Maybe, Baby

Maybe, Baby
Terry McLaughlin

The bachelor, the babe… and the baby It could be a screenplay – except this is no film. Producer Burke Elliot really is snowbound in a remote Montana cabin with his glamorous star. He’s here on a mission – to convince Nora Daniels to sign a contract and return with him to Hollywood – and nothing is going to stop him. Not even Nora’s nappy-wearing bundle of joy.But the radiant actress and the unexpectedly sweet baby are wreaking havoc with his carefully laid plan. Could the tough businessman be losing his heart to a family?

Burke opened his eyes.

All he saw was a tomb-like blackness so oppressive it threatened to suffocate him. Somewhere beyond the boundaries of the dark, a siren wailed its dirge. Suffering. Disaster. Death.

No – something much, much worse.

The baby.

He groaned and curled into the stiff, creaky mattress and pulled a pillow over his head, tempted for a moment to press it against his nose and mouth until he slipped into oblivion.

Waaa-uh-uh-waaa.

Damn Greenberg for throwing the tantrums and pitching the ultimatums that had set him on the road to this frozen wasteland. Damn Fitz for handing him a map and waving goodbye. Damn Nora for being here in the first place.

And damn his sorry, aching, icicled self for letting them all manoeuvre him into a mess like this. Again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terry McLaughlin spent a dozen years teaching a variety of subjects, including anthropology, music appreciation, English, drafting, drama and history, to a variety of students from kindergarten to college before she discovered romance novels and fell in love with love stories. When she’s not reading and writing, she enjoys travelling and dreaming up house and garden improvement projects (although most of those dreams don’t come true).

Terry lives with her husband in Northern California on a tiny ranch in the redwoods. Visit her at www.terrymclaughlin.com.

Dear Reader,

I so enjoyed poking fun at Burke Elliot as I wrote the first book in the BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG SKY series, Millionaire Cowboy Seeks Wife, that I was eager to indulge in a bit more fun at his expense in another book. Next time around, I promised myself, I wouldn’t be satisfied with merely pricking that stiff and stuffy exterior. Next time I’d give him enough trouble to crack his considerable composure.

And it was clear who’d be the perfect woman to turn formal, orderly Burke’s life upside down and inside out: Nora Daniels, the vivacious, emotional actress and soon-to-be divorcée and new mother. With her tempestuous manner and a life in a constant state of upheaval – what better woman to bring Burke to his knees?

But what made work on Maybe, Baby even more fun were the surprises lurking beneath those opposites-attract exteriors. It seems motherhood has steadied Nora, adding to her appeal. And it turned out Burke could be as passionate as Nora, in his own way.

I love to hear from my readers! Please come for a visit to my website at www.terrymclaughlin. com, or find me at www.wetnoodleposse.com or www.superauthors.com, or write to me at PO Box 5838, Eureka, CA 95502, USA.

Wishing you happily-ever-after reading,

Terry

Maybe, Baby

TERRY McLAUGHLIN

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

For Ashley

CHAPTER ONE

BURKE ELLIOT GLANCED UP from the tidy stack of paperwork on his neatly arranged desk as Hollywood superstar Fitz Kelleran strolled into his Paramount Studios bungalow.

“Hi, honey,” said Fitz. “I’m home.” He shut the door on the remains of a gloomy February day and pitched a faded duffel at the reception area sofa before heading toward the tiny office bathroom, shedding bits of wardrobe in his wake.

“Not again.” Burke bit back a resigned sigh as he rose from his desk chair and followed. He’d spent four years as Fitz’s personal assistant before the actor had promoted him to associate producer for his new film-production company. Four years salvaging bits and bobs of order and sanity from the chaos his friend tended to churn up wherever he went. “This is getting to be a bad habit.”

“What’s the matter?” Fitz twisted the taps in the narrow shower and adjusted the temperature of the spray. “Bad day? Your date cancel out on you tonight? Don’t tell me you’re not glad to see me.”

Burke plucked a tuxedo tie dangling from the edge of the pedestal sink. “Why do you insist on showering here several evenings each week? Why don’t you use the facilities in your dressing room?”

“Saves time.” Fitz dropped his pants and shot Burke a grin as he stepped into the steaming stall. “I can clean up and check in with you at the same time.”

Burke tossed the tie on the crumpled black trousers lying on the tile floor and settled for a seat on the toilet lid. There was always business to discuss, now that he was fine-tuning the preproduction budget for Fitz’s pet project, a remake of the classic Western, The Virginian.

Just as the bright promise of Southern California sunshine had lured Burke from London’s drizzle, Fitz had lured him from a junior executive position in an accounting firm with promises of Hollywood adventures. He’d come full circle, back to a world of columns and ledgers, but he didn’t mind—he’d always enjoyed arranging figures in orderly rows. And the fact that those figures represented movie production details had a certain appeal of its own.

“I suppose I should be grateful you’re learning to manage your time more efficiently.”

“I have to, now that you’re not doing it for me.”

“I offered to find a replacement, didn’t I?” Burke nudged aside a discarded sock.

“What?”

“A replacement.”

“For you?” Fitz smiled over the top of the shower door and scrubbed shampoo into wet blond hair. “If you’re going to quit again, can you wait until I’m dry?”

“Never mind.” Attempting a conversation with someone whose head was currently stuck beneath a water spigot was a pointless exercise.

A knock sounded at the outer office door moments before a pretty young wardrobe assistant let herself into the reception area. “Hey, Burke.”

“Good evening, Heather. I assume you’re here to collect Mr. Kelleran’s things.” He gathered a pile of black-and-white formal wear and deposited it in her outstretched arms. “I believe this is all of it.”

“‘All of it.’” She smiled as she repeated his words. “I just love that English accent.”

She stood in place near the bathroom door, methodically checking each article. Behind them, the sound of water splattering against the shower tile explained her obvious attempt to delay her departure. Most women would engage in similar ploys to catch a glimpse of one of People’s sexiest men alive wearing little more than those famous dimples.

Burke moved back to his desk and frowned at the contract lying in an open folder.

“Burke?” asked Heather.

“Hmm?” He glanced over his shoulder, distracted. “Is something missing?”

“No, nothing.” She dropped the clothes beside Fitz’s duffel and stepped closer. “I was just wondering…are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

Tomorrow night. Friday. Burke rearranged the fit of his glasses over his nose, reexamining his conclusions and readjusting his expectations. Not Fitz, then. And Heather…

She’d always seemed to be well organized and levelheaded. Very nearly serene—and Burke considered serenity an extremely desirable trait in any woman. He’d also found her physically attractive, in the general and abstract manner he regarded casual female acquaintances who weren’t appallingly otherwise. Now he turned to take a closer look.