Karen Templeton - A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be - A Mother's Wish

“It’s been a while, but yeah.”

“Good. I’ve got horses that need to be ridden. We’ll take the boy with us. Day after tomorrow,” he added as an afterthought, then stomped out of the kitchen.

Winnie realised how monumental this was. Except…

She turned to follow him. She found him on the back deck.

“Back where I come from,” she said, “it’s the custom to ask a woman if she’d like to do something. So –” she crossed her arms “– care to try this again?”

Aidan looked back out towards the setting sun. “I’m thinking of going horseback riding on Saturday. Wouldya be interested in goin’ along?”

“I’d love to,” she said, then turned smartly on her heel and walked away.

His jaw dropped. They’d made a baby, he and Delia. Good God, she was carrying his child.

“Alexander? I’ve blown your mind, haven’t I?” Delia asked. “Before you get too freaked, I just want to let you know I’m not asking for anything. I only –”

“Freaked?” He got to his feet, crossing the small room to take her hand in his. “You’re amazing. You’re strong and audaciously funny and a beautiful woman. There’s no one else I’d rather have as the mother of my child.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Because –”

“Marry me, Delia Carlisle.”

By

By

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover Page

Excerpt A MOTHER’S WISH “D’you ride? Horses.” “It’s been a while, but yeah.” “Good. I’ve got horses that need to be ridden. We’ll take the boy with us. Day after tomorrow,” he added as an afterthought, then stomped out of the kitchen. Winnie realised how monumental this was. Except… She turned to follow him. She found him on the back deck. “Back where I come from,” she said, “it’s the custom to ask a woman if she’d like to do something. So –” she crossed her arms “– care to try this again?” Aidan looked back out towards the setting sun. “I’m thinking of going horseback riding on Saturday. Wouldya be interested in goin’ along?” “I’d love to,” she said, then turned smartly on her heel and walked away.

Title Page A Mother’s Wish By

A Mother’s Wish A Mother’s Wish By

About The Author Karen Templeton is a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA® Award nominee. As a mother of five sons, she’s living proof that romance and dirty nappies 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 fantasising about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation. She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her at www.karentempleton.com.

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

Epilogue

Mother To Be

About The Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Preview

Copyright

By

Karen Templetonis a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA® Award nominee. As a mother of five sons, she’s living proof that romance and dirty nappies 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 fantasising about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.

She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her at www.karentempleton.com.

Eyes narrowed against the low-slung October morning sun, Winnie Porter stood in the open doorway to the Skyview Gas ‘n’ Grill, sipping strong coffee from a foam cup. Outside, the relentless wind scoured the barren West Texas landscape, the whiny, hollow sound like the cry of a never-satisfied newborn.

Fitting, Winnie thought, the constant hum of semis barreling along I-40 a half mile away tangling with the wind’s nagging. Come on, girl, get a move on, it seemed to say, echoing a restlessness that had plagued her for longer than she could remember. Except now that she finally could get a move on…

She shifted on cowboy-booted feet, plowing one sweaty palm down a denimed thigh, the fabric soft as a baby’s blanket. Over her cotton cami’s neckline, the ends of her wet hair tickled her shoulders and back. Annabelle, her Border collie, nudged her thigh, panting. We go for ride? I ride shotgun , ‘ kay —?

“Here you go. And don’t eat it all before you get to Amarillo.”

Winnie’s eyes shifted to the bulging plastic sack filled with enough food to see a family of pioneers through the winter. “Thanks,” she said, steeled against the barely restrained censure flooding the nearly black eyes in front of her. Winnie took the bag, turning away as Elektra Jones blew a breath through her broad nose.

“Miss Ida ain’t even been dead a week—”

“I know—”

“And all you’re doin’ is just setting yourself up for more hurt.”

An opinion offered at least a dozen times in the last two days. “Can’t hurt worse than what I’ve lived through the last nine years,” Winnie said softly, hoisting her duffel onto her shoulder.

“But all this time, you said—”

“I was wrong,” Winnie said simply. “And don’t even start about needing me here, E, you know as well as I do you’ve been basically runnin’ this place on your own anyway. Especially for the last year—”

Her voice caught as she glanced around Ida Calhoun’s legacy to her only granddaughter—a run-down diner/convenience store/gas station, its proximity to the interstate its sole saving grace. Since Winnie was ten years old the place had variously been a refuge and a prison. And now it was all hers.

Even from the grave, the old girl was still getting her digs in.

“You won’t even miss me,” Winnie said, facing the downturned mouth underneath an inch-thick cushion of dyed blond hair.

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Elektra said, eyes brimming, and Winnie thought, Don’t you dare, dammit, giving up the fight when E muttered, “Oh, hell,” and clasped Winnie to her not-insubstantial bosom.

“It’s only for a week, for heaven’s sake.”

“Still.” Elektra gave her one last squeeze, then clasped Winnie’s shoulders, her hands cool and smooth on Winnie’s heated skin. “You be careful, hear?” Afraid to speak, Winnie nodded.

Minutes later, with the Dixie Chicks holding forth from the old pickup’s radio and Annabelle grinning into the wind from her passenger side perch, Winnie glided onto the interstate behind a big rig with Alabama plates, headed west on what even she knew was likely to be a fool’s errand.