Cheryl St.John - Child of Her Heart

Anna’s expression crinkled into a beaming toothless smile, and Justin chuckled.

An ache yawned in Meredith’s chest, a sad yearning for the father she hadn’t thought important only a year ago. She’d planned this baby, known she was going to raise her alone and had been prepared to be the only parent her child needed.

But that had been before. Before she’d seen Justin with his children…and with Anna in his arms.

“What’s a frown doing on that pretty face?” Justin asked as he reached out and touched her between her brows. Her skin warmed like a schoolgirl’s.

Meredith looked into his face, a face so darkly handsome and intriguingly expressive, and admitted a monumental truth to herself—she was attracted to this man. It was strong and exhilarating. And physical.

She was completely out of her comfort zone.

It felt…incredible.

A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the terms that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.

Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at: SaintJohn@aol.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Be a part of

Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.

After a sperm-bank mix-up, single mom Meredith Malone got the shock of a lifetime….

Meredith Malone: She survived breast cancer and a fiancé’s desertion. Now the birth of her baby caused a scandal in the community. Meredith had to protect her child, so she fled to a vacation spot…and fell in love. Could she learn to trust again?

Justin Weber: A hotshot attorney determined to protect the Children’s Connection, Justin wanted to learn more about Meredith and her baby. As he spent time with her, he began to see his future in her eyes….

Nurse Nancy Allen: A devoted health-care worker, nurse Nancy went to the authorities with suspicions about a baby ring operating out of the clinic. But could her speaking out have been a fatal mistake?

Special thanks to the following for their assistance with factual details: RaeAnne Thayne, who shared her timely family vacation to Cannon Beach in vivid detail; Bonnie Blythe, who described the beaches and recommended informational links; and to the Johns Hopkins Breast Cancer Center experts for answering medical questions.

Thanks to Susan Mallery, Pamela Toth, Laurie Paige, Victoria Pade, Marie Ferrarella, Karen Rose Smith, RaeAnne Thayne, Gina Wilkins, Elizabeth Bevarly, Christie Ridgway and Anne Marie Winston, who worked hard to pull together the continuity threads and strengthen the series, and to Allison Lyons, who quickly and patiently answered questions and found solutions.

Prologue

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

Epilogue

“If the press gets wind of the mistake, the clinic’s reputation is shot.” Standing, Oliver Pearson leaned forward, one age-speckled hand on the polished mahogany table, and addressed the board of directors in his resonating deep voice. “I say we make a decision today. That baby was born nearly three months ago, and out of fear we’ve tabled the discussion long enough.”

Dianna March straightened her already rigid spine in her leather chair, the overhead fluorescents highlighting her elegant silver pageboy. “We had to give the woman some time, Oliver, for goodness’ sake! She gave birth to an African-American infant when she was expecting a child who looks like herself. How insensitive would we look if we rushed right into her hospital room and asked her to sign waivers of release?”

Albert Squires, a balding, paunchy, retired executive, joined the discussion. “Miss Malone has had time. Her lawyer is calling and threatening to sue. The Children’s Connection needs to offer compensation.”

It was a generous offer coming from a man who’d worn the same burgundy suit to board meetings since 1995.

“A payoff is an admission of wrongdoing,” Miles Remington, the youngest member of the board, disagreed. “Are we admitting responsibility?”

“The clinic is responsible,” Dianna replied. “Someone mixed up the sperm from the donors and fertilized her eggs with sperm from an African-American.”

“How do we know for certain that Miss Malone intends to sue?” John G. Reynolds asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

“Her mother’s lawyer is asking for compensation,” Oliver replied.

“The mother can’t sue without the daughter,” the man replied. “Perhaps this is a lot of blustering to see how much they can bleed us for without going public.”

Terrence Logan, retired CEO of Logan Corporation, stood and walked to a table laden with a silver coffee urn and assorted pastries. He poured himself a steaming cup and returned to again fold his six-foot frame into his chair. “We’ve kept tabs through her doctor and her counselor at the clinic. What we need is someone to talk to the woman directly. Check her out, see where she stands on the issues and discover whether or not she’s amenable to compensation.”

“Justin’s the man.” Miles emphasized his words by jabbing his doughnut in the air. “Why isn’t he here, anyway?”

Miles was referring to Justin Weber, the Logans’ close family friend and corporate attorney for Children’s Connection, one of the premier fertility clinics in the country.

“He’s flying back from Chicago this afternoon,” Terrence replied. “Late yesterday he settled with the insurance company over that fire incident.”

“Send him to evaluate the Malone woman,” Garnet Kearn said. She was a small woman with thin, wispy hair dyed a mousy brown and badly permed, making her head look like a large coconut. “That’s his job.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Terrence said. “He’s scheduled for his vacation, and I can’t ask him to postpone it again. He’s promised to take his boys to Cannon Beach.”

He was referring to the company-owned suites in an elegant inn on the coast of Oregon where their executives, board members and corporate attorney shared privileges.

“When does he leave?” Albert asked.

Terrence took a sip of coffee. “He should have returned this morning, but he stayed over to wind up this Chicago deal.”

Silence fell over the room. The clock on the wall ticked off the minutes like a time bomb.

Wayne Thorpe sat forward, his chair complaining beneath his considerable weight. The other board members looked to him with interest. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words were usually worthy of listening. His nose and cheeks were florid from his nightly appointment with a bourbon bottle, and he wore heavy gold signet rings on both pinkies. “Things are probably tense for Meredith Malone,” he said. “We need to consider her feelings in the matter. The board might be wise to give her more time to think over her situation and her choices.”