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As a kid, she’d been a shy bookworm and often escaped to the woods behind her family’s two-story house to sit under her favorite tree and read for hours. Making real-life friends hadn’t come easily to her as it had for her effervescent sister, so Anne Shirley, Hermione Granger and a host of other fictional characters became her beloved companions.
Today, the winter sky was a vivid blue, and a light breeze made the few leaves clinging to the branches of the trees along the edge of the parking lot flutter like a moth’s wings. Sunlight shone brightly, a beacon from above that was in direct contrast to Esme’s gray and turbulent mood.
After this meeting, she’d take Chase for a walk on the path bordering Lake Chatelaine to the west of downtown. Although she wasn’t much for water sports, she loved being near the lake and watching birds dive toward the tiny bubbles that floated on the surface when the resident fish popped up.
“What is taking so long?” she asked her son, who sat in his infant carrier next to the table. Chase gurgled an answer before shoving one fist back in his mouth.
Maybe she should have called first, the way she’d planned, but after waking on the floor of the nursery with a kinked neck and aching back, Esme had decided the best way to gauge the response to her unthinkable suggestion would be to ask the question about the night Chase was born in person.
When Esme first arrived, the hospital’s chief executive, Mary Dill, a woman who had to be nearing retirement age with a short pixie cut and round glasses that made her look like a blinking owl behind them, had appeared as shocked as Esme felt explaining the situation.
But Mary quickly converted to cover-your-assets mode, ushering Esme into the conference room to wait while she looked into the matter.
The matter, Esme had reminded the woman, was a human life—her baby. Chase was not simply a potential PR nightmare for the hospital to brush under a rug. The administrator had agreed and promised to handle her inquiries with the delicacy the situation warranted.
That was nearly forty minutes ago, Esme realized as she glanced at her watch. She stood, ready to track down some answers, but took her seat again when the door opened.
Mary entered, her skin noticeably paler than when Esme had interrupted her mid-bite of a breakfast sandwich. She was followed by a stuffy-looking man with shifty eyes and a paunch that seemed out of place on his wiry frame.
“Mrs. Fortune, this is Greg Oachs, hospital counsel.”
“It’s Miss, not Mrs.,” Esme corrected as she shook the lawyer’s outstretched hand. His grasp had all the enthusiasm of a stunned fish. “You can call me Esme.”
“Then please call me Greg,” he answered in a booming voice that seemed forcibly cheerful. “I understand we have a bit of a conundrum, Esme, but I assure you we’ll get to the bottom of it. You can trust me on that.”
She didn’t trust anyone who made that claim but couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was very wrong.
“Have you determined why my baby’s DNA report came back the way it did?”
“We have an idea,” Mary began before the lawyer cut her off with a sharp flick of the wrist.
“Let’s wait until the other party arrives,” he said in a commanding tone.
Normally, Esme would defer to someone in a position of authority, but Chase yawned at that moment, melting her heart and reminding her that there was someone more important than the attorney in this room. Her son mattered more than anyone or anything.
“I’m through waiting,” she huffed, rising from her seat. “I expect answers to the questions I raised.”
“She’s not the only one,” a deep voice said.
All three turned as a man in a well-cut suit entered the room. Esme would have pegged him for another attorney, except he had one arm looped around the handle of an infant carrier and sported a somewhat desperate glint in his piercing green eyes that convinced her he was the father of the baby he carried.
He looked to be around Esme’s age, tall with sandy blond hair, broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw. The man possessed a kind of movie-star attractiveness that seemed out of place in this nondescript conference room.
As the stranger stepped closer, and his green eyes met hers, a memory tugged at the corner of Esme’s mind. The realization dawned that she was staring at the big oaf from the night of her labor and delivery.
“You must be Ryder,” Mary Dill said, thrusting out her hand with more enthusiasm than she’d displayed when Esme had appeared asking questions. “Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.”
“I didn’t feel like I had a choice, given the ambiguity of your phone call.” He briefly shook her hand and then glanced toward the other man in attendance. “You must be the lawyer.”
“Greg Oachs of Oachs, Hart and Meinig. I’m general counsel for County Hospital.”
“General counsel.” Ryder frowned and placed the infant carrier on the conference table like it was the most natural thing in the world. “That sounds serious.” His gaze tracked to Esme. “Do you know what this is about?” he asked as if somehow understanding they were on the same side, although he clearly didn’t remember their brief eye-contact connection three months earlier.
“Not a clue,” she said quietly.
“I can explain,” Mary told them, although she looked like she might rather stick a fork in her eye.
“I’ll explain.” Greg placed his hands on the table and leaned forward before glancing at Ryder. “Would you like to put that thing on the floor?” He gestured toward the infant carrier.
