Delores Fossen - Newborn Conspiracy

“I’m not going to leave my son”.

“He’s not your son,” Mia snapped.

“Well I might have started off as the sperm donor, but we’re past that now.”

“I don’t want or need a man in my life. That includes you.”

“Then think of it this way. I won’t be the man in your life, Mia. I’ll be the man in Tanner’s life.” Logan paused, waiting for an objection. “You’re aware that you could be in danger.”

A burst of air left her mouth. “I’m aware of it. I’m also aware that I wouldn’t be in danger if it weren’t for you.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Mia Crandall– Shocked to learn that someone rigged her artificial insemination so that the father of her newborn son is dark and dangerous security specialist Logan McGrath, she has to turn to him for help when someone tries to kill her. But their immediate attraction also makes Logan a target.

Logan McGrath– When he learns he now has a son, Logan must work with Mia to protect their child and discover who’s responsible for creating their child.

Tanner– Logan and Mia’s six-week-old baby.

Genevieve Devereux– Logan’s scheming ex-girlfriend might have orchestrated the plot to get Mia pregnant with Logan’s baby.

George Devereux– Genevieve’s criminal father. He would do anything to give his daughter what she wants, and what the infertile Genevieve wants is Logan’s baby.

Royce Foreman– He’s Genevieve’s lawyer, but he also has a personal grudge against Logan. Just how far would he go to get revenge?

Donnie Bishop– The businessman might be trying to cover his illegal activity by eliminating Logan and Mia.

Collena Drake– The troubled former cop who now devotes her life to finding out what happened in the Brighton Birthing Centre where Mia was artificially inseminated.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

DELORES FOSSEN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Anita G. Thanks so much for answering

all my research questions.

Fall Creek, Texas

The muffled scream woke Logan McGrath.

He snapped to a sitting position in the leather recliner, turned his ear toward the sound and listened. Even through the haze of his heavy pain meds and bone-weary fatigue, he didn’t have to listen long or hard to hear the raspy moans and gasps.

Someone was in a lot of pain, perhaps dying.

And that someone was on the front porch.

Because he was a man who usually dealt with worst-case scenarios, Logan automatically considered that this might be a burglar or a killer. But since he was at his brother’s house in the tiny picturesque town of Fall Creek, which wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, he had to consider another possibility: that his brother, a doctor, had a visitor, a patient who was about to die on the porch. It made sense since there wasn’t a hospital in town.

Just to be safe, Logan grabbed his Sig-Sauer from the end table next to him and maneuvered himself out of the chair. Not easily. It took effort. Lots of it.

He cursed the intrusion, the throbbing pain and the unidentified SOB who’d put a .38 jacketed slug in his right leg four days ago—on Christmas day, no less.

Some Christmas present.

Logan wore only his bathrobe and boxers, and he considered a detour to the guest bedroom for a shirt and shoes. But after two steps, he changed his mind. If someone was truly dying on the porch, they’d be long dead before he could get dressed and back to him.

Another moan. Another muffled scream.

Yep, he had to hurry. Logan jammed his cane onto the hardwood floor to get better traction, and with thirteen excruciating steps, he made it to the door. He aimed his gun, and braced himself for whatever he was about to have to deal with as he glanced out a side window.

The sun was just starting to set, but there was still plenty of light for him to see the blue car parked in front of his brother’s isolated country house. Logan had to look down, however, to see the driver.

She was lying on the porch. Her tan wool coat and long, loose dark-green dress were hiked up to her thighs, and she had her hands clutched on her swollen, pregnant belly.

She was writhing in pain.

Logan dropped his gun onto the pine entry table, threw open the door and maneuvered himself onto the porch. It wasn’t freezing but it was close and he felt the chill slide over his bare chest and feet.

She turned her head, snared his gaze, and he saw the horrible agony in her earthy brown eyes.

“Help me,” she begged. Her warm breath mixed with the frigid December air and created a misty haze around her milky pale face. “My water broke when I got out of the car and the pains are already nonstop.”

So, not dying. In labor. Not the end of the world but still a huge concern.

She needed a doctor now .

Logan turned to go back inside to make the call to 911, but she latched on to his arm and didn’t let go. For such a weak-looking little thing, she had a powerful grip. She dug in her fingernails and dragged Logan down beside her.

He banged his leg on the doorjamb and could have sworn he saw stars. Still, he pushed the godawful pain aside—after some grimacing and grunting of his own—and he tried to figure out what the heck he should do.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, but he still heard the groan. “It’s not the time for introductions,” she grumbled. She fought to rip off her panties and then threw them aside. “Help me!”

“I’ve never delivered a baby before,” he grumbled back, but Logan knew he was in the wrong position if he stood any chance of helping her.

Another of her muffled screams got him moving. Plus, she drew blood with her fingernails. Somehow, he managed to get to the other end of her.

What Logan saw when he looked between her legs had him wanting to run for the phone again. Oh, mercy. The baby’s head was already partially out and that meant they didn’t have time for an ambulance to arrive.

“I think you’re supposed to push,” Logan suggested. Heaven knows why he said that. Maybe he’d heard it on TV. Or maybe this was just some crazy dream brought on by prescription pain meds. Man, he hoped that’s all it was.

The woman obviously didn’t doubt his advice, because she pushed. Hard .