. He knelt by the couch and tried to put his arms
around her, but she leaned away.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. The impending birth? The stalker?

She twisted the tissue he handed her and blurted, "I'm scared that I've
messed up my life. All I wanted was a baby, and now I'm hiding in this
cabin with a stalker after me, my father's so ill and I can't even see
him, and..." She let out a sob that tore at Greg's heart.

"Oh, sweetheart," he repeated.

"And now I can't even remember Chad's face. I...I f-forgot to bring a
picture with me, and now I can't remember what he looked like, not really."

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"Oh, Ash. Come here."

But instead of letting him comfort her, she turned her face to the bank
of windows. "I swore I'd never forget him."

"You haven't forgotten him, sweetheart." He stroked her hair. Her
forehead felt hot. "Maybe you've forgotten a few details, that's all. It
doesn't mean you've forgotten how you felt about him. That's what
counts-the love you shared. That'll never go away."

"That's just it. I have forgotten how I felt about him, sort of. All I
can think about is how I feel about you."

Greg's heart did a quick thud-thud. Was this going to be good or bad?
Was she going to pull away from him again and retreat back into the
losses of the past? Now, when they'd finally broken down all the
barriers, when they'd finally stopped all the games and the lies and
gotten truly close? "You don't want to think about me?"

"Of course I do! You're the father of my baby, and I love you. I mean,
all I can think about is...being with you."

"That's all I can think about these days, too. Our life together."

"No. I mean being with you...making love to you. Every time I look at
you, I think about that. How I'd like to feel close to you, to feel
normal, like a woman again. But when I think that way, it makes me feel
so guilty about Chad. Oh," she

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sobbed and rubbed her fevered brow. "I'm all mixed up."

Ashleigh kept rambling, but Greg's mind was snagged back on one fact.
She'd been thinking about making love to him? Really? He didn't think
pregnant women ever wanted that.

"It's like I'm in a whole new world now," she was saying, "and you're
suddenly the center of that world. And the world I shared with Chad is
way, way back there, not even real anymore. It's almost as if...I don't
know." Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "This isn't what I planned at
all!" she wailed.

"Oh, sweetheart. This isn't what either of us planned. I didn't plan
that stupid brownout in California, but it happened. I didn't plan to
fall in love with you, but I did. Totally." He touched her again, this
time pressing his warm palm possessively to her abdomen. "I didn't
exactly plan on being a daddy, at least not this way, but I'm going to
be. That's the reality."

Finally, she looked at him. "That's just it. I wouldn't change anything
now, even if I could." Her voice fell to a whisper. "I guess that's the
trouble. I'm glad I found you. And I'm...I'm so glad this is your baby,
and not Chad's. And that makes me feel so guilty!"

"I know how you feel." He tried to wrap his arms around her again, but
she held herself apart from him, still unyielding.

"For a long time-" Greg kept his voice gentle

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as he spoke "-I felt guilty about Kendra, wondering if there wasn't
something else I could have done. I think guilt kind of goes with the
territory when you lose someone. But it won't do us any good to feel
guilty about Chad, or about Kendra, for that matter. What's happening
here is between the two of us now. This is our baby. And this baby
deserves two parents who love each other, who are happy together, not
guilty and sad. Ashleigh, we have to let the past be the past and stop
looking back."

She pressed her knuckles to her lips, letting out a sob. He could see
how mightily she was struggling with this final letting go of her
husband. Though Chad had been dead five years and Kendra only three,
Greg understood that he had managed to let go more completely. The human
heart, he realized, did not heal on a set calendar.

Maybe part of Ashleigh's trouble had been this whole sperm bank
business. He had not had any such lingering part of Kendra to hang on
to. It seemed ironic beyond comprehension that it was Chad's banked
sperm that had inadvertently brought the two of them together now.

Ashleigh had had so much to process and accept, and she'd had to do it
all during the hormonal overload of pregnancy. He would have done
anything to ease Ashleigh's pain at that moment, but only she could let
Chad go. He couldn't do that for her. All he could do was try to comfort
her.

"Can I just hold you for a minute?" he said.

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"No!" She rocked miserably, locked in her guilt and her pain.

But her sharp denial told him how badly she needed him to do just that.
He slid up onto the couch and took her in his arms.

Finally, she sank against him, sobbing.

Ashleigh pressed her cheek against Greg's chest, letting the full impact
of his strong muscles, the sound of his strong beating heart, engulf her
senses. Her longing for him and the hopefulness that the longing gave
her welled up, bringing more tears. She let herself cry it all out. She
cried and cried while he held her, until she felt cleansed, and when she
calmed down, she felt suddenly light, as if she were an empty vessel.
She clung to him fiercely and said, "Oh, Greg. I want you."

"I want you, too." He circled one arm around her hips, pulling her body
up into a C on his lap. "And I'll have you. Someday soon."

"We belong together," she said. She rested her head against his shoulder
as he cradled her.

"Yes, we do. And we will be together, for the rest of our lives. We'll
get married as soon as we can safely take the baby back to Denver."

"No. I mean we belong together. Joined. Our bodies."

"Ashleigh-"

"Don't you want to feel that close to me?"

"Of course I do! But you...you're..."

"I'm nine months pregnant. Don't you think I

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know that!" she cried. "But I'm also in love. I'm so in love with you
right now. What if something happens to one of us-"

"Don't say that." He touched two fingers to her lips. "Nothing is going
to happen to anybody." He tightened his arms around her and pressed his
lips to her forehead.

"We've been alone in this cabin together all this time," she persisted,
"and yet we've never even been together. Never once. Not once...not
as... lovers."

"But Ashleigh-"

"No!" She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and cupped a hand over her
mouth, drawing two gulping breaths, fighting for control, but it didn't
help. Control refused to come, because nothing would help her now,
except... "I want-" She swallowed hard and grasped the back of his
shirt, squeezing her eyes shut. "I want to make love. Just this once. I
need that, Greg. Please, don't deny us this. Please. You would do what I
asked, if it would comfort me, if we were married, wouldn't you? If we
were married and having this baby and we were in love-"

"We are in love," he interrupted, and his eyes bore into hers as if to
say, Never question that again.

She nodded solemnly. "Yes. We are. And because we're in love, I want
you. I want to feel like I'm yours."

"We can wait until after the baby is born," he

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said with conviction. But the tight muscles of his jaw told her it was
an effort.

"I asked the midwife and she said it wouldn't hurt anything as long as
it wasn't overly vigorous."

"You asked the midwife?" Greg looked stunned. Then slightly embarrassed.

"Please," Ashleigh begged. "I need this. It would...it would comfort me
now. I can't...I can't explain it." She felt tears welling up again. "I
need to be joined with you. Now. Not later." In her heart Ashleigh knew
this need had something to do with letting Chad go and fully accepting
Greg as the father of her baby, as her future husband...as her lover.

His eyes studied her face and she could see his resolve shifting. "If
we...if we get physical, won't it hurt the baby?"

"Katherine said it's okay it we're careful. I'll tell you if something
doesn't feel right, and we'll stop."

His eyelids closed again, slowly, as if weighing something of great
import. "All right. If this is really what you want. But I'll...I'11
only enter you-"

She nodded solemnly.

"Only enter." His eyes searched hers again. Determined. In control.
"Only once. To join us-nothing more." Ashleigh could tell that he was
indulging her emotions against his better judgment. He was going to give
her what she wanted, but he was determined to safeguard their baby as
well. She had no doubt that Greg Glazier could do this.

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"Nothing more," she agreed, because what choice did he give her?

Slowly, gently, he started.

First, he raised her top and spread a palm on her naked abdomen.
Instantly, the baby kicked and Greg bent forward and reverently kissed
the spot.

Ashleigh smiled. "You see? Everything's all right."

But Greg didn't return her smile, as if the situation were too solemn,
too intense for smiles. Keeping his eyes on hers, he shook his head.
"Don't," he mouthed.

She sobered and nodded, understanding that he didn't want to diminish
what they were about to do. Eyes wide, she kept still on his lap,
silently, allowing him to touch her.

They had spent hours like this-Greg with his hands on her, feeling for
movement from their child, adoring her body while he rubbed lotion on
her, getting to know her through his fingertips as he massaged,
comforted, warmed her. But now his touch was different. Now his hands
felt as if he was, at last, claiming her. For himself. For them.

Those hands traveled up, marking her skin with his heat, encircling her
full breasts. He stopped there and pushed her top out of the way, and
held her breasts before him, just looking, again, claiming with his eyes.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he answered, and looked up

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into her face. Then he lowered his head and pressed a kiss, wet and hot,
between her breasts, at the apex of her very pregnant abdomen.

She lowered her head back on the pillows as the beating of her heart
became wild, intense.

He raised his head. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Yes. I'm just so in love."

"I won't do this if you're going to get overwrought."

She smiled at the ceiling. Overwrought? She loved him when he said
old-fashioned things like that. Greg Glazier had certainly proved
himself to be a man unlike any other. Perhaps-well not perhaps, she was
thoroughly convinced of it now- Greg Glazier was the only man, unique as
he was, who could have drawn her out of her carefully built fortress of
grief. Out of the darkness, into the dazzling light of his love. She
closed her eyes as the New Mexico sun poured through the vast windows,
washing over them, changing them.

"I'm not overwrought," she said. "I'm just happy. My body has never felt
so alive, so womanly. I can't see how feeling this good could possibly
be bad for the baby."

His hands stilled, gently cupping her breasts. "What if it makes you go
into labor?"

She smiled and tossed her head. It was exactly as Katherine Collins
said. Women welcomed labor. Men feared it. "I'm due, remember? Any day."

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"Any day," he whispered, and pressed his lips to the crown of her
swollen abdomen again.

"Greg." She spoke his name while the desire to be joined with this
man-physically, emotionally, spiritually-grew deeper than any desire she
had ever felt. It was, she knew, her soul wanting his soul. "I want you
inside of me now. Will you do this for me?"

"Yes." He pushed himself away from her and stood. "But I'm taking you to
the bedroom." He bent and gently scooped her up.

The master suite was awash with light at this time of day, so that
everything in the room seemed lit from within. Ashleigh couldn't imagine
a better time, a better place, for their first real intimacy.

After he laid her on the bed, he removed her clothes in silence. Her
body, fleshy and sensuous, glowed in the slanting rays of the late
afternoon sun. With his eyes boldly adoring her, Greg straightened and
took his jeans off.

"Turn on your side," he said, his voice husky, low and solemn.

She did as he asked. He tilted her up slightly, and slid a flat pillow
under her abdomen for support. "Comfortable?"

"Yes. But a little nervous." She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

He bent forward and kissed her lips lightly. "That's natural." His voice
was deep. "It's a big step. Are you sure?"

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"Absolutely."

He ran his hands down her front, bringing one palm down to cup the
inside of her thigh. He urged her legs open, then molded his body
against hers. He pressed her most sensitive part with his palm while he
angled his hips sharply up to fit hers. That first impact of his hot,
hard flesh right where she needed him most was a sensation Ashleigh knew
she would never forget as long as she lived. "Oh, Greg," she gasped.

Despite his earlier intentions to simply be joined to satisfy Ashleigh's
emotional needs, Ashleigh heard Greg's sharp intake of breath as he
positioned them together for deeper contact.

"Greg," she whispered his name again, as his warm, strong hand gently
guided one of her legs high on his hip.

"I know," he answered as his breathing grew heavier. "I'll be super gentle."

"No. I was going to say, don't...don't deny us anything."

"We can't do everything we want, Ash. I'm only going to be inside you,
remember? Just barely inside. No...no thrusting or anything like that."

She tried to nod, but flushed with desire, ended up tossing her head
aside in frustration.

"Ashleigh..." He took her face in his hands and turned it toward his. "I
won't do this unless we promise to keep it gentle."

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"Okay," she whispered. But her breathing became even more rapid.

And then slowly, so slowly, with his eyes holding hers the entire time,
he entered her. As he filled her for the first time, Ashleigh couldn't
control herself. She tilted her hips, opening completely to him, causing
his muscles to ripple as he struggled for control. Despite herself, she
writhed against him until, finally, he groaned and pushed to fit her,
fully and completely.

It had been so long. So, so long, for Ashleigh. When he lowered his head
and reverently kissed her mouth, a great wave of longing crested over her.

But with his strong hands, he held her hips still. "We promised," he
reminded her, "nothing strenuous."

"I can't help it."

"Slow your breathing down. Try to match mine," Greg commanded.

Watching his face closely, Ashleigh could see that he had trouble
controlling his own breathing. And inside her she could feel
him-throbbing. When the day came for them to finally make unrestrained
love...she closed her eyes in ecstasy at the thought.

Greg looked down at Ashleigh, at her quivering eyelids, at her soft,
luminous flesh, and he realized that this exquisite creature was truly his.

He kept them joined, while they held their bodies absolutely still.

They did manage to slow their breathing, finding

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an identical rhythm. Looking into each other's eyes, to Greg it seemed
their very heartbeats were becoming synchronized.

When he was unable to bear it another second, Greg's eyes slid closed
and he grasped the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his, clasping
it in a fierce kiss. She answered with a moan that tore unbidden from
her throat. In response, his body bowed in an involuntary movement
below, but immediately he checked himself.

But his sudden stillness only seemed to drive Ashleigh wild. She tried
not to move, quivering with the effort, but then she cried out, "Ah!" as
her own tremors started. He could feel them localized at first, then
pulsing upward, outward, roaring through her whole body, unstoppable.

"No," Greg said, when he realized the intensity of what was happening to
her. He held her tight, but it was too late. She had tumbled over an
unseen cliff and was pulling him with her. With a low growl, he grasped
her body against his and, holding tighter still, felt himself pumping
into her.

He whispered against the pulse in her neck when their bodies had finally
quieted. "Oh, Ashleigh. I'm sorry. I couldn't stop."

Ashleigh stroked the hair at his temples back. "Don't be sorry. I asked
you to you, begged you to. I couldn't stop, either."

She threw her head back while love, joy, happiness, every emotion that a
woman in love could feel,

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coursed over her face. She smiled. I am not sorry. In fact, I'm overjoyed."

"We'll see if you feel overjoyed-" Greg kissed her upraised chin "-when
our little experiment throws you into active labor."

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sure enough by that afternoon, Ashleigh began to have twinges of
contractions. At first she waited them out in silence, knowing Greg
would blame himself for precipitating something that was totally
inevitable and natural. But after a couple of hours the pattern and the
rhythm of labor became unmistakable... and harder to conceal.

Barely suppressing her flushing anticipation, she sought Greg out. He
was in the cabin's kitchen, making their supper. "Don't get all
excited," she told him just as a stronger contraction started, "but feel
this."

Greg turned to face her fully, wiping his hands on a towel and
swallowing the bite of carrot he'd been chewing as if it were a rock. He
looked into her eyes and let her guide his hands to rest on her front.
With his palms feeling her tightening uterus, his eyes grew huge.
"You're kidding," he whispered.

"Nope." Ashleigh's breath caught and she held it as the contraction
reached its zenith. "Sure feels like-" she let out her breathe "-the
real thing. Doesn't it?"

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"I'm calling Katherine." He guided Ashleigh to a kitchen chair. "Don't
move."

Greg felt a wrenching sensation in his own belly as he spoke with the
midwife. This was it. His child was going to be born.

"Katherine said to call her right back after we timed them," Greg told
Ashleigh when he'd hung up.

He quickly turned off the burners under the food and took Ashleigh by
the hand, leading her to the bedroom where he made her lie on the bed on
her side until the next contraction came. He was ready with his
wristwatch, counting the seconds. While they waited for the next one,
Greg stroked Ashleigh's forehead and said things like, "I can't believe
he's finally coming." And "You'll be okay." And "I'll be right beside
you the whole time."

Ashleigh held his fingers nervously, occasionally kissing them and
saying things like, "I can't wait to see him-to see what kind of baby we
made." And "I'm not afraid." And "I'm so glad I found you."

"I found you," he reminded her, but she didn't answer because another
contraction had started.

Her eyes closed and her breathing grew rapid. It had been five minutes.

"This is it," Greg pronounced after the third contraction in fifteen
minutes. "You're in labor."

Greg called Katherine again, and then got busy getting the cabin ready.
There wasn't really much to do. He'd been preparing for weeks. Ashleigh
would

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deliver the baby in the queen-size bed in the master suite, which had
its own bathroom, complete with a huge Jacuzzi tub in the sunny corner.
In case she wanted to get into a tub of warm water during labor or even
during the birthing process. Greg had wiped the entire bathroom down
with disinfectant again that morning-right after their crazy lovemaking
episode.

He still couldn't believe that had actually happened. Life with this
woman would surely prove to be unpredictable. Life with this woman and
their son, he corrected himself, and smiled. That thought propelled him
to the bassinet and the changing table at the ready in the corner. He
checked the baby's stack of things-a diaper, a cotton onesie, a long
gown, a tiny knit skull cap, a super soft receiving blanket.

The midwife would bring her oils for Ashleigh, as well as everything for
clamping and tending the cord, but Greg jerked the top drawer of the
changing table open, anyway. The contents looked like something out of a
medical supply catalog. He had picked out each item himself-he didn't
give a big green bean what Ashleigh and the midwife said about births
being "natural." He was going to be prepared.

He had procured his own sterile clamp at the hospital, sterile blunt
scissors, too. He'd made a duplicate travel kit in a Ziploc bag. He took
it out and put it on top of the changing table, just in case. He

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thumbed the disposable covers and snap-activated cold packs he'd bought
for Ashleigh's perineum. He eyed the saline baby nose drops, a bulb
syringe, blunt tweezers, baby-safe ear swabs, cotton balls, four-by-four
gauze, petroleum jelly, a thermometer, baby wipes to refill the warmer
up top, diaper ointment, tiny comb, tiny brush. He'd even found tiny
baby nail clippers.

He jerked the next drawer open to give it the same once-over. Tiny
diapers, tiny undershirts, tiny socks, tiny everything.

Third drawer. Burp cloths, crib sheets, big blankets, a humidifier.

Down in the living room they had a snuggly carrier, a car seat, a stroller.

Hell, between him and Ashleigh they'd bought the whole inventory of
Babies "R" Us and had it shipped up to this mountain, via Manny's place,
of course, in these last few weeks.

Ashleigh smiled and shook her head as he dashed past her, into the
bathroom again. The supplies for the baby's first bath were lined up
with military precision on a clean white towel next to a small plastic
basin on the bathroom counter. A concave foam pad covered with another
thick towel, just the size for a sweet little newborn-lay in waiting
next to the little tub. Greg refolded the little knit hooded towel and
rearranged the stack of baby washcloths next to it. Okay. What else?

He stepped out of the bathroom and jerked open

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a drawer in the master alcove, frowning at the contents. Next to her
nursing bras, he had three clean cotton nursing gowns at the ready for
Ashleigh. Some anklets in case her feet got cold. A neat stack of
freshly laundered "anti-man" panties and a supply of pads. What else?

The batteries in his flashlights were fresh. The gas tank in the
Navigator was full. The pantry, the fridge and the freezer were
bursting. There was a ham. Bottled spring water. Frozen bagels. Cottage
cheese. Milk. Eggs. Orange juice. Whole wheat bread. Peanut butter.
Prechopped salad in a Ziploc bag. A stash of Ashleigh's favorite treats.

He slammed the lingerie drawer shut and whirled to the bedroom again,
dragging a hand through his hair as he headed toward the stairs.

"Greg." From the bed, Ashleigh's smoky voice halted him. ' * Where are
you going?''

"To the kitchen." He frowned, assessing her for the first time since
he'd started his galloping inventory. Still lying on her side, with
pillows tucked all around, she looked perfectly relaxed, perfectly safe.

"Why?" She smiled indulgently. "Are you going to boil water and tear rags?"

"No, smart-ass. I was going to check the baby's bottles and binkies and
stuff."

Ashleigh patted the bed with one hand and her big tummy with the other.
"I'm breastfeeding this little guy, remember? And the baby and I happen
to be over here, not down in the kitchen."

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He crossed the room and knelt by the bed with his elbows poking into the
mattress. He clasped her hand and kissed her fingers, then looked in her
eyes, feeling slightly foolish. "I just want to be ready," he croaked.

He pressed her delicate knuckles to his forehead, overcome with emotion.
He could not believe the time had finally come, and soon they would see
their child. The idea of the baby-his baby-suckling at Ashleigh's
beautiful breasts made his chest swell, aching with joy. He found he
couldn't speak, his happiness was so great.

"Stop obsessing." Ashleigh stroked his hair. "We're all ready. Now, hold
me. I'm starting another contraction."

He eased himself onto the bed beside her and gently cradled her body
from behind. He slid his palms around, under her top, over her abdomen,
stroking her skin in warm, feather light circles while she breathed
through the contraction, and then through another. And another.

Between contractions, they touched and whispered to each other. Dreaming
aloud about where they would live, how they would raise this child, what
it would be like when they could finally make love with abandon. While
outside the vast uncovered windows of the cabin, snow began to flutter
down, at first in tiny, teasing specks and then, later, in great, gentle
flakes.

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Naturally, Katherine Collins thought as the flakes began to stick to her
windshield, Ashleigh's baby would decide to come after dark-the sun was
well behind the peaks now-and in a snowstorm. She flipped on her wipers,
and as they raked away the first slushy flakes, she hoped the
precipitation wouldn't get too thick. She downshifted as she climbed the
first turn of Switchback. The midwife who was supposed to assist her had
been called out to an emergency a few hours ago, and Katherine wouldn't
be able to expect her at the Coleman cabin anytime soon. Well, first
babies were usually slow to arrive. It would all work out. She'd faced
this kind of stress before.

She flipped out her cell phone to make one last-ditch check at the
clinic. Once she got in that cabin, tucked into the rocky south face,
she knew that her phone wasn't going to work.

Their receptionist, Trish, always working late, always conscientious,
answered the phone.

"Any hope for a backup for me out here at the Coleman cabin?" Katherine
spoke fast, not knowing when she'd lose her signal.

"Oh, dear, let's see."

Over the static, Katherine could hear Trish's chair creaking as she got
up to check the dry-erase board in the back room.

"Not much chance. Lydia's delivering the Dorhman baby back in a birthing
room right now. She'll

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be tied up the rest of the evening. Heidi's out on a postpartum check
near Eagle Nest."

"What about Dawn?"

"Out of town. Skiing with her family up in Red River. I suppose I could
try and raise her. It's not that far from you. I'm sure she'd come down
if I can find her."

"No, don't do that. This should be a normal delivery. Ask Heidi to come
on up here when she's done."

The signal was breaking up so badly that Trish had to shout her next
words. "I'll call her now."

Katherine punched End. The snow was getting thicker, creating a blinding
screen in front of her headlights. She raised the speed on her wipers
and checked her speedometer. Eight miles to go.

Greg was pacing, just like the nervous daddies in the movies. Ashleigh
sighed as she watched him, long legs striding to the dark windows then
back. She decided that looking at one's lover was a great way to
distract oneself between labor pains. And her lover-soon to be her
husband!-was a fine specimen of a man, indeed.

He raked one of his large, graceful hands through his disheveled hair
and gave her a grin. "Hang in there, sweetheart," he said. He'd already
brought her ice chips and a warmed cotton blanket, rubbed her tummy, her
back, even her feet. He seemed to have endless strength and energy. She
sighed. What

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had she been thinking, planning to have a baby without a man?

Again, his heavy cowboy boots clunked from area rug to hardwood floor in
a determined rhythm. Even his behind looked cute in his jeans. Ashleigh
broke into a broad grin, but it was quickly drawn down by the gravity of
a viselike pain compressing her middle.

Greg flew to her side, placed one hand over her rock-hard fundus,
gauging. When the contraction was done, he frowned at his watch. "That
was a long one. And did it seem really strong to you?"

Ashleigh nodded, blew out a cleansing breath. "They're getting much
stronger now."

Greg swabbed her forehead with a cool washcloth, looking out into the
snowy night. "Where in the hell is Katherine?" he said under his breath.

Katherine was struggling to see the road in the worsening storm. She
slowed to a crawl around the next curve, unsure if she was even keeping
to her own side of the road. This was shaping up into a dangerous snowstorm.

When the road straightened, she saw the blur of headlights coming up
behind her. She hoped the driver wasn't going to be one of those idiot
tailgaters, but even as she had that thought, the headlights closed in.
He couldn't pass her in this mess, and he didn't try. He simply dogged
her bumper, following her.

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Around the next curve they went, Katherine keeping her traction going
slow and steady. The driver behind, in some kind of old sedan that
probably didn't even have front-wheel drive, fishtailed his way through
the turn. He was probably getting impatient. Too bad, buddy, she
thought. / won't hurry through a mountain snowstorm for anybody.

Katherine got so preoccupied checking the rear-view mirror for her
tailgater that she didn't even see the huge deer dart out of the trees.
Instead she felt a massive thud. She screamed as her heart jolted and
the Jeep careened into a spin, slamming into a boulder at the side of
the road. She batted away her air bag just in time to see the car behind
barely missing her rear bumper. Then it went spinning off onto a turnout
ahead.

Shaking, Katherine got out of the Jeep and covered her mouth at the
sight of the huge buck, illuminated by one shattered headlight, antlers
entangled in her front bumper. The impact had killed the beautiful
creature...and had completely disabled her Jeep.

Up ahead at the turnout the big boat of a sedan was righting itself. Her
broken headlight was reflected off the eyeglasses of a massive man
behind the wheel. She waved frantically. But when he pulled onto the
road, he drove away from her, on up the mountain.

Of all the... Probably some zoned-out druggie.

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There were a few strange types tucked back up in these mountains.

She climbed back inside her Jeep. Checked her cell phone for a signal.
None. Checked her speedometer. Six miles to Ashleigh's. Too far to walk
in this freezing snow. She dug out her emergency roadside kit, found the
flashlight, the poncho, her Help-Call-Police sign and two chemical light
sticks. She put the sign in the rear window, donned the bright yellow
poncho, and climbed back out of the Jeep. She snapped the light sticks,
shook them vigorously, and placed the greenish glowing wands
strategically at the corners of her vehicle.

Then she climbed back inside and wrapped the blankets that she kept in
the back seat around her shoulders and legs. She huddled, considering
whether or not it might make sense to walk to the nearest house for
help. On other trips she'd made up here during the day, she'd seen a
turnoff to a run-down old place. But that could be where the coldhearted
bastard who'd left her stranded out here was heading. No telling what
kind of creep that guy was, and if he was, in fact, dangerous, she'd be
out in the boonies with him, on foot.

She decided to lock up and stay put. Oh, please, she prayed, let Heidi
get finished quickly and drive up this road to find me. And please, keep
Ashleigh and the baby safe. And please, help Greg Glazier if he has to
be the one to deliver this baby. Please give him the skills he needs and
help him be calm and strong.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Simon Fischer kept the old car moving up the steep road, but after
witnessing the accident, he eased back on the gas. This road was slick!
And dark. He peered through the endless shifting pellets of snow in
front of his headlights. The turnoff to that big cabin should be coming
up soon.

He had no doubt that he'd done the right thing, leaving that midwife
behind on the roadside in that Jeep. That woman might identify him, help
the police find him, endangering his plan to escape with the baby. She
was just one more person out of the way. How amazing-how lucky!-that
she'd hit that deer. It was all part of Simon's destiny, he was sure.
But until he got the baby rescued, the fewer people he saw face to face,
the better.

Ashleigh Logan was undoubtedly in labor. Why else would the midwife be
driving on this road, in the dark, in this weather? But from what Simon
had learned watching the All About Babies show, the birth could be
imminent or it could take hours. He would have to be cautious,
approaching the cabin. He would have to be wary.

The man he had seen at the door, her boyfriend,

275

no doubt, might pose a real problem. But now that it might just be the
two of them in the cabin, Simon could wait until he was certain the baby
was born, then create a distraction-a fire? a broken window?-and draw
the boyfriend out of the cabin. Then he could break inside and take the
baby from the mother-the woman. She was not a mother. She was a selfish
harlot who had created a baby as if it were just one more possession to
heap upon her sickening pile. Whatever he did, it would have to be soon
after the birth while the woman was too weak to resist.

He parked at the bottom of the drive, in the shallow turnout where he
had parked before. He killed the engine and headlights, got out and
shivered. It was so cold out here! He would wrap the baby up good and
tight. He could take care of a baby. He knew he could.

Greg timed the contractions at three-minute intervals, told Ashleigh he
had to go to the kitchen and that he'd be right back.

Away from the bedroom, where Ashleigh couldn't hear, he dialed
Katherine's cell phone number but got a voice-mail message instead of a
connection.

"Ms. Collins," he said, leaving his message rapidly, "this is Greg
Glazier. I'm trying to reach you to see if something's gone wrong. We
seem to be

276

getting closer to delivery here. I'm helping Ashleigh use the breathing
techniques you taught us but-''

He heard a noise outside just as the motion sensor on that corner of the
house switched on.

Greg raised the window over the sink and looked out into the snowy
night. The bright light illuminated only silently falling snow, thick as
down feathers from a burst pillow, and then darkness beyond. Greg stood
stock-still and listened, heard only a soughing in the pines. He slammed
the window down. Probably that old deer again.

"Greg!" Ashleigh called out. He dashed into the bedroom.

She was raised up on her elbows, her expression pinched, her legs spread
wide. "I feel like I need to push."

Holy God. What should he do?

' 'Not yet, sweetheart." Not yet-the midwife's not here.

"But I...I can't...I want to push."

Raking his mind to remember everything he'd read and seen on the videos
in the last few weeks, he said, "Let me check you. We'll see if you're
crowning."

Just as he got her knees raised, a contraction hit her full force. He
tried to stroke her forehead, meaning to wait until the pain was over,
but Ashleigh, panting hard, tossed her head and said, "No! Look now!"

He pushed her gown up and tilted the bedside

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lamp and watched her perineum for any signs. Thing looked pretty
swollen, but there was no sign of the baby's head.

Halfway through the contraction, Ashleigh thrashed, tossing her head
side to side. If he didn't miss his guess, this was transition. They
were close. He needed help.

He made his next call from the bedroom. He would not leave Ashleigh's
side again.

"Trish? Greg Glazier. Ashleigh Logan is having her baby and Katherine
Collins hasn't arrived yet. Yes. I'll hold."

Lydia Kane's voice came on the line next and Greg felt a rush of relief.
Thank God those woman often worked late. "Mr. Glazier?"

"Yes."

"Can you see any sign of the baby at the vaginal opening?''

"Not really."

"Good. Then she's not crowning yet. Trish is trying to reach Katherine
on another line right now. We have no idea what has happened to her. She
left here over an hour ago. Trish will also try to locate a backup
midwife who probably can get to you in thirty minutes. I have a patient
about to deliver here, so I cannot come up there."

She let a beat of silence reverberate before her next question. "Have
you ever delivered a baby, Mr. Glazier?"

"No."

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"Attended a birth?"

"No." Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if pulling a foal
counted.

There was a tense, thoughtful pause on the other end, then Lydia Kane
said, "I think it would be wise for you to go ahead and bring Ms. Logan
into the clinic."

"I agree,"

"In the meantime, I am going to talk you through anything that happens.
Stay calm and remember that birth is a natural event and that Ashleigh
is very healthy. We expect a good outcome. All you have to do is follow
my instructions."

"Okay."

"You have a four-wheel-drive vehicle, do you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. With a first baby we probably have plenty of time, nevertheless,
I want you to bundle Ashleigh up right now and bring her to the clinic.
You're only twenty minutes away. We will deliver her here. Call me back
on your cell phone as soon as you can get a signal."

Greg did not waste one millisecond. He snatched up the ziploc bag
containing the gloves, sterile scissors, sterile clamp, cold pack and
receiving blanket and jammed the thing into the pocket of his leather
jacket as he jerked it on.

"Greg!" Ashleigh screamed. Greg turned to her and saw a wild-eyed woman,
clawing backward on

279

the bed as if she'd seen a ghost. Was this another bizarre reaction to
transition?

"Oh, God!" she yelled again, pointing at the windows.

"What? What is it?" He ran to her, put his hands on her. She was trembling.

"There." She pointed a shaking arm to the black expanse of glass
opposite the bed. "I saw someone. Out there. Running-" her voice
squeaked with fear "-in the trees!"

Greg looked out the windows and at the black woods. Again, the motion
sensor lights on that side of the house had come on.

"Are you sure it was a person? Not an animal?"

"I'm sure!" Ashleigh's voice was high-pitched and panicked.

Greg flipped off the bedside lamp, walked to the windows and peered out.
Nothing. Even so, he went to the dresser, opened the lockbox, snapped a
clip into his Glock, chambered a round, checked the safety and jammed
the gun under his waistband at his back.

"Come on, sweetheart. We're getting out of here." By the reflected glow
of the safety lights, he helped Ashleigh into her robe, hurriedly
wriggled house slippers onto her feet, then wrapped her tightly in a
blanket before scooping her up in his arms with the Navigator keys
clutched in his left hand.

Greg carried Ashleigh to the front door, and he

280

gently maneuvered her through. As soon as he kicked the door shut, there
he was.

'She hasn't had the baby yet?" the large man said from the shadowy pines.

Ashleigh screamed, then buried her face in Greg's neck. "Ah," she cried
immediately, grabbing her front. From the bowing of her back, Greg knew
a contraction had started.

"I don't want her." The man stepped into the light. Several inches
taller and considerably heavier than Greg, he was the reporter who'd
tried to take Ashleigh's picture the night Greg met her. The same guy
Manny had so accurately described. Wire-rimmed glasses. Burr haircut.
Built like a tank. But tonight he wasn't a polite, smiling charmer.
Tonight his lower lip drooped, glistening with a faint sheen of saliva,
communicating his unstable state of mind, his evil intention. Grazing
his thick tongue over that protruding lip, the man said, "I don't want
to hurt anybody. I don't want anything but the baby." At that, Greg felt
the blood halt in his veins.

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CHAPTER TWENTY

With Ashleigh clinging to his neck, in the throes of a contraction, Greg
thought his Glock might as well have been back up in the lockbox. His
mind raced as he anticipated the weapon this crazed idiot thought he
might employ to persuade Greg to hand over his only child. A knife? A gun?

"I have come to take the baby," the monster repeated.

"There's a problem," Greg lied, and tightened his grip on Ashleigh to
communicate to her what he was about to do. "She's bleeding. I have to
take her to the hospital."

"I have only come to take the baby," the creep insisted again and,
reaching under his coat, started lumbering forward in the snow.

"Hold tight," Greg instructed in Ashleigh's ear. She clung to his
shoulders and curled into a ball.

In one lightning motion Greg shifted her weight, securing his left arm
in a vise around her hips. Simultaneously, with the right hand that had
been under her knees, he whipped out his Glock, thumbed off the safety
and slammed his arm back under her knees again. The gun barrel was
pointed squarely at

282

the guy's gut and the sight of it stopped Fischer in his tracks.

' 'Pull your weapon out-slowly-and toss it over there."

The creep withdrew a gun and flung it into a snow bank.

"Step over there, into the snow." Greg waved his Glock toward the deep
drifts against the tree trunks where the lot sloped away from the drive.

The big man stumbled back, collapsing backward into a drift up to his hips.

Greg fumbled in his fist and hit the clicker to the Navigator, Ashleigh
managed the door handle, and he swung her into the seat. He ran around,
jumped in, reset the safety on the Glock, started the engine, rammed it
in reverse, backed around and roared down the drive.

In his rearview mirror, he saw the man, with his long legs plowing
through the snow, chasing them. Off to the right, he spotted what he
assumed was the guy's wreck of a vehicle, parked off in the trees.
Fischer would no doubt find his gun, get in that thing and chase them
down this treacherous road.

Fortunately, Ashleigh didn't see the car. With trembling fingers she was
busy trying to find a signal on the cell phone. "Nothing!" she cried in
frustration as she slapped the phone shut. "Where in the hell are the
cops when you need them! Greg..." She gripped his arm as a contraction
hit her, almost causing him to lose control of the wheel. "Promise me,"

283

she ground out, "you won't let that son of a bitch... anywhere...
near... our baby.''

"I won't," Greg vowed.

When the contraction ended Greg glanced in the rearview mirror and saw
headlights advancing. "Buckle your seat belt," he ordered.

"I can't! I'm too busy having a bab-oooww!" Ashleigh cried as another
contraction hit her. She arched on the seat, fighting the pain.

When this one was over, Greg said, "Sweetheart, listen. I want you to
try and calm down to conserve your energy."

"I can't, dammit! I'm having a baby while we're careening down a
mountainside and some demented maniac is try-ooww!"

The next contraction made her shut up and breathe deep. When it
subsided, she cried, "Omi-god!" and looked down. "My water broke."

Greg cut a sideways glance-a dark stain of amniotic fluid flooded over
the seat of the Navigator-and then turned back to focus on the next
hairpin turn.

In no time Ashleigh let out another pained moan, spread her knees wide
and grabbed her abdomen. "The baby's coming!" she ground out through
clenched teeth.

"Try not to push," Greg yelled. "Blow!" He knew they wouldn't make it to
The Birth Place in time.

284

With Ashleigh puffing like a fire bellows, the mile to Manny's place
felt like a million.

The Navigator churned snow and mud as Greg spun into Manny's drive and
roared up to the house while blasting the horn. He lurched to a stop
near the front porch.

The porch light snapped on and Manny hurried down the steps as Greg was
rounding the Navigator to Ashleigh's door. "She's having the baby now,"
Greg yelled.

Manny crossed himself as he ran to assist Greg.

"Can you pant through this next contraction while I carry you inside?"
Greg asked Ashleigh as he put his arms around her.

Despite her pain, Ashleigh nodded.

Greg hoisted her out of the Navigator and Manny ran ahead. At the front
door Greg looked back and saw headlights turning into Manny's drive.

Reading Greg's face, Manny looked up, too. "The midwife?"

"No. The creep."

"The one who came sniffing around here?" Manny followed Greg through the
living room.

"There's a Glock on the seat of the Navigator," Greg told Manny as he
laid Ashleigh on the bed. "Can you keep that guy out of here?"

"Si." Manny grabbed his rifle from a rack in the corner and started
feeding shells into the magazine. "And I will call Miguel."

285

"Call Lydia Kane at The Birth Place, too. Tell her we're here."

' 'S(9'' Manny said, and dashed out of the room.

Outside, Manny stood on his porch, spread his legs wide and aimed the
rifle at the massive man lumbering toward the house in the dark. Manny
had known they had not seen the last of this character.

"Stop, amigo. You got no business here."

Fischer stopped, but then Manny saw the gun in his hand. Manny held the
barrel of his rifle deadly still.

"Drop it. Or do you want to die?" Manny said. Fischer dropped the gun.
"Put your hands up and lie facedown. Over there-" he flipped the rifle
barrel toward a rocky spot in the drive "-on the ground."

But Fischer only lumbered forward. "I'm taking that baby," he muttered.

"Trust me, amigo, if you pull anything I will shoot you." Manny cocked
the rifle, and Fischer halted again. "I've killed a lot of men in my
time," Manny continued quietly while they stared each other down, "one
more isn't going to matter much with God. Now, get your ass down on the
ground."

"God will punish you," Fischer growled as he threw his huge frame to his
knees.

"Probably so," Manny said as he hitched down the porch steps. He poked
the rifle at the man's back, forcing him fully prone. "But not for this
particular

286

deed. Now, put your hands behind your back. I got to tie you up." Manny
dug his trusty roll of duct tape from his baggy pocket.

Manny entered the bedroom quietly. Greg's coat was off; his sleeves were
rolled up. He was propping some pillows that he'd snatched off the boys'
beds behind Ashleigh, who had started another contraction.

"That loco can't bother us now," Manny assured Ashleigh.

"I can help with the baby," he told Greg calmly. "Me and my Rosa, we had
one of ours at home. Everything turned out fine."

"What's happening down there?" Ashleigh wilted when the contraction was
over. She seemed calmer and more in control now-Greg was relieved to see
that the panic of transition had passed. He pushed her gown up above her
hips, flexed her legs and gently rotated her knees outward.

"Looks like the baby's crowning," he pronounced.

Manny hurried off to wash his hands.

Greg's palms were sweating as he pulled on the latex gloves, then shook
out the receiving blanket and opened the packages with the cord clamp
and scissors.

Manny came in with a stack of threadbare but freshly laundered towels.
Greg folded two into a pad and wedged the barrier under Ashleigh's hips

287

between her skin and the wet gown. He laid another towel at the ready to
dry the baby.

Manny was over in the corner, plugging in the new space heater Greg had
given him only a few weeks ago.

"Okay, sweetheart." Greg sat on the bed and cupped one palm gently over
Ashleigh's knee as he looked her in the eye. "Be ready to push, and keep
pushing, on this next one."

The contraction hit with full force, but with Greg's encouragement,
Ashleigh made good use of its power.

She wilted back against the pillows when it subsided. "I think I need a
little courage here," she said.

"My sweetheart..." Greg kissed her forehead soundly. "You have enough
courage for ten women."

The next push brought the top of a tiny blond head forth.

"Watch out for the cord." Ashleigh strained forward, trying to see. Her
face was bright red, her eyes hyper alert; she was operating with total
maternal empowerment now.

"I am." Greg looked down and never took his eyes off of his emerging
child so that immediately he spotted it-a pale fleshy rope, tightly
binding the baby's neck. Imitating the videos he'd watched dozens of
times, Greg hooked a finger underneath and slid the cord up over the
small, pinched face.

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Next, he delivered the tiny shoulders smoothly. And then the baby's
whole body slipped into his hands.

"Oh!" Ashleigh shouted, staring in awe. "Oh, my God! There he is!"

Greg swiped out his son's mouth with a finger, swabbed his tiny face
with the corner of the receiving blanket, dried the slippery little body
with Manny's towel. But the tense seconds ticked by while the baby
remained colorless, limp and unresponsive.

"Rub him some more," Manny urged, pressing a fresh towel into Greg's
hands. Greg rubbed the tiny body more vigorously, willing his son to
grab hold of life.

"Breathe," he commanded.

The baby grimaced, gasped, sputtered, and then opened his cherubic
little lips and started to howl.

When the baby started crying, Greg's eyes welled up. Which made Ashleigh
cry, too. Even Manny swiped at sudden tears. For a few seconds everyone
in the room was crying except for old Guapo, who had pushed the creaky
door open with his nose and padded in. With mute canine curiosity he
looked briefly in the direction of the squalling infant, then crept back
out again to resume his usual post in the living room.

Miguel Eiden arrived, having stopped and retrieved Katherine at the
roadside, trusting that Manny had done as thorough a job with the duct
tape as he claimed.

288 289

Clutching her bag, Katherine leaped from the cruiser and dashed into the
house.

While Miguel was in the process of cuffing Fischer, reading him his
rights, and stuffing him into the back seat of the cruiser, he was
gratified to hear the intermittent sounds of a wailing infant from
inside the rickety old house.

Inside, Katherine soothed them all with her gentle ways. "Oh, my, he
looks fine," she said, examining the baby. "The cord looks good-good
work, Greg. And he's a nice size. About seven pounds, I'd guess. Good
color. Good reflexes." She inserted a freshly washed finger into the
baby's mouth and he latched on. "We'll let him nurse in a minute. After
that, Officer Eiden has called for a transport."

"But first, let me check the mommy."

Katherine massaged Ashleigh's fundus, checked her for excessive bleeding
and made a concession to Greg, placing one of his fancy cold packs at
the perineum to prevent swelling. They wrapped Ashleigh's shivering legs
in one of Manny's warm flannel sheets.

When Ashleigh was covered, Manny came in with a glass of orange juice
for her.

"Good idea." Katherine smiled at the old man, who then made his exit,
quietly closing the door.

"Now," Katherine said as soon as Ashleigh had downed the juice. She
folded her hands in front of

290

her thin chest, like a fairy godmother about to grant a wish. "Are we
ready to nurse?"

Ashleigh looked at Greg and Greg looked at Ashleigh. Without speaking he
helped her ease her gown over her shoulder and exposed her breast. He
sat by her on the bed and leaned his broad shoulders back on the pillows
next to her. Then he settled his arm around her shoulders protectively.
Katherine delivered the bundled infant into Ashleigh's outstretched
arms. With only a stroke of the nipple to his rosy cheek, the baby
latched on to his mother beautifully. His two parents watched the
process in awe.

After a while the baby released the nipple, quieting into a newborn slumber.

"I was thinking about that name you suggested a while back," Ashleigh
whispered as she and Greg huddled together on the bed, admiring their
sleeping baby. "Gemariah," she said wistfully, tucking the blanket aside
so she could see the baby's face better. It was a beautiful face, and
his alone. She could see that already, although it was gratifying, so
very gratifying, to also recognize hints of his father's strong, wide
mouth and deep-set eyes.

"You'd really consider the name Gemariah?" Greg smiled at her profile.
"You mean it?"

"Yes. I've thought about it and it's what I want. That was, after all,
the name of this little boy's great-grandfather.''

"Okay," Greg agreed softly, loving this woman with all his heart. "We
could name him after

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Gramps, but we wouldn't call him Gemariah. We'll call him what people
used to call my grandfather."

"Oh? What did they call him?" Ashleigh never took her eyes off the baby.

"Jim. People always thought Great-grandma Sadie was saying Jim when she
called him Gem, and after a couple of weeks his parents gave up and went
with Jim."

"Jim Glazier," Ashleigh said, testing the name. "I like that. But back
to Gemariah. What exactly does the name mean, by the way?"

"It means..." Greg bent his head, leaning close to Ashleigh and studying
the tiny face of their baby alongside her. He touched a gentle finger to
the little brow that was so clearly fashioned after Ashleigh's. He could
see Ashleigh's good looks in the child already. And that little dusting
of white hair, softer than dandelion fluff, would surely end up blond
like hers. What a beautiful, perfect baby they had made together, in a
roundabout, miraculous sort of way. "It means..." Greg's voice, thick
with emotion, dropped to a whisper so as not to wake their sleeping
child ??He Whom Jehovah Has Completed."

The end of Enchanting Baby.