Texas Baby

Texas Baby
Kathleen O'Brien

She’s pregnant by another man…he’s engaged to another woman It was a Texas-sized engagement party – until a gate-crasher stunned everyone with the news she was pregnant with Chase Clayton’s child. The “father-to-be” was the most astonished of all, since he’d never laid eyes on lovely Josie Whitford, much less taken her to bed.Chase couldn’t blame Josie for her actions after he realised she’d been tricked by a callous impostor. Now, working with Josie to track down the man using his name, Chase tries to ignore an even more shocking suspicion – was he about to marry the wrong woman?

“We spent a month together,”

Josie continued. “I know all about him. I know he got his first horse when he was six. I know that when he was ten his collie died, and he carved the gravestone himself.”

The lawyer’s eyes widened slightly. “Anyone could know those things.”

“No,” a harsh voice came from the doorway. “Not anyone.”

The lawyer leaned forward. “Chase!”

Josie felt nauseated again. Who was this? Were they trying to fool her, bringing in someone to pose as Chase and hope she’d snap at the bait?

“It was Chase who told me.”

“That’s a lie. Until you wrecked your car in my driveway, I had never seen you before in my life.”

He sounded…so certain. So indignant. So exactly how an honest man unjustly accused would sound. Suddenly she understood. The dashing heartbreaker she’d met and the tenderhearted rancher’s son whose stories had won her heart…they were two different men.

“Damn it. Say something.”

She met his furious gaze helplessly. She had nothing to say. Not to him. All she could possibly say was…

“I’m so sorry, Mr Clayton. I’ve never seen you, either.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If you could own any horse, it would be… (um, would someone else muck out the stalls?) If so, then Tornado, Zorro’s beautiful black Andalusian. John Wayne or Gary Cooper? Cooper, of course! “Don’t shove me, Harv. I’m tired of being shoved.” Favourite Western?Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Best name for a horse? Merrylegs, from Black Beauty. Cowboys are your weakness because… I love a man who can do, will do and doesn’t ever complain. What makes the cowboy? It’s the hat. Think James Dean in Giant. Oh, what a perfect tilt can do to a woman!

Dear Reader,

Having a baby is one of the most exciting things a woman can do – and one of the most terrifying. A new human being is taking shape inside you, a child who will own your heart and change your life. Yet you have no idea what this new person will be like. Sometimes we’re mature enough to think about the genetic implications of the man we pick to father our children. More often, I’d suspect, we’re just swept away, by love or lust, or the hope of relief from loneliness.

Josie Whitford was hungry for all those things. And now, too late, she discovers that she doesn’t know who the father of her child really is. But then she meets Chase Clayton, the handsome rancher who is everything her lover wasn’t. As they search for the man who abandoned her, she begins to have second thoughts about what makes a “father.” Is it possible that birth is only the beginning?

Yes, a father can give you curly hair and brown eyes. But he can also give you love and patience, wisdom and courage and, above all, time. Time spent telling bedtime stories, explaining photosynthesis, kissing away tears. His constancy can make you confident. His strength can make you brave. His compassion can make you kind. Chase Clayton could be that kind of father. But Josie’s already pregnant, and he’s engaged to someone else. Surely it’s too late for them.

Or is it? Is it possible that love really can conquer all?

I hope you enjoy their story.

Warmly,

Kathleen

Texas Baby

KATHLEEN O’BRIEN

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

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE MORNINGS.

No, Josie Whitford corrected herself as she poured another round of coffee into Mr. Benetta’s cup, smiling even though she had a hammering headache, that was a laughable understatement.

It was one of those years. The ones in which you just couldn’t catch a break, couldn’t get ahead, couldn’t even run fast enough to stay in place. Ones where you felt yourself stumbling, slipping backward, as if life were a treadmill set on the highest speed, programmed to cycle out the weak.

Of course, the morning itself was lousy, too. Raindrops as fat as marbles, true Texas raindrops, bounced off the oily pavement, and the windows of the Not Guilty Café had turned gray and runny. They reminded Josie of the last plate she’d carried to the kitchen, prune juice splashed into the remnants of over-easy eggs. For a minute, just remembering, she thought she might get sick.

Oh, God, she wasn’t finally catching that flu, was she? She’d managed to avoid it all winter, but lately she’d been so run-down, so damn tired. The splat of gravy on her apron, courtesy of the kid at table two, sent up a wave of odor, and the banana she’d had for breakfast rose in her throat.

No. She clamped her jaw. Not on the customer. That would be the perfect excuse to fire her, the one Ed had been waiting for.

She pivoted away from Mr. Benetta, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of bacon grease wafting from the grill. The Not Guilty Café didn’t use the best cuts of anything, but it had the benefit of a great location. Tucked into the shadow of Riverfork City Hall and courthouse for the past fifty years, the café had become a tradition for the local politicians, businessmen and lawyers.

For a minute, she just stood there, the coffeepot hot against her hand, the banana roiling in her stomach. She looked around, panicked, but oddly paralyzed. On a day like this, when the rain made a good excuse for arriving late to work, the customers lingered, and the café was jammed. Where could she throw up without having to pay someone’s dry cleaning bill?

Nowhere. She felt sweat break out on her forehead even as a chill passed across her back, from shoulder to shoulder. She set down the coffeepot, which suddenly felt as heavy as an anchor.

Oh, how she wanted to go home. She longed for a nap, for the soothing warmth of the expensive sheets Chase had bought her that day in the Galleria. Sometimes, when she snuggled down into the five-hundred-thread cocoon, she could imagine that Chase, with his hot hands and his hard body, was still lying there beside her.

That she wasn’t completely alone.

But she was alone. And unless she intended to sell those sheets to pay next semester’s tuition, she’d better stay put, chills or no chills. She needed every penny she could make today. And then some.

“Hey, gal, come out of that trance. Is your blood sugar low? Table six is getting cranky. And you know Ed’s watching.”

Josie snapped to attention, anxiety taking precedence over nausea. She tossed Marlene, her favorite coworker, a grateful grimace, then glanced toward the front register, where Ed stood, giving her the evil eye.

The bastard. If she was exhausted, it was his fault. He’d been working her double shifts for weeks, seating all the most demanding customers in her section, riding her like a devil. No one could keep that pace, and he knew it. He would torment her as long as he could, for the sheer fun of it, and then he’d fire her.

“Don’t let him get to you, hon.” Marlene leaned in, her shoulder warm against Josie’s, her voice a raspy whisper. “You know he’s just cranky ’cause he can’t get into your pants.”

Josie nodded, though that wasn’t exactly true. Ed was angry, all right. But he wasn’t upset just because Josie always told him no. What made him positively rabid was that she’d told Chase Clayton yes.

Fat lot of good that had done her. At least if she’d slept with Ed she might have gotten a raise and some decent shifts. Sleeping with Chase Clayton hadn’t left her with anything but a bruised heart, a cynical attitude toward romantic dreams and a C on her English lit exam—her first C in four long years at the community college.

And, of course, a set of supersoft sheets.

Maybe her blood sugar was low. She felt tearful suddenly, just at the thought of Chase, which was really dumb. He’d been gone for two months now, twice as long as the fairy tale had lasted in the first place.

She dug in her pocket for a glucose tablet and popped it surreptitiously into her mouth. Ed saw, of course, though he probably thought it was gum, or an aspirin. Marlene was the only one who knew about her diabetes and the shots she’d taken every day since she was a kid.

Frowning, Ed called her name out in a booming voice. He always talked like a radio announcer, probably to compensate for being shaped like a stick of spaghetti. And maybe other shortcomings, as well. There must be a reason the waitresses secretly called him “pinkie.”