A Dad Of His Own

A Dad Of His Own
Diana Whitney

FOR THE CHILDRENFATHER FOUNDTen years ago, Chessa Margolis thought one lie wouldn't hurt anyone. But when little Bobby tracked down the dad on his birth certificate, Nick Purcell appeared–claiming his newfound son! Chessa knew she and Nick had never actually met, but Bobby longed for a father, and Nick desperately wanted to be one. Yet she never thought they'd grow so close…and the last thing she expected was to fall for Nick herself….But the closer she and Nick became, the more Chessa had to lose. She knew before long she'd have to reveal the truth…and risk losing Nick….Sometimes families are made in the most unexpected way!

“I’d already left town before you could possibly have known you were pregnant,” (#u70e828aa-b6e6-5ec4-8627-9a160af76d74)Letter to Reader (#uce833c15-9ec4-55bb-9081-16646688f586)Title Page (#uc2572a4a-4c20-5307-9b51-d48c926e24b9)Dedication (#u9ebba72e-e7cf-53b2-82ea-6f0b87f15624)About the Author (#uf322b379-ced7-5c54-9558-16b10e465ade)Chapter One (#u67427491-259b-5844-8b09-f8d77a52c703)Chapter Two (#u1684edcd-5803-58f6-8601-3845a6efe404)Chapter Three (#ua4d8bd77-dcb8-5a87-805c-c1488f9b1cc6)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)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)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I’d already left town before you could possibly have known you were pregnant,”

Nick said, holding a piece of paper.

Chessa recognized the copy of her son’s birth certificate. The cetificate with Nick’s name on it. “I’d like you to leave now.”

A peculiar sadness shadowed his gaze. “You know I can’t do that.” He stepped back, regarding her with unnerving intensity. “Chessa, you have every right to be hurt. But I want you to know that what we had together was very special.”

All she could do was stare at him in utter awe. How gallant of him, she thought, to fake memories that didn’t exist, about a relationship that never happened. Until five minutes ago, Chessa Margolis and Nick Purcell had never even met.

FOR THE CHILDREN

I Now Pronounce You Mom & Dad (SE #1261)

A Dad of His Own (SR #1392)

The Fatherhood Factor (SE #1276)

Dear Reader,

September’s stellar selections beautifully exemplify Silhouette Romance’s commitment to publish strong, emotional love stories that touch every woman’s heart. In The Baby Bond, Lilian Darcy pens the poignant tale of a surrogate mom who discovers the father knew nothing of his impending daddyhood! His demand: a marriage of convenience to protect their BUNDLES OF JOY...

Carol Grace pairs a sheik with his plain-Jane secretary in a marriage meant to satisfy family requirements. But the oil tycoon’s shocked to learn that being Married to the Sheik is his VIRGIN BRIDE’s secret desire.... FOR THE CHILDREN, Diana Whitney’s miniseries that launched in Special Edition in August 1999—and returns to that series in October 1999—crosses into Silhouette Romance with A Dad of His Own, the touching story of a man, mistaken for a boy’s father, who ultimately realizes that mother and child are exactly what he needs.

Laura Anthony explores the lighter side of love in The Twenty-Four-Hour Groom, in which a pretend marriage between a lawman and his neighbor kindles some very real feelings. WITH THESE RINGS, Patricia Thayer’s Special Edition/Romance cross-line miniseries, moves into Romance with Her Surprise Family, with a woman who longs for a husband and home and unexpectedly finds both. And in A Man Worth Marrying, beloved author Phyllis Halldorson shows the touching romance between a virginal schoolteacher and a much older single dad.

Treasure this month’s offerings—and keep coming back to Romance for more compelling love stories!

Enjoy,

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

A Dad of His Own

Diana Whitney

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

To Heather MacDonald, who has been a joy, a friend and an inspiration. Thanks, Heather, for being the beautiful person that you are.

DIANA WHITNEY

is a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA finalist, Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ choice nominee and finalist for Colorado Romance Writer’s Award of Excellence. Diana has conducted writing workshops, and has published several articles on the craft of fiction. She is a member of the Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc., Published Authors Network and Romance Writers of America. She and her husband live in rural Northern California, with a beloved menagerie of furred creatures, domestic and wild. You can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017.

Chapter One

“Chocolate chip. Cool.” Bobby Margolis plucked a cookie from the heaped platter and took a healthy bite. “Umm...good.” Between chews he remembered his manners. Wiping a moist crumb from his chin, he managed a hasty swallow, a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

“’Tis welcome you are, lad.” A wrinkly woman with hair like cotton balls set the platter on a doilydraped table next to his glass of milk. “Help yourself now. A growing boy needs nourishment.”

“Okay.” He took another cookie, slyly palmed a third for later. Mom always said it was rude to be greedy, but he’d sneaked away from the class outing before lunch, and his stomach was rumbling like an old school bus on a bumpy road.

Humming softly, the nice lady with the pretty smile busied herself laying fancy napkins beside the platter of warm treats, pretending not to notice the extra cookie hidden in his hand. Bobby was pretty sure she’d seen him take it, though, because her eyes got all twinkly, and her mouth kind of twitched the way Mom’s did when she was trying not to laugh.

A sweet fragrance wafted around him as the lady moved, a scent that reminded him of the funny heartshaped packets his mother laid in closets and drawers. Lavender, she called it, and said it made things smell good. Only Bobby didn’t want his underwear reeking like girl stuff, so Mom had promised to keep all her flowery junk out of his bedroom. Mom always kept her promises. Well, not always. There was one promise she hadn’t kept.

That’s why Bobby was here.

He swallowed, squirmed, twitched his sneakered feet, which dangled several inches above the gleaming hardwood floor. “So when do I get to meet the lawyer?”

“You already have.” With an amused tilt of her head, the lady’s face spread into a wreath of wrinkles that made her look about a million years old. “Clementine Allister St. Ives at your service, young man.” She extended a leathery hand with swollen knuckles that were all red and lumpy.

Arthritis, Bobby thought, on account of his greatgreat-aunt Winthrop, who was his gramma’s mother’s sister, had arthritis, too. It made her hands all bumpy and swollen, and she said it hurt, so he was careful not to squeeze Clementine’s hand when he shook it. “You don’t look like a lawyer.” His gaze wandered across to a wall papered with oldfashioned flowers and studded with framed certificates. There were school names he didn’t recognize—Harvard, Stamford, Berkeley—and all kinds of peculiar terms that he’d never seen before. He knew what attorney-at-law meant, but he didn’t know what professor of genealogy was, and some of the other terms confused him as well. “What’s a fid?”

Clementine followed his gaze, smiling. “That’s a Ph.D. certificate, lad, a doctorate degree in psychology.”

Bobby sat up straighter. “You’re a doctor, too?”

“Not in the medical sense.” She settled into a big wooden rocking chair, flinching slightly. “I counsel families now and again.”

“Counsel?” The word evoked an unpleasant image of his elementary school vice principal lecturing kids about chewing gum and homework. “I don’t like counselors. They’re always bawling people out.”

“Bawling people out, are they?” Clementine regarded him kindly. “Well, lad, as my sainted da used to say, if God didn’t want folks to listen more often than talk, He wouldn’t have given them two ears and only one mouth.”

A tubby gray cat peeked out from behind a frilly lace curtain, then hopped onto the woman’s lap. She idly stroked the animal, which curled comfortably under her squishy bosom and purred so loud Bobby could hear it all the way across the room. The animal diverted Clementine’s attention long enough for him to surreptitiously snag another cookie.

“I got a cat,” he announced between bites. “His name is Mugsy. I want a dog, too, but Mom says a dog would be too lonesome, on account of she’s at work all day and I’m at school.”

“Are you now?” Reaching for a manila file on the desk beside the rocker, she retrieved her dangling glasses, slipped them efficiently into place. “And what grade would you be in?”

“Fourth.” Bobby figured she should know that, because he’d filled out a form for the pretty lady who worked in the front office. Deirdre, her name was. She had really nice eyes and a laugh that made him go all wiggly inside. She’d spent a lot of time with him, asking his address and stuff. She’d wanted to know what his birthday was, and that’s when he’d given her the birth certificate that he’d sneaked out of the metal box Mom kept in the back of her closet. Deirdre had made a copy of it.

Squinting at a document inside the file, Clementine ignored the cat batting at the pearl-studded loop dangling from her funny-looking spectacles. “So you’d be nine years old, would you?”