Fool's Gold Collection Part 2. Susan Mallery

said. “Have you named her?”

      “Hannah.”

      “A beautiful name,” the nun said. “She’s had a difficult journey. She has a low-grade fever and you’ll want to get her ears looked at. I think she has an ear infection.” The other woman sighed as she passed over some baby Tylenol. “This is all we have. Money is so limited. There are so many children and so few resources. The doctor cleared her for the trip but that was more so she could come here. She’s due for another dose in an hour.”

      Hannah’s eyes had closed. Dakota stared at her, torn between the beauty of her daughter and the fear that she might be sick.

      “Is she small for her age?”

      “Not compared with some of the other children. I’ve brought a supply of her formula, a few diapers and her clothes.” The nun glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry but I have a flight to catch.”

      “Yes, of course,” Dakota said. “Please feel free to go. I’ll get Hannah into a doctor as soon as possible.”

      “You have all the numbers for the agency,” Sister Mary told her, handing Finn a small suitcase. “Call anytime, day or night.”

      “Thank you.”

      Finn stood and shook hands with her. When the nun had left, he turned to Dakota. “Are you okay?”

      “No,” she said softly. “Did you hear what she said? Hannah might be sick.” The baby’s eyes were closed. Her breathing was regular, but her skin was so red. It burned Dakota’s fingers when she stroked her cheek. “I need to get her to a doctor.”

      “Do you want to do that here or do you want to go home?”

      “Let’s get her home.” Dakota checked her watch. She already had an appointment with the pediatrician late that afternoon. Better to take care of things there.

      They went back the way they’d come. Fortunately, the shuttle driver had waited for them. It only took Finn a few minutes to check the plane and then get clearance. Less than an hour after they’d landed, they were airborne again.

      This time, she sat behind the passenger seat with Hannah strapped into a car seat next to her. Dakota watched her anxiously, counting every breath.

      “You doing okay?” Finn asked.

      “I’m trying not to freak.”

      “She’ll be okay.”

      “I hope so.” She kept her gaze on her daughter. “She’s so small.” Too small. “I know she comes from a very poor part of the world, that the orphanage doesn’t have much money or many resources. I knew there could be problems. They warned me about that.”

      When she’d first applied, there had been several live interviews where she’d seen videos of the different orphanages the agency worked with. She’d also spoken with other parents. They’d told her about children who were small for their age, but quickly caught up. They’d glossed over any initial difficulties.

      Now, as Dakota felt her daughter’s fiery cheek, her own eyes burned.

      “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

      “You’re taking her to a doctor. It’s only a few hours.”

      She nodded because it was impossible to speak. Her new daughter might be desperately ill, and she didn’t have any way to make her better. Not medicine or even the experience to know how to make a poultice.

      “Do you know what a poultice is?” she asked Finn.

      “No. Why?”

      “I thought it might help.”

      “Dakota, you have to relax. Wait until there’s a reason to get upset, okay? You’re going to need your energy to keep up with Hannah once she’s crawling around.”

      “I hope you’re right,” she said, her voice oddly thick. It was only then, she realized she was crying.

      She dropped her head into her hands and gave in to the tears. A couple of seconds later, Hannah woke up and started crying, too. The baby rubbed at her ears, as if they hurt her.

      “It’s okay,” Dakota said quickly. “It’s all right, sweetie. I have some medicine right here.”

      She dug out the Tylenol and measured the dose. The plane was amazingly steady, for which she was grateful.

      “You’re saving my life,” she told Finn. “I couldn’t have done this on my own. I don’t know how to thank you.”

      “Just hang on.”

      She nodded, then offered Hannah the baby spoon. The little girl turned her head.

      “Come on, sweetie. Take the yummy medicine. It will make you feel better.”

      After offering it a couple more times, Dakota lightly touched the girl’s nose, then stroked her cheek. Hannah parted her lips, Dakota slipped the medicine inside, and the girl swallowed.

      But whatever bothered her was too much for an over-the-counter remedy. Or the child was tired, or maybe scared. After all, she was surrounded by strangers. Whatever the reason, she cried louder and harder, her whole body shaking with her sobs. Dakota tried rocking the car seat and rubbing her tummy. She sang to her. Nothing helped.

      Through the rest of the flight and the car ride to the pediatrician, Hannah screamed. The sound wrenched at Dakota’s heart and made her feel nauseous. She didn’t know what to do and knew that her ignorance could put an innocent child at risk. What had the agency been thinking—giving her a child?

      Finally they pulled up in front of the pediatrician’s office. She got Hannah out of her car seat, wrapped her in a blanket and carried the still-screaming infant into the waiting room, Finn close behind her.

      Dakota, crying as well, could barely speak her name. The receptionist took one look at the two of them and motioned to the door on her left.

      “Vivian will show you right into a room.”

      “Okay. Thanks.”

      Dakota looked at Finn. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said over the baby’s crying. “You don’t have to wait. I’ll call my mom and she’ll come get me.”

      Finn brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Go. I’ll wait. I’m not going to leave you now. I have to see how this all ends.”

      “You’re a good man. Seriously. I’ll talk to someone about getting you a plaque.”

      One corner of his mouth curved up. “Nothing too big. You know I’m all about it being tasteful.”

      Despite everything, she managed a smile, then turned and followed the nurse into the examination room.

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      “THE KEY TO GOOD PARENTING is to keep breathing,” Dr. Silverman told Dakota. “Seriously, if you pass out, you’re no good to anyone.” The pediatrician, a petite blonde in her late thirties, smiled.

      Dakota wanted to shriek at her. Did the doctor think this was funny? Nothing about this was funny. It was horrifying and potentially life threatening, but not funny.

      As soon as Dr. Silverman had walked into the examining room, Hannah had stopped crying. She’d submitted to the detailed exam with barely a sound and now lay in Dakota’s arms, her hot body limp.

      “She’s exhausted,” the doctor said. “That trip wouldn’t be easy on anyone. I’m sure she’s scared and confused. Her life hasn’t been easy. Adding to that are the other problems.”

      Dakota braced herself for the worst. “The fever?”

      The doctor nodded. “She has an infection in both ears and she has her first tooth coming in. She’s way too small for her age, which isn’t surprising given her