C.J. Hill - Baby Dreams And Wedding Schemes

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My deepest thanks to three Fairy Godpeople:

Melissa Jeglinski: For a golden opportunity.

My sister Judy: The original Bednobs and Broomsticks.

Barry: For repeating three little words whenever

I needed them: “So, do it.”

I did!

C.J. HILL,

who also writes as Lois Richer for Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, was born and raised in a small town in western Canada and could hardly wait to get out in the big, wide world. Once there, she earned her bachelor’s degree, started a career and searched high and low to find fame and fortune. Eventually she returned “home.” It’s that same small town where she met her husband and today raises her two sons. The wonderful sense of community and closeness found in rural areas is what she loves to explore in her stories.

Her family has come to understand that books, the computer and Mom are invisibly linked. C.J. admits that her ideas often overtake her time and shelf space. And so, when all else fails, the family dog takes her for a walk in the woods, where they discuss her next project. They’d both be pleased to hear from you at: Box 639, Nipawin, Saskatchewan, Canada S0E lE0

Dear Reader,

Welcome to my very first book for Silhouette Romance. I’m thrilled to be part of this wonderful tradition of love stories that tug at the heart and remind us all of the most important things in life. If you’re like me, you enjoy reading novels that take you away from your daily problems and plunge you into the wonders of that “special” love. When you’re there, anything can happen, and frequently does! And that’s why I wrote Baby Dreams and Wedding Schemes. I hope you enjoy this book and that you find a refreshing new way to look at your own life.

May your days be filled with joy and much love.

P.S. I’d love to have you check out my titles in the new Love Inspired line, too. Look for the FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY series in a bookstore near you.

Chapter One

“You lied!”

“That squeaky little voice could penetrate steel,” Sasha Lambert muttered, gritting her teeth and trying to remain calm.

Warning—this is what cute, darling little babies grow into. Rethink your plan! There it was again; that ridiculously mocking voice inside her head issuing its gloomy admonition.

I am just as capable as the next woman when it comes to children. I merely need to apply the fine art of reason to this situation, she told herself.

“Look, little boy,” she coaxed quietly. “I can’t have a funeral for Henry in my store! I don’t do funerals.”

He stared up at her, his eyes wide and accusatory. One short, stubby finger pointed to the sign in her window. “My dad tol’ me that sign says you can do anything here.”

Sasha sighed once in resignation, the second time in capitulation as she spotted one fat tear suspended on the end of his incredibly long lashes. “Actually it says we cater to all occasions. But it’s wrong. Sorry. No funeral. No way.”

She hadn’t meant to say it quite so loudly, but the words rang through Bednobs and Broomsticks like a cowbell on the open prairie. The customers quietly browsing her craft store opened their eyes wide to frown at the tall, slim woman positioned near the half-finished train display in the main aisle.

Sasha ignored them all, examining the preschooler from her impressive height. He refused to budge. Instead he stood watching her, his big brown eyes now welling with tears.

“But we hafta,” he wailed as one glistening droplet finally plopped down onto the copper freckles covering his chubby cheeks. “My dad’s gonna kill me when he finds out and then I’ll get grounded. I just gotta have Henry’s funeral first.”

She tried to ignore the sympathy pangs that were mounting inside her mushy heart. The frosty looks of condemnation her customers were casting her way didn’t help stifle the gnawing sense of censure that yawned inside. Nor the pangs of regret. Her eyes fell on the bit of paper she had taped to the counter.

“Word for the day. Compunction: anxiety arising from guilt.” Stupid word! Who needed extra guilt?

Some mother you’ll make, her subconscious chided. No empathy. She frowned, glaring maliciously at the cash register. She was as empathetic as the next woman and she fully intended to be the best mother since sliced bread. So there!

Sasha tossed her shining head back and considered her folly in moving to Allen’s Springs, Montana. Was it her fault poor old Henry had died right here in the middle of the store? she demanded of herself.

“I’m sure your father will understand when you explain it all to him.” There, her voice was kind but firm.

“Nah, he won’t.” The face drooped with misery. “He never does. He’s gonna be really mad. I just know it.”

Sasha closed her eyes in defeat as the tentacles of his mournful distress squeezed tightly around her heartstrings. With difficulty, she repressed the urge to push back the tumble of brown curls from his brow.

Softie. Don’t get involved. Not today. You’ve got that appointment to prepare for. If you’re lucky, you’ll soon have your own kids to worry about.

“Well,” she said in capitulation, knowing darn well she never took her own advice, “perhaps if I spoke to your father.” She glanced around the empty store and made a face. “I don’t think anyone else is coming in today anyway. That announcement of mine pretty well cleared everyone out.” She smiled grimly.

At least he had the grace to look downcast at her loss of business. Sasha handed him a tissue.

“Here. Blow.” Her tone was filled with resignation. “What’s your father’s name?”

“No! You can’t!” The boy’s voice trembled with fear. “I—I’ll tell him myself.” He was backing down the aisle toward the door now, one knobby knee showing through the wide tear in his black pants.

Sasha was amazed. What kind of an ogre was the child’s father, for heaven’s sake, to engender such fear in the boy? And where was he when his son needed him? This was the fifth time in as many days that she’d had the child as an afternoon visitor. Alone.

She darted past him and whipped the door closed, sending the chimes tinkling throughout the empty aisles. That was one advantage of having very long legs. She could outrun almost everyone. Of course, at five feet eleven and seven-eighths inches she also towered above every other living soul.

“I think you and I had better have a talk,” Sasha told him firmly as she closed her hand around one thin shoulder. “Come on. I made cookies yesterday.” He looked doubtful. “Triple chocolate chip with nuts.”

That seemed to decide the issue. He trailed along behind her, his black leather shoes clicking against the worn oak planks of the floor.

Black leather shoes?

Sasha took a second look at the child and grimaced. Most of the kids in Allen’s Springs wore jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers. This child was distinctly out of place in his white shirt, dress pants and leather shoes; the very same items he’d worn each time he’d visited her.

“What’s your name?” Sasha asked softly, leading him through the connecting door to her small living quarters at the rear. Somehow they had never gotten ’round to introductions.

“Cody,” he told her, gazing around with interest. “Is this where you live? I like it.”

His chubby fingers twiddled with the stuffed parrot that hung behind her sofa. “Trains,” he crowed, his eyes sparkling as he moved toward the display in the center of her living room.