Falling for the Mum-to-Be

Falling for the Mum-to-Be
Lynne Marshall

The Widow’s Surprise BabyWhen Annie Marshall discovers just weeks after her husband’s death that she’s carrying his baby, her sadness turns to hope. Scared of facing this all on her own, she reluctantly accepts the help of her husband’s best friend, Matthew Zelinsky. The kiss they shared after the funeral was just two friends comforting each other—or so she tells herself. Yet spending time together makes them wonder if what they feel is more than friendship. When people in town start raising eyebrows and her business begins to suffer from the gossip, Annie must decide if loving Matthew is worth the risk.Maple Springs: Where love runs sweet.

“How come you’ve never—”

Radar, intuition, whatever he wanted to call it, Leif knew exactly what she was asking. “Remarried? Because I can’t imagine ever replacing her. I don’t see how anyone can ever measure up. No woman wants to settle for replacement status.”

“So your alternative is to keep yourself locked up in this gorgeous prison of a house.”

He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I have a job. I go out every day. I’m hardly locked up here.” Why did he feel so defensive?

“True, but not convincing.” Marta leveled her gaze to his, and he wanted to squirm out of it. “The difference between you and me is that I’ve never turned my back on love. Loving comes easily for me. It always has. Isn’t that the point of being on this planet? We’re here to share love with each other.”

He wanted to get angry for her broaching a tough topic at the drop of a hat, but instead he fought that constant urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and let her know she didn’t have to be alone.

* * *

Home in Heartlandia: Finding home where the heart is

Falling for the Mum-To-Be

Lynne Marshall

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

LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreaming—then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories that always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker and an avid reader.

This book is dedicated to my readers. Thank you for giving a new author a chance. I’ve poured my heart and soul into the Home in Heartlandia series and loved writing the Whispering Oaks duo before that. I have felt so fortunate to be a part of this wonderful line over the past five books, and to be introduced to loyal readers like you.

Contents

Cover (#u0a95f3b6-a838-54cd-9ba0-dec6c9521ca0)

Excerpt (#ubc99d860-9797-5594-906c-fb830a152565)

Title Page (#u063bbbf7-8ae5-50ae-a428-f88047ba04dd)

About the Author (#u7d7893e6-fabc-52b3-a1b3-768bbd16ff62)

Dedication (#u9a171c07-ace8-5007-b555-45868628555d)

Chapter One (#ub4fa2382-4a1a-53bf-ac81-a0cef635246b)

Chapter Two (#u0236ab76-af0a-5b8f-9ffd-660402caddb7)

Chapter Three (#u9e31a6cd-f92a-5982-b3ce-2c0eef50e27c)

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)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ulink_1e7682aa-ace2-5de9-b4d1-20cde9508469)

The last place Leif Andersen wanted to be was the Portland airport. An avowed loner, he didn’t look forward to sharing his home—his sanctuary—with a stranger. But that was what he got for owning the biggest and emptiest house in Heartlandia, and it was the imposition he’d accepted on behalf of the town mural.

The absolute last thing he expected to find was this woman sporting a female version of a bolero hat, black gaucho boots and a sunset-colored wrap waiting beside the baggage claim. That had to be her—who else could it be? In all honesty, what should he have expected from an artist from Sedona? She was probably dripping with turquoise underneath that poncho, too.

Attitude adjustment, buddy. This is for the greater good. You volunteered.

Approaching the conspicuous woman, he called out, “Marta Hoyas?”

She turned her head and nodded demurely. All business, or plain old standoffish—he couldn’t tell from here. Maybe she thought he was a chauffeur, but he worried about a long and awkward ride home in either case.

He approached and, seeing her more closely, was taken aback by her appearance. The term striking came to mind. He offered his hand. “I’m Leif Andersen.” She’d already been notified by Elke Norling that she’d be staying at his home for the duration of her mural painting.

Marta had olive skin with black walnut eyes, the color of his favorite wood for woodworking projects. They tilted upward above her cheekbones, accented by black feathery arched brows. A straight, pointy-tipped nose led to her mauve-colored lips. Nice. Rather than smile she made a tense, tight line, jutting out a strong chin. Her raven hair was pulled back under the hat brim in a low ponytail that hung halfway down her back. She’d qualify for beautiful if she didn’t look so damn stiff.

“Good to meet you.” Marta said the words, but combined with her weak handshake, Leif had a hard time believing them. However, years in construction had left him unaware of his own power. Maybe he’d crunched her fingers too hard.

“Just point out your bags and I’ll get them for you,” he said, focusing back on the task at hand and not the unsettling woman to his right. Again, she nodded. Hmm, not much for conversation, and truth was, that suited him just fine. He wasn’t looking for a friend or female company. Having lived alone for the past three years in his five-bedroom, three-thousand-plus square foot home that he’d built, well, having another person around was going to take major adjustment. So far, she seemed as much of a recluse as him, and she’d probably get lost in that great big house just like he did. They’d probably never even run into each other. Good.

She pointed at a large purple—why wasn’t he surprised?—suitcase rounding the corner on the carousel and he pulled it off. Then another. And another. Had she moved her entire wardrobe?

“Let’s take these to the curb, then you can wait while I bring the car around. Sound like a plan?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

He rolled two suitcases. She rolled the third, plus her carry-on bag to the curb. Then he strode off, vowing not to feel compelled to get this one to talk. She wasn’t here to talk. She’d come to Heartlandia to paint a magnificent mural on the city college walls, one that would depict the city’s history and live up to the beauty of her great-great-grandfather’s beloved town monument.

Making the trek to his car, he decided Marta wasn’t exactly standoffish. He’d only just met her and shouldn’t make a snap judgment. She was definitely distant and quiet, but something in the way she carried herself portrayed pride. Maybe taking a mural-painting job for a small town was a step down for her?