The Baby Bet: His Secret Son. Joan Elliott Pickart
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“Is he dead?”
Andrew said, his voice choked with emotion as he gripped her shoulders. “Did I kill him? Oh, God, please don’t tell me that Robert died.”
“No, no,” Kara said quickly. “Robert is holding his own. I saw you standing all alone and…”
Kara’s words trailed off as she lost her train of thought. She was suddenly aware of the incredible heat that was rushing through her from Andrew’s hands where they were still gripping her upper arms. Her breasts were heavy, achy, yearning for a soothing touch that only Andrew could provide.
Dear heaven, what was this man doing to her? She should step back, force him to remove his hands, but she was pinned in place by the mesmerizing depths of his dark brown eyes.
MacAllister eyes.
Dear Reader,
I can’t begin to tell you how much I enjoyed writing this book. It was such fun to get together with the MacAllister clan again and see how everyone is doing, how big the kids have grown and who had added new babies to the family. I hope you, too, will feel as though you’re visiting old friends.
I was delighted when my editor at Silhouette proposed bringing the MacAllisters back into all of our lives. They were very special to me when I first wrote their series years ago, and I was definitely looking forward to attending their big family reunion.
But as you will see as the story unfolds, the reunion does not go as planned. Out of the shadows of the past emerges another MacAllister, a secret son, who creates tremendous turmoil within the family.
But Andrew Malone also captures the heart of one of the MacAllisters, as well as losing his heart to her. In addition, there is a precious little baby, who is struggling to overcome a rough beginning in life and who is waiting for loving parents to take him home.
I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you for your continued loyalty and support over the years, and for the wonderful letters you’ve written to tell me that you enjoy my books. I appreciate all of you.
With warmest regards,
The Baby Bet: His Secret Son
Joan Elliott Pickart
In memory of
HARRY CORNELIUS, JR.
One of the good guys
Contents
Chapter 1
It was New Year’s Eve and people across the country were more than ready to celebrate the special event.
In Ventura, California, it was as though Mother Nature had decided to take part in the festivities by producing an unseasonably warm and crystal-clear night, allowing the party goers to show off their finery without the distraction of bulky coats. Excitement crackled through the air.
The sky was a lush cushion of black velvet for millions of stars, which glittered like diamonds across the heavens, leaving room for only a sliver of silvery moon. Fireflies danced through the darkness edging the city like a multitude of whimsical fairies carrying magical glowing wands.
Traffic was heavy, but smiling drivers exhibited uncharacteristic patience as bumper-to-bumper vehicles crept forward on the main streets of Ventura.
But Andrew Malone was not smiling as he pressed the brake pedal of his sports vehicle yet again. The light six cars ahead of him had turned red.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a deep frown knitting his dark brows. The knot of tension in his gut coiled tighter, and a stress-induced headache throbbed painfully in his temples.
He glanced at the car next to him and saw a man in a tuxedo behind the wheel. The woman in the passenger seat threw back her head, apparently laughing, revealing a dazzling smile as dangling earrings swung next to her pretty face.
Party time, Andrew thought, switching his attention back to the now-moving traffic. Everyone was out on the town for a good time, without a care in the world. Whatever troubles they might have in their day-to-day lives were forgotten, pushed into oblivion for a handful of hours.
And why not? This was New Year’s Eve, when glasses would be raised to toast farewell to the old and welcome the new. The past and the present.
Andrew narrowed his eyes as he drove forward slowly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening to the point that his knuckles were white.
His mission, his purpose, on this night was to bring the past into the present. Events that had taken place forty years before were going to be brought into the now, and the piper paid.
Things were going to be set to rights at long last, the final chapter written for a story that had begun during a summer four decades ago. Before this night was over he would collect on a debt owed to a woman who was dead and gone, unable to receive what was undeniably hers to have.
Andrew glanced quickly at the piece of paper next to him on the seat, scanning the map he’d sketched showing the directions to his destination.
Two more blocks, he thought. The supper club in the large hotel he was seeking was just ahead, and inside that building was the man he sought, the one who was going to pay for what he had done. A man who had no right to raise his glass in a toast to the future until he had acknowledged