Janice Maynard - Baby for Keeps

Dylan had the good sense to look abashed. “Sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. Did you sleep well?”

The expression of every woman within earshot was the same. Shock. Dismay. Vested calculation.

Mia wanted to tell them not to worry, but it didn’t seem the time. She held out her arms for the baby. “I’ll take her. Thanks for dinner. I’m surprised to see you looking so comfortable and domesticated with a baby. Or was that nothing but an act for your groupies?”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline, but still he didn’t surrender the baby. “The little Mia I knew was never sarcastic.”

“The little Mia you knew wouldn’t say boo to a goose. I’m not a child anymore.”

He stared at her. Hard. The way a man stares at a woman. “No, you definitely are not.”

* * *

Baby for Keeps

is part of the No.1 bestselling miniseries from Mills & Boon ®Desire™—Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JANICE MAYNARDis a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in beautiful east Tennessee with her husband. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary school teacher to pursue writing full-time. Now her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance stories.

Janice loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books. Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

I dedicate this book to children everywhere who think they are not smart. Don’t ever believe it! It’s a great big world out there. Follow your dreams … always!

Contents

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

Extract

One

Saturday nights were always busy at the Silver Dollar Saloon. Dylan Kavanagh surveyed the crowd with a gaze that catalogued every detail. The newlyweds at table six. The habitual drunk who would soon have to be booted out. The kid who looked nervous enough to be contemplating the use of a fake ID.

Around the bar—a winding expanse of wood that dated back to the 1800s and had been rescued from a building in Colorado—the usual suspects ordered drinks and munched on peanuts. The tourists were easy to spot, not only because Dylan knew most of the locals, but because the out-of-towners scanned the room eagerly, hoping to spot celebrities.

Western North Carolina’s natural beauty drew people for many reasons. Families on vacation, for sure. But the state was also a hot spot for location scouts. Dylan’s home, the elegant town of Silver Glen, was no stranger to famous faces. Just last week one of Hollywood’s iconic directors had wrapped production on a civil-war picture.

Dylan shrugged inwardly. He had no interest at all in the famous or the infamous when it came to the world of filmmaking, no matter how many A-listers dropped by for a drink or a meal. Once burned, twice shy.

Suddenly, he realized that he had unconsciously been watching something that sent up a red flag. The woman at the other end of the bar was knocking back drinks at an alarming rate. He frowned, surprised that his head bartender, Rick, hadn’t already cut her off.

Working his way behind the bar, Dylan inched closer to Rick. Two other servers were helping out because things were so hectic. And that wasn’t counting the three waitresses handling food orders out on the floor.

When Dylan was in earshot of his employee, he tapped him on the shoulder and muttered, “You need to pull the plug on the lady in pink. She’s had enough, I think.” The woman exhibited an air of desperation that didn’t mix well with alcohol.

Rick grinned, his big hands busy filling drink orders. “Not to worry, Boss. She’s drinking virgin strawberry daiquiris.”

“Ah.” It was blisteringly hot outside, an airless summer evening that justified anyone having a cold one...or two or three. The AC was working very well in here right now, yet the woman swallowed her icy drinks with reckless precision. With a nod, Dylan moved away, aware that he was creating a traffic jam in the narrow space.

Rick, who was two decades his senior, cocked his head toward the door. “Go home, Boss. We got this.” The big, burly man with the country accent was perfectly suited to his job. And he was a pro. He and the rest of the staff didn’t need Dylan hovering and giving the impression he didn’t trust them.

But the truth was, Dylan loved the Silver Dollar. He’d bought it as a twenty-year-old kid, and after renovating the old building from the ground up, he’d opened what was to become one of Silver Glen’s most thriving businesses.

Dylan had been a wealthy man when he bought the bar. And if the place ever went belly-up, he’d be a rich man still. As one of the Kavanaghs, the family that put Silver Glen on the map back in the mid-twentieth century, Dylan could easily afford to spend his days and his dollars on idle living. But his mother, Maeve, had brought up all seven of her boys to respect the value of a hard day’s work.

That wasn’t why Dylan was hanging around the Silver Dollar on a Saturday night. He had put in plenty of hours this week. The reason was far more complex. This bar was proof—hard-core evidence—that he wasn’t a total failure in life. Despite his youthful stumbles, he had made something of himself.

He didn’t like thinking about his adolescence. Parts of it had been a nightmare. And the ugly reality that he was never going to match his older brother in academic achievement had tormented him right up until the day he admitted defeat and dropped out of college.

The truth was, he felt more like himself here at the saloon than most any other place. The Silver Dollar was laid-back, sometimes rowdy, and always interesting. It felt comfortable. Nobody here knew about his failings. No one, even the locals, seemed to remember that Dylan had been metaphorically voted “student most likely to be a bum.”

He’d absolutely hated not being able to master the required subjects in school, but he had masked his anger and frustration by building a reputation for insolence, irresponsibility and wild partying.

Only when he had found this old building disintegrating and in disrepair had he finally settled down and found his passion. Like the building, there was more to Dylan than met the eye. But he’d had to prove himself. So the Silver Dollar was more than a project. It was his personal declaration of independence.

Besides, Dylan was between relationships at the moment, and he’d rather be here mingling than sitting at home watching summer reruns. He was a people person, plain and simple. That brought him back to the puzzle of the woman in pink.

Ignore her. Rick was right. Dylan should go home. As much as he enjoyed spending time at the Silver Dollar, there was more to life than business. Before he departed, though, he knew he had to check on his unusual and intriguing customer. When the stool beside her became available, Dylan took it as a sign. He had Irish blood running in his veins. Sometimes the universe pointed toward a clear and obvious path.

It wasn’t strange to have a single lady drinking at the bar. But the ones who did were usually trolling for a pickup. This slight, harried-looking woman seemed to be encased in a bubble of solitude, her eyes focused on her drink. Quietly, he sat down to her left and only then saw what he hadn’t been able to see from his previous vantage point.