Spellbound By The Single Dad. Lynne Marshall
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Rachel Bailey
This book is for all the writing dogs who’ve kept me company. Not every dog I’ve had has been a writing dog, but a few have made it part of their role: Sascha, my first writing dog, who laid in her basket beside my desk and kept my writing time safe by growling at anyone – human or dog – who entered the room. Oliver, who sleeps nearby when I write and reminds me to keep my chocolate levels up (and to toss him a dog chocolate while I’m at it). Fergus, who likes to sleep under my desk, dreaming his dog dreams. Dougal, who ensures I don’t spend too long at my desk in each stint by nudging me to take him for a game of dog tennis. Roxie, who sits on the lounge beside me during writing days at my mother’s house. And especially Jazzie May, who passed away while I was writing The Nanny Proposition. In between perimeter patrols and naps by the office door, she’d sit by my desk and give me her big smile and ask if I needed anything – a dog to pat, perhaps? Hugs to you, my Jasmine Maybelline.
Thanks to my editor, Charles Griemsman who has a fabulous eye for story and the patience of a saint. Also to Amanda Ashby for the brainstorming and waffles, and Claire Baxter, who helped create a new country. And Cheryl Lemon for the information on California (though any mistakes are mine). But mostly, thanks to Barbara DeLeo and Sharon Archer, the best critique partners in the world.
Liam Hawke held the cell phone tightly against his ear, but it didn’t help. The person on the other end of the phone wasn’t making any sense.
“Mr. Hawke? Are you there?”
“Hang on a moment,” he said and pulled his Jeep to the side of the road. At his brother’s enquiring stare, Liam said in an undertone, “Listen,” and hit the speaker button on his cell. “Can you repeat that, please?”
“I’m a midwife at the Sacred Heart Hospital and I just informed you that you’ve become a father. Congratulations.” Liam frowned, Dylan’s eyes widened and the woman continued. “Your daughter, Bonnie, is two days old and still here with her mother. Unfortunately, her mother has had some complications following the birth and has asked me to contact you. It would be best if you came right away.”
A baby? Dylan mouthed as Liam loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt, which had suddenly become too tight. There had to be a mistake. Babies didn’t magically appear. Usually there was nine months’ notice, for one thing.
The L.A. sun shone down on them through the sunroof as Liam swallowed and tried to get his voice to work. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
“You’re Liam John Hawke?” she asked.
“I am.”
“You were in a relationship with Rebecca Clancy?”
“Yes” —if you could call their arrangement a relationship— “but she wasn’t pregnant when we broke up.” Which had been a good while ago. He struggled to remember when he’d last seen her but couldn’t bring a time or place to mind.
How long had it been? It could have been eight months ago.... An uncomfortable heat crawled across his skin. Then another piece of information registered. “You said Rebecca had some complications. Is she all right?”
The midwife drew in a measured breath. “I think it would be better if we spoke in person.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said and disconnected. He pulled the Jeep back out into the flow of traffic and made a U-turn.
Dylan