Barbara McCauley - Secret Baby Santos

But if he thought she was Cindy, then he didn’t know whom he had made love to, did he? No one had known who she was. The Hawaiian man thought she was from the hotel. She’d never given her name to anyone, and Nick had never actually seen her. He didn’t know it was poor little Maggie Smith in his bed, a woman at whom he never would have looked twice.

And he would never know, she resolved. Never.

She went home that night and wrote her article. The editor of the newspaper was pleased enough with her work to give her more assignments, and slowly she worked her way into a permanent column in the Health section of the paper.

Two months later, as she stared at the positive tester for pregnancy in one hand and an article about Nick’s paternity suit in the other hand, she knew she couldn’t tell him he was going to be a father. He didn’t even know he’d made love to her. How could she stand the humiliation of actually trying to prove that he had, only to have him reject her and their child, anyway? He’d wanted no part of her, and he certainly wouldn’t want any part of a child.

Nick Santos, whom she’d loved from afar since she was thirteen years old, was the father of her child. She touched her stomach, marveling at the wonder of it all. She’d love this child with every breath, with every beat of her heart. She’d had Nick for only one night, but she’d have his child for the rest of her life. Happiness overflowed, gave her the strength to tell her parents she was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the man, gave her the determination to take control of her life, to gain the confidence she’d never had, and the resolve to let go of the past and forget Nick Santos.

She married Richard, a journalist at the Tribune, when Drew was six months old, but they both realized it was a mistake six months later, and the divorce was friendly. She’d been offered a job in New York shortly after that, and one year later she had her own column at the Times. Her apartment was small but homey, and close to the park. When she wasn’t working and the weather permitted, she and Drew spent most of their time there. She was content with her life, where she’d come from, and where she was going.

She was no longer poor little Maggie Smith. She’d learned more than a few things about life, even learned how to use makeup and what to do with her hair. The glasses had gone in the trash, she wore contacts now, and living in New York had taught her about clothes and style.

She was a new woman, one she liked. A mother and a successful journalist. She didn’t need anything else in her life right now. Not a man, and most certainly not Nick Santos.

“So let me get this straight.” Lucas Blackhawk leaned against the fire-engine-red toolbox and tipped the soda can to his lips. “You’re telling me that Nick Santos, ladies’ man, most dedicated bachelor west of the Mississippi, is actually having woman problems?”

“Did I say I was having woman problems?” The wrench in Nick’s hand slipped off the exhaust bolt he’d been tightening and skidded across the concrete floor. Nick glared at Lucas. “I never said a damn thing about woman problems. Are you here to help, Blackhawk, or just drink my soda and butt into my personal life?”

“Testy this morning, aren’t we?” Lucas took another swallow of root beer and scrubbed at his Saturday-morning beard. “So she said no, huh? Pray tell, who is this woman of such high refinement and intelligence?”

“If you’re not going to help,” Nick growled, “get the hell out of here. I’m busy.”

“I’m helping.” Nick reached into a drawer in the toolbox and handed Nick a half-inch wrench. “Just tell me who she is, Nick. I won’t laugh at you, I promise.”

Nick grabbed the wrench and knelt back down beside the motorcycle. He knew damn well that Lucas wouldn’t leave him alone until he found out the name of the mysterious woman. “Margaret Smith,” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s that you say?” Lucas cupped his ear and leaned closer. “Ingrid Whit?”

“Margaret Smith,” Nick snapped back as he settled the wrench on the bolt again. “Maggie Smith.”

If he hadn’t been so annoyed, Nick would have enjoyed the blank look on Lucas’s face.

“Maggie Smith?” Lucas repeated, wrinkling his brow. “You mean, quiet-as-a-mouse, never-lookedanyone-in-the-eye, big glasses and curly red hair Maggie Smith?”

“The same.” Only definitely not the same, Nick thought.

Lucas gave a snort of laughter. “Well, no wonder she turned you down, Santos. You asked out a woman with an IQ higher than her shoe size.”

The wrench slipped off the bolt again and flew out of his hands. Eyes narrowed, Nick straightened and snatched a rag from his back pocket. “Don’t you have a ranch and a wife to go home to, Blackhawk? A pregnant wife?”

“My foreman has a handle on the ranch and besides, Julianna is cranky this morning. Our boys had a soccer game going on in her belly all night. I thought she needed some time alone.”

“I need some time alone. Get the hell out of here.”

Lucas grinned and settled back comfortably against the toolbox. “So other than her apparent good sense and keen judgment, why’d Maggie turn you down?”

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