Which was natural. He couldn’t offer her a place at the Colton table. She’d never take it if he did.
She wasn’t his to lose.
Hadn’t been for far more years than she had been.
Opening one more manila envelope in the bottom of the trunk, expecting more photos, Rafe dumped out a slew of cards, all welcoming the new baby.
One was from the then governor of Arizona. A couple from US senators. Impressed, in spite of the powerful people with whom he’d dined over the years, he leafed through them. Regaining some sense of self. Being a Colton gave you access to people who changed the world, who could right societal wrongs. Being a Colton meant you had a say in some of the policies that governed and protected the American people.
People like Kerry, and all of the other first responders. People who needed money and support just to do their jobs. People like Tyler, who deserved second chances.
And like the Native Americans who’d had so much taken from them and were still keeping their culture alive. And all of those who fled horrendous living conditions and risked their lives just to stand on American soil.
So many times over the years, sitting at dinners meant to honor someone, or to broker an oil deal, he’d had the chance to weigh in on all kinds of policy decisions. And had had calls asking for his support for one bill or another. Mostly to do with programs for kids. He knew what it was like to feel alone in the world—to feel isolated, like Tyler had. He hoped he was making a difference.
Being a Colton mattered. He was making a difference in the world, just as both of his fathers had always taught him. Looking out for others, as his fathers had done.
And...was that an appointment card? For Tessa Colton. She was due to see Dr. Carl Hansen. The time was faded, as was the day, but the month and year—three months before Ace was born.
He’d found the doctor who’d likely delivered Ace.
Pulling out his phone to call Kerry, he stopped. How much better would it be if he could deliver the doctor to her? At least in person. And if he was at all local, Tucson, even, maybe they could go see him together, yet that day.
Trying to be respectful, Rafe threw things back in the trunk as quickly as he could. There was no order to any of it, but nothing was damaged and it all fit.
And ten minutes later, back at his house, he was on the computer, looking up ob-gyn information.
After all the trouble they’d had locating anyone who’d worked at the hospital when Ace was born, finding Dr. Hansen was incredibly easy.
He had an address: an upscale, assisted living community. Not surprising. They were all over Arizona. People from all across the United States and Canada flocked to the fifty-five and older communities to enjoy active lifestyles after they retired. Many of them included assisted living units.
The general offices of the community in which Dr. Hansen lived weren’t open for another half hour so he took the time to shower and shave. Rafe was already in his truck, heading to town when he made the call, intending to make an appointment to speak to Hansen anytime that day he’d see them. Finally, he had something that would please Kerry.
Some good news to share.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Colton,” the stale female voice on the phone said, after Rafe had asked for the community manager, identified himself and explained why he was calling. All he needed from her was for her to get a message to the doctor to call him. He was a Colton. People always returned his calls. Always. And this was someone who not only knew the family, he’d been intimately acquainted with them, birthing their first child.
“I just need you to pass on the message,” he said, taking ca
re to remain patient as he explained himself again. He was not going to let Kerry down here.
Or the family, either. They needed to know who’d switched Ace at birth. To find out who was after them now. And why.
Selina might think they had to know who the real Ace Colton was, but as far as Rafe was concerned they already knew that. He was at his condo in Mustang Valley, feeling lost and alone.
And a good bit angry.
Justifiably so.
“I’d be happy to pass on the message,” the woman finally said, after putting Rafe on hold while she made another call, he’d presumed, to the doctor. “I’ve just put in a call to his son, who holds his legal and medical power of attorney, and he’s advised that I can tell you that his father can’t help you.”
“Let me talk to him,” Rafe said, watching his rearview mirror as carefully as the road in front of him. So far, his way into town was sunny and clear. “To the son. Have him call me...”
“He said he’d be happy to speak with you,” the woman said. “Told me to pass on his number, but the son needs you to know that, until today, he’d had no idea that his father had had a Colton as a patient. He was just a baby forty years ago. And he authorized me to give you the sad news that Dr. Hansen can’t help you, either. He suffers from Alzheimer’s, Mr. Colton. Most times he doesn’t even recognize his own son...”
Choking back disappointment, ashamed of himself for even feeling it when someone else was suffering so deeply, he offered his sincere condolences to Dr. Hansen’s son and hung up.
Once again, he was forced to let Kerry down.