C.J. Carmichael - For a Baby

He caught her hand rather than the sandwich. “Your fingers are trembling.”

Couldn’t he just have let it pass without comment? But T.J. had never been one to let anything go. Throughout their school years he’d teased her mercilessly about her red hair and freckles. And she’d never made a secret about the fact that she despised him for it.

That didn’t stop them from sleeping together, though. No denying the sexual pull between them, much as she wanted to. Even now she felt it, despite the other, weightier, issue on her mind.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here.”

T.J. didn’t say anything. Somehow that made it even harder. She’d had a whole speech planned out. But in the end, she managed only two short sentences.

“I’m pregnant, T.J. Just thought you should know.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever known someone who seemed like such a terrific person, but who never had anything go right for her? That’s what Heather Sweeney’s love life has been like—up until now.

If you’ve read a previous book of mine, Small-Town Girl, you already know the history….

Heather was jilted by her first love, Russell Matthew, and she’s never really gotten over that disappointment. Her subsequent marriage to a cop ended when he was shot in the line of duty. After all that, not even Heather’s best friend, Adrienne, could blame her for being cynical about her chances for a happy-ever-after marriage.

But in this book, Heather finally gets her chance. For true love, a husband, a baby…the whole package.

I am always happy to hear from readers. Please contact me through my Web site at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to the following address: #1754 - 246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, Canada T3H 3C8.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandma Dora,

who used to spin the most wonderful yarns.

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mid-April

SHE’D MADE A MISTAKE COMING to the bar. This place wasn’t going to cheer her up. She didn’t even feel like drinking.

Heather Sweeney eyed the glass of vodka and orange juice in her hand and wondered how her life had come to this point. She was too young to feel washed up, but that was exactly how she felt. She was a thirty-five-year-old, widowed schoolteacher who loved children but would probably never have any of her own.

Not based on the current state of her love life. Or the state of her uterus, either, according to her doctor. She couldn’t claim to be surprised by the results of the ultrasound they’d discussed at her appointment yesterday afternoon. In her family women tended to develop uterine fibroids at an early age, which was why she’d ended up an only child even though both her parents—like her—adored children.

So far, the noncancerous growths in her uterus were small enough that she could probably carry a baby to term if she were to become pregnant soon. But there was precious little opportunity for that to happen. She hadn’t even gone on a date for about four months.

And while the small-town bar was almost full tonight, there wasn’t a potential husband in the lot. A few middle-aged women were crowded around the video gambling machines in the back, while a gang of young men—probably barely drinking age—played pool at the other end of the room. All the tables in between were full of the farmers and miners who lived in and around this town. Most had either a wife or a girlfriend with them. Several she recognized as parents of either current or past students.

Not a decent-looking, single guy to be found.

Heather tilted her glass, watched the liquid slide over the bobbing ice cubes. Why had she come here?

She’d had other options for her Saturday night. Her best friend, Adrienne Jenson, had invited her to watch a movie with her family tonight. But it was too soon after her depressing appointment with the doctor to see Adrienne’s three little boys—three!—laughing and playing and tumbling around.

She could have opted to spend the evening with her parents. But they usually played cards with the Thomsons on Saturday nights. Five was definitely a crowd when it came to bridge.

And so, because she couldn’t stand to spend the night alone at her house, because there was no place else open on a Saturday night in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan, she’d ended up here. At the town bar. Alone.

The door opened, and she swung around on her stool in time to see Libby and Gibson Browning stroll in holding hands. The couple looked ridiculously young to be the parents of four kids—two girls from previous relationships and two little boys of their own. Their girls, Allie and Nicole, would be in Heather’s class this year. The couple stopped to say hi to her before joining a table of their other friends.

I’m going to finish this drink, then head home, she promised herself. She lifted the glass to her mouth and took several long gulps. One more swallow would have done it. But she lingered just a few seconds too long. Trenton McGuire, the town lech and drunk, sauntered into the bar and headed her way.

The stool next to hers was empty, and of course that’s where Trenton sat. By smell alone she could tell that whatever he ordered would not be his first of the evening.

Trenton wasn’t a bad guy. When sober, he was quiet and shy, and he did manage to eke out a living on the half section of land his father had left him. But when he was drinking, he imagined himself quite a ladies’ man.

“Must be my lucky night. Sittin’ next to a pretty little redhead.”

Yeah, it was his lucky night, all right. Definitely not hers. She finished her drink. Set down the glass.

“Can I buy you another, miss?”

He touched her arm and she pulled away, averting her gaze. Thank heavens he didn’t seem to know her name. They’d never met, but you could never tell in a small town, who had heard of whom. “Actually, I was just leaving. Thanks for the offer, though.”

She glanced at him then and felt a stab of pity. Greasy hair, poor teeth, bad skin. The man was skinny and his fingernails were dirty. Good grooming was all it would take to make him presentable. Hadn’t his mother taught him anything?

“But the night is young.” He put his hand back on her arm, this time holding tight. “Jerry,” he signaled the bartender. “Bring her another, and a draft for me.”

Though the grip on her arm was unrelenting, Heather wasn’t afraid. She was in a public place, surrounded by neighbors who had known her for most of her life. “I’m sorry, but I really am tired.”

She attempted again to pull away, but Trenton only moved in closer. She smelled his foul breath and tried not to grimace.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

The door opened again, only this time Heather couldn’t turn to see who was coming or going. Trenton had her pinned tight, his body blocking most of her view.