Millionaire M.D. (17 page)

And man, he did love her. From the inside, from the outside, to hell with where they were or who was watching. Nothing mattered but telling her how he felt, what he wanted for her, for them. Love shimmered between them like liquid gold that coated both of them in its warmth and power. And yeah, sexual desire loomed between them, too. Hot and wicked and needy. Craving her was good, too. He couldn't wait to get her out of here, get her naked, wearing nothing but the blasted ring…but it was funny. Just kissing her that instant was all he ever wanted, too.

Finally she eased away, both of them out of breath, their gazes still locked tight on each other.

“I'll be damned. I'm getting the craziest feeling you like the ring,” he murmured.

“Don't you try to tease me now, Doc. I couldn't handle it.”

He dropped the smile instantly. “I love you, Win. No teasing. No nothing. That's always been what this is about. Not the baby, not anything else in our lives. Just love.”

“And I love you. Set a date. Any date you want, Justin.”

In the middle of the warmest, most important moment of his entire life, Justin suddenly froze.

 

Two nights later, as Justin drove to the Cattleman's Club, the roads were empty of traffic—and for good reason. Everybody that could be was tucked inside their houses. Sleet poured down in silver sheets; the asphalt was icy-slick and a fierce wind buffeted and blustered around every corner.

Still, when Justin parked and climbed out of the Porsche, he trudged toward the Club's front door as if he didn't give a damn if the sleet soaked him or not. And the truth was, he didn't.

Win was wearing the sapphire engagement ring. And they'd gone home that night to make love until the wee hours. But he'd also jerked awake around four in the morning
from a nightmare, and nothing had been the same since. Something was wrong. Bad wrong. With him.

The crazy thing was, everything was
right
for him for the first time in his entire life. He adored Winona. And the woman he loved more than life itself had freely agreed to marry him. Nine hours out of ten, he was over the moon, feeling as if there was nothing he couldn't do or conquer or dream. Except that when it came to setting a date for the marriage, he got a lump of ice in his throat the size of an iceberg.

Guys all over the planet were petrified of commitment—but that wasn't him. Commitment to Win, forever, was exactly what Justin wanted, so this panicked reaction to setting a wedding date made no sense at all. Until he figured it out, though, he was too ashamed and confused to admit to Win that he was having this idiotic problem. Maybe he could hire someone to punch him out? Beat some sense into him? Shake the screw loose from his mind?

“Justin! Good to see you!” Matthew must have been waiting at the door, because he was right there to push it open. But his gregarious welcome changed focus when he saw Justin's face. “Hell, man. What happened to you?”

“Nothing, just running a little late.” At a glance, he could see that the others were all inside, except for Aaron. Drinks had been served. Typically, Ben had his hands wrapped around a coffee mug while the others had aimed straight for the more serious blood warmers. The familiar scent of whiskey was in the air, as were the smells of leather, wool and a brisk, wood-burning fire. Walking into the Club had always invoked a comfortable male-bonding sort of feeling. It was created to be a place where a man could let down his hair.

But not tonight. Not for him.

Dakota stepped forward with a grin. “Hey, man, sure looks like someone rode you hard and put you up wet.” But like Matthew, when Dakota got a good look at his face, his
smile disappeared. “I didn't mean to joke—you all right? You're not sick, are you?”

“No. I'm fine, really. Sorry to be so late. Afraid I just had a few days in a row with some grueling long work hours.” That's what he'd told Winona. He was afraid she hadn't bought it. And it didn't appear his friends were buying it, either.

But they had serious issues to contend with tonight, and no one was wasting time on idle chitchat. The first job on their agenda was finding a new hiding place for the emerald and the black harlequin opal. Before the robbery, they'd considered the safe under the historical mission next door to be both symbolic and as secure as any place could be, but obviously they'd been wrong.

Justin fetched a ladder from the back storage room. The others collected a toolbox and the quarter-inch drill and a broom. The job didn't have to take five minutes, but Justin figured with four men there, it would likely take a good hour.

It took a full hour and a half.

“I'll do the drilling,” Ben started out by volunteering.

“I can do it.” Matthew stepped forward. “I'm used to doing every type of chore on a ranch. This is nothing.”

Dakota hunched fists on his hips. “Yeah, well, I think we got a good chance of running into trouble. Drilling a hole in the paneling is easy enough, but behind that is straight adobe brick. If we're not careful, we're going to end up with a hole the size of a crater.”

If Justin had been in any mood to laugh that night, his friends would have easily induced his sense of humor. All the guys were so literally fearless. Men who'd step up, without hesitation, without expecting thanks or reward, to save a child or an innocent. Each of them had literally pledged to do exactly that as Texas Cattleman's Club members—and had.

But hell. Get a bunch of guys near a construction project
and naturally the four-letter words flew…along with arguments over the right way to do things.

Justin would normally have contributed his useless two cents. Tonight, though, when the small hole had finally been drilled—and the swearing settled down—he climbed the ladder in the front entrance hall. The Club sign—Leadership, Justice and Peace—was lying on its side on the ground. And all of them suddenly turned quiet.

Each took one last look at the black harlequin opal and the emerald, before the two stones were wrapped in white velvet inside a film canister. The drill had made a hole big enough to put the film canister inside, so after that, there was nothing left to do but rehang the sign.

“It couldn't be more perfect,” Matthew said. “I mean, in the long run, obviously we need to find a more secure vault for the stones. But until we know what happened to the red diamond, this is ideal. Symbolic. Beneath the sign that stands for the stones. We did good.”

“Now if all the other problems connected to the theft and the plane crash were only half this easy to solve,” Dakota said dryly.

They swept, cleaned up, put away the broom and toolbox. Yet all of them ended up back in the front entrance hall. For them the sign had never been a corny symbol, but an echo of the very real vows they'd made to help others when they'd joined the Texas Cattleman's Club. At the moment, they were all frustrated in fulfilling those vows.

“The more we dive into this mess, the less makes sense,” Dakota groaned.

“Let's go over what we know,” Matthew suggested. “Nothing's surfaced to identify Riley Monroe's killer yet, has it?”

No, it hadn't—and the red diamond was still missing. As yet, the men had no evidence to link the plane crash to the jewel theft—but the jewel thief positively had to be someone on that Asterland plane flight. Klimt, one of the few who
might have given them specific answers about what happened on that plane, was still in a coma. Riley Monroe's killer was obviously their jewel thief, but the cops had no leads or even ideas on Monroe's killer yet…and one of the most curious issues in the whole mess was that two stones had been recovered, and not the third. All the Texas Cattleman's Club directly involved with this—except for Aaron—had gone over the plane with a fine-tooth comb. As had the authorities. As had the two investigators, Milo and Garth, sent by the Asterlanders.

“Well, something has to break,” Matthew said. “Part of the problem is that none of us copes well with frustration. We're all in the habit of going out and doing something to fix things. Having to wait is partly what's driving us nuts.”

Dakota concurred. “I also doubt that there's a gem as notoriously unique on the planet as our red diamond. Which means that it can't surface anywhere without raising news. Even in the blackest of a black market, it'll raise a flurry when it shows up—if we don't find another way to find it first.”

“Yes. The red diamond is really the key to solving the rest,” Ben said thoughtfully, and then, “Justin?”

Justin swiftly turned toward them. “I agree with all of you. It's just going to take a little more time. None of us have ever accepted failure and we're not about to now.”

The others exuberantly agreed, but Ben was still frowning at him. “Something was on your mind. You were really staring at the sign. Did something occur to you?”

“Yeah, it did.”

Justin couldn't explain. Not to anyone. But this strange epiphany thing had happened when he'd taken one last look at the precious emerald and opal. Suddenly his heart had started beating like a drum, hollow, anxious, the
thud-thud-thud
of dread. The missing gem was the reason. The red diamond, for all of them, had always been the true talisman symbol of the group's cause. Not because it was the most
precious and priceless, but because it represented the leadership and honor that a good man really stood for.

And the drumming in his heart kept thundering like a hollow echo. Memories of Bosnia knifed through his mind. He'd had such a heroic goal when he'd volunteered to go there. He'd wanted to help. To save people. And at the time, he'd been egotistical enough to believe that he was an ideal person to do that—that he was one of the best docs in trauma medicine anywhere.

Only he'd flown into a nightmare. Patient after patient had been suffering severe wounds from bombs and guns and shrapnel. But the conditions were petrifying. Sometimes there were no drugs. Sometimes there was no heat, no electricity—hell, sometimes not even running water. He had the skill; he had the heart, but he had no way to save them. And patient after patient died, until Justin had started to feel a breaking sensation on the inside. Maybe it wasn't his failures that caused the deaths, but it was still failure. It was still unlivable. And when he'd come home, he'd aimed straight for plastic surgery and away from any medicine where patients died.

It made sense to him then.

It made sense to him for a long time.

It had made sense to him until he'd asked Winona to marry him. All these years, he'd prayed that Winona could love him, but now that she'd admitted to those feelings…aw hell, Justin knew exactly why his heart felt hollow. Because it was. Part of him was missing, no different than that damned red diamond was missing. He was afraid of failing her. Afraid of not being the strong, honorable man that she seemed to think he was—the strong, honorable man that Justin was no longer positive he was, either.

Ben's fingers closed on his shoulder. “Something is wrong. Do you want to sit down somewhere? Find a place to talk?”

Matthew picked up on Ben's concern. “Justin, hell, you
looked like you'd been driving yourself ragged when you first walked in. What's wrong? Tell us. What can we do?”

“Nothing,” he started to say. He wasn't sure if he felt more relieved—or more worried—that he'd finally figured out why setting the marriage date had been throwing him for six. At least he was finally getting his mind wrapped more clearly around the problem.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean that he had a clue what to do about it.

Startling all of them, a telephone suddenly rang. The Club, of course, was closed. A call this late was likely nothing more than a telemarketer or a wrong number. But Justin took the excuse to hike for the phone, relieved to get away from his friends' searching attention, no matter how well-meaning their concern.

The closest receiver was in the Club office. He reached the phone just as it rang for a fourth time.

“Justin? Oh, thank God I got you. I didn't know where to track you down….” He heard Winona's voice, sounding not at all like her. Win kept her cool in a thousand crises, and always for others. Yet her tone was shrill with panic and fear. “I need you. Right now. Oh God, oh God. Angel isn't breathing right. Something's terribly wrong. I'm afraid to take her to the hospital, afraid to do anything that could make it worse, I—”

No matter how messed up he was, this was easy. Justin didn't have to think. Winona needed him. That was cut-and-dried. “I'll be there in five minutes flat. I promise.”

W
inona had been afraid before, but never like this. Late that afternoon, she'd discovered who Angel's mother was. At the time, she'd thought that nothing could possibly be more important or traumatic than that—but she'd been wrong.

Right now she was carrying the baby and pacing because she was too terrified to do anything else. She'd been busy, coming home from work, getting some dinner on and the baby down for the night, but everything had been basically fine—until Angel suddenly woke, making petrifying choking sounds.

She was afraid to put the baby down. Afraid to keep carrying her. Afraid anything that she did might be wrong—and yeah, of course, as a cop she'd had first aid. Intensive, extensive first aid, for that matter. But what the spit good was that? There was nothing in any manual about the emotional stakes being so screechy high and unbearable when it was
your
baby who was suffering and you were terrified of doing the wrong thing and risking hurting her worse.

Winona heard the front door open. “Justin? Back here! Hurry!”

She wanted to brace before seeing him. She knew it would hurt. Winona had no idea what was in that damn man's head, but two days ago she'd finally added up two and two. For days, he'd been pushing her to marry him. First, making out like a marriage of convenience would enable her to foster Angel. Then, making out like he wanted a real marriage. Then, not just making out—but showing her—that he loved her in every way a man could love a woman.

But when it came down to setting a date, he'd ducked one too many times now.

She'd thought they'd had something. And no, she'd never bought into that marriage of convenience malarkey. Since when in the history of men and women was a marriage ever convenient? The concept was an oxymoron if ever there was one. But then she'd started to see how much Justin cared. How much he'd hidden. How he'd be as a dad, how he was as a lover, how much love poured out of him when the door was finally opened up.

Only the blasted man had
made
her fall in love with him. Practically forced her into falling hopelessly, helplessly, deeply in love. And
then
to stall out when it came to setting a date?

Man, it bit. In fact, it hurt so much that she'd prowled the floors for two nights in a row. Right now, though, she had no time for hurt or anger. There was only one thing on her mind—the baby.

She sensed his shadow in the nursery doorway, even before he'd said anything. She heard him yanking off his jacket, hurtling it aside. She didn't look at him, because she was too sick-scared, soul-scared, to take her eyes off Angel for even a second, but she started talking. Fast. “She's been half choking like this for almost twenty minutes now. Maybe I should have taken her right to the hospital, but I didn't understand what was happening—I also didn't want to take her out in
the cold or do anything to make her worse. But I can see—anyone can see—something's
wrong.
She's not breathing right—”

“Keep talking. Just keep telling me everything that's been happening to her.”

“I put her down for the night about forty-five minutes ago. All day she was fine. Completely fine. And she dropped off to sleep right away, only it was like she swallowed something somehow, because suddenly I heard her coughing. I ran in from the kitchen. It seemed like she was choking. I grabbed her, picked her up, started thumping her back, thinking that I could help her get something up—”

“And did you see anything come up?” Justin's voice was calm, quiet, fast.

“No. But it had to. Because she wasn't choking so bad after that. Still, it's like now. You can see how she's struggling to breathe. Her coloring is almost blue—”

“Did you call a pediatrician?”

“No, of course not. I called you. I want you.”

“Win, come on, you know I don't have any specialty with babies—”

“You know trauma medicine like no one else. There's no one I want but you.”

“Damnation, Winona. You don't know what you're asking me.”

That was such a strange thing for him to say that her head shot up. This moment wasn't about her and him. It was about the baby…but somehow all her hurt disappeared at that instant. She didn't know why he'd ducked on setting the marriage date, but love wasn't the problem. She saw the way he looked at her. His dark hair was still gleaming with melted snow, his cheeks rubbed red from the wind, but his eyes were soft and haunted with love, fastened on hers for one long lonesome second—before he returned all his attention to Angel.

He'd already stolen the baby from her arms, already
moved over to the crib, where he had a flat surface to lay Angel down. Gentle fingers were firmly, swiftly, pulling off the baby's clothes, assessing her, studying, murmuring to her.

“What do you mean, I don't know what I'm asking you?” she asked quietly.

“I can't risk anything happening to Angel. Not her. I can't, Winona, dammit. I
mean
it. I don't do trauma medicine anymore.”

It was confoundedly bewildering. She heard his words, but they didn't make any sense. He'd already competently, calmly, taken on Angel.

And the minute he'd walked in the door, Winona had felt herself stop panicking. Well, almost. Her head was still screaming, her knees still shaking, her hands slicker than slides. Because she'd never been the kind of person to panic in a crisis, she wasn't prepared to deal with herself when the symptoms hit so hard. For Pete's sake, it was her
job
to handle people in a crisis and she did it darn well.

But this was about a baby.

Her baby.

And it just wasn't the same.

Still, once Justin was there—no matter what the blasted man said—everything eased. Not her worry that Angel was in trouble. But if anyone could save a baby, Justin could. If anyone could help Angel, Justin would find a way to do it. If she trusted anyone in the entire universe—and there weren't many on that list, never had been for Winona—she trusted Justin.

Quieter than a whisper, he said, “Put on the overhead. Bring the black bag over here for me and open it, would you? And then get me a straw from the kitchen. Quick, okay?”

There was no panic in his voice, nothing to make her worry, yet she instinctively understood to put on the spurs. She returned quickly with the items.

“You know what's wrong, don't you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It's the whale.”

“Huh?”

“The stuffed animal. The minute I laid her in the crib—there had to be a reason for the symptoms, obviously? So I looked, and I saw the hint of loose stitches on the whale, the little fuzz of stuffing coming out. I'm guessing the baby put some in her mouth. And I'll bet that's where you were patting her—” He motioned to the carpet to her left “—because she spit some out on the carpet there.”

“Oh, my God. Do you think she swallowed some? Is that why she's having trouble breathing? And could it be poisonous? Could—”

“Win.”

“What?”

“I need you to listen.”

She gulped in a breath. “I'm listening.”

“I can't make this pretty. There's still some in her throat. That's exactly what's clogging her air passage and why she's having trouble breathing. It has to come out. Winona?”

“What?”

“I love you. And I promise—I
promise,
Win—she'll be okay. But this isn't going to be any fun to look at, so I just want you to go in the other room and sit down.”

She wasn't about to go anywhere—although she did take a couple of seconds to grab the whale and hurl it into the trash before coming back to his side. He kept talking, using a low, easy voice to soothe the baby, but she was the one he was communicating to, warning her that he might have to do a tracheotomy, cut the baby's throat, if he wasn't able to suck the debris with a straw. One way or another it had to come out, and now, and the baby wasn't going to like anything about this, but there was nothing else he could do.

It was an odd sensation, under the circumstances, to be more afraid for Justin than for the baby. But she kept watching him, with her eyes—with her heart. And whether it made logical sense or not, she understood that something was at
stake for Justin—something more than the baby, something more than he'd known how to tell her.

And he was right. Nothing about the procedures he tried was pretty, but it was only a few minutes later when the baby suddenly choked and gagged and furiously coughed. And then it was done. Justin eased the little one to his shoulder, patting, whispering, soothing, looking at Winona with wet eyes.

“You tell our daughter
never
to scare me like that again,” he said.

Winona wanted her arms around Angel, but deliberately let Justin keep holding her. She did the running, changing the sheets, throwing out everything that had been in the crib earlier in case the stuffing could have contaminated anything else. By the time the sheets were clean and the light turned off, it was past midnight; Justin had redressed the baby in a warm sleeper, and Angel was hard-core snoozing. He laid her in the crib, but both felt the same reluctance to leave her. They both stood there, watching.

Fifteen minutes later they were both still standing, weaving-tired, still watching the baby, even though Justin had said three times that there was really no longer any reason to worry.

“And she's sleeping like a log,” Winona agreed. “Come on, this is silly. It's time for both of us to lie down ourselves and get some sleep.”

“You go. I'll watch for just a little while longer.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

At two in the morning, Winona woke up in the rocking chair next to the baby's crib…and immediately saw Justin next to her in the second rocking chair she'd carted in earlier. His neck looked as cramped as hers felt, his face as tired and drawn as hers must look.

Her mouth softly tipped into a smile, looking at him. He loved her. And he loved Angel. Whatever had been wrong
with him earlier in the week, Winona knew positively what the truth was now.

His eyelashes shot up, as if sensing that she was awake and studying him. Just as swiftly, he jerked to his feet and immediately bent over the baby, assessing Angel's happy, little breathy snores, before he could relax and plunk back down in the rocker again.

He rubbed a weary hand over his face. “She really is okay, Winona. This is nuts. We both need to get some serious sleep.”

“I know,” she agreed, but she didn't move any more than he did. In the dark room, she kept seeing shadows and silhouettes, until the thoughts chasing around her mind finally took shape. “With all this trauma going on, I never had a chance to tell you, Justin. There's no reason that you have to marry me anymore.”

“What?”

“I found out who Angel's mother is.”

He swallowed, then stood up from the rocking chair and simply took her hand. In the dark, silent living room, he wrapped a throw around her shoulders and then hunkered down next to her on the couch. “Okay. Now tell me the whole story.”

“She was at the Texas Cattleman's Club ball. One of the guests. Herb Newton's wife, Alicia. Herb was on sabbatical in the Far East. She was pregnant last year, but then about the time the baby was supposed to be born, she told her neighbors and family that the child was stillborn, that she'd lost it. She had a midwife instead of going to the hospital. The midwife backed up what she said. Herb wasn't part of the birth process. She told him the same thing, that the baby had died.”

“But I take it that you found out that she lied?”

Winona nodded. “Yes. The midwife took the baby for the first couple of months. The midwife was caught in the middle of the story, wanting to help Alicia, but not knowing what
to do. The problem was that Herb was physically abusive. He didn't stop knocking Alicia around during the pregnancy, which made her afraid that he'd hurt the baby as well. In fact, she was positive he'd hurt the baby. So she asked the midwife to put Angel on my doorstep.”

“God.” His voice communicated a wealth of emotion. The fingertips brushing back her hair communicated even more. Her pulse bucked. With love and hope. But there were still things she needed to say.

“Alicia was just one of the leads I was tracking down. But when I caught up with her this afternoon, it all came out. It's not going to be simple, Justin, as far as Angel's future.”

“Why?”

“Because she's afraid Herb will kill her if he finds out the baby is alive. She doesn't want the child. At all. It's going to be all she can do for a long time to get herself a divorce, get out of that relationship and start a life over again. But if Herb finds out the child is alive, she's also afraid that he'll demand custody—and because he's the blood father, she's afraid that he could both get it and force Alicia to live with him again—either that or risk him hurting the child.”

“What a mess,” Justin said quietly.

“Yeah. And that's the point—that it can't be solved legally, at least not for a while. If Alicia gets what she wants, she's going to give the child up for adoption, specifically to me. Or to us.” She met his eyes. “But the real point is—there's no reason for you to marry me, just to enable me to foster or adopt Angel. We know the child's situation now. It's going to take a while to fight this out in the courts. But no marriage is going to help or hurt my keeping Angel. The real legal problems are between Alicia and her husband.”

“Win, I wasn't marrying you for Angel's sake.”

“I didn't think you were, either. But you sure ducked out when it came down to setting a marriage date—as if you really weren't that serious. You hurt me, Doc.”

The lines in his face all tensed with anxiety. “That was
never what I wanted to happen. Never. And I always wanted to marry you, Win, for years. From the first time I saw you, and you were twelve and kicking every boy in the shins who dared to say ‘hi' to you. God. You were so stubborn. So mean. So full of courage—”