Rebecca Winters - The Baby Discovery

“I am!” she confessed. “But that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Even in the semi-dark interior of the cab, his eyes blazed a hot blue. The problem is you, Mr. Broderick. I think I’ve fallen in love with you, and you only see me as a live-in nanny.

“It’s inevitable he would get attached to me. It would be a wrench for him when I have to leave. Cruel, in fact. He deserves to have someone around on a permanent basis, not just a month or two.”

“I couldn’t agree more, and I have a solution. In fact I would have suggested it in the beginning. But first I needed to find out if there was a man in your life.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Marry me.”

Captain Howard Stansbury of the U.S. Topographical engineers, who surveyed the valley of the Great Salt Lake in 1849, reported, “This valley is called Tuilla Valley.”

(sounds like Two-Willa).

The name comes from the Shoshoni Indian Language and is a Gosiute tongue variant, named for the Bear family, a Gosiute Indian family, some of whose members still reside in Tooele today.

To Janet and George, with love and gratitude for their invaluable help.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

A FREEZING gust of wind caused Zane Broderick to turn up the collar of his sheepskin jacket. An early December snowstorm had blown in, making for poor visibility in this remote wilderness.

It was the “lake effect” that gave Tooele its reputation for severe winter weather. Forty minutes from Salt Lake, the tiny Utah town received an overabundance of moisture due to its proximity to the Great Salt Lake.

Tonight he felt a whiteout coming on. The kind where livestock froze and all transportation came to a standstill. By tomorrow morning the conditions would be perfect for the engineering team to do an experimental, driverless winter test run of the new prototype magnetic levitation train he’d designed.

As soon as he’d given one more inspection to this last section of forged track for any unforeseen problems, he could call it a night.

Blizzard conditions made it impossible to rely on his eyes without help. He pulled the heavy-duty flashlight from the back of his truck where he’d covered his equipment with a tarp.

The wind drove the snow so hard, his footsteps disappeared with every step he took alongside the platformed structure housing the twelve miles of seamless track.

Twenty minutes later he was satisfied that the workmanship looked slick-as-a-whistle, as his father would say. He came to the last hundred feet, carefully shining his light down inside to make certain he’d covered every square inch.

While he’d been out here, the wind, strengthened in force, pelted him with icy shards. At times its moaning sounds rose in pitch, imitating an animal’s cry.

Zane began to think a cougar foraging for food must have come down from the nearby mountains and had picked up his scent.

He made a last scan with the light, then froze.

Something about the size of a sack of flour was lying in the middle of the track wrapped in a snow-covered cloth. It was hard to make out details with white stuff swirling all around him.

He heard another cry, more distinct this time. What the devil?

In the next second he vaulted inside to see what it was. As he drew closer, he could have sworn the material moved.

A grimace marred his features. Had some deranged lunatic decided to dispose of a cat in this fashion?

Hunkering down, he carefully removed one edge of the thin cotton material. After pointing the light on it, he let out a gasp of sheer disbelief.

A newborn baby without a stitch of clothing on!

It made another infant cry.

Good Lord. The little boy was on the verge of freezing to death!

Tears of rage filled Zane’s eyes. If he hadn’t decided to inspect this end portion of track one more time…

Setting down the light, he whipped off his jacket. Carefully he placed the baby against the sheepskin lining and wrapped it up like a cocoon. All the while he prayed the warmth from his own body would ward of hypothermia.

Without a second to lose, he climbed back out with his precious bundle and started running.

The tears continued to run down his cheeks. They froze to his skin but he wasn’t cognizant of anything except the tiny life that would have died from exposure, if not from…

He couldn’t think about the other horrific scenarios flooding his mind. He refused!

The truck was two miles away, but it felt like a hundred. The baby could die before he got it to a hospital.

Suppressed memories of Zane’s twin brother drowning in San Francisco Bay years ago came back with gut-wrenching clarity.

Please God. Let this baby live.

Julie Becker, the other registered nurse on duty in the emergency room at the small Oquirrh Mountains Medical Center, came into the cubicle where Meg Richins was setting up a morphine drip on a migraine sufferer.

“It’s pretty quiet, Meg,” she whispered. “I thought I’d run across the street for some fresh cappuccino. The coffee around here is ghastly. Do you want anything?”

“I don’t think so, but thanks anyway,” Meg whispered back. “Let’s just be grateful we’re on the night shift. After the storm is over in the morning, there will be a steady stream of casualties.”

“Don’t I know it, and we’ll both be in our apartments sound asleep! But alone in our beds,” she added jokingly.

Meg smiled, but it really wasn’t funny.

“See you in a few minutes.”

When she left, Meg looked down at her patient. “How’s the nausea, Mrs. Pope?”

“It’s not too bad yet.”

“Let me know if it gets worse and I’ll tell Dr. Tingey. We can give you something for it.”

“I’m allergic to a lot of things.”

“I can see that on your chart. Don’t worry. I hate a bad reaction as much as anyone. I promise we’ll do everything in our power to make sure you don’t suffer any additional discomfort.”

A few years ago, after the operation to remove Meg’s ovaries, she’d become deathly ill on her first injection of a normal painkiller for that kind of surgery. Since then she’d learned great respect for her patients’ fears in that department.

After drawing the curtain for privacy, she walked over to the desk where their intense new resident, Dr. Parker, was writing a prescription for an outgoing patient who’d come in with a broken arm.

She waited until he was finished.

“Yes, Meg?”

“Do you know where Dr. Tingey is?” Meg knew it was wrong of her, but there were some cases where she would rather deal with the seasoned, mellow head of the ER.

“Over in X-ray for the moment. What do you need?”

“This is a list of drugs Mrs. Pope is allergic to. She’s nauseated and I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. I thought we should be prepared.”

He studied it for a minute. “I’ll go in and talk to her.”

Somehow Meg knew he would say that. One of the new breed of doctors, he always questioned everything the patients said, as if their input wasn’t credible. She wondered if he treated his wife the same way, then chastised herself for being unprofessional.