Joan Pickart - The Baby Bet - His Secret Son

“I was very well-known at several grocery stores,” her mother said, smiling. “But as I recall, there was a certain young lady who held her own at the dinner table when she was a teenager.”

“Gotcha, Kara,” Richard said. “That’s how I remember it, too.”

“I’m outnumbered here,” Kara said, laughing. “I’m off to do my smiling duty at the door.”

Kara wove her way through the tables, smiling and waving at those who greeted her. She stopped at the closed double doors and realized instantly that she felt like some sort of security guard.

She clasped her hands loosely in front of her and tapped one foot in time to the peppy music floating through the air above the noise of the chattering, laughing people.

Ten long minutes passed and the doors didn’t open.

Maybe everyone who had been invited had already arrived, Kara thought, glancing over the crowded room. It certainly appeared as though there were a hundred people here, which was the number that had been agreed upon.

She was beginning to feel rather silly standing there like a dressed-up soldier at the ready. Well, so be it. This meet-and-greet plan had been very important to her aunt Margaret, and everyone was being a good sport about it. She was the last one on the schedule to perform this duty, then a good time could be had by all.

Kara swayed slightly in tune to a waltz the band was playing and hummed along with the lovely music. She jerked in surprise as one of the doors opened, snapping her out of her dreamy state.

My stars, she thought, as a frisson of heat rushed through her. What an incredibly handsome man had just walked into the ballroom.

Whose guest was he?

He was the epitome of the clichéd tall, dark and devastating. Wide shoulders, broad chest, long muscular legs, and rough-hewn features.

His hair was black and thick and fell just over the edge of his collar in the back. His skin was tanned by the sun, not by a booth in a salon, as evidenced by the crinkling squint lines beside his dark-brown eyes. He was, oh, maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight.

Gorgeous. The man was drop-dead gorgeous.

And he was so intent on his scrutiny of the people in the room that he hadn’t even noticed her standing there auditioning for the meet-and-greeter-of-the-year award. Chalk up one severe blow to her feminine ego. This would never do.

Kara cleared her throat.

The man continued his perusal of the room.

“Happy New Year,” she said brightly and fairly loudly, “and welcome to the party.”

The man’s head snapped around and he frowned as he stared at her. She extended her right hand.

“I’m Kara MacAllister,” she said, “and I’m the welcoming committee at the moment. May I ask your name and inquire as to whose guest you are?”

The man ignored Kara’s outstretched hand, and she let it drop back to her side.

“I’m here to see…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Here to see…Robert MacAllister.”

“Uncle Robert?” Kara said, smiling. “Why don’t I take you to his table? I could be wrong, but I believe you’re the last guest to arrive. I’m just standing here looking ridiculous.”

No, she was looking beautiful, Andrew thought. Absolutely lovely. Her short curly black hair framed a face of exquisite features, including a smile that made her dark eyes sparkle.

She was fairly tall but small-boned, delicate, making him very aware of how big and bulky he was compared to her. And her lips. Man, there was a whole new meaning to the phrase “kissable lips” as of that very moment. She was—

Damn it, Malone, he thought, putting a halt to his rambling thoughts. Wake up. Did you catch the lady’s name? MacAllister. She was Kara MacAllister.

She’d probably been in that group photograph he’d seen in the newspaper, but he’d zeroed in on another face, another person. The man he’d driven a hundred miles to confront.

“Where’s Robert MacAllister?” Andrew said gruffly.

Kara frowned. “You don’t exactly seem in a party mood, Mr…. I don’t believe you mentioned your name.”

“It’s Malone. Andrew Malone.”

“Well, Mr. Malone, please allow me to welcome you to the final event of the week-long MacAllister reunion,” Kara said, smiling again.

Andrew nodded absently.

“But since you were invited to this shindig by Uncle Robert, you no doubt know that we MacAllisters have been on the go since Christmas. It’s been exhausting but wonderful, with so many special memories. We wanted to share this last night of the reunion with our friends.”

Good grief, she was babbling, Kara thought, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks. What on earth was the matter with her? She was actually chattering like a magpie to keep Andrew Malone standing right where he was, instead of delivering him to his host the way she should.

She didn’t do things like this. She didn’t act like a giddy girl when in the presence of a good-looking man. Well, in all fairness to herself Andrew Malone was the best-looking man, bar none, she’d ever encountered in her entire thirty years but still…She really had to get a grip.

“Would you follow me please, Mr. Malone?” Kara said, with a sweep of one arm.

Andrew nodded, then fell into step behind Kara as she made her way through the maze of tables. His glance slid along Kara’s back, and a jolt of heat slammed through him as he saw the sway of her hips and the way the soft material of her dress clung enticingly to her feminine curves.

Damn it, Malone, he fumed. She’s a MacAllister.

Kara stopped, nearly causing Andrew to bump into her. She looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “Uncle Robert and Aunt Margaret are heading back to their table from the buffet. I guess the others seated with them must be filling their plates. There’s Uncle Robert over there. See?”

Andrew’s heart thundered and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest.

There he was, he thought. Robert MacAllister. It was hard to believe that the man was only a few feet away and coming closer with every passing second.

He was much more dynamic in person than in the newspaper picture. He looked taller, his gray hair thicker, shoulders wider, and there was no sign of a belly inching over his belt. His suit was obviously expensive, custom-tailored, and he had brown eyes and an even tan.

Yes, there he was, in living, breathing color.

Robert and Margaret MacAllister reached the table, and Robert set down his plate to assist Margaret with her chair. She settled into place and spread her napkin on her lap.

“Uncle Robert?” Kara said before he had a chance to sit down.

“Oh, hello, Kara,” he said, smiling. “Are you having a nice time this evening?”

“Delightful, thank you,” she said. “I’m the meeter and greeter of the moment, and I’ve brought one of your guests to you so you can say hello.” She glanced up at Andrew, then back at her uncle.

Robert frowned as he looked at Andrew. “My guest? I’m sorry, but Kara must have misunderstood you. I don’t believe you and I have met.”

“We haven’t,” Andrew said, his gaze riveted on Robert where he stood on the opposite side of the table.

“But you told me that…” Kara started, obviously confused.

“I said I was here to see Robert MacAllister,” Andrew said, not looking at Kara. “I didn’t say that he’d invited me.”

“You crashed this party?” Kara said, planting her hands on her hips. “Of all the nerve. Are you a reporter? Is that it?”

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m not a reporter.”

“Then what do you want?” Kara said.

“Kara,” Robert said, “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why Mr….”