Anne Haven - Her Baby's Father

She went to him. Stepped close and put her arms around him, her belly—with his brother’s baby—pressing into his.

He held her tightly. She leaned into him and cried.

“I thought I’d be able to hate him for the rest of my life,” he said.

They stood like that for a moment, frozen, and then he kissed her. This kiss was nothing like their kiss nine years earlier. Nothing like the one the other night. No romance, just raw need, and her body responded instantly.

“Jennifer,” he said.

A statement and a question rolled into one, and she knew what he needed. Knew she needed it, too.

Yes, she said, not with her voice but with her hands and lips.

He took her upstairs and undressed her. Made love to her slowly and reverently, worshiping her. And he held her and he wept.

I love him, she thought. I always have….

Dear Reader,

After my daughter’s birth I understood something about my own parents. Though I’d felt quite clearly that they loved me, I hadn’t grasped how much. We’d gone through the usual ups and downs and I knew they’d made plenty of mistakes, as all moms and dads do. I knew, too, that a parent’s love for a child is supposed to be one of the most powerful you can experience. But did I really, truly get it? No. Not the way I did when I had a baby of my own. Oh, I thought, this is what it’s like. And it blew me away.

Although her baby hasn’t yet been born, Jennifer Burns has an inkling of the intense protectiveness and devotion she’ll feel. Already she’s determined to do whatever it takes to give her child the best possible start in life—which includes a relationship with the father. As you read, you’ll learn why this is so very important to her. You’ll also watch her definition of a “real” father evolve throughout the book as she realizes Ross Griffin may be the best man for the job. Though he’s not the biological dad, he has the most important qualification—a deep capacity to love and cherish her child.

I’d enjoy hearing what you think of Her Baby’s Father. You can write me at P.O. Box 1539, Eastsound, WA 98245.

Best wishes,

Anne Haven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For H.H.T., because you kept your daughter’s letters.

Many thanks to Kristen Bernard and Jharna Morrissey at River Valley Midwives, for their inspiration and guidance with firsthand research; to Kim Bressem, for looking after The Bean; and to Donna Miller, for proofreading and emotional support.

I’m also indebted to Dr. Robert Weitzman, for answering medical questions; to Sam Thoron, my father-in-law, for also helping with research; and to Joshua Wolk, for his consultations on arm breaking.

Any technical errors in this fictional work are mine.

Bev Sotolov is an incredible editor and I feel privileged to work with her.

Ruth Kagle has been a supportive and diligent agent. Thanks also to Annelise Roby and to everyone at Rotrosen.

Finally, I must acknowledge that this book would not exist without the help of my husband, Joe Thoron, whose contributions are too numerous to list.

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

BUCK UP, HONEY. Time to be strong.

Jennifer Burns repeated the words as she slowed her dusty old station wagon in front of Ross Griffin’s house in Portland, Oregon. She parked at the curb, cut the engine and sat. Cupping her rounded stomach, she fortified herself with thoughts of the new life inside her.

She was doing this for the baby’s sake. That made everything worth it.

Jennifer studied the large Victorian where Ross lived. It sat on a hill above the city, with a sloped front lawn and a low hedge lining the walk. The house was pale yellow, the trim painted in darker shades of peach, giving it a warm glow in the pre-dusk June evening. A blue Camry sat in the driveway. A flower pot hung from the roof of the porch.

Ross’s home appealed to her. She wondered what his life there was like.

And wished the reason for this reunion could be anything other than what it was.

The car door gave its usual creaky groan as she opened it. Stepping out onto the smoothly paved road, she eased her body to a standing position. Her limbs felt stiff from the two-day drive and her lower back ached dully. As she crossed the front yard she was strongly conscious of her pregnancy, of her unmistakable waddle and the ripeness of her curves—so different from the last time she’d seen Ross. She’d been seventeen, a kid, still scrawny.

This was going to be quite a surprise.

Jennifer hadn’t been able to bring herself to call him. She’d tried three times and had always hung up before dialing the last digit. It was silly and illogical and she knew it. But after what had happened with his brother, she didn’t know what to expect from Ross. Their past—the friendship she and Ross had once shared—might not mean a thing to him. And they hadn’t parted under the best circumstances. He could try to brush her off. He could hang up on her.

No, she’d told herself, better to show up in person. Better to have this conversation face-to-face. It was too important.

Reaching the porch, she used the handrail for stability as she climbed the steps. A woven jute welcome mat sat in front of the door, and as she walked up to it she felt her heart rate quicken. Staving off another attack of nerves, she raised a hand and knocked.

ROSS WAS STANDING in the living room, staring at the shredded foilage and potting soil scattered across the middle of his new rug, when someone knocked on the front door. Frank, the three-legged female Chihuahua who’d attacked and killed his last fern, yipped twice, turned in a circle and scampered under the sofa.

Ross shook his head as he walked to the front hall. Dog-sitting. And he’d agreed to a week of this. She was cute enough, but her passion for his house-plants—not to mention her sensitive stomach—made her a difficult guest. Next time Kyle and Melissa and little Emily left town, they could stick Frank in a kennel.

He opened the door and saw a pregnant woman standing on his porch.

No, not just a pregnant woman. Someone he’d known in another lifetime.

“Jennifer Burns? Is that you?”

“Hello, Ross.”

Nine years slid away to the summer she’d dated his younger brother. To one of the few times he’d ever been jealous of Drew.

Ross remembered the long walks he and Jennifer had taken. The animated conversations. Lounging on the deck behind his parents’ house on warm evenings. Being a twenty-one-year-old kid who thought he knew anything about anything.

He stared at this new version of Jennifer Burns. The shorter, chin-length cut of her dark-blond hair suited her features, which had matured very well. Her face was fuller, with a healthy pregnant-woman’s glow. A splash of bleach marked the sleeve of her pink maternity shirt. She wore cropped jeans with deep creases across the upper thighs, as if she’d been sitting a long time. He could see her ankles, slightly swollen, above a pair of inexpensive white sneakers.

Pregnant. On his doorstep. Looking anxious but determined, as if she had a very important purpose for being there.