His Baby. Muriel Jensen
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“If it’s an Abbott, it’s mine.”
Cordie had a horrible feeling that she understood what Killian meant, but she had to be sure. “You said you didn’t want to reconcile.”
“That’s right,” he told her.
She folded her arms so he wouldn’t see her hands tremble. “You’ll keep me until the birth, then take the baby away from me?”
“We’ll work out a deal.”
Without thinking twice, she struck him hard on the shoulder. “You don’t deal over a baby.” To herself she added, This isn’t part of the plan. You’re supposed to invite me back into your life! “I’m not giving up my claim to the baby,” Killian said unequivocally.
“It’s mine!”
“It’s ours. And trying to pretend I don’t figure in his life isn’t going to work.”
She was suddenly aware that her plot had a serious pitfall. Killian was going to fight her for the baby. And he had an army of lawyers. “You’re hateful,” she said in a heartfelt whisper.
He gave her a brief nod, as though it was of no consequence. “I gathered you felt that way when you slept with Brian.”
Dear Reader,
The Hamptons on Long Island, New York, have always held a fascination for me. My only experience with the area is what I’ve seen at the movies or in decorating magazines. I love the notion of a sprawling, beachy house decorated in shabby chic and fronted by lawn and sea grass that meanders to the ocean. I can visualize Japanese lanterns, smell clam boils and barbecues, and hear music and laughter.
Of course, my writer’s mind has to populate this place. I decided upon three brothers who’ve inherited the family wealth and business, but still bear guilt over a little sister who went missing twenty-five years earlier.
In my imagination, this sunny upscale place became Losthampton, and I created Killian, Sawyer and Campbell Abbott to live there with various members of their household and staff. Over the course of this series they will attract three strong, wise women who help them heal, and make their lives more interesting—and surprising—along the way.
Thank you for wanting to know them.
Best wishes!
Muriel
P.O. Box 1168
Astoria, Oregon 97103
Books by Muriel Jensen
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
866—FATHER FOUND
882—DADDY TO BE DETERMINED
953—JACKPOT BABY *
965—THAT SUMMER IN MAINE
His Baby
Muriel Jensen
THE ABBOTTS—A GENEALOGY
THOMAS and ABIGAIL ABBOTT (arrived on the Mayflower; raised sheep outside of Plymouth)
WILLIAM and DEBORAH ABBOTT (built a woolenmill in the early nineteenth century)
JACOB and BEATRICE ABBOTT (ran the mill and fell behind the competition when they failed to modernize)
JAMES and ELIZA ABBOTT (Jacob’s eldest son and grandfather of Killian, Sawyer and Campbell; married a cotton heiress from Virginia)
NATHAN and SUSANNAH STEWART ABBOTT (parents of Killian and Sawyer; Nathan diversified to boost the business and married Susannah, the daughter of a Texas oilman who owned Bluebonnet Knoll)
NATHAN ABBOTT and CHLOE MARCEAU (parents of Campbell and Abigail; renamed Bluebonnet Knoll and made it Shepherd’s Knoll)
KILLIAN ABBOTT is married to CORDELIA MAGNOLIA HYATT
His brothers are SAWYER and CAMPBELL
His sister, ABIGAIL, is still missing
Contents
Chapter One
Killian Abbott strode to the small bar behind his desk while Jack Eagan went on with his report. Jack was new, but proving to be the most competent human resources director Abbott Mills, Inc., had ever employed, so Killian listened with only one ear while he poured coffee and wondered what to do about the small chain of Florida clothing stores—Florida Shops—his stepmother wanted him to buy.
The investment wasn’t a big one, just a couple of million dollars, but the acquisition would make Chloe happy because the owner was a friend of hers. Still, the purchase was a distraction he’d prefer not to deal with right now with a divorce in the works and the November Corporation always looking for a break in the wall to attempt a takeover of Abbott Mills.
“Productivity is up eleven percent in the mills, and sales are up more than twenty percent in the stores. We think the new gyms are responsible for some of that. Morale’s up, injuries and accidents are down, and—” Jack, who’d stood when Killian had, stopped talking as Killian handed him a mug of coffee. “Mr. Abbott,” he said with an air of distress. He was older and conscientious and had come to Abbott Mills with a long history of managing household staffs in England. “I wish you wouldn’t wait on me, sir. It makes me nervous.”
Killian pointed him back into his chair and sat on the edge of his desk with his own cup. “It makes me nervous when you stand every time I do. I’m not titled gentry, Jack, just your employer. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir.”’
“Yes, sir.” At Killian’s frown, Jack closed his eyes and groaned. “Even after two years at Southern Massachusetts University, studying business and psychology, I’m having trouble getting the drift of American ways.”
“Just relax.”
“Yes, sir.”
Letting that issue