Buch lesen: «Operation Baby Rescue»
Check your e-mail. I may have information about your baby.
The message was signed MysteryMom.
“Huh.” Elise shifted on her chair and cast a glance to Jared. “What do you suppose …?”
He shrugged. “Check your e-mail.” While she navigated to a new webpage and accessed her e-mail account, he pulled his chair closer to the desk so that he was beside her.
She opened the e-mail and leaned closer to the screen to read.
Dear Elise, I read your post to the “Parents Without Children” message board with a heavy heart. Losing a child is every mother’s worst nightmare, and the last thing I’d ever want is to add to your pain. But the circumstances of your story rang familiar to me, and I took the liberty of doing some digging. I have powerful contacts with access to reliable information about birth records and have made it my mission to help mothers like you—and I do think I can help you. Not wanting to raise false hope for you, I triple-checked my information before contacting you.
Elise, my sources tell me that your baby might be alive.
Dear Reader,
Last autumn, I was brainstorming story ideas centered around babies and hunky heroes when my agent let me know that the editors at Intrigue had asked if I wanted to write a story for the TOP SECRET DELIVERIES series. I would be free to write whatever story I wanted as long as I incorporated MysteryMom, the behind-the-scenes woman who has been helping reunite parents with their babies in earlier books in the series. Call it fate, or serendipity, or just good luck, but all the pieces came together in the right place and time. “As a matter of fact,” I told my agent, “I have been working on a story that fits those parameters beautifully. Count me in!”
I hope you enjoy Elise and Jared’s love story, one in which fate/serendipity/good luck gets a helping hand from MysteryMom, and tragedy leads to the sweetest blessings … love and family.
Thank you to Tammy Yenalavitch of Charlotte, North Carolina, for sharing her kitties, Bubba, Diva and Brooke with me for this story. Tammy won the chance to have her cats featured in my book through a contest I ran on Facebook. Stay tuned, more chances to win fame and celebrity for your cat will be coming soon!
Best wishes and happy reading,
Beth
About the Author
BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.
Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romance suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart award in romance suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.
She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA or visit her website, www.bethcornelison.com.
Operation Baby Rescue
Beth Cornelison
MILLS & BOON
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To my mom, who is always ready to lend me a helping
hand (or eyes to read a manuscript) and who shares
my passion for books. I love you!
Prologue
“Push!”
Elise Norris squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth and pushed through the contraction that wrenched her belly in an excruciating vise grip.
The nurse at her side held her hand and wiped perspiration from Elise’s brow. “You’re doing great! Almost there …”
“Now breathe. Catch your breath. I think the next one should do it.” Dr. Arrimand peered at her over his mask and gave a confident nod.
As the pain eased, Elise rolled her head to the side to gaze at the ultrasound image of her daughter that was taped to the bed rail. The photo, which she’d carried in her wallet for weeks, had been her focal point throughout the delivery. In fact, her daughter had been her focal point for the past nine months. Longer than that. She’d been planning for, saving money for and praying for this day for years.
With a trembling finger, she traced the lines of the fuzzy picture she’d memorized in the past several weeks and smiled. Raising a child alone would be difficult. She had no illusions otherwise. But Elise had known she wanted to be a mother, wanted to raise a family, since she’d been a little girl herself. When she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday without a husband with whom she could share the joys of parenthood, she’d researched sperm banks and set about finding the perfect donor to father her baby.
“It’s okay, Gracie,” she whispered to the ultrasound picture. “We’ll be fine. You and me. We’ll be a t-team.” The last word of her pledge caught in her throat as another powerful spasm of pain ripped through her. Building quickly to a crescendo, the contraction stole her breath.
“This is it. Keep pushing!” Dr. Arrimand coached.
She clenched her teeth and concentrated on bringing her daughter into the world. All her physical strength and love were focused on the task. Minutes later, the nurse laid a pink-faced bundle in her arms.
Elise gazed into her daughter’s eyes and fell instantly in love. The bond was powerful, emotional, solid. Her daughter. Her flesh and blood. Her dream come true.
With one finger she traced Gracie’s nose and lips. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m your mommy. Oh, you’re beautiful.” She smoothed her daughter’s tiny eyebrows and kissed her sweet forehead. A thin layer of hair the same shade of golden blond as Elise’s crowned Grace’s head, and she saw her own blue eyes reflected in her baby’s cerulean gaze. “You’re perfect. I love you.”
Elise tugged on the pink blanket the nurse had swaddled Gracie in and freed her daughter’s right arm. She lifted Grace’s hand and studied the tiny fingers, perfect fingernails, delicate skin. “So sweet and little …”
Not wanting Grace to get chilled, Elise pulled the blanket back around her daughter and noticed a small red pear-shaped birthmark on Grace’s right shoulder. “Angel kissed,” she whispered to Grace. “That’s what my mom said about my brother’s birthmark.”
A pang of regret stung her heart. Had she lived, what would her mother have thought about her granddaughter, her namesake?
At her side, the nurse fumbled with the tubes of her IV.
“What’s that?” she asked, spotting the syringe in the nurse’s hand.
“This will help with the pain so you can rest.” She injected a clear solution into the port and smiled. “Just another minute, Mom, then I need to take the baby to be checked thoroughly by the staff pediatrician.”
Already the drug she’d been given made Elise woozy. She frowned. She hadn’t asked for pain medicine. She wanted to be alert, savoring every detail of the experience. “I don’t want to sleep. I want to be with my baby, to bond …”
She heard her speech slur slightly as her eyelids drooped.
“We’ll bring her to your room later to breastfeed.” The nurse scooped Grace from Elise’s arms, and Elise felt a pang in her heart.
“Not yet. Give me … just another … minute.” But Elise could barely keep her eyes open. She forced herself to stay awake long enough to watch the nurse whisk Grace through the door to the next room. As she disappeared from Elise’s line of sight, her daughter gave a mewling cry.
Gracie …
Elise fought off the fog of sleep and blinked her surroundings into focus. The patient room at the small-town hospital was not lavishly furnished but was comfortable and painted a cheerful pale yellow. With a sigh she thought of the state-of-the-art hospital in Lagniappe, Louisiana, where she’d planned to give birth.
With her due date still three weeks away, she’d believed she’d be fine driving to the weekend crafts fair in the rural community forty-five minutes from her home. If she began having contractions, she could easily get back to Lagniappe. Or so she’d thought. But the best laid plans …
Her water had broken while she paid for an antique rocking chair, and the contractions had come hard and fast. Within ten miles, she’d been doubled over in pain and had pulled to the side of the road to call 911.
The local ambulance had arrived quickly—thank God—and she’d been rushed to Pine Mill Community Hospital in time for the delivery.
The window was dark now, telling her night had fallen, and she searched her walls for a clock. How long had she slept? A simple white clock over the door read eleven forty-five. Elise rubbed her eyes and worked to clear the cobwebs of drug-induced sleep to do the simple calculation. Grace had been born at 3:30 p.m., so … more than eight hours had passed. She groaned and found the call button on the bed rail.
Enough of sleep. She wanted to hold her daughter. Nurse her daughter. Memorize every inch of her daughter’s face and hands and toes …
“Can I help you?” came the response to her page.
“I’m awake now, and I want to see my baby. Can someone bring her to me?”
Her request met silence then a hesitant, “Um, I’ll … have the doctor come talk to you.”
The doctor? Elise tensed, butterflies kicking to life in her gut. She didn’t like the uneasy hesitation in the nurse’s voice.
“Is there a problem? Is my baby okay?”
“Dr. Arrimand will be in to see you in a moment, ma’am,” a different, more authoritative voice said.
“But what about my daughter? I want to see her.” No response. “Hello? Hello? I want my baby brought to me!”
Again silence answered her. She buzzed the nurses’ station, but her page was ignored. Irritation and concern spiked her pulse. Elise threw back her covers and swung her feet to the floor.
If they wouldn’t bring Grace to her, she’d go get her from the nursery herself. She was Grace’s mother, and they had no right to keep her from her. If something was wrong, she deserved answers … now!
Her head spun as she pushed off the bed, and her body throbbed from the rigors of the delivery. Elise grabbed the bed railing to keep from falling. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and she waited impatiently for her equilibrium to return. When the room stopped shifting around her, she tried again to make her way to the door.
“Oh, Ms. Norris! You shouldn’t try to walk alone yet!” a nurse fussed as she bustled into the room with a blood-pressure cuff in her hands. She took Elise’s elbow and steered her back to the bed.
Elise tried to shrug away from the nurse’s grip. “I want to see my daughter!”
With a strength that overpowered Elise’s post-delivery condition, the nurse guided her back to the bed. “Dr. Arrimand has been called. He’s on his way, and he’ll explain everything.”
The cryptic response rang warning bells in her head. A bubble of panic formed in her chest. “What does he have to explain? What’s wrong with Grace?”
“The doctor will—”
“No! Tell me now! What happened? Where’s my baby?” Tremors of dread shook her.
At that moment, the dark haired doctor, now wearing a white lab coat instead of scrubs, stepped into her room and helped the nurse maneuver Elise back to the bed.
Elise drilled the doctor with a hard, frantic stare. “Where’s my daughter? Why won’t anyone talk to me?”
Dr. Arrimand took a step back from the side of the bed and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Norris, but while you were asleep, your daughter’s heart …” He paused, pressing his mouth in a grim line, then sighed heavily. “… Stopped beating.”
A chill washed through Elise, and she was sure her heart had stopped, as well. “Wh—what?”
“We did everything we could to resuscitate her, but … we couldn’t save her.”
The room tilted. Blood whooshed in her ears. Shock rendered her mute and unable to move.
This couldn’t be happening. She had to be hallucinating from the drugs they’d given her. Surely she’d heard him wrong. They had the wrong person.
“I’m very sorry,” the doctor muttered, eyeing her with pity.
No. Her baby was not dead.
No, no, no, no, noooo!
The denials in her head became a keening wail. Agony and horror rose in a suffocating wave, filling her chest, squeezing her throat.
Questions pounded her brain. What made her heart stop? Why couldn’t they save her? Why had they waited to tell her? Where was Grace now?
But her heart ached too much to voice them. Shock and grief made all but gasping sobs and tormented moans beyond her reach.
In the blink of an eye, her dream come true had turned into every parent’s worst nightmare. Her baby was dead.
Chapter 1
Fourteen months later
Elise shuffled into the church fellowship hall and cast a wary gaze around the assembled group. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee scented the air, lending a warmth and welcome to what she expected to be a most uncomfortable environment—sharing her grief with strangers.
One of the women seated in the circle of chairs spotted her standing in the doorway and called to her. “Hello. Are you looking for the grief-support meeting?”
Elise took a reinforcing breath and nodded.
The woman stood and waved her closer. “Please, come join us.” As Elise approached the circle of chairs, several of the men stood, as well, greeting her with smiles and nods of welcome, and the woman who’d spoken first took her hand and patted it. “My name’s Joleen Causey. I’m the group facilitator. Welcome.”
“Thanks. I’m Elise Norris.” She gave Joleen an awkward smile, and when the facilitator motioned to a seat next to her, Elise sat on the folding metal chair. As the others introduced themselves in an onslaught of names she didn’t even try to remember, she scanned the faces of the group gathered in the small circle and gripped the edge of her chair. Several elderly ladies gave her curious glances, two gentlemen with gray-streaked hair nodded in greeting, a couple about her age clutched hands and sent her wan smiles, and a raven-haired man she estimated to be in his early thirties met her gaze and flashed her a strained crooked grin. “Jared Coleman,” he said.
Other than the couple who clung to each other’s hands as if their lives depended on it, Jared Coleman stood out simply because he was at least twenty-five years younger than any of the other members. She wondered briefly whom he’d lost and how he’d wound up in this group.
She’d been told about the group by a neighbor who attended the church that sponsored the meetings. For six months, Elise had worked on gathering the nerve to attend this grief-support program. For someone who’d been looking out for herself most of her life, who had established her independence from an early age and prided herself on her efficiency, reliability and self-sufficiency, seeking help had felt like a defeat. But when the one-year anniversary of Grace’s death passed, Elise had still been moving through her life in the same fog of pain and denial as she had the first week. While she knew she’d never forget the child she lost, she had to come to grips with Grace’s death so she could move on in her life.
“Don’t feel like you have to talk tonight if all you want to do is listen,” Joleen said. “But if you want to talk about what brought you here today or anything else that’s in your heart, please feel free. We’re here to listen and support you however we can.” She flashed another warm and encouraging smile, tucking a wisp of her blond hair behind her ear, and Elise nodded.
“I came tonight because …” She took a deep breath. “… Just over a year ago, my daughter died right after birth.”
Across the circle, the young wife gasped. Elise’s gaze darted to her, but the woman was sharing a sad look with her husband. A prick of envy poked Elise. At least this woman had someone to share her grief with. In the past months, Elise had felt more alone than ever.
Elise squeezed her hands into such tight fists, her fingernails bit into her palms. “I only had a few minutes to hold her before …” She paused, feeling a knot forming in her throat. “Anyway, I’m just having a hard time … handling it.”
“Of course. Many people say losing a child is the hardest death for a person to experience. But you’re not alone.” Joleen gestured to the rest of the group. “We’re all here to help each other.”
Elise forced a thin smile of acknowledgment then stared down at her lap. She hadn’t talked with anyone about Gracie in months, largely because she couldn’t get through even a simple comment without getting choked up. And the instant her eyes got teary, her neighbors or her colleagues at the Lagniappe newspaper, where she was a staff photographer, would back away with stricken expressions, as if they expected her to dissolve into wailing histrionics.
Knowing that her grief made other people uncomfortable chafed. Since when was there a time limit on compassion for a person’s loss? But since talking about Grace was difficult anyway, she’d soon learned to avoid the topic of her daughter. Would sharing her feelings about Grace and the unfairness of her loss be any easier here?
“We lost our baby, too.”
Elise jerked her head up and looked at the man who sat clinging to his wife.
The wife had her mouth pressed in a tight line as if struggling not to cry, but her eyes held Elise’s. In an even tone, the husband continued, “It’s been six months now, and while coming here—” he gestured with his head to the group “—has helped, it’s still hard, really hard, for both of us to deal with. So while I won’t pretend to know what you are feeling, because everyone grieves differently, we know at least something of what you’re going through.”
The wife bit her bottom lip and nodded to Elise.
“My son Sammy died fifteen years ago,” a white-haired lady next to Elise said, patting her arm, “and I still think of him every day. It gets easier with time, but a mother’s love never ends.”
Elise swallowed hard, fighting back the stranglehold of emotion rising in her throat. If she allowed her tears to come now, she was afraid she might not be able to stop crying. Had coming here been a mistake? How could she relive the horror of that day, the crushing sense of loss over and again by coming to this group every week?
When she scanned the faces around the circle again, her gaze met Jared Coleman’s. His dark brown eyes were locked on her, and an odd expression of guilt or uneasiness shadowed his face.
“Do you and your husband have any other children?” Joleen asked, and it took a moment for Elise to realize the question was directed to her.
“Oh, I … I’m not married. And no, no other children.”
Joleen gave her a sympathetic look. “I see. Well, the loss of a child can be hard on a marriage. Divorce, sadly, is common following such a tragedy.”
The young woman across the circle nodded. “Greg and I have promised each other to be open and honest about our feelings. This group is part of our strategy to make sure our marriage survives.”
Elise shook her head. “No, I mean I was never married. I—” Elise stopped when the eyebrow of one of the older women across from her raised in judgment. She didn’t owe this group an explanation of her personal choices. A pulse of anger for the woman’s haughty attitude helped Elise get a handle on the burgeoning tears in her throat. Taking a deep restorative breath, she folded her arms around her midriff and sat back in her chair. She stared at the floor near her feet, second-guessing her decision to attend the meeting.
Joleen apparently read Elise’s body language for what it was, a disinclination to say any more on the topic, and directed the next question elsewhere.
“Jared, earlier you mentioned that you’d had an especially tough day last week. Would you like to tell us what happened?”
Without raising her head, Elise angled her gaze up from the floor to glance at Jared Coleman. He met her eyes briefly before clearing his throat, shrugging a shoulder dismissively and shifting in his seat. “Um, I …” His gaze darted away, and he cracked the knuckles of one hand with his other.
His restlessness and reluctance to speak intrigued Elise. Especially since his guilty furtive glances toward her told her his discomfort sharing with the group centered on her presence. She made a point of averting her gaze, hoping to make him feel less on the spot.
“Isabel took her first steps last Wednesday,” Jared said at last.
Around the circle, several of the women cooed.
Elise tightened her grip on her sleeves. First steps? Clearly Isabel was a baby. About one year old.
The same age Grace would have been had she lived.
Like a fist to the gut, a shot of renewed grief landed a sucker punch that stole Elise’s breath. She sat very still, keeping her gaze on the floor, but she felt Jared’s eyes watching her.
“As happy as I was about her walking,” he continued, “it just brought home to me, again, all the milestones Kelly will never see.”
Now the women around the circle made noises of empathy and shared sadness for Jared’s revelation.
Elise made a few mental calculations. Jared was here alone. He apparently had a one-year-old daughter. Was the absent Kelly his wife?
He said no more about the situation, letting his feelings about the event go unspoken. In the ensuing silence, one of the older women launched into a story about missing her late husband during the holidays and family celebrations.
Elise hazarded a glace across the circle and found Jared’s attention on her again. Instead of jerking her gaze away, as if she’d been caught peeking at something forbidden, she held his stare. More than grief over the story he’d just shared, she saw concern and guilt in his dark brown eyes. Guilt?
She was still pondering the reason behind his odd expression half an hour later when the group dismissed for refreshments. Elise had no appetite for the cookies on the table by the exit, but her mouth was dry, and she decided to stop for a cup of lemonade before she left. Her pause at the refreshment table gave Joleen a chance to catch up with her before Elise made her escape from the awkward meeting.
“I’m so glad you came tonight,” she said, placing a hand on Elise’s arm. “I hope you’ll come back. Talking about your experiences and your feelings gets easier with practice, and having the support of people who understand what you’re going through is invaluable.”
How could anyone really know what she was feeling? Her grief seemed so personal.
Elise forced a smile. “Thank you.” She made no comment on whether she’d return. The jury was still out on that. Even the little she’d said tonight had been painful to share. She drained her lemonade quickly, hoping to make a hasty exit before any other members of the group caught her in an uncomfortable conversation. Tossing her empty cup in the trash, she spun on her heel to leave … and almost collided with a broad chest belonging to a man with dark brown, soulful eyes.
“Hi,” Jared said with a quick flash of a lopsided grin.
“Oh, uh … hi.” Elise’s heartbeat performed a stutter-step. He was much taller than she’d expected, and this close to him, she could smell a tantalizing hint of sandalwood.
He rubbed his palms on his jeans once before sliding his hands in his pockets. The rattle of keys told her he was fidgeting. “I’m sorry if I … made you uneasy or caused you more pain tonight.”
She blinked at him and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but an apology was not on the list. “Pardon?”
“Talking about my daughter.” He gave an apologetic wince. “When the Harrisons joined the group.” He hitched his head toward the young couple still chatting with an older lady at the circle of chairs. “.Kim would get upset when I talked about Isabel. I thought, maybe, since you’d lost your baby … hearing about my daughter would be … especially difficult.” He pressed his lips in a taut line of regret. “If it was, I’m sorry.”
Elise could only stare for a moment. His sensitivity to her pain was thoughtful and also … frustrating.
“I, um …” She shook her head in disbelief. “Thank you, but … I don’t expect you to censor yourself to protect me. Sure, it hurts to hear about other people’s kids and think about what might have been, but … that’s not your problem.”
He shrugged and frowned. “Maybe, but I’d hate to think you decided not to come back because my stories about Isabel upset you. Losing my wife was hard enough. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to have lost Isabel, how difficult it must be for you and the Harrisons.”
Pain shot through her chest, and she murmured, “It’s been hell.”
He pulled one hand out of his pocket and flipped it up in a gesture that said she’d proved his point. “And I don’t want to make it worse.”
She nodded, swallowing hard to force down the knot of emotion that had worked its way up her throat. “I appreciate that. But how selfish would it be of me to expect you not to say what you needed to about your daughter, if it helped you work through your own grief for your wife?”
He lifted his chin and cocked his head as if her comment caught him off guard.
Before he could say anything, she raised a hand. “Besides, I get a little tired of people avoiding mention of babies, and especially Gracie, my daughter, as if pretending she never existed would be easier for me, when really it’s their own awkwardness they want to avoid.”
She heard the bitter edge in her tone and bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to snap at him. Her frustrations with her coworkers and neighbors weren’t his fault. But instead of taking offense, he smiled and nodded.
“Exactly. I get the same thing from my friends concerning my wife. As if any talk of spouses is suddenly taboo. I hate it.”
His response surprised her. Something warm unfurled in her chest, releasing a bit of the pressure that squeezed her lungs. When was the last time someone had actually understood the tangled emotions she had over losing Grace? Even this tiny connection to Jared made her feel a little less alone. “Your wife must have died recently if Isabel is only a year old.”
He nodded. “Nine months ago. Isabel was five months old when Kelly was killed by a drunk driver.”
A spark of outrage fired through her. “A drunk driver. It’s bad enough to lose someone to disease or an accident, but when another person’s carelessness is to blame … that’s—” She shook her head, fumbling for the right word to voice her dismay.
“Yeah. It is.” He gave her a bittersweet smile, telling her he understood what went unsaid.
Empathy pricked her heart, and she felt another thread of connection form between them. His grief might be different, but they faced similar struggles.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, knowing how trite the words sounded. How many people had told her they were sorry for her loss? Enough that the platitude felt empty to her. Judging by his expression, he’d heard a lot of hollow phrases in the past nine months, as well. Well-meant words that did nothing to ease the ache in his heart.
Elise groaned and raised a hand to her face. “Ugh, did I just say that? Not that I’m not sorry about your loss, but—”
He chuckled softly and gave her an understanding look. “I’m sorry for your loss, too. There. Now we’re even on banal expressions.” He shrugged. “Although I’ve decided to cut folks a break. I don’t think I’d know what to say to any of my friends if their wives died, either. Other than, Man, that sucks.”
They shared a wry grin. The flicker of humor in his dark eyes mesmerized her, and after a moment, she realized she was staring at him. He had the kind of face that held a woman’s attention—square jaw, full lips, straight nose. As she shook herself from her trance, her pulse fluttered.
She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and sidled toward the door. “I should be going.”
“Right. Well—” He offered his hand. “—It was nice to meet you, Elise.”
“You, too.” She took his hand, and his long fingers and warm palm folded around hers in an encompassing grasp. Firm. Strong. Dependable.
She let her hand linger in his, puzzling over the words that had sprung to mind. Thinking she could tell anything about his character from his handshake was preposterous. And of all the traits a man could be, why was his dependability what came to mind?
“Will you come back next week?”
His question roused her from her sidetracked thoughts.
Would she be back? Coming tonight had taken her weeks of preparation and building her nerve. “Maybe. I, um …”
He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Maybe is good enough. No pressure. Just think about it.”
And think, she did. All week. But not just about whether she’d return to the grief-support meeting. She thought about Jared Coleman. The way he’d lost his wife. His one-year-old daughter, who was walking. His dark, compassionate eyes.
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