Chapter Seven

It's a Match

Sighing wearily, Jordan pulled the hospital sheets up closer around her and adjusted "Baby Girl Cavanaugh" a little better at her breast. Her daughter had already eaten twice since they made it to the hospital by ambulance. One last time tonight and the nurses were going to take her back to the neo-natal unit so Jordan could get some rest.

A mother. At last, it had happened. She had delivered a perfectly healthy, six pound, seven ounce baby girl. "Let's see little one," she softly murmured, gently stroking her daughter's head as the baby nursed. "I think Emily is out. I want you to have your own identity and that name comes with too many memories…and not all of them are good. Dad would love Maxine," Jordan chuckled at the feminine derivative of her father's name, "but Mom's afraid you'd get beat up on the play ground with that one…"

Softy crooning snatches of half-forgotten lullabies, Jordan continued to stroke her daughter's hair and admire her new off spring. Dark chestnut curls…blue eyes. But most babies' eyes are blue and change later. Max had said the infant was the identical infant of her mother at that age and much to Jordan's chagrin, he had pulled out pictures to prove it.

But he was right. "Baby Girl Cavanaugh" looked just like her mom.

"I'm not naming you after me, though," Jordan added as an afterthought. "No way." She held the tiny infant to her shoulder to burp her. "Hannah? Crista? No….way too common names." Jordan held her daughter out so she could look at her from the top of her tiny head to the ten tiny toes. "You're a little package. But good things come in small packages, you know?" Jordan wrinkled her forehead. "I can't think right now. I'm too tired." She put her daughter back on her shoulder and patted the tiny back, waiting for the burp that would let Mom know it was okay to call the nurse had have "Baby Girl Cavanaugh" taken back to the nursery.

It came, and Jordan pushed the call button. Soon the baby was whisked away and Jordan settled back down in her bed, more tired that she had ever been in her life. The last person she expected to see her deliver the baby was Woody Hoyt. Of course, the last place she expected to deliver was in the back of his squad car. She grimaced at the memory.

And if that wasn't enough, he was among the crowd that assembled at the hospital waiting for a glimpse of her and her daughter. He easily mingled with the morgue crowd and her father, now that the EMTs had hailed him as a hero for delivering the baby without a hitch.

Woody had wanted to come and make sure everything was okay. She knew he would. But Jordan could still read Woody well enough to realize what question was circling around in his head. Thankfully with the crowd at the hospital tonight, he never got a chance to ask.

And she never volunteered the information, simply because she didn't know herself. From the moment Dr. Andrews had said there was something wrong during her sonogram, Jordan had felt her chest tighten in a vise-like grip. "The baby's too big to be due on October 28, Jordan. The head…" he had motioned to the monitor that measured the top of the baby's head in centimeters, "is far too big for you to only be six months along. Are you sure about the first day of your last period?" he asked.

"I…I…think so," she had managed to get out. Between JD's murder, being on the run, and the stress she had been under, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure. She had never been regular to begin with.

Dr. Andrews shook his head. "This tells me that your probable due date is somewhere between September 10th and 17th…not October 28th."

Shit. That means…Jordan bit her lip. "Is there anyway you can find out for sure?"

"I can run some tests to determine the conception date and see if that corresponds with the new projected due date. So either your farther along than you think you are or you're having a really big baby." Dr. Andrews gave her a wink.

JD is…was a big guy…maybe he was a big baby…

Or it could mean the baby is Woody's…

Her mind immediately fled from that thought. She wanted the baby's father to be JD…someone that loved her and didn't use her. A man she firmly believed, if he were still alive, would be at her side right now.

She didn't want the baby's father to be some cold, two-timing, hurtful Wisconsin cheese head.

So Dr. Andrews had run the tests… and it was those tests that Emmy had run Jordan down to give her that day in the morgue. The same set of tests she had crammed into the bottom of her pocketbook because she wasn't ready to know who could be the father of her baby. At that point in time, she would have been more ready to accept a second immaculate conception.

Only now she needed to know. Jordan reached for her pocketbook sitting in the chair beside her hospital bed, pawing through the contents until she brought out a rumpled, wrinkled envelope from the bottom. Taking a deep breath, she ripped it open and glanced at the test results, quickly noting the three conception dates given and comparing it with the calendar she had burned in her memory.

The paper fluttered to the floor. Her nerveless fingers couldn't hold it any longer. But the dates didn't lie.

The father could be either JD or Woody. She'd have to run DNA tests to be sure.

Jordan came home form the hospital two days later…home to what once was an empty apartment, but now looked like a branch store for Babies R Us. Lily, Max, and Garret had left no stone unturned and no layette purchase unmade in their quest to make sure her tiny home was baby-ready. Jordan appreciated their thoughtfulness, but in some ways, her apartment had never felt lonelier. While the baby kept her busy, she was keenly aware of the fact that the father was not there…and may not ever be.

She had never regretted giving JD a key to her apartment. Even with all her conflicted emotions about Woody and working through all of that. JD had loved her and showed her that in hundreds of ways.

Of course, he had always let it be known he didn't care for Woody Hoyt, either. Jordan smiled when she remembered the testosterone face offs the two had endured, often with her sandwiched in the middle.

JD had had free reign of her apartment, and very nearly lived there until their break up…a break up that had been her fault, but at the time she hadn't fully realized. All she knew was that she and Woody had made love…and the relationship that she had long-denied to herself existed had blossomed into what she hoped was a full-blown affair at the Lucy Carver Inn. But once they were back in Boston, reality crashed in and Jordan had recognized it for what it was. Woody had chased her. Caught her.

And now he was no longer interested.

After four years, all it had amounted to was a one night stand.

But JD still was still interested. To the point he was willing overlook her patent infidelity and move on with her. However, Jordan wasn't budging at the time. JD had returned her key, but left a few things behind, including a toothbrush that Jordan had kept. Once home from the hospital, Jordan had called a friend of hers from the morgue in Cambridge and asked him to run a DNA comparison between the genetic material in the toothbrush and some swabbings she had taken from the inside of Joanna's mouth. If the swabs and toothbrush matched, JD was Joanna's father. If not, there was only one other contender for the title.

Joanna. She had finally decided on Joanna Marie for her daughter's name. Joanna was close to her own name and the Marie was from her father's side of the family. It seemed a good choice…to give the child some roots but yet a unique enough name to let her color her own future.

She had mailed David the DNA material two weeks ago and he promised to process the findings as quickly as he could, all the while keeping the results secret. He said he would call her with the results before mailing her a hard copy.

So when her phone rang and the Cambridge morgue's number appeared, Jordan nearly jumped out of her skin. "Hello?" she hesitantly said into the receiver.

"Jordan? It's David. I have the results of the DNA you asked me about."

Jordan took a deep breath. "And."

"It's a match."