Millionaire M.D. (4 page)

That fast, that instantaneously, Win felt a bond with the baby that wrapped around her heart tighter than a vise. The thing was, as little as she knew—she already knew too much.

She was already positive that the child was going to get thrown in the foster-care system, because that's what happened when a child was deserted. Even if a parent immediately showed up, the court would still place the child in the care of Social Services—at least temporarily—because whatever motivated the parent to abandon the child could mean it wasn't safe in their care. A change of heart wasn't enough. An investigation needed to be conducted to establish what the child's circumstances were.

Winona knew all those legal procedures—both from her job and from her life. And although she knew her feelings were irrational—and annoyingly emotional—it didn't stop the instinct of bonding. The fierceness of caring. The instantaneous heart surge—even panic—to protect this baby better than she'd been protected. To save this baby the way she almost hadn't been saved. To love this baby the way—to be honest—Winona never had been and never expected to be loved.

 

There were several coffee machines spread through Royal Memorial Hospital, but only one that counted. After he'd switched from trauma medicine to plastic surgery, Justin had generally tried to avoid the Emergency Room, but by ten that morning, he was desperate. Groggy-eyed, he pushed the coins into the machine, punched his choice of Straight Black, kicked the base—he knew this coffee machine intimately—and then waited.

He wasn't standing there three minutes before he got a series of claps and thumps on his back. It was, “Hey, Dr. Webb, slumming down here?” and “Hi, Doc, we sure miss you” and “Dr. Webb, it's nice to see you with us again.”

As soon as he could yank the steaming cup out of the machine, he gulped a sip. Burned all the way down. The taste was more familiar than his own heartbeat. Battery acid, more bitter than sludge, and liberally laced with caffeine.

Fantastic.

He inhaled another gulp, and then aimed straight ahead. Down the hall, through the double glass doors, was his Plastic Surgery/Burn Unit. The community believed that the wing had been anonymously donated, which was fine with Justin. What mattered to him was that in two short years, the unit had already developed the reputation for being the best in the state. He couldn't ask for more. The equipment was the best and the technology the newest. The walls were ice-blue, the atmosphere sterile, serene, quiet. Perfect.

Nothing like the chaotic loony bin in the ER. Royal Memorial was a well-run small hospital, but a crisis stretched the capacity of its trauma unit—and the crash landing of the Asterland jet earlier that morning was still stressing the trauma team. Nobody'd had time to pick up towels and drapes. Staff jogged past in blood-and debris-stained coats. A kid squealed past him. A shrieking mom was trying to chase the kid. A nurse trailed both of them, looking harassed and taking mother-may-I giant steps. He heard babies' cries, codes on the loudspeaker. Lights flashed; phones rang; carts wheeled and wheedled past. Somebody'd spilled a coffee; someone else had thrown up, so those stinks added to all the other messes and noises. Just being around it all made something clutch in his chest. Something cruel and sharp.

Justin loved his Plastic Surgery/Burn Unit. He made a difference in his Burn Unit, for God's sake. He wanted nothing to do with trauma medicine anymore. Nothing.

He sucked down another gulp of sludge, and this time aimed down the hall and refused to look back…but he suddenly caught sight of the top of a curly-haired head coming out of a side room.

“Winona?” He wanted to shake himself. One look at
her—that's all it took—and his hormones line-danced the length of his nerves and sashayed back again. At least he promptly forgot his old hunger for the ER. “Win?”

Her head jerked up when she heard his voice. That was the first he noticed that she was carrying a baby—not that there was anything all that unusual about Winona being stuck with a kid in the Emergency Room. Her job often put her in the middle between a child and school or parents. But something about her expression alerted Justin that this was nothing like an average day for Win.

Her smile for him, though, was as natural and familiar as sunshine. “I figured you'd be in the thick of this,” she said wryly. “What a morning, huh? Were you out at the site of the crash landing?”

“Yeah, first thing. I'm not one of the doctors on call for something like that, but you know how fast news travels in Royal. I got a call, someone who'd heard there was a fire associated with the crash—so I hightailed it out there, too. I'll tell you, it was a real chaotic scene. But any outsider was just in the way, so all I did was the obvious, help the trauma team get patients routed back here. Particularly those going into my Burn Unit.”

Her eyes promptly sobered. “I haven't heard anything about how many serious injuries there were yet. Was it bad?”

Something had happened to her. Justin had no more time for idle chitchat than he suspected she did, but he kept talking, because it gave him a chance to look her over. His gaze roved from the crown of her head to her toes—the way the jeans cupped her fanny, the boots, her wildly tousled hair, the way her cheeks had pinked from the slap of a cold morning wind—none of that was unusual. But there was something different in her eyes. A fever-brightness. She stood there, rocking, rocking the bundle in her arms—the baby made no sound at all—but that liquid softness in Win's eyes was rare. Vulnerable. And Winona just never looked vulnerable if she could help it.

A blood cart pushed between them, but he wasn't about to stop their conversation just because all hell was still breaking loose. “Things could have been a lot worse. At least no one died. In a crash landing, that's pretty much a miracle in itself. Robert Klimt—one of the minor cabinet members from Asterland? He was knocked unconscious, head injury—I don't know how he is right now, I took care of some minor burns and left him to the neurologist. Pamela Miles was also on that flight—”

“I know, I know! She was headed overseas to be an exchange teacher in Asterland—did you see her, Justin? Do you know if she's okay?”

“I didn't take care of her myself, but I heard she was basically fine. Lady Helena, though—”

“Serious injuries?”

“Well, not life-threatening. Complicated break in her ankle. And once she's done with the bone man, for sure she's going to be mine. She did get some burns—”

“Oh, God. She's such a beautiful woman.”

Justin couldn't say more on Helena. For him to discuss a patient, any patient—he just never did. Not with anyone, even Winona. But he still hadn't taken his eyes off her and didn't want to give her the excuse to shoot past him. “Well, at this point, I think everyone on the flight's been through here, checked out, even if they seemed to be fine. And the whole town was as shook up as the passengers on that flight, it seems like, because people were flooding in right and left.”

“You didn't hear what caused the emergency landing, did you?”

On that he had to lift his eyebrows. “I was just going to ask
you
that, Ms. Police Officer. If anyone had answers, I figure it would be the cops first.”

“Well, normally I'd be elbowing my way to the middle of the mess from the start,” she admitted wryly, “but I got sidetracked.”

When she lifted the corner of the pale pink flannel blanket
for him to get a peek, Justin finally figured out what the emotion was in her eyes. Fierceness. The fierce protectiveness of a mama lion for her cub, or a mama eagle for her eaglet. There was nothing strange about thinking of Win and motherhood, or of her wanting to be a mom, but it just hadn't crossed his mind before what a major thing it might be for her. His knuckles—almost accidentally—brushed her hand when he touched the baby's cheek.

“Don't tell me anyone hurt this darling, or I'll have to go out and kill someone,” he said gently.

Her voice melted. “Oh, God. Justin. That's exactly how I felt. Isn't she beautiful?”

Considering she was swaddled up with nothing showing but about two inches of face and some blond spriggy hairs, Justin was hard-pressed to use the word
beautiful.
On the baby. “What's the story?”

“Her name's Angel. I ran out my front door this morning, headed for the crash site—Wayne called me around seven in the morning—and there she was. In a basket on the doorstep. With a note saying her name was Angel and asking me, specifically, to take care of her.”

Justin felt his pulse still. “This isn't the first time you've had to handle an abandoned kid,” he said carefully.

“No, of course not. But this baby's so young that obviously I had to bring her here first. I'm sure you know the beat. This day and age, a deserted baby could mean drugs or AIDS or all kinds of things in the child's background—so before we can do anything else, we have to know the state of the child's health for sure.”

“And…?”

“And Dr. Julian gave her a terrific bill of health. Just under three months old, he thought.”

“So, the next step is…?” He was watching her face, not the baby's.

“Finding the mother, of course. It's not like Royal is that huge. And if anyone has a bird's-eye view to kids in trouble,
it's got to be me in my job. So if anyone can track down the parents, I've got the best shot.”

“Uh-huh. And where will the baby go in the meantime?”

Her head shot up. Blue eyes blazed on his. “I spent years in foster care,” she said belligerently.

“I know you did.”

“The system's overcrowded. Even in an area this wealthy, there's no answer for it. Adoption is at least a possibility for a blond, blue-eyed baby—but not for this one, not for some time. Even if I run a hundred miles an hour and get answers zip-fast, there's still no way to rush a—”

“Win, you sound like you're fighting with a judge in a court of law. You're just talking to me. What's the deal here? I take it you want to keep the baby?”

Her shoulders sank, losing all that tough stiffness. And again her eyes got that softness, that terribly fierce vulnerability that he'd never seen before. “No one's going to let me keep her. I'm single. And I'm working full-time besides. But right now—especially today—the town's in chaos because of the Asterland jet crash. So the only thing that makes sense—”

Justin heard his code paged on the loudspeaker. An orderly pushed past both of them to clean up the examining room. Bodies were still hustling in both directions, they were blocking the hallway—and the baby suddenly opened her rosebud mouth, yawned, and blinked open sleepy, priceless, exquisite blue eyes.

He looked at the baby…and then at Winona again. “We've both got our hands full right now,” he said casually. “How about if I stop by for a short visit right after dinner?”

“You don't have to do that.”

Oh yeah, he thought, he definitely did.

J
ust as Winona lifted a fork to her mouth, she heard the baby's thin cry. Somehow there'd been no time for lunch. Now it looked as if the odds weren't too hot on sneaking some dinner, either. Not that she minded. Who needed food? Dropping the fork with a clatter, she charged toward the living room. “I'm coming, Angel! I'm coming!”

Well, shoot. It wasn't quite that easy—as a woman or a temporary mom—to deliver on those optimistic words. Although it was only the distance of a fast gallop between the kitchen and the living room, reaching the baby was becoming more challenging by the hour.

She'd only called a couple of neighbors that afternoon, but it seemed that the news about the baby had spread and help had been pouring in nonstop. The whole neighborhood was kid-studded—which was one of the reasons she'd chosen to buy her house here—and almost everyone had some baby gear stored in their garages or back rooms. Buying anything would have been silly: Winona had no idea how long she
would be allowed to keep the baby. But her neighbors' loans had been extravagantly generous. She had to dodge a half-dozen car seats, a couple of high chairs, several playpens and walkers, backpacks, front packs, diaper bags, toys, enough blankets to warm a child in the Arctic, and heaps of baby clothes. Finally she reached the white wicker bassinet with the pink quilted lining.

Inside was the princess, who happened to be garbed in her fifth outfit of the day. Winona figured they surely wouldn't go through quite so many clothes tomorrow. She was getting close to mastering disposable diapers.

“There, there. There, there….” She picked up the precious bundle, and started the crooning, patting and rocking movements that seemed to be the eternal song of mothers. But on the inside, panic started to ooze through her nerves.

“Are we hungry, sweetheart? Wet? Do you want the TV on? Off? More lights, less lights? More noise, less noise? Are you cold? Constipated—no, come to think of it, I'm positive that's not a problem. Are you mad? Bored? Sick? Sad? Whatever it is, I'll fix it, I swear. Just don't cry. There, there. There, there, love….”

The panic was new. All day, she'd been in seventh heaven. Babies had been on her heart's agenda for a long time, and no, of course Angel wasn't hers and wasn't likely to be for long. Winona was trying her best to be completely realistic about that. It was just…carrying the little one around had seemed as natural as breathing. There'd been a thousand things to do, starting with taking the baby to the hospital for a checkup, then carting her back to the station, talking to Wayne, then claiming some computer time, then calling some moms in the neighborhood before stopping at a store for supplies. The busier she was, the more the baby seemed to love it. But then they'd come home.

Alone.

And Angel had lived up to her name tag all day until, it sure seemed, the point when Winona realized she
was
alone
with the baby. And knew nothing about child care. The baby had barely let out a peep all day, but now she seemed to be scaling up every few minutes. The darling either desperately missed her real mother, or Angel had suddenly figured out that she was stuck with a complete rookie.

The doorbell rang. Winona whipped around, thinking, please, God, not another car seat or another well-meant baby blanket. Hunger was starting to set in. Exhaustion.

A nightmare-strength panic.

Before she could reach the front door, the knob rattled and Justin poked his head in. Her pulse promptly soared ten feet. There was no stopping it. So typically, even after a long workday, he looked as revved as the satin-black Porsche in her drive. He stepped in like a vital burst of energy, his face wind-stung, his eyes snapping life, his grin teasing her before he'd even said a word. “Win? Are you there—well, I can see you're there. And a little on the busy side, huh?”

“I never thought you meant it about coming over! Come in, come in!” She wished she'd had a chance to brush her hair and put on lipstick, but what was the difference? It was just Justin. And no matter how mercilessly he ended up teasing her, she was thrilled to see him. “What do you know about babies?” she called over the caterwauling.

“Nothing.”

Never mind. She didn't care what he knew or didn't know. She closed the door with him firmly on the inside. He was still another body. She wasn't alone. “You're a doctor, you have to know something—”

“Yeah, I've been trying to tell my patients that for a long time.” He peeled off his sheepskin jacket, took a step toward her living room and froze. “Holy cow. Did you have a cattle drive in here this afternoon?”

“Very funny. It's just baby gear. Loans from the neighbors. Now listen, Justin, whether you know anything or not—you could hold her for a second, couldn't you? I just need a
minute. Time to get some dry diapers and fresh clothes and a bottle warmed up—”

“Okay.”

“It won't take me long to do any of that stuff—”

“Okay.”

“Don't panic because she's crying. She's really a darling. I just have to figure out what's wrong. That's all there is to it. You figure out what's wrong, you fix it, she quits—”

“Hey, Win. Could you try and believe it's okay? I really did come over to help.”

It's not that she didn't believe Justin. It was just that his offer to help seemed so unlikely. The town may have labeled Justin a devil-may-care bachelor, but Winona had always known better than that. Something had happened to him in Bosnia, because he'd come back a different person—quieter, more closed in, and he'd left his once-loved trauma medicine specialty in favor of plastic surgery. But his reputation as a surgeon spanned the southwest. His participation with the Texas Cattleman's Club was another unrecognized involvement. And she'd never forgotten meeting him back when she was twelve, on the first day she'd been fostered with the Gerards. To her, he'd been the best-looking teenage guy in the universe. Even that young, he'd had the sexiest eyes. The laziest drawl in Texas. A way of looking at a woman. And a way of picking up a little girl—and her bike—from the sidewalk, and somehow making her skinned pride feel better in spite of impossible odds.

Most of their relationship, though, he'd been an inescapable, nonstop tease. He'd shown up to check out the guy who'd taken her to the senior prom, had a conniption fit when she sunned in a bikini, regularly asked her to marry him as if he thought that was funny, taught her to drive stick shift, and damnation, held her head when she'd come home from a party after her first (and last) experience with rum-and-colas. Short and sweet, he'd been a friend in her life for
ever—when he wasn't being insufferable. And it was forgetting that “insufferable” adjective that was tough for her.

“What do you mean, you came over to help?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just what I said.” He scooped the baby out of her arms. “Right now, though, we don't have a prayer of talking over the sound of Ms. Bawler. Go. Do the bottle thing. And I'll try and figure out the diapers if you'll steer me toward the supplies.”

Her hand shot to her chest. A mere twenty-eight and she was almost having a heart attack. “You're volunteering to change a diaper? Have you had these symptoms long? Are you suffering from fever? Brain tumor? A history of lunacy you never mentioned before?”

For those insults, he tousled her hair—as if it wasn't already a royal mess—before walking off with the baby. The phone rang six times over the next hour, and two more neighbors stopped by bearing car seats and blankets. But somehow all the confusion and running wasn't the same with Justin there. The terror factor had disappeared. Contrary to his claims of inexperience, he acted like a veteran with both diaper sticky tabs and burping. And Angel seemed to forget that she was ticked off at the world in general. At the first sound of his voice, she started blowing bubbles and drooling.

“Just like all the other women in town,” Winona muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I said the baby fell in love with you from the first instant you picked her up.”

“Yeah, I noticed she quit crying. You think she recognizes a good-looking guy, young as she is? Someone with class and taste and brilliance—hey!”

As hard as she'd tossed the couch pillow at his head, he just pushed it aside with a grin. By then it was around eight o'clock. Angel had not only been fed, burped and changed, but she'd settled down in the bassinet. Winona couldn't quite
remember when Justin had ordered her to sit on the cocoa couch and pushed a hot plate of food in her hands, but she finally seemed to have caught some dinner; she was slouched down like a lazy slug and one stockinged foot was keeping the bassinet-rocker in motion.

Justin—for the first and likely only time in the universe—was kneeling at her feet. She'd felt obligated to mention, several times, how much she approved of his kneeling position. “It's really where all men belong. In a submissive position to their superiors—meaning we women, of course. Waiting on us. Obeying us. Working to please us—”

“If you don't cut it out, I'm going to have to get up and tickle you. Then you'll start laughing and screaming. Then you'll risk waking the baby—”

“All right, all right. You're so right. I don't want to wake her up,” she agreed. Still, it was tough, not pushing his tease-buttons, when he looked so adorable. He was trying to bring one of the borrowed baby walkers back to life, which was why he was hunkered down on her peach carpet, surrounded by nuts and bolts and tools. She usually saw him flying around town in his Porsche, or looking like Mr. Drop-Dead-Handsome Doctor at some gathering. And maybe these were images that Justin chose to cultivate, but Winona had still had the feeling that finding a place where he could kick off his boots and just tinker wasn't something Justin got to do often.

The TV was on in the background, but neither was watching the sitcom. They just wanted the chance to click up the volume if any further developments were reported on the Asterland plane emergency landing. Temporarily, though, they might as well have been on an island alone together—except for the sleeping baby.

“So…what'd your boss say about the Angel situation?” Justin asked her.

“Well, deserted and neglected kids generally come under my bailiwick, anyway, so Wayne didn't have to give me
permission to handle the problem. It was automatic. He did seem a little startled when I showed up at the station this afternoon with the baby in a front pack. But no one at the station right now has time to worry about anything but the plane crash. Everyone's descended on Royal today, if not in person than through the wires—from state cops to feds, TV and press, the aviation safety folks, diplomats and state people—”

“I know.” Justin motioned toward the TV. In the hour they'd had the tube switched on, the local news had interrupted every few minutes to provide an update on the circus. “My Texas Cattleman's group was especially involved with the citizens from both countries. We've offered to help, and I hope the authorities take us up on it. I realize that they have to sweep for evidence and prints and all first…but you can see how much this crisis is driving the town nuts. Everyone wants to know the same thing. What caused that emergency landing? Fine, if it was a mechanical failure, but could it have been terrorists or sabotage?”

“From what I've heard, that specific jet has an outstanding history for being one of the safest planes in the air. And she was deluxe to the nth degree, no expense spared for security or comfort. It's pretty hard to swallow that it was just a plain old mechanical failure—at least if the problem was carelessness.” Winona pulled a couch pillow on to her lap, finding it hard to take her eyes off Justin. Last she knew, he'd long reached the multi-millionaire status…which made it all the more fun to watch him bumbling with a screwdriver.

“So what was the buzz at your station house? Your cops find any reason to think there was foul play connected to the emergency landing?”

“There was no evidence leading in that direction this afternoon…but really, it's way too soon to say. They may have collected all the relevant evidence, but it will still take weeks of testing procedures before we have complete answers. The whole world knows how much tension there was between the
two countries of Asterland and Obersbourg, though…and that Texas party was the first and only thing that brought those two countries together and talking in more than a decade. I really think you're right, Justin. You and the Texas Cattleman's Club guys should be brought in, both to question and get some advice, and I'll be surprised if you don't get that call.”

“I wasn't as involved as some of the other members. But I still want to help, if there's any chance. And I did know all of the people involved.” Justin righted the baby walker, pushed it around the carpet. Sighed. And then turned it upside down to work on it again. “Frightening. To think you could eat dinner with someone, shake their hand, make a joke and laugh with them…and that they could deliberately have had something to do with a near-fatal plane crash.”

“Or that someone could intend harm to so many good people.” She leaned forward to peer over the edge of the bassinet. She cared about the plane crash. She cared about her job. But at the moment—all day really—only one thing dominated her mind and heart.

“You're not going to wake her up again, are you?”

Winona's jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind? I may have only been a mother for a day, but I learned that hours ago. Never wake up a sleeping baby. And if
you
do, I'll have to kill you.”

His chuckle tickled her into a smile, but then he shot her a more serious look. “So, what's the deal on your squirt there? What's the legal process—what happens to her now?”

“Well, the first thing you already know. An abandoned baby starts out with a medical checkup, no matter how healthy the child appears to be. In this day of AIDS and drug use and all, there's no placing a baby—even temporarily—without knowing the health picture. But that was a piece of cake. She couldn't have gotten a cleaner bill of health.”