Father Of The Brood

Thank you both.

ELIZABETH BEVARLY

is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. “I really love to travel,” says this self-avowed beach bum. “To me, it’s the best education a person can give to herself.” Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some first-hand experience with maternity as well—she and her husband recently welcomed their first-born baby, a son.

Dear Reader,

Someone once asked me why I thought romance novels were so wildly popular, and, for a moment, I was stumped for a response. Then I realized it’s because romance novels are one of the few things in our society that are so specifically tailored to women. Almost exclusively, women write, edit and read romance. The heroines in our books are strong, savvy and sensual Too often in our society, women are discouraged from being such things, but in a romance novel, there’s always a gorgeous; intelligent man who prizes a woman for those very traits. Talk about your happy endings…

And those happy endings are what it’s all about. Romance novels are often dismissed as insubstantial fluff. But those of us who love them know that simply isn’t true. Over the years, a good deal of change has come to our genre. And Silhouette Books has always been the front-runner of promoting that change, especially in its Desire line. I’ve enjoyed Desire novels that depict everything from timetravel to single-parenting to overcoming substance abuse to recovering from domestic violence. So much for insubstantial fluff.

A romance novel is just about the only place a woman can visit where the world works the way it’s supposed to, where good people are rewarded for their good deeds, and nice guys never finish last. In romance novels, no matter how tough a woman’s life gets, by the last page, we know she’s going to be just fine. And in this day and age, with the society we have to meet head-on every day, what woman wouldn’t be attracted to that?

There’s nothing better than a good romance. That’s something Silhouette knows, and something the Desire line has always aspired to bring its readers. I’m proud to be a Desire author and a Desire reader. And I can’t wait for the next 1000.

Best wishes,

One (#ulink_ff791084-446f-51ab-aba0-bc1346871cdb)

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

Ike Guthrie gazed at his sister’s reflection in the cracked, spotty mirror and frowned. Nora Guthrie stood behind him, reaching over his shoulders to straighten his black bow tie. Behind her, a chorus of characters and a cacophony of voices split a haze of white cigarette and cigar smoke. Nora gave his tie one final tug, a gesture that nearly cut off his breath. He frowned again.

“Why is it, big sister,” he grumbled through gritted teeth as he loosened the knot that had nearly strangled him, “that you’ve always been able to talk me into doing things I don’t want to do?”

She brushed her palms down the smooth, satiny lapels of his tuxedo and smiled with much satisfaction. “It’s a talent I inherited from Mom. There. You look fabulous. You’re going to bring top dollar tonight. If you don’t win the grand prize, there’s no justice in the world.”

Ike eyed her warily. Like he, Nora was well above average in height, but her five-foot-ten still only brought her to his chin. Like his, her white-blond hair was fine and straight, but where hers was wound into a sleek French twist, his was razor-cut short and stylish. Their blue eyes, too, were a perfect match, right down to the overly long lashes. He glanced at their formal attire and frowned yet again. He looked like a fool in this monkey suit. God almighty, how had he let Nora talk him into this?

“Top dollar?” he repeated, turning to face her fully. “You talk like I’m some prime cut side of beef.”

Nora brushed a speck of lint from his shoulder. “Tonight, dear brother, you are. And all we on the board of St. Bernadette’s Children’s Hospital care about is how much you bring per pound.”

He opened his mouth to reiterate his reservations about this whole affair, but a loud commotion beyond a curtain on the other side of the room halted his objection. All the other men present in the room also paused to listen, each of them wearing an expression of undisguised panic. As if drawn by an invisible thread, Ike moved to stand next to the curtain, lifting his hand to pull it slightly to the side so that he could look past it.

Beyond was a stage surrounded by hundreds of women, each clutching a fistful of dollars. At the moment, those women seemed to be uncommonly pleased by whatever unfortunate man was up for grabs, because they hooted and whistled and cheered as if the home team had just come in for another unchallenged touchdown.

“Two thousand dollars!” Ike heard the auctioneer shout out in delight. Her voice was feminine, loud and rabid. “Going, going, gone! Well, ladies, that’s the highest bid we’ve received so far tonight. Looks like Dr. Gillette might just take home the grand prize.”

“Phooey,” Nora muttered beside his ear. “They haven’t gotten an eyeful of Isaac Guthrie, Philadelphia’s most prominent architect.”

Ike shook his head as more wolf whistles erupted from outside. “Something tells me they’re not going to care too much about what I do for a living,” he said softly.

Nora made a face at him. “I know that. But you’ve got a great tush, Ike. I’m telling you, your choice loins are going to bring in a fortune.”

Dr. Gillette came through the curtain then, dabbing a handkerchief at a forehead that was glistening with perspiration. “They’re animals,” he gasped. “Absolute animals. I don’t even know who bought me. Two women in the front row nearly came to blows.”

Nora patted his back comfortingly as he passed. “Don’t worry, Dr. Gillette. I’m sure whoever purchased you is a perfectly nice woman.” She lowered her voice as she added to Ike, “It was probably Edith Hathaway. She said she was determined to buy a doctor for her daughter, Pamela, no matter what the cost. And hey, if you ask me, a cardiologist for two thousand bucks is a steal.”

“Our next bachelor up for bids” came the auctioneer’s voice from the other side of the curtain, “is Mr. Isaac Guthrie, one of Philadelphia’s most prominent architects and most desirable men. I’m sure you’ve all admired the new Bidwell Corporate Center downtown. Well, Mr. Guthrie designed it. In addition to his architectural acumen, Isaac enjoys horseback riding, the poetry of Lord Byron and moonlit walks along the beach…”

“No, I don’t,” Ike whispered to his sister. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life, and I hate poetry. Where’s she getting all that stuff?”

“Shh,” Nora quieted him. “There’s more. I wrote it myself.”

“You wrote it? But, I gave them a different—”

“Shh.”

His sister silently mouthed the rest of his introduction as the auctioneer offered it. “He’s a Scorpio, thirty-six years old, a gourmet chef and excellent tennis player, who sees his dream woman as someone who’s smart, sensitive and has a great sense of humor….”

Ike expelled a sound of disgust. “That’s supposed to read ‘someone who’s small, sexy, and has a great set of hooters.’ I thought it might keep anyone from buying me.”

“I know, you jerk. That’s why I changed it.”

He sighed. “Just wait, Nora. Someday, somehow, I’ll get even.”

“Shh.”

The auctioneer continued. “And the date Mr. Guthrie is offering is an overnight weekend extravaganza!”

More catcalls and whistling indicated the crowd was very enthusiastic about the announcement, not to mention digging deeply into their pocketbooks.

“‘Weekend extravaganza?’” Ike repeated incredulously. “I told them it was going to be dinner and a show. Where’s this all-night stuff coming fr… ?”

He looked at his sister. Nora was smiling. “I told you you’re going to bring top dollar.” She rolled her eyes at his expression. “Oh, quit pouting. I’ve taken care of all the arrangements for you. All you have to do is show up.” Her smile became devilish. “Hey, it’s not like you can’t afford it, Mr. Moneybags. And it’s for charity, after all, Ike. Just remember that some deserving children are going to get the medical treatment they wouldn’t get otherwise because of you. Thousands of dollars worth of medical treatment if I have anything to say about it.”

“Obviously, I don’t have anything to say about it, do I?”

Nora shook her head.

“Even though it’s my choice loins that are on the block?”

“Shh. You might just be bought by the woman of your dreams.”

“I doubt that.” He sighed, resigned to his fate. “Oh, well. I guess I should be happy that you at least got the part about my being a Scorpio right.”

The auctioneer had by now finished describing the overnight excursion to Cape May, New Jersey—her tone of voice carrying just the right amount of dubiety when she mentioned the separate rooms at the Hanson House Bed and Breakfast—and was lingering over the catered seafood brunch on the beach. Ike was shaking his head in wonder at his sister’s imagination and almost missed his cue. Then Nora shoved him hard from behind and he had no choice but to stumble out onstage.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

Annie Malone stared at her older sister, wondering how on earth Sophie always managed to get her to do things she normally wouldn’t even dream of doing. A bachelor auction. Honestly. Even if it was for charity, Annie had a million other things she should be doing tonight.

“Shh,” Sophie told her, glancing down at her program. “Look, this guy is perfect for you. He loves horses and Byron, and he knows how to cook.” She threw her sister a look of censure. “And seeing as how your idea of boiling water is putting it in the oven and setting the temperature at two-hundred-and-twelve degrees, this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

“I don’t want a relationship,” Annie told her petulantly, “beautiful or otherwise. Mark was—”

“I know,” Sophie cut her off. “Mark Malone was the man of your dreams, the heart of your heart, and you’ll never find another love like him again. But Mark’s been dead for five years, Annie. It’s time to get on with your life.”