The Baby Gift

J.T. asked the woman who’d arrived on his doorstep in the middle of a blizzard.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

J.T. strained to hear the words. “How’d you get here?”

“I guess my car skidded off the road and into a ditch. I walked from there. My head hurts.”

“I’ll call the doctor right away. You’re going to have to trust me,” he added.

“I’m also…pregnant.”

J.T.’s eyes zoomed in on her very large belly. She’d walked half a mile in a snowstorm in her condition? His gaze slid up to her face. Shock spread fast and far inside him.

He knew her. The very pregnant woman without a memory was Gina Banning, a part of his past that he’d almost laid to rest….

Dear Reader,

Silhouette is celebrating its 20th anniversary throughout 2000! So, to usher in the first summer of the millennium, why not indulge yourself with six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire?

Jackie Merritt returns to Desire with a MAN OF THE MONTH who’s Tough To Tame. Enjoy the sparks that fly between a rugged ranch manager and the feisty lady who turns his world upside down! Another wonderful romance from RITA Award winner Caroline Cross is in store for you this month with The Rancher and the Nanny, in which a rags-to-riches hero learns trust and love from the riches-to-rags woman who cares for his secret child.

Watch for Meagan McKinney’s The Cowboy Meets His Match—an octogenarian matchmaker sets up an ice-princess heiress with a virile rodeo star. The Desire theme promotion THE BABY BANK, about sperm-bank client heroines who find love unexpectedly, concludes with Susan Crosby’s The Baby Gift. Wonderful newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero with Cheyenne Dad. And Kate Little’s hero reunites with his lost love in a marriage of convenience to save her from financial ruin in The Determined Groom.

So come join in the celebration and start your summer off on the supersensual side—by reading all six of these tantalizing Desire books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Baby Gift

Susan Crosby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Debbie Swanson, who so graciously shares her

daughter with me, with love and admiration for the

amazing person you are.

And for Melissa Jeglinski once again.

My stalwart editor. You’re simply the best.

SUSAN CROSBY

believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. Ascribing to the theory that the “harder you work, the luckier you get,” she has been fortunate enough to receive Romantic Times Magazine’s Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Silhouette Desire of the Year, as well as being a finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award. Her books appear regularly on the bestseller lists.

Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons, now grown. She and her husband live in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite. Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

One

Police Chief J.T. Ryker couldn’t sleep. He supposed it was the quiet that had awakened him, a sense of something being different. His heart wasn’t thundering from the old nightmare but from an indefinable sensation—like holding your breath and listening hard, anticipation building and building until it just had to explode.

J.T. no longer questioned gut feelings. He climbed out of bed and looked out the window. Three hours ago he’d overseen the town’s less-raucous-than-usual New Year’s Eve celebration that ended at precisely midnight when snow began to fall.

What filled his sight now was a blizzard.

He ignored his uniform in favor of warmer clothes, then headed out the door with Deputy, the beagle he’d inherited with the job. He carried the dog through the snow until they reached Main Street, then Deputy led the way, happy for a middle-of-the-night trek through town. Protected by a wooden awning, they patrolled their little corner of the world, making sure it was safe.

The dog’s nails clip-clip-clipped along the wood-plank walkway of downtown. Accustomed to his owner’s routine, the beagle stopped at the first shop and pressed his nose to the glass door. J.T. turned the handle and sighed. Mrs. Foley had left the front door to her fabric, craft and ladies’ undergarments shop unlocked again, even though he’d reminded her at midnight. Three doors down, in Aaron Taylor’s hardware and auto parts store, no telltale red beam flashed. Aaron hadn’t activated the security alarm—again.

J.T. tried to educate them, but they remained blissfully stubborn about potential dangers, no matter how farfetched the possibility. The biggest crime they’d seen recently was a spate of graffiti vandalism, and that hard-boiled perpetrator had been identified by his mother, who’d recognized his handwriting and dragged him in to accept his punishment.

It was a far cry from J.T.’s nine years on the L.A.P.D. A year’s worth of crime in this mountain community wouldn’t fill a week’s log in the smallest L.A. substation. It suited J.T. just fine, especially since he was the only paid police officer, as well as the fire chief and all-around public servant. In a town of 514 residents, with houses scattered over miles of varying terrain, he never had a dull moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off. In September, maybe?

Hunching against the wind, he stuck his hands deeper in his jacket pockets. “A little trip to the tropics sound good to you?” he asked the dog trotting beside him. “Want to get out of that dumb-looking sweater and into a pair of swim trunks?”

Deputy barked once—J.T. always took that as a yes—then the dog went still as a post, his ears pricked up. After a couple of seconds he charged off.

J.T. looked ahead and spotted a heap in front of his office. Old John, he supposed. Too drunk to know he could die of hypothermia on a night like this. Too drunk to pick up the phone hanging by the office door, a direct line to J.T. at home.

Deputy’s tail wagged like a metronome at top speed, his rear end moving almost as fast. A woman’s soft laughter drifted with the wind as J.T. neared his office.

“I’m awake, dog. Stop licking my face.”

Her words were low, but not slurred like those of someone freezing to death.

“Stop it, you idiot.” She laughed again, taking the sting from her command.

Deputy barked and bounded toward J.T., then returned to the huddled woman again almost instantly.

J.T. crouched in front of her, resisting shining his flashlight when she shied away from him. An overhead light illuminated her red jacket, but a fuzzy-trimmed hood shadowed her face. With a violent shiver she pulled Deputy closer.

“Hi,” J.T. said.

She seemed to get smaller.

“That unfriendly pup in your arms is Deputy, and I’m the police chief, J.T. Ryker.”

“Oh.” She waved a hand toward the sign overhead, but she seemed to keep her focus directly on him. “Then you’re who I’ve been waiting for.”

Her teeth chattered, which was all he could see of her face. A muffler covered her chin.

“How long have you been here?” J.T. asked.

Her shoulders shifted in a decidedly uncasual shrug. She petted Deputy as he wriggled in her arms. “I used the phone, but there was no answer.”

Which meant she couldn’t have been waiting more than ten minutes. “Would you like to go inside?”

A few beats passed. “Do you have identification?” she asked.

He hesitated long enough that he could feel her withdraw. It had been almost three years since someone hadn’t taken his word at face value—since the day he’d taken the job. He pulled his leather badge holder from his pocket, then passed it to her. She turned it over and over in her gloved hands.

“There’s photo ID inside the wallet,” he said, sensing a more-than-average wariness. He wondered how old she was. A teenage runaway? A woman needing police protection? Or was she just lost—and rightfully suspicious of a man out walking at 3:00 a.m., even one claiming to be a police officer.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Seconds ticked by as he waited. Even the dog noticed the tension in the air and backed away from her, his head cocked. Finally she whispered, “I don’t know.”

J.T. strained to hear the words. “How’d you get here?”

“I guess my car skidded off the road and into a ditch. That’s where I was when I came to, anyway. I walked from there. About half a mile, according to a sign I saw along the way.”

“Were you in the driver’s seat?”

She nodded, then slid a hand along the inside of her hood. “Where am I?”

“Lost and Found.”

Her reaction was slow to come. “I’m…lost and found?”

“The name of the town. I know. It threw me for a loop the first time I heard it, too.”

“Is it in California?”

“Yes. You’re about three thousand feet up in the Sierra Nevada mountains in the north-central part of the state. The closest big city is Sacramento, and that’s an hour and a half’s drive. Come on, let’s get you inside so you can warm up.” He held out a hand to her.

“My head hurts.”

“I’ll call the doctor right away. You’re going to have to trust me,” he added.

“I’m also—” she reached for his hand “—pregnant.” She wobbled as she stood.

J.T. steadied her, his eyes zeroing in on her very pregnant belly unprotected by her jacket, obviously not designed as maternity wear. She’d walked half a mile in a snowstorm in her condition?

“I’m okay now,” she said, pulling her hand free.

His gaze slid up to her face. Shock lit an inferno inside him that spread fast and far. Sweat turned impossibly icy beneath the layers of his clothes.

He knew her. The very pregnant woman without a memory was Gina Banning, a part of his past that he’d almost laid to rest.

In their first conversation she’d tried to tease him into telling her what his initials stood for. In their last, she’d told him she hated him.

Then a week later she’d married his partner.

She didn’t know what to make of the man, J.T. Ryker. One minute he was all kindness and concern, the next he was staring at her with cold, hard eyes. He’d taken her directly to the clinic, a few doors down from his office, because the heat was always left on there, he said.

She burrowed into the blanket he’d wrapped around her as they waited for the doctor to arrive. The police chief paced.

Back and forth he walked, sending a glance her way now and then as if he was knotted up with questions but had lost his ability to speak. The more she watched him, the more her head hurt.

Who am I? The biggest question of all hung over her like a lead blanket, the weight of it almost unbearable.

To distract herself she focused on the man. Early to midthirties, she guessed. Old enough to have character in his face. Experience. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped; strong enough to subdue someone without drawing the gun at his side. He’d tossed his jacket and gloves into one of a dozen pink plastic chairs in the waiting room as soon as he’d cocooned her in the blanket, his sharp-jawed face almost terrifyingly fierce—at odds with a voice he kept gentle. His eyes were a golden-brown, shades lighter than his hair. His frown lines seemed a part of him.

She wished she knew why he’d turned angry.

So much confused her. Answers to endless questions floated just outside her ability to recall. Each time she tried to pluck one out of the turmoil in her mind, her head pounded. Worst of all, the baby hadn’t moved since…since she didn’t know when.

Yanking off her gloves, she spread her hands over her belly, then spotted a gold wedding band on her left hand. Someone must be missing her—her husband, the father of her baby. Surely he would track her down and fill in her memory gaps. She twisted the band around her finger again and again, not finding the comfort she thought it would bring.

The baby rolled.

“Oh!” The sound escaped her, surprise and relief.

“Did you remember something?” the chief asked, stopping in front of her. Deputy had been sleeping under a nearby chair. He lifted his head and seemed to be waiting, too.

“My baby moved.” Tears stung her eyes. “I’ve been so worried.”

His gaze settled on her belly, where her hands formed a protective shield. He touched her ring. “You’re married.”

“Well, of course I’m married,” she snapped back. “I’m pregnant.”

“One doesn’t necessarily rule out the other,” he said, a bit of a smile relaxing his features.

“It does with me.”

“How do you know that?”

She frowned. “I just do. Some things you don’t forget.”

He crouched in front of her. “What’s your name?”

His expression had turned all fierce again, his gaze drilling her. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I don’t know.”

“This is no time for an interrogation, J.T.”

The voice came from a doorway leading from the waiting room into the inner offices. She opened her eyes and watched a man of about the chief’s age move silently into the room. Sympathetic eyes, hair a little on the shaggy side, whipcord lean body. He nudged the chief aside, then knelt in front of her. His hands weren’t soft as they clasped hers, but they soothed, anyway. She almost melted into the chair.

“I’m Dr. Max Hunter, and I’m going to take care of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her throat tightening. “Thank you.”

J.T. watched the exchange, his tension draining. Max had that effect on people. Born to heal. How Lost and Found had gotten lucky enough to have him settle there was a miracle in itself. He wasn’t much younger than J.T.’s thirty-four years, but he seemed to have lived three lifetimes.

Peripherally he heard Max question Gina. She tensed up again as he asked about her memory. Although Max’s questions were asked kindly, J.T. saw distress in her face when she darted a look at him.

“We’ve pretty much determined she can’t recall anything personal, Max.”

The doctor stood. “We’ll do an ultrasound and see just how that baby’s doing. Wait here a couple of minutes while I get the room ready.” He squeezed her shoulder before he left.

J.T. stepped forward. “I’ll leave you in Max’s competent hands—”

“No!” She grabbed his shirtsleeve. “What if my memory comes back and you’re not here?”

He reminded himself to treat her like any other victim. “I have to get to your car. You must have a wallet or something with identification. Deputy will keep you company.”

She stared out the window, then dragged her hood back at last, freeing a cloud of shiny, dark-brown hair, static electricity making it seem alive. Eyes as dark as her hair settled on him, the sparkle he remembered dulled now with pain and worry.

He should take a lesson from her in moving on, because she’d obviously put the past behind her. He’d only deluded himself into thinking he had—the ball of fire in his stomach told him otherwise.

“How can you find my car in a storm like this?”

“It’s my job.” He was afraid she’d left someone behind, either in the car or, worse, outside in the snow. It wasn’t a task that could wait until the storm stopped—or until daybreak. He scooped up his jacket from the chair and slipped it on. “Do you have your keys?”

“I think I left them in the car.”

He questioned her about landmarks and direction until Max came into the room, saying he was ready for her. J.T. waited for her to disappear into the exam room before he pulled the doctor aside.

“I know her, Max. Her name is Gina Banning—or at least it was Banning three years ago, which was the last time I saw her. Her husband was my last partner at the L.A.P.D. He died in a car accident right before I left the force. Gina was with him and was critically injured. She spent a month in the hospital.”

“Ah.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning her amnesia could very well be caused and sustained by a flashback to that accident rather than by blunt trauma or concussion. Could be both in combination, too. I’ll know more after I examine her.” He cocked his head at J.T. “Why didn’t you tell her who she is?”

“I started to, then she looked at me without the slightest recognition, and I didn’t know whether it would hurt more than help. What do you think?”

“I think you made a good decision. If she needs to hide behind the amnesia for a while, we need to let her. Her memory will likely return when she can handle the consequences of living through the accident again.”

“But she must have a new husband worried sick about her. Obviously she remarried.”

Max frowned. “I’m not schooled enough in amnesia to know what could come of having someone confront her and try to force her memory, but I’ll research it. And I agree that we have an obligation to notify her family.”

Her family. The words lingered in J.T.’s mind as he walked home to get his official vehicle, a four-wheel-drive sports utility vehicle. Reeling from the memories brought back by Gina’s reappearance, he debated whether to call out a couple of his volunteer cadets, then decided to give it one shot by himself first.

He shut down the clamoring pieces of his past as he searched for her car, grateful he had a job to do. She’d skidded off the opposite side of the road, she’d said, into a shallow ditch, knocking her head against the driver’s side window or frame. Something had told her to stay put—that it was her best chance for survival. But something stronger had urged her out of the car and up the road as the snow started coming down harder. After a couple of minutes walking, she’d seen a sign advertising Cochran’s Food & Fuel, 1/2 Mile.

J.T. slowed from a crawl to a creep when he caught a lucky glimpse of the sign. Lost and Found didn’t often get snow, and seldom in this amount, but once or twice a winter the area took on the magical look of a Christmas card, rarely lasting more than a day or two. He wished this hadn’t been one of those rare days.

Rounding a bend, he saw her car just off the road, a few inches of fresh powder muting the red color. The rear bumper cleared the road, but was still dangerously close. Had she stayed in the car, she might have been clipped by a passing vehicle—if she even survived the night.

He turned on his flashing ambers, then positioned his Explorer to make use of his headlights and spotlight before approaching her car. No chains. He gritted his teeth. She was damned lucky to have gone off the road where she did. At several spots along the route the drop-off was sheer and deadly.

What the hell had she been thinking, driving in the mountains in winter, in snow, without snow tires or chains? Why would she do such an idiotic thing? She was a good seven hours from home, driving in the dead of night, in unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t imagine what could have prompted such a suicide run.

Was she looking for him? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and no other possibility seemed feasible. Another impulsive decision, Gina?

Furious he might be on target with his suspicion, he jerked open the driver’s door of her roomy sedan. At least she had sense enough to drive a solid car, one known for safety. The deflated airbag sagged against the steering wheel, its lifesaving mission accomplished. Her keys dangled from the ignition. He snatched her big purse from the floor of the passenger seat, then carried it back to his truck and upended the contents onto the driver’s seat.

The mysteries of woman spilled onto the upholstery—crumpled tissues, sunglasses, an economy-size package of gum with three pieces missing, lipstick, hand cream, prenatal vitamins. A perfume atomizer, the flowery scent clinging to it. A map folded to the local route. He stuffed the items back into her purse.

He found cash in a manila envelope—almost three thousand dollars.

With a low whistle he opened her wallet. Four credit cards and a driver’s license, all under the name Gina Banning.

The unexpectedness of it made J.T. lean against the car and stare sightlessly into the night. She hadn’t remarried? That didn’t make sense. He knew for a fact she wasn’t the type to get pregnant out of wedlock and not marry the man responsible. Even without her memory she had known that much about herself. “As loyal as a puppy,” her late husband said of her once. “And as blindly trusting.”

Eric Banning’s expertise had been in playing to people’s weaknesses, a dubious skill which had sometimes worked to his benefit in police work. Hell, he had learned early on how to take advantage of what J.T. considered his strength—his unfaltering sense of duty and responsibility—managing somehow to turn it into a weakness. J.T. wondered if Eric had used Gina’s blind trust against her somehow. Apparently she’d trusted another man, too. And J.T., as well, even though she didn’t remember him…

Which could be the result of trauma, of course, and the fact he was the first person to come along and help her.

None of it added up. She wore a wedding ring, yet her husband had died three years ago. She was pregnant, yet she wouldn’t be pregnant without being married.

Three thousand dollars. J.T. slapped her wallet rhythmically against the car door frame. What critical piece of information was he missing?

He hiked back to her car and popped open the trunk. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some still on hangers, as if she’d scooped them out of the closet and drawers, then dropped them in the trunk. A Sears bag over-flowed with baby clothes and blankets, the tags attached. He dug out the receipt. She’d purchased everything yesterday at 5:18 p.m. in Bakersfield. Newborn disposable diapers filled another bag.

She’d been in a hurry. A big hurry. And she planned to be gone until after the baby arrived.

Who are you running from, Gina Banning? Whose child do you carry?

And why the hell are you here in Lost and Found?

Feeling the chief’s eyes on her like the bright beam of a spotlight, she stared at her driver’s license. Gina Banning. She repeated the name in her head a few times, testing it. Twenty-two years old. Five foot four, 120 pounds. Without baby, obviously.

Eric. Her husband’s name, according to a health plan card with both their names on it. She spun her wedding ring around her finger.

“I can’t picture a man’s face,” she said to J.T. and the doctor, who both waited silently as she examined the contents of her purse. “Isn’t that odd? Shouldn’t I have some recollection of my husband? And why is my checking account in my name only? Marriage means sharing everything.”

“More important,” the chief said, “why would you leave home when you’re less than a month away from giving birth? I’ll head over to my office and run a missing person’s report—”

“No! Please. What if I’m running from something?” Her voice echoed, loud and desperate, intensifying the pounding in her head. “Isn’t that reason enough not to alert someone where I am?”