Cheryl Anne Porter - Drive-By Daddy

Dear Reader,

A funny thing happened on the way to the delivery room isn’t how most women talk about the miracle of life, but the phrase perfectly fits Cheryl Anne Porter’s story Drive-By Daddy, Harlequin Duets #21. Yes, the hero really does deliver a baby by the side of the road…but leaving mother and child behind is more difficult than he expected. Then Patricia Knoll weaves a charming tale of the eccentrics and matchmakers in a small town and the intrepid girl reporter who is trying to get herself out of Hicksville in Calamity Jo.

In Harlequin Duets #22 Liz Ireland returns with The Love Police. Sure, police officer Bill Wagner is a hunk of burning love, but that doesn’t mean he has the right to interfere in Trish Peterson’s love life—or does he? Then, fans of Colleen Collins will enjoy the return of Raven from Right Chest, Wrong Name (Love & Laughter #26). He’s changed his rough and rugged image slightly…but magazine editor Liney Reed wants to pull out the animal in him to sell her magazine. Only problem is she finds herself far too attracted to the primal man he really is.

Treat yourself to a good time with Harlequin Duets.

Sincerely,

Malle Vallik

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Drive-By Daddy Drive-By Daddy

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Patricia Knoll

Prologue

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Her mother had a one-track mind. Darcy shifted…painfully…in her bed. “Oh, stop that Mother. He delivered her. He didn’t father her.”

“Well, I wish he had. I saw him, you know. A handsome man, with that white hat and white truck. It’s all just unbelievable. And in the newspaper. See,” she said, handing Darcy the folded newspaper, “big headlines. And a nice picture.”

“A picture?” In her mind, Darcy again saw the camera flashes as she and her baby, wrapped in a Navajo blanket, were carried in by the cowboy whose unbuttoned chambray shirt had bared his chest to her cheek. “Dear God, I must have looked a fright.”

Her mother waved her hand. “With that gorgeous cowboy in the picture, nobody will be looking at you, dear.”

Heaven forbid you ever find yourself in Darcy Alcott’s, the heroine of Drive-By Daddy, position. But if you do, I hope a tall, strapping cowboy like Tom Elliott happens to be driving by in his white truck. In my book, you just can’t get any better than a guy like him. When I was a little girl living in Tucson, I had a thing for cowboys. I dreamt about them day and night. So I was thrilled that this book gave me the chance to do a little more “research.”

I discovered that those gorgeous cowboys still exist today. They still wear white hats…and tight jeans. And yes, I probably still dream about them a little more than I should. Well, what can I say? I guess I still have a thing for cowboys.…

Cheryl Anne Porter

HARLEQUIN DUETS

12—PUPPY LOVE

HARLEQUIN LOVE & LAUGHTER

21—A MAN IN DEMAND

44—THE GREAT ESCAPE

63—FROM HERE TO MATERNITY

To my fiction writing class at Hillsborough Community College in Brandon, Florida…all of whom I know will be checking this book to see if I’ve adhered to everything I’m teaching them.

And to Mary Rodriguez, my “boss” at college, who insists she’s never met the person who can boss me.

“THIS IS NOT happening to me.”

Darcy Alcott really needed to believe that. Because if she didn’t, then this was happening to her, she was here alone, on a deserted stretch of southwestern Arizona highway. On a bright and steadily warming Wednesday in May. With a car that had broken down. And she was in labor. Big time labor. Baby-on-its-way labor.

“Don’t panic, Darcy,” she told herself, breathing fast and furiously. Don’t panic? Here I am—my baby about to make an appearance any moment and me, stuck to the tacky vinyl of the back seat of my secondhand sub-compact car. With the doors open for air. And Mom waiting on me in town for lunch. And what did I forget? The cell phone. So…don’t panic? Right.

As the full extent of her situation hit her, she came close to hyperventilating. “Oh, God, I’m panicking. I can’t panic. I have to…” Her mind went blank. “What do I have to do? Keep talking. I have to keep talking. Maybe someone will come. Someone other than this baby. Maybe they’ll see the open doors and the raised hood and stop. Oh. Another pain. Oh, baby, not now. You don’t want to start your life with me mad at you. Please.”

But baby, who was having none of it, only tried harder to make a grand entrance. Darcy’s body bore down with the contraction, although she did her darned level best to breathe shallowly, to hold off the inevitable, to not help her daughter come into the world just this minute. However, two weeks early by everyone’s estimation except apparently her own, baby had obviously decided to throw herself a birthday party today—before the hour was up, if that birth video Darcy and her mother/coach had suffered through in Lamaze class was to be believed.

Because according to what she’d learned from that calm, never-will-experience-labor-himself videotaped doctor and his oh-so-capable nurses, filming in the controlled setting of a hospital’s delivery room…which by the way, Darcy wanted now to point out, never covered anything practical, like what to do if you were alone and in labor on a deserted highway, in both the pitcher’s and the catcher’s positions…she was about to become a mother. A single mother. In every sense of the word.

The pain peaked and passed. Darcy collapsed against the seat, panting and crying. Then she heard someone yell, “Please won’t someone help me?” She looked around, then realized the voice was her own.

Suddenly, she heard the screech of tires, and saw a rising puff of dust and grit as a white pickup truck came to a stop. Someone was here. “Help!” Darcy cried out. “Please help me. My baby…” Her voice trailed off. And please don’t let it be some film crew. Or a passing band of ex-cons.

Just then a long, tall shadow settled over Darcy, starting at the opened door at her feet. Not her best angle. A low whistle followed. “Sweet Jesus. Lady, you’re about to have a baby.”

“You think?” Darcy gasped out. Then, peeling herself off the sticky vinyl, she struggled up onto her elbows…and saw a handsome big ole white-Stetson-wearing cowboy peering in at her. “That clears everything up, doesn’t it, mister? For a minute there, I thought I was—Ow, ow, ow.” She shrank back against the vinyl. “Oh, no. Another…pain…help me…please…my baby.”