Carol Grace – Expecting... (страница 1)
Excerpt Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Copyright
The Booming Of The Baby’s Strong And Regular Heartbeat Echoed Throughout The Examination Room.
Zach couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He met Mallory’s gaze, and they exchanged a long, intimate look. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and he knew she was close to tears. He felt a fierce protective urge swell in his chest. He had to take care of her and the baby. He had to. When he finally found his voice again, it was thick with emotion.
“Is the heartbeat supposed to be that fast?” he asked the doctor.
“Oh, yes. Your baby is perfectly normal,” the doctor replied.
Zach exchanged a brief glance with Mallory that dared her to say that it wasn’t his baby. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. She was listening to the thrilling sound of her baby’s heartbeat.
And she had shared it with Zach.
Dear Reader,
Spring is in the air—and all thoughts turn toward love. With six provocative romances from Silhouette Desire, you too can enjoy a season of new beginnings...and happy endings!
Our March MAN OF THE MONTH is Lass Small’s The Best Husband in Texas. This sexy rancher is determined to win over the beautiful widow he’s loved for years! Next, Joan Elliott Pickart returns with a wonderful love story—Just My Joe. Watch sparks fly between handsome, wealthy Joe Dillon and the woman he loves.
Don’t miss Beverly Barton’s new miniseries, 3 BABIES FOR 3 BROTHERS, which begins with His Secret Child. The town golden boy is reunited with a former flame—and their child. Popular Anne Marie Winston offers the third title in her BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES series, as a sexy heroine forms a partnership with her lost love in The Bride Means Business. Then an expectant mom matches wits with a brooding rancher in Carol Grace’s Expecting.... And Virginia Dove debuts explosively with The Bridal Promise, when star-crossed lovers marry for convenience.
This spring, please write and tell us why you read Silhouette Desire books. As part of our 20th anniversary celebration in the year 2000, we’d like to publish some of this fan mail in the books—so drop us a line, tell us how long you’ve been reading Desire books and what you love about the series. And enjoy our March titles!
Regards,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
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About the Author
CAROL GRACE has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She spent her junior year in college in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship Hope. She and her husband spent the first year and a half of their marriage in Iran, where they both taught English. Then, with their toddler daughter, they lived in Algeria for two years.
Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. Her office is her mountaintop home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and which she shares with her inventor husband, their daughter and their son.
Expecting...
Carol Grace
One
Mallory pressed the throttle all the way to the floor and willed her small, overloaded car to climb up into the San Rafael Mountains above the university town of San Luis Obispo. Her tires shook and the engine knocked, but that was nothing like the way her hands shook and her knees knocked together. Just a small attack of nerves, she told herself. Understandable, considering this past week she’d quit her teaching job, given up her apartment, packed her meager belongings into her car and was on her way to start a new life. A new life. Oh, Lord, was she ready for this?
She forced herself to look at the scenery, to observe the cattle grazing peacefully beneath majestic oak and stately sycamore trees that dotted the hills on either side. As she passed the sign for the Santa Ynez Valley Ranch she was hit with another panic attack. If the road hadn’t been so narrow she might have turned back. Instead she pointed her car toward the imposing California ranch house with the tile roof and the massive overhanging eaves. At the end of the tree-lined entrance, she took a deep breath and got out of her car.
Before she could force herself to walk to the front door and lift the brass knocker, a white-faced calf came charging around the side of the house with a man on horseback in hot pursuit.
“Hey you, get out of the way,” he shouted.
Mallory froze with fear. He told her to get out of the way. She told herself to get out of the way. But her body didn’t get the message. She stood there, rooted to the spot, her arms out in front of her as if she could stop the runaway calf. She couldn’t. She frightened him though. Almost as badly as he frightened her. The animal took one look at her and bolted off in another direction. Reining up, the man glared down at her.
“I thought I told you to get out of the way. You’re lucky you weren’t run over.”
Mallory shaded her eyes, looked up into a sun-bronzed, granite-hard face with flashing blue eyes, and shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, but...”
“You’re sorry? You would have been even sorrier if a one-hundred-fifty-pound calf had plowed into you. Sorry and unconscious, to boot.” He looked over his shoulder and shook his head. “She’s gone. Just like the other ones. Do you know how many of these mavericks I’ve lost in one morning?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “I know absolutely nothing about cows. I’m just a...I mean I’m here to—”
“I know why you’re here,” he said, dismounting and removing his hat. “I just didn’t expect you so soon. The hell with the cattle. This is more important. Come on in,” he said turning on his heel and walking toward the massive oak front door.
Mallory blinked. So he knew who she was. Then they were even, because she knew who he was too. Everybody knew who Zachary Calhoun was, the biggest cattle rancher in the county, maybe the whole state. Famous for being almost as tough and successful a businessman as his uncle who’d left him the ranch.
It was cool inside the classic Western house, thanks to the thick adobe walls covered with native American weavings. Huge brown leather chairs flanked a massive stone fireplace, the kind you see in ski lodges. Mallory could imagine curling up in one of those chairs with a good book. Or a good man. Which brought her to the reason she was there. It was time to forget the furnishings and ask—
“Now,” he said, waving her to a straight-backed chair next to an end table while he leaned against the wall and observed her with his penetrating blue eyes. “We don’t have much time, but I need to get a little more information about you.”
She bit her lip. She’d heard he was brutally frank. That he didn’t mince words. “I’m not sure...I don’t know what you already know,” she stammered. Not everything. Please don’t let him know everything. Not yet. Not today.
“I know you’ve had some experience. You’ve done it before, but on a smaller scale.”
“That’s not true,” she said hotly, getting to her feet. “I’ve never...this is the first time I’ve ever—”
He raised his hands to stop her from continuing. “Never mind. At this point it doesn’t matter. I’m desperate. You’re hired.”
“What? Wait a minute. This is a mistake. I’m not here about a job. I’m here to see your foreman, Joe Carter. He and I...we’re...”
He gave her a cynical smile laced with pity and cut her off. “Sorry, lady, you’re a day late. The son-of-a-gun left yesterday. Ran off with the best housekeeper I’ve ever had, that’s why...”
Mallory stared at him. He was still talking, at least his mouth was still moving, but the words were a jumble of sounds. “No notice...irresponsible...unexpected,” she heard him say. The blood drained from her head, and the room spun around, as the herbal tea she’d swallowed for breakfast came up and threatened to choke her. Her legs refused to support her any longer, her knees buckled, and the varnished wide-planked floor rose to meet her with a resounding thud. And everything went black.
Zach moved fast, but not fast enough to catch her before she fell. Instead he had to scrape her up off the floor, sweep her into his arms and lay her out on the cool leather couch. He clamped his lips together to keep from blurting out a string of expletives and sat next to her, vigorously rubbing her wrists.
“Wake up,” he ordered. “Come on, sweetheart, tell me you’re okay. Say you’ve been sent by the agency to take Diane’s place.”
Her face was cold and still as a statue. A lump was forming on her head. Cattle he could handle. Sick, well, nervous, skittish, he knew what to do with them. They rarely fainted. And never cried. Women on the other hand were a mystery to him. He’d had little experience dealing with them. His mother had left him to be raised by his uncle. His wife had lasted about six months before she took off. Since then he’d avoided getting involved with the fairer sex.