Dream Baby

Dream Baby
Ann Evans

By the Year 2000: BABY!What have you resolved to do by the year 2000?Millenium Baby!When a friend–pregnant and desperate–suggests that Nora Holloway adpot the baby, it looks as if Nora's dream of celebrating the millenium with a family of her own may come true.Then the baby's uncle shows up with a plan that doesn't include Nora. Jake Burdette's guilt over his brother's death won't allow him to break his promise to look after the child. He won't allow a stranger to adopt his nephew.But the more he learns about Nora, the less of a stranger she becomes….

“Your brother—the baby’s father—washed his hands of the entire problem.” (#ub43b6dae-dc39-5703-afca-fab92edcd5e9)Letter to Reader (#ub1b117c9-851a-5d25-828d-136a790f988c)Title Page (#uf6fe7aad-80bf-5a1a-b4fb-cccbbdcb2715)Dedication (#uac550485-c7fa-5693-b0f5-dc1b471fc365)CHAPTER ONE (#ub199c526-273f-5cab-ab23-4773fc84b531)CHAPTER TWO (#u90ebe5d8-0ddc-53a7-a170-52cb55124bc2)CHAPTER THREE (#u15b493e1-ee20-5d13-8af5-e392a6c086e1)CHAPTER FOUR (#uea80ef83-a881-55d8-a1c7-9317c21d57bd)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Your brother—the baby’s father—washed his hands of the entire problem.”

Nora’s voice rose slightly. “Are you aware that he even suggested abortion?”

Jake nodded. “I am. Isabel’s phone call threw him for quite a loop. That doesn’t excuse him, but I know he came to regret that suggestion almost immediately after he made it.”

“And yet you’re the one who’s come to her, when it should be him—”

“My brother’s dead, Miss Holloway: He died a few days after he received the phone call.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I sat by my brother’s hospital bed for almost two days. He wanted to find Isabel and tell her he’d made a huge mistake, There’s no doubt in my mind he would have married her and given his son a name....” Jake expelled a long sigh. “Toward the end, when he knew... he asked me to make sure she and the baby were okay. Of course, everything’s changed now.”

Nora’s heart cramped suddenly. “What do you mean?”

Jake gave her a hard, level look. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you adopt my brother’s baby.”

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe that the millennium is nearly here.

When I was a kid, it seemed so far away. I was sure that by the year 2000 we’d be zipping around town in spaceships, our meals would be prepared by robots and we’d all be living in geodesic domes. As a fan of history rather than science, I thought it all sounded pretty scary and undesirable.

But here we are on the eve of a new century, and I’m delighted to see that one aspect of life hasn’t changed much over the years. Falling in love is still unpredictable.It can’t be bottled or scheduled or forced, and it can still sneak up on two unlikely people who think they know exactly what the millennium will bring them.

As I wrote this book, I liked the idea that I was creating two such characters in Nora and Jake—a heroine who sees only loneliness in her future, and a hero struggling to put the past behind him to make a new life. Their expectations don’t include a baby, but what better way for two deserving lovers to kick off a brand-new year!

I hope the millennium brings you happiness and lots of wonderful books that warm and touch your heart. Somehow, the future just looks a little less scary when it’s filled with love. Happy New Year!

Ann Evans

Dream Baby

Ann Evans

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For Evan and Holly Marsh, who gave me the opportunity to

experience the love, excitement and delight of children

firsthand, and who continue to enrich my life today.

CHAPTER ONE

New Year’s Eve, 1998

NORA HOLLOWAY WENT to bed early.

Without waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square, without a thimbleful of alcohol in her system, without making a single resolution.

She went to bed before the first skyrocket had a chance to arc over Blue Devil Springs’s postage stamp of a town square. Praying for deep, dreamless sleep—and knowing that it was probably a futile wish.

An hour before 1998 escaped into the record books, she awoke sweaty and breathless in her bed, her head full of familiar images—long dark corridors, the sound of a baby crying, and herself, confused and frightened and unable to change any of it.

She sat upright, disoriented, but only for a moment or two. She knew why the baby dream had visited her tonight.

That afternoon she’d sorted through a box of junk she intended to donate to the Memorial Day garage sale. She had expected to find nothing of value, certainly nothing that would cause her heart to miss a beat. But instead it had yielded a treasure trove of mementos. The dried, crumpled remains of the orchid she’d worn to the prom. A clutch of blue ribbons her brother, Trip, had won in crew. Letters she had written to Mom and Dad from college.

Nothing startling. Nothing dramatic, although it was a little bit of a surprise to find pictures of Peter in the box as well. Peter, looking strong and handsome, with that absurdly charming smile that she’d fallen victim to right from the first. He seemed so achingly young in the photographs.

The sight of those objects brought no pain. Only regret for what might have been. She’d been smiling when she reached into the box to retrieve those faded images.

But as she picked them up, her fingers brushed something soft, and when she saw what it was, the smile froze on her lips.

How stupid to have forgotten what she’d done with the half-finished, cross-stitched birth announcement. The one she’d taken with her to the doctor’s office that rainy day five years ago—five years ago to the day. It was such a small thing—too small to be framed on the nursery wall, Peter had said. But Nora had kept stitching anyway, because the cheery colors and its pattern of childishly simple icons for a little boy made her feel good, made her feel like the mother she couldn’t wait to become in just four short months.

Seeing the announcement again this afternoon had brought it all back. Soiled, fading, the fabric sat in her lap as though it were a snake that might strike her. The name she and Peter had chosen for their son still stood out plainly. JEREMY WILLIAM. Jeremy for Peter’s father. William for hers.

Only the boy hadn’t lived to carry the weighty, paternal pride of such an important name. He’d died the day of the accident. Along with Peter. Along with so many half-formed dreams she’d had for the future.

Now in the darkness of her bedroom, Nora’s hand fumbled for the bedside lamp. She squinted against the bright glare, shoving handfuls of tangled dark hair out of her eyes so that she could read the clock radio: 10:58 p.m. Almost 1999.

A few homemade bottle rockets zinged in the distance. It was probably her neighbor down the road, Walt Clevenger, eager to start the celebration. She’d dated him two years ago and knew how impatient he could get. Rifle shots cracked from the direction of the national forest. The rangers would be on the revelers in the blink of an eye. Alan Harcourt, the first man she’d gone out with after Peter’s death, didn’t let campers get too rowdy.

Her heart was no longer pounding, but it would be impossible to get any sleep for a little while, not with all the noise.

She flipped on the television as she made her way into the kitchen. The sound woke Larry, snoring noisily at his favorite spot on the rug by the big stone fireplace. The mongrel, the last of three motheaten pups she and Trip had saved a few years ago, snuffled a complaint and then followed in her footsteps. Sensing his motive, Nora plucked a sliver of ham off the leftovers plate in the fridge and tossed it to him. Larry’s front paws barely left the floor as he caught the morsel in midair.

Hunched over the open refrigerator door, Nora was about to pull a soda off the shelf when her hand brushed against the small bottle of champagne she’d set out earlier in Cabin Five. The honeymooners she’d expected to check in today had called to cancel their weekend stay at Holloway’s Hideaway, the resort cabins Nora and her brother had inherited from their parents. The trip to Paris the lucky couple had received as a wedding gift from their families far outweighed anything the Hideaway and tiny Blue Devil Springs could offer.

“C’est la vie,” she said and snagged the champagne bottle. She kicked the door closed with one bare foot, pulled a clean glass off the kitchen counter and headed for the living room.

Her attention strayed to the television, where two giddy cohosts were superimposed over the crowd of revelers in New York’s Times Square.

“...and you can really feel the excitement in the crowd, even from up here; can’t you, Mary Beth?” the male announcer nearly shouted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a new year greeted this enthusiastically, and we’ve still got almost an hour to go before 1999 gets here.”

Mary Beth smiled her plastic talk-show host’s smile and nodded. “I think you’re right, Bill. Each year, as we’ve gotten closer to the start of the millennium, people seem more and more excited. I can’t wait to see what next year brings, when we actually hit 2000. Can you?”

“Yes,” Nora muttered as she twisted the wire champagne seal. “I can.”

Larry jumped when she popped the cork. Hunkering down into the huge, plush cushions on the couch, Nora poured herself a glass of champagne, then tweaked open the small card she’d attached to the bottle just yesterday. She frowned at the silly sentiment she’d painstakingly written inside: