Linda Markowiak - And Baby Makes Six

He pulled her to him and tipped up her chin. And kissed her.

She forgot resistance, reserve and all her careful plans. She sensed the breadth of his shoulders and chest, his sheer masculinity. She breathed in a combination of the spicy scent of the cologne he must have put on this morning and the clean sweat from his just-completed workout. Man, that scent said. And everything about her hormone-driven body shrieked woman.

“Dad, Dad.” A pounding of feet on the stairs and through the front hall.

Abruptly Mitch broke the kiss. “Stay here,” he whispered. He took a few long strides to the door and vanished from sight. She heard muffled voices—Mitch’s and those of his sons.

Jenny smoothed her blouse. Her hands were shaking. It was a good thing the kids had come home just then.

A very good thing, because if Mitch meant what she thought he meant…

He doesn’t want to marry you, for heaven’s sake. He’s talking about starting a relationship. As in dating.

But she couldn’t date him. What Mitch didn’t realize was that he was kissing a woman who was pregnant with another man’s baby.

Dear Reader,

All my life I’ve been surrounded by the male point of view. I had two brothers—no sisters. When I was a kid, my dad and brothers would sit around the dinner table and talk sports, sports, sports. My mom and I would look at each other and roll our eyes.

Then my career put me squarely into the male world. In the late seventies and early eighties, women were just beginning to enter the legal profession in significant numbers. And trial law—my choice—wasn’t a popular specialty among women lawyers at that time.

My household now consists of males: one sweetheart of a husband and a wonderful son who will be a teenager soon.

So I think I know something about men. And I like men. I like the differences between us and them. I like the male protectiveness, their focus, their pride, their loyalty…and their struggles to “understand women.” I like how they laugh, how they tease, how they kiss.

I hope you do, too, and that you get a kick out of Mitch and his rowdy household of boys. I loved writing this story, as man’s man Mitch struggles to deal with one little girl and one feminine woman. One very pregnant feminine woman…

Linda Markowiak

P.S. I love to hear from readers. Please write to me c/o Harlequin Enterprises Limited or e-mail me at lindamarkowiak@superauthors.com.

And Baby Makes Six

Linda Markowiak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

MITCH OLIVER WAS FAST on his feet, could face down a two-hundred-and-sixty-pound bully, give a glib talk on national television and handle being a hometown hero with class.

So he certainly shouldn’t be scared of an eight-year-old girl.

Remember, she’s got to be a lot more scared than you are, pal.

The social worker went ahead of him down the hallway to the office. It was here that he’d sign the final papers, and bring Crystal home with him.

The funny thing was, his niece hadn’t cried much when they’d had her mother’s funeral yesterday. Mitch had thought he’d have to do more…comforting somehow, but…the kid had just sat there with that Litton woman, staring straight ahead. And afterward she’d hardly said a word to Mitch.

It had been that way over dinner last night, too. The only person the child had talked to was Jenny Litton, who hadn’t had too much to say to Mitch, either.

The social worker paused at the closed door to her office.

Mitch said, “It’s just that it took me so long to get here.” Seeing the look of puzzlement in the woman’s eyes, he clarified. “It would have been better for Crystal if I’d got here sooner. I could have helped with something. Made…you know, arrangements. The funeral.” After all, his own wife, Anne, had died four years ago. He knew there was a lot to do, sad decisions, kids’ tears to wipe.

That thought got him back to Crystal and those dry eyes of hers.

Alma Winters sighed. “I don’t know, Mr. Oliver. Miss Litton took care of everything. I mean, I don’t know if a day or two earlier would have made any difference.”

“Mitch. Please call me Mitch.” He’d told her that a couple of times now, but he knew people were more formal down here.

He’d never visited his baby sister in South Carolina. He’d never been close to Kathy, even though she was the only family he had anymore outside of his kids. In fact, he’d only seen Crystal once. About six years ago Kathy had made a short visit to Ohio. He and Kathy had loved each other, he guessed. But he’d already been on the road by the time she’d hit junior high, and as an adult she’d always lived so far away…In fact, he’d seen little of Kathy even before her young husband died and she’d moved to South Carolina to raise Crystal alone. A sense of loss filled him. His baby sister was gone and he hadn’t really known her. Now he wouldn’t have the chance. His memories were from long ago, childhood ones. Armloads of lilacs, Kathy going out to the big old bush by the pond and picking more than she could carry up the hill.

He raked a hand through his hair. No use in sugar-coating it. He’d been too busy for his kid sister, and now it was too late.

Once he’d been too busy for them all—playing professional hockey, managing his endorsements and his investments. He’d become a rich man, but he’d missed out on family life. Four years ago he’d made a promise that that would change.

“If we hadn’t been camping so far out, and if I hadn’t had to make an unscheduled stop in Memphis, I would have been here sooner.” Mitch stopped. He had to quit explaining.

The older woman smiled at him, her eyes warm black-brown, her skin a shiny mahogany. “You can’t help the fog. It’s like that on Hilton Head. It’s an island. We get fog.”

Kathy had liked the South Carolina island for the warm climate and proximity to the seashore. Crystal had a real southern drawl that made her seem even more strange to him.

“I’ll do my best with Crystal,” he promised suddenly.

The social worker sighed. “I believe you. But it’s always a sorry time when a baby’s momma dies. Fortunately, she’s had Miss Litton. Miss Litton has been a good friend, done the right thing by taking Crystal in and arranging for Kathy’s funeral. I want you to remember that.” Her eyes crinkled with kindness even as she hesitated. “Look, Mr. Oliver—”

“Mitch.”

“Mitch. Thank you. Mitch, I need to tell you something before you go in there. Crystal keeps saying she doesn’t want to go with you.”

Ah, hell. The greasy breakfast he’d eaten went sour in his stomach. “She doesn’t even know me.”

The social worker put a light hand on his arm. “Right. I understand that. She needs to give you a chance.”

He swallowed. “What if she isn’t in the mood to, ah, give me a chance?” He needed to know exactly what he was up against.

“Try not to worry too much. Just take her home, ease into things.”

“I’m good at going with the flow.”

She smiled again. “Listen to her, maybe try to do things in your home that will make her feel welcome. Your sister named you guardian in her will, and you’re the only close family Crystal has. Her father died about eight years ago, and his parents were never really involved with Kathy or Crystal. In fact, I gather they’re relieved to have you handle the situation.” There was a slight pause. “We’ll have a social worker in Ohio stop in and do a couple of quick checks of your household, but it’s just a formality, really.”