“It came to our attention, a family was pulled from a plane and quarantined in New York. After questioning and testing, it was proven the child was only a genetic match to the father, and they admitted to purchasing the baby and picking him up in a West Virginia shopping center. The woman identified photos of your mother and brother Conrad as the ones who turned over the newborn.”
A cold sweat dripped down his back. Would she ever forgive him?
“I continued our investigation by speaking with Belinda’s supervisor at the hospital.” Wes told Ellie what she said. “And then I went to speak with your neighbor. He told me he’d seen Belinda get dropped off a few minutes earlier. I made my way upstairs and found Belinda rifling through your dresser. I attempted to arrest her. Suddenly I was attacked from behind. After I was hit a second time, Belinda pointed a gun at me. I pulled the trigger as I was hit against the back of my head.
“While the neurosurgeon worked on me, a woman with a gunshot wound was admitted to the trauma unit. She had your identification. Duncan Mulligan was the surgeon and realized it wasn’t you. He tried. Curly, I’m so sorry. She didn’t make it.” His palm ran up and down her back.
She had to hate him. She’d spent her life protecting her sister. The sister he killed.
Eleanor pushed back and interlocked her fingers with his. “You shot her to save yourself. She would have killed you. She almost took you away from me. Where is she?” she whispered.
“We have her in DC.” Wes could barely say the words. Did he hear her correctly? His body trembled.
She let go of his hands and enfolded him in her arms. “Oh, Wes.”
He felt like he could breathe again. Could he believe they’d have a chance? Would she accept him in her life?
“How did you know the measles cases in the hospital were related to me?”
Wes swallowed hard. “Look at me.” He took her chin in his palm. His other hand twirled a strand of her hair. “We were able to run DNA testing on the newborn boy and what, at first glance, appeared to be an eight-month-old girl. When the doctors examined the little girl, they found a note that said her date of birth was last year, on January fourth. After specialized testing, we got a maternal match on the girl. Ellie, she’s yours.”
“I need to go to her.” She leapt to her feet.
“Hang on.” Wes clambered to his feet on shaky legs, almost collapsing.
“Wes,” she cried as she caught him. “You need to sit.” She helped him to the couch.
Out of breath, he said, “Tuck and Ken went to get her. They’ll be here soon. And, Ellie, we were able to identify one of the boys admitted as yours too. He’s coming as well. Theresa Murrow was unable to bear children. Conrad insisted on taking your sweet babies as theirs.” His clammy hand held hers.
Her face contorted with horror. “Tell me…oh, God, tell me they aren’t his.”
He held on to her hips and stood, regaining his footing. “No, no. We couldn’t identify either of the male donors. But we are sure none of the paternal DNA matches your family.”
“How do I thank you?” The dam broke, and silent tears soaked her cheeks.
“I should have started with this: Eleanor West, I love you. From the minute you said I had a cute voice in the ambulance, I fell for you. When you came for orientation mud-spattered. Cooking with you. Riding with you. And then you gave me the greatest gift: you shared your beautiful body with me. Let me help you with those little ones. Help me get my strength back. I need you in my life.” His strength and stoicism collapsed under the weight of his feelings, his own tears dampening his hospital-grown beard.
Her breath hitched as she maintained a tight hold on his hand while palming his cheek with the other. “You love me?” she squeaked, a soft, sweet smile crossing her face.
Wes nodded and gulped, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
They shared a soft kiss swaying in front of the fire.
* * *
Thursday, April 12th
Eleanor and Wes curled up on the bed and watched TV. Wes was doing his best to occupy her attention, but her brain was on overdrive. Her strong man’s body was weakened. He battled to do even the smallest thing. He swore the doctors said he needed time, but tomorrow, she’d seek answers.
He wanted to help her with her babies, Reed and Birdie. She gave birth to them; Theresa Murrow raised them. Would she be a good mom? Would they bond with her and Wes?
Wes reached for her hand. Taking it, she lifted it and kissed the bruise near his wrist from an IV. “They wouldn’t let me visit you. I was so afraid you’d die.”
“Oh, Curly, Troy told me. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Wes, your parents. I don’t think I made a good impression.”
