Karen Templeton - Staking His Claim

So much so, that Dawn didn’t even object when he took a step closer, then closer still, to lay one large, gentle hand on her still-flat belly.

She swallowed. Twice. Once from a plain old-fashioned rush of awareness, the second time from something achy and weird that she couldn’t even define.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let me stay for your checkup, then we’ll spend a couple of hours together, just for us. How about it?”

For a moment she was sorely tempted, then her senses returned. “There is no ‘us,’ Cal. There’s never been an ‘us.’”

And quit standing there making this so damn hard. Quit making me long for things that can’t be.

Dear Reader,

What better way to start off a new year than with six terrific new Silhouette Intimate Moments novels? We’ve got miniseries galore, starting with Karen Templeton’s Staking His Claim, part of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. These three brothers are destined to find love, and in this story, hero Cal Logan is also destined to be a father—but first he has to convince heroine Dawn Gardner that in his arms is where she wants to stay.

For a taste of royal romance, check out Valerie Parv’s Operation: Monarch, part of THE CARRAMER TRUST, crossing over from Silhouette Romance. Policemen more your style? Then check out Maggie Price’s Hidden Agenda, the latest in her LINE OF DUTY miniseries, set in the Oklahoma City Police Department. Prefer military stories? Don’t even try to resist Irresistible Forces, Candace Irvin’s newest SISTERS IN ARMS novel. We’ve got a couple of great stand-alone books for you, too. Lauren Nichols returns with a single mom and her protective hero, in Run to Me. Finally, Australian sensation Melissa James asks Can You Forget? Trust me, this undercover marriage of convenience will stick in your memory long after you’ve turned the final page.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around, only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

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a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA ®Award nominee, is the mother of five sons and living proof that romance and dirty diapers are not mutually exclusive terms. An Easterner transplanted to Albuquerque, New Mexico, she spends far too much time trying to coax her garden to yield roses and produce something resembling a lawn, all the while fantasizing about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.

She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her by writing c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001 New York, NY 10279, or online at www.karentempleton.com.

Without the following people’s willingness

to answer what must have, at times,

seemed like the dumbest questions on earth,

this book would not have been possible:

To Nicole Burnham and Douglas Onsi

for help with Dawn’s career path

To Wendy Wade Morton, DVM, of Golden Gait Farms,

who’s always there to answer my horse-related questions

and to

Mike Jackson from the OK Dept. of Human Services

for his assistance with child welfare issues

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

None of this had been her choice.

Not the car, a leprous, pumpkin-orange GTO with one front fender painted, inexplicably, baby blue. Not the trip itself—as if she had time to schlep back to Oklahoma with all those pending cases sitting on her desk nearly two thousand miles away. And God knows—she waited out a wave of nausea—not the reason for the trip.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The outcome might not have been her choice, but the events leading up to it definitely had been.

So much for living for the moment.

“No shame, no blame,” Dawn Gardner muttered as she drove up in front of the single-story, sprawling farmhouse, still cinnamon brown with white-and-dark-green trim as it had always been. Edging a lawn faded from the early September heat, the same deep-pink roses bloomed, as they always had, only now against a backdrop of tangled deadwood. Cottonwoods stirred listlessly in the breeze, as if worn-out from the effort of shading the house for a whole summer, their lazy susurration no competition for the late-afternoon drone of a bumper crop of cicadas. The mingled scents weighting the humid air—of horse and fresh cut hay, the sweet, heady tang of overripe fruit—assaulted both her reluctant memory and her hypersensitive nose, making her stomach pitch. Making her feel…untethered, like a soul in limbo.

A retriever mix, whose name she’d forgotten, his coat flashing gold in the late-day sun, sauntered over to the car with a halfhearted woof. She smiled, patting the door so he’d come close enough for her to pet. As she did, her gaze meandered to the front porch step, only one riser up from the yard. Memory nudged into view a pair of children, a boy and a girl, sitting there as they had hundreds of times. They might have been six or seven, the boy—much younger than his two older brothers, who were already in high school—boasting features that foretold of the handsome man he would eventually become, with heavy-lashed eyes, green as new grass, and thick blond hair that refused to be tamed. A little spoiled, perhaps, being the baby, but not a whiner. And not a tease.

About the same height as the boy then, with long strawberry-blond hair her mother refused to cut, the girl liked that about the boy, that he never put her down. While their mothers chatted in the kitchen, the boy would often take the girl with him while he did his chores around the farm, mostly feeding the animals—pigs, goats, chickens, rabbits. The horses. Since they were too young to be around the huge animals by themselves, sometimes his daddy would be with them, a tall man with a white crewcut, dark eyes and an easy smile who always had Tootsie Rolls in his overall pockets and called the girl “young lady,” but not the way people did when you did something wrong.

Sometimes she envied the boy his daddy, although she never let on.

Dawn’s inner ear perked up at fragments of a conversation she hardly knew she remembered, drifting over from the porch.

“Maybe Ryan and Hank don’t want to stick around, but I’m never gonna leave here,” the boy said, crunching into an apple from one of the trees off to the side of the house. Totally at ease with himself, in himself, he leaned back on his elbow, an expression on his dust-smudged face the girl would later peg as serene.