Lynnette Kent - Expecting the Best

“Zach is my husband.” “Zach is my husband.” Shelley looked straight into Zach’s mother’s face and continued. “We were married three weeks ago in Las Vegas.” The older woman looked at her son. “You didn’t think we might want to know beforehand?” “We had our reasons for doing it this way,” Zach replied. His mother turned back to Shelley. “But...what about Mr. Hightower?” “I’m sorry—I thought you knew.” Shelley’s voice was a little shaky. “I was divorced from him six years ago.” “But you’re carrying his child.” “No, Mom.” Zach spoke before Shelley could. “The baby’s mine.” “You mean you and Mrs. Hightower...were...are...” “Yes, Mom. We’re married. And we’re having a baby.” Letter to Reader Dear Reader, According to a Victorian saying, “The first baby can come anytime. The rest take nine months.” Babies conceived before marriage have been a fact of life since the beginning of human society. The emotions associated with sex—the desire to be wanted, to be accepted, to be loved—wield great power in our lives. Even in this age of reliable birth control, these needs sometimes, even often, overwhelm our sincere attempts to direct destiny. In Expecting the Best, Zach Harmon and Shelley Hightower are determined to be cautious. And yet, in that capricious way fate sometimes employs, there’s a baby on the way. This couple’s story is about adjusting, accepting and appreciating the possibilities offered by an unexpected detour. That process, when I think about it, seems to be the very definition of “living.” Some books write themselves, and Expecting the Best is one of those. Zach and Shelley are people who say what they think. As the writer, all I had to do was listen. I’ve enjoyed spending time with them, and hope you will, too. Hearing from readers is a great pleasure. Please feel free to write me at Box 17195, Fayetteville, NC 28314. Thanks for reading. Lynnette Kent Title Page Expecting the Best Lynnette Kent www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication For Lucy, a wistful revision of history 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 CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY Copyright

“Zach is my husband.”

Shelley looked straight into Zach’s mother’s face and continued. “We were married three weeks ago in Las Vegas.”

The older woman looked at her son. “You didn’t think we might want to know beforehand?”

“We had our reasons for doing it this way,” Zach replied.

His mother turned back to Shelley. “But...what about Mr. Hightower?”

“I’m sorry—I thought you knew.” Shelley’s voice was a little shaky. “I was divorced from him six years ago.”

“But you’re carrying his child.”

“No, Mom.” Zach spoke before Shelley could. “The baby’s mine.”

“You mean you and Mrs. Hightower...were...are...”

“Yes, Mom. We’re married. And we’re having a baby.”

Dear Reader,

According to a Victorian saying, “The first baby can come anytime. The rest take nine months.”

Babies conceived before marriage have been a fact of life since the beginning of human society. The emotions associated with sex—the desire to be wanted, to be accepted, to be loved—wield great power in our lives. Even in this age of reliable birth control, these needs sometimes, even often, overwhelm our sincere attempts to direct destiny.

In Expecting the Best, Zach Harmon and Shelley Hightower are determined to be cautious. And yet, in that capricious way fate sometimes employs, there’s a baby on the way. This couple’s story is about adjusting, accepting and appreciating the possibilities offered by an unexpected detour. That process, when I think about it, seems to be the very definition of “living.”

Some books write themselves, and Expecting the Best is one of those. Zach and Shelley are people who say what they think. As the writer, all I had to do was listen. I’ve enjoyed spending time with them, and hope you will, too.

Hearing from readers is a great pleasure. Please feel free to write me at Box 17195, Fayetteville, NC 28314.

Thanks for reading.

Lynnette Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Lucy,

a wistful revision of history

CHAPTER ONE

THIRTY MINUTES. He would be here in thirty minutes.

Wearing only perfume and lingerie, Shelley Hightower stared at the array of dresses blanketing her bed. What in the world made choosing something to wear this Friday night so difficult?

“Black?” She fingered the hem of a beaded sheath. The dress felt heavy, and she didn’t like the way the crystals winked.

“Red?” But the red was an Oriental print with gold and teal and too much braided trim. Six months ago, she’d loved the outfit and bought it just for tonight. Now the effect only seemed...loud.

“White?” As if she were a bride? Hardly.

Her stomach tightened. “Maybe I should just put on a coat and go to the banquet in my underwear,” she groaned. “I don’t suppose Zach Harmon will notice one way or the other.”

Other people would notice, though. Accepting tonight’s award for top seller at the Denver Realtors’ dinner represented the pinnacle of Shelley’s career. She wanted to make an impression, convey an image of class and style and success.

That’s where Zach came in. Good-looking...okay, more than that, he was gorgeous. Personable. Funny and a great dancer. A bona fide hero with police-department decorations for proof. In other words, the perfect date to complement her career.

Even better, they barely knew each other. The wedding of mutual friends and a few parties were the only times they’d encountered each other over the last couple of years. Three hours of superficial conversation at tonight’s social function with hundreds of other people wouldn’t require any kind of commitment beyond good manners.

So why did she care what he thought of her dress?

The image that slipped into her thoughts twisted her insides even further... the image of a beautiful, elegant woman whose every move telegraphed class. An accomplished, intelligent woman who could hold her own with senators and CEOs and saints.

That was Claire Cavanaugh, the woman now married to Shelley’s ex-husband. The same woman who had introduced Zach Harmon into Shelley’s life. Zach and Claire might even have been lovers at one time, and they were still close friends. With that level of competition, how could a merely mortal woman possibly choose a dress?

Shelley glanced at the clock—twenty minutes—and looked back at the bed. Pink?

“Good grief!” She stomped into her closet and glared at the rack of gowns there, all of which looked gaudy, dated, ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly wear any of them. She would be accepting the award in her underwear after all.

Having disqualified every dress in her closet, she took the only option left. Closing her eyes, she spun in a circle three times and stretched out her hand. Whichever dress she touched first would be the one. No arguments.

Ten minutes later, with less than that to spare, she opened the jewelry box. Diamonds? Gold? Silver? “Damn!”

The doorbell rang before she’d decided which shoes would work. Should she leave him standing in the cold? Choose anything, then come back up to change them? Go down barefoot?

All Shelley knew for sure was that if she gave in to the angry tears in her eyes, her mascara would run. Then the whole evening would fall apart, and she couldn’t afford to have that happen. She wanted this award, wanted recognition from the people she worked with—and against. She’d established an enviable career, one that mattered more than almost anything else in her life.