Debrah Morris - A Girl, A Guy And A Lullaby

“So what you’re saying is, you don’t find me attractive,”

Tom said.

“Don’t be silly. You’re a total hunk. I just don’t want a girl/guy relationship right now.” And the twinges he caused were merely meaningless artifacts of her first girlhood crush. Irrelevant holdovers. Nothing to worry about.

“Girl/guy?” The corners of his mouth edged up in a reluctant smile.

“You know what I mean. I need to get my act together…. I’m gonna be somebody’s mother in a month. I have important things to do. I can’t be distracted by a bunch of mushy stuff….” She flapped her hand imperiously until he finally pulled her up. How could she stand on her own two feet when she couldn’t even get off her backside without help?

Dear Reader,

We’ve been trying to capture what Silhouette Romance means to our readers, our authors and ourselves. In canvassing some authors, I’ve heard wonderful words about the characteristics of a Silhouette Romance novel—innate tenderness, lively, thoughtful, fun, emotional, hopeful, satisfying, warm, sparkling, genuine and affirming.

It pleases me immensely that our writers are proud of their line and their readers! And I hope you’re equally delighted with their offerings. Be sure to drop a line or visit our Web site and let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit.

This month we have another fantastic lineup filled with variety and strong writing. We have a new continuity—HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY! Judy Christenberry’s When the Lights Went Out… starts off the series about a powerful executive’s discovery that one woman in his office is pregnant with his child. But who could it be? Next month Elizabeth Harbison continues the series with A Pregnant Proposal.

Other stories for this month include Stella Bagwell’s conclusion to our MAITLAND MATERNITY spin-off. Go find The Missing Maitland. Raye Morgan’s popular office novels continue with Working Overtime. And popular Intimate Moments author Beverly Bird delights us with an amusing tale about Ten Ways To Win Her Man.

Two more emotional titles round out the month. With her writing partner, Debrah Morris wrote nearly fifteen titles for Silhouette Books as Pepper Adams. Now she’s on her own with A Girl, a Guy and a Lullaby. And Martha Shields’s dramatic stories always move me. Her Born To Be a Dad opens with an unusual, powerful twist and continues to a highly satisfying ending!

Enjoy these stories, and keep in touch.

Mary-Theresa Hussey,

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to my husband, Keith. Thank you, honey,

for believing in me, and for having the grace not to look too nervous

when I announced I was quitting my job to write.

Special thanks to Carla Ulbrich,

a talented and award-winning singer, songwriter and guitarist.

She graciously answered my music questions and inspired me with her songs.

Before embarking on a solo writing career, Debrah Morris coauthored over twenty romance novels as one half of the Pepper Adams/Joanna Jordan writing team. She’s been married for twenty-three years, and between them, she and her husband have five children. She’s changed careers several times in her life, but finds she much prefers writing to working. She loves to hear from readers, who can contact her at P.O. Box 522, Norman, OK 73070-0522.

Go to sleep/my little one/in your tiny bed

Mama’s here/bunny’s near

Soon dreams will fill your head.

What do babies dream about?

When their sleep is deep?

Daddy’s voice? Mama’s touch?

Learning how to creep?

So give it up/my little one/

there’s nothin’ left to do

Blankie’s warm/day is done

Your dreams will see you through.

What do babies dream about?

When the shadows fall

Mama’s love? Daddy’s hug?

Growing big and tall?

So rest your head/my little one/

dreams are all you need

The sun has gone/the moon has come

Just find your dreams and sleep

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Like bungee jumping off bridges or hiking the Himalayas, cross-country bus trips were best undertaken by those with a taste for adventure. Such endeavors were not meant for the lily-livered or the terminally pregnant. Since she currently qualified in both categories, Ryanne Rieger had to wonder. What the heck had she been thinking?

It was late. She was tired. And no matter how much she wriggled in her seat, she couldn’t shift her enormous belly into a less tormenting position. Frustrated, she kicked off her shoes. When had they morphed from high-fashion sandals into medieval torture devices?

And when had they crossed the equator? Humid night air streamed through the open window with the refreshment factor of a wool blanket. Fanning one’s self with an empty bag of chips was no substitute for conked-out air-conditioning.

Rifling through her tote bag for a ponytail elastic, Ryanne finger-combed her long hair and twisted it into a dark, off-kilter wad. Then she tried stretching from side to side, but nothing would ease the nagging pain in her lower back.

At least her restless squirming hadn’t disturbed the elderly Native American beside her. Since falling asleep in Arkansas, the old fellow had not moved, snored, burped or breathed. Apparently he suffered from a rare medical condition in which extreme heat and bone-rattling movement induced clinical relaxation.

“Ouch.” Ryanne winced as her unborn child commenced clogdancing on her bladder. The kid was good. Made the Lord of the Dance look like a lead-footed serf. “Please, baby,” she whispered. “I can’t handle any more major discomfort.”

She glanced at the rear of the bus and considered her options. No way was she going into that undersize closet they called a rest room. Even if she managed to squeeze in, she couldn’t maneuver. She’d get stuck, and they’d have to use the jaws of life to pry her out. As entertaining as that might be for her fellow travelers, she’d had enough indignity in her life lately, thank you very much.

She would just tough it out. Soldier on. She could do it, if the baby canceled the encore and she banished all thoughts of liquids. She’d just about perfected a mental movie of sand dunes and desert vistas, when a hungry soul across the aisle popped the lid off a snack can of Vienna sausages.

Like an evil genie released from a lamp, the swirling aroma commingled with the scent of whatever the motion-sick two-year-old had yakked up behind her. After merging with the powerful cologne of the stout gentleman in front, it made a beeline for Ryanne’s sensitive nostrils.