Sandra Field - Pregnancy Of Convenience

Cal’s eyes narrowed. “What made you confess?”

“I couldn’t use you like that,” Joanna said in a low voice. “Or deceive you. It would be wrong.”

She sat up, wishing Cal would pull the sheets over the sculpted lines of his torso. Confession or no, she still wanted him. Her whole body was an ache of unfulfilled desire.

He said in a peculiar voice, “You know, this could all work out for the best. You could have a baby, my daughter could have a mother and as for me—why, I could wake up every morning to find you in my bed.”

A cold fist clamped around Joanna’s heart. “What are you talking about?”

“Marriage,” he said.

“Marriage?” she squawked.

Back by popular demand…

Relax and enjoy our fabulous series

about couples whose passion ends in

pregnancies…sometimes unexpected! Of course,

the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and

we can guarantee that our characters will

become wonderful moms and dads—but what

happened in those nine months before?

Share the surprises, emotions, drama and

suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms

with the prospect of bringing a new baby

into the world. All will discover that the

business of making babies brings with it

the most special love of all….

Delivered only by Harlequin Presents…

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

CAL FREEMAN turned the wipers on high and slid the clutch of his four-wheel-drive into a lower gear. Not that it helped. The snow blowing horizontally across the windshield enveloped him in a world of white, through which he could, occasionally, sight the tall poles that marked the edges of this narrow road across the prairie.

The visibility had been better on the northeast ridge of Everest, he thought semi-humorously. Although the cold was almost comparable. He would never have expected conditions like this in southern Manitoba, not even in January. His friend Stephen had been right to insist that Cal carry emergency supplies when he set off to visit the Strassens, whose isolated home was several miles from the nearest village.

That climb on Everest had been—literally—one of the high points of Cal’s life. The struggle through the pinnacles, the bitter north winds, their decision to shoot for the top without oxygen…suddenly Cal snapped back to the present, his foot hitting the brake. What was that in the ditch to his left? A vehicle?

The snow whirled across the road like a phalanx of ghosts; he could see nothing but a smothering whiteness that mocked his normally acute vision. Slowing to a crawl, Cal peered through the glass. Perhaps it had been his imagination. After all, he and Stephen had stayed up late last night, catching up on the four-year gap since they’d last seen each other. And he’d drunk more than his fair share of that excellent Bordeaux.

No. There it was again, an angular shape skewed side-ways into the ditch, hood tight against a telephone pole. Coming to a halt as close to the side of the road as he dared, Cal switched on his signal lights: not that he really expected to meet anyone else mad enough to be out in such weather. Then he hauled the hood of his down parka over his head and yanked on his gloves.

He wouldn’t find anyone in the vehicle. Not in this bitter cold. But it was just as well to check.

As he stepped from the heated comfort of his Cherokee onto the road, the blizzard struck him with vicious force. The wind chill, he knew from the radio, was in the danger zone: frostbite on exposed skin within a couple of minutes. Well, he was used to that. He tucked his chin into his chest, fighting his way across the icy ruts in the dirt track, limping a little from an old knee injury. How ironic it would be if he, a world-renowned mountaineer, were to slip and break an ankle in one of the flattest places on the planet.

An irony he could do without.

The vehicle was a small white car. Bad choice, he thought trenchantly. And damn lucky the car hadn’t slid completely into the ditch, in which case neither he nor anyone else would have seen it.

There was a brief lull in the wind. His heart skipped a beat. Someone was slumped over the wheel. A man or a woman? He couldn’t tell.

Forgetting his knee, he lunged forward, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The engine wasn’t running; how long since the car had gone off the road? He scrubbed at the window with his gloved fist, and saw that the driver was a woman. Hatless, he thought grimly. Didn’t she know better? Also, unless he was mistaken, unconscious. He grabbed the door handle, and discovered that it was locked. So were all the other doors. He pounded on the glass, yelling as loudly as he could, but the figure draped over the wheel didn’t even stir.

Cal raced back to his vehicle and grabbed the shovel from the back seat. Then he staggered across the road again. Once again he banged on the window, but to no effect. Grimacing, he raised the handle of the shovel and hit the glass in the back window with all his strength. On the third try it shattered.

Quickly he unlocked the driver’s door and pulled it open. Taking the woman by the waist, he lifted her awkwardly, trying to pillow her face in his shoulder. Once again he made the trip across the ice and drifts back to his vehicle. He eased her into the passenger seat, supporting her as best he could as he anchored her in place with the seat belt. Then he hurried back to her car, picked up her briefcase and threw it on the back seat of his four-wheel-drive. Clambering in on the driver’s side, he turned the fan up to its highest setting, dragged off his parka and draped it over the woman’s body, then tucked the synthetic silver emergency blanket around her legs. Only then did he really take a look at her.

The blizzard, the cold, the loud whir of the fan all dropped away as though they didn’t exist. Cal’s heart leaped in his chest. He’d never seen a woman so beautiful. So utterly and heartbreakingly beautiful. Her skin smooth as silk, her hair with the blue-black sheen of a raven’s wing, her features perfect, from the softly curved mouth to the high cheekbones and exquisitely arched brows.

He wanted her. Instantly and unequivocally.

Cal swallowed hard, fighting his way back to sanity. Sanity and practicality. There was a bruised swelling on her forehead, where presumably she’d struck the windshield when the car had swerved into the light pole. Her face was as white as the whirling snow crystals, her skin cold to the touch, her breathing shallow. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? Was he crazy?

She was lucky to be alive. Besides, he didn’t believe in love at first sight. A ludicrous concept.

So why was the hand he’d touched to her cheek burning as though it were on fire?

With an impatient exclamation, he checked the odometer. Less than three miles to the Strassens’. His best bet was to take her straight there. The sooner she was in a warm house and regained consciousness, the better. Unless he was mistaken—and he’d picked up a fair bit of medical expertise over the years—she was just concussed. Concussed and very cold.