Table of Contents
Cover Page
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
About the Author
Other Books by
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Copyright
Dear Reader.
I think we all remember the story of Aladdin and his lamp, and I’m willing to bet we’ve all had a few moments in life when we wished we owned that lamp. Really, how hard would it be for me to become tall, thin and so gorgeous that the man of my dreams (who keeps changing on an almost-daily basis, of course) couldn’t possibly resist me? Impossible without the lamp, but with it…? Who knows! In Alice Sharpe’s If Wishes Were Heroes there is indeed such a lamp, or at least there seems to be. Whether it’s magical or not, it certainly succeeds in bringing Gina Cox and Alan Kincaid together, and isn’t that really the point?
Popular Christie Ridgway is back with Have Baby, Will Marry. All Molly Michaels set out to find was a dog. Her friends were all having babies, but for Molly, playing single mom to a cuddly canine was enough. Until she discovered that said canine came attached to gorgeous Weaver Reed and tiny, adorable Daisy. Suddenly, walking the dog looked a whole lot less appealing than walking straight into Weaver’s embrace—marriage-of-convenience proposal and all!
I think you’re going to love both these books, and I hope you’ll rejoin us next month for two more lighthearted tales about unexpectedly meeting, dating—and marrying—Mr. Right
Leslie Wainger
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Have Baby, Will Marry
Christie Ridgway
Thank you to critique partners past and present: Caro, Joyce, Judith, Judy, Marsha, Maureen and Terry.
About the Author
CHRISTIE RIDGWAY fell in love with romance novels as a girl, when she spent all her allowance money on romances and red licorice vines. Now she fulfills her dream of being a published author in Southern California. Work time is only occasionally (hah!) interrupted by her two young sons. In addition to writing, she volunteers at her children’s school and loves to read and cook.
Christie credits her happiness to the smarts she used in picking her husband of twelve-plus years, Rob.
Books by Christie Ridgway
Silhouette Yours Truly
The Wedding Date Follow That Groom!
Have Baby, Will Marry
1
Molly Michaels let herself into her vacationing parents’ home and heaved a gusty sigh of relief. Free at last! She’d made a successful, that is, early, escape from her twelfth—no, thirteenth—baby shower in six months. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the mail and the flyer she’d found beneath the welcome mat onto the kitchen table.
Five years ago her calendar had overflowed with bridal showers. Now all of her friends seemed to be having babies. And while she loved the little sweethearts—even was godmother to two of them—tiny sleepers, tiny shoes, the oohs and aahs over piles of tiny items made her—
The phone rang before she could describe the sensation.
“Are you okay?” her best friend Dana demanded.
“Fine.” Molly ignored Dana’s obvious concern and began sorting the mail.
“You didn’t even stay long enough for cake.”
“You know I’m cured of chocolate. Besides, I had a headache.”
“Pink and blue seem to do that to you lately,” Dana said. “That was your excuse at the last shower we went to.”
Molly didn’t want to examine the issue. “Mmm. Is that the baby I hear crying in the background?” She stacked the long envelopes in one pile and the short envelopes in another. “I expect you to hop to it when my goddaughter wants her mommy.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
Mail sorted by size, Molly considered a second sort by color. Then her gaze snagged on the neon green flyer that lay beneath the envelopes. “What am I doing? I’ll give you three guesses.” Like a magician with a tablecloth, she jerked out the flyer. The envelope stacks toppled.
“You’re moping over witless and wandering Jonathon.”
Molly stared at the blank back of the flyer, waiting for a twinge of pain. She smiled when it didn’t happen. “Nope.”
“You’re wishing you were a newlywed instead of a newly free.”
Not even a ghost of regret for the unused wedding gown hanging in her closet “Wrong again.” Idly, she flipped over the flyer.
“You’re wanting a baby.”
Molly sucked in a breath. Don’t admit to it, a selfprotective instinct screamed, and her hand tightened on the bilious green flyer. She squeezed shut her eyes, then opened them and relaxed her grip on the paper.
“You there?” Dana asked.
Molly smoothed out the sheet against the countertop, wishing she could smooth away her urges for something warm and cuddly with as much ease. She stared at the paper. Everything Must Go! blazed in inch-high letters across the top, followed by a list of household equipment.
Her gaze drifted down. In smaller type, another headline, Free To A Good Home, stretched above a photo of a medium-sized, medium-type dog. Floppy ears. Someone with a sense of humor had drawn a cartoon bubble beside the animal. “Take me, I’m yours!” it woofed through a goofy, doggy grin.
Dog. Warm and cuddly.
Dana’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “What are you doing?”
Molly stared at the paper. She was twenty-nine years old, and even without a mate in her life, the baby urges kept coming hard and fast. Was this a happy substitute? “I’m thinking about getting a dog,” she said slowly. “Warm and cuddly, no man necessary.”
Weaver Reed stepped over the spotted dog, Patch, settled gingerly in a chair, then quickly punched the series of numbers to connect him to the Maryland headquarters of XNS, the private company of exmilitary intelligence officers he worked for.
At the tinny click of connection, Weaver impatiently stabbed out another sequence to put him through to his partner. XNS handled everything from tracing laundered money to negotiating hostage releases, and if he’d wanted to get deeper into the organization, his voice would have gone through security’s print analysis. But in another moment he reached his party.
“Gabe Morgan.”
“Gabe, it’s Weaver. Did you find someone, somewhere, related to me?” From another part of the house, a little noise made Weaver jump guiltily. “Tell me what you got and tell me quick.”
“You, uh, free?”
Weaver cut his gaze in the direction of the hall. “For the moment. What’ve you got?” he repeated softly.
“I’m still working on it,” Gabe answered.
“Still working on it!” Weaver ground the words out. “You’ve had a full month, Gabe.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Amusement laced the other man’s voice. “But you know how much I hate desk duty.”
Weaver throttled the phone receiver. “So you think being bad at it means you’ll have to do it less often?”
“A guy can hope.”
Weaver took a deep breath. “You don’t have anything?”
“Your family leaves lousy tracks.”
My parents were damn good at sneaking off, that’s for sure. “We’re not talking about the Rockefellers, Gabe. We’re looking for some descendants of a dirtpoor, uneducated branch of ba
ckwoods trash, okay?” He rubbed a hand down his face. “God, somebody must be left and have turned out all right. And if not a Reed, then someone on her mother’s side.”
“You’re sounding a little desperate, buddy.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Weaver shot back. “Until I find some responsible and willing member of the family, I’m stuck in the ‘burbs of San Diego. Hell, just a month ago we were planning the job in the Czech Republic. Two months ago I was belly-crawling through the jungle in Central America.”
“My heart bleeds.” Gabe laughed without sympathy. “What’s wrong with the suburbs, anyhow?”
“I’m in ‘em, that’s what. Dammit, Gabe, I feel like a fish gulping for air on the sand.”
Gabe laughed again. “Yeah, but you have your beautiful partner.”
Weaver groaned loudly, then immediately cut himself off as another sound floated down the hall.
“Where is the gorgeous Daisy Ann, by the way?”
“Sleeping, I hope,” Weaver said. “And that might last only minutes, so give it to me straight, Gabe. Nothing? You’ve found nothing?”
“Well—”
A piercing racket obliterated the rest of Gabe’s answer. Weaver squeezed shut his eyes. “Wait, wait. I think she’s awake.”
“You think? I can hear her all the way to Maryland. Get that woman who’s supposed to be looking after her.”
Cordless phone to his ear, Weaver headed down the hall toward the source of the noise. “The woman left. Another offer, a permanent offer, came through. What could I say?” The noise was so loud now that Weaver could feel the membranes of his inner ears shuddering in distress. He paused at an ajar door.
After a brief hesitation, he palmed it all the way open. The crying stopped immediately. Fluffy clouds and Little Boy Blue sheep floated into his vision. The unmistakable aroma of a dirty diaper assailed his nose.
“Can you smell that all the way to Maryland?”
Gabe laughed, too uproariously, Weaver thought as he pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder and picked up his smelly “partner.” She blinked teardrenched lashes and smiled at him as if he were a full stomach and a warm bath rolled into one.
Which of course he was—now that the nanny had gone.
Daisy Ann butted her head in a baby cuddle against his shoulder. Weaver ignored the small clenching pain it caused in the vicinity of his chest.
A man like me has nothing to offer a kid.
“Tell me you found somebody to take her, Gabe,” he said desperately.
“Sorry, ol’ buddy. So far, I’ve found nothing. Nada. Zippo.”
In her old bedroom at her parents’—Molly’s temporary headquarters until her small house in a nearby tract was completed—she changed from a dress to her summer uniform of shorts and a T-shirt. With practiced movements, she braided her long dark hair, then walked outside with the bright green flyer in hand. The address on the paper seemed familiar.
As she turned the corner, she recognized a house halfway down the block. A childhood buddy had once lived there and it hadn’t changed over the years. Perched on the edge of a canyon, the house was large, Spanish-style, with a sloping front lawn and a huge California pepper tree.
The amazing number of For Sale signs posted around the place were new. Poked in the lawn. Pasted on two cars in the driveway. Leaning against a set of tools: lawn mower, weed whapper, leaf blower. Everything about the place shouted Moving on.
Molly trekked up the terra-cotta tile steps to the front porch. The wooden door stood open, a heavy screen door fuzzing her view of the dim inside. The doorbell made a muted dong that set off an immediate scrabbling of claws against wooden floors. In seconds, Molly was nose to nose with her baby substitute.
“Hey, you—girl, uh, boy.” From her vantage behind the screen door, it was hard to tell the gender of the black-and-white canine.
The dog grinned, the same smile that had caught her attention on the flyer.
“You’re a friendly pup.” Molly peered through the screen down the dark hall, searching for signs of other occupants. “You home alone, good dog?”
Thwap, thwap, thwap . The dog turned in the direction she looked, its tail slamming the screen.
Molly pushed the bell again. Again the muted sound. The dog turned back to stare at her and cocked its head as if to say, Hey, what do you want? I’m here already.
Shaking her head, Molly smiled. “I see you, pup.” She stood for a few minutes on the porch, alternately listening for sounds of life from the house and carrying on a conversation with the dog.
“Would you like a new home?” she asked.
With you? she imagined its smile was saying. Absolutely!
“I have a yard, quite a bit of free time and only a few requirements.”
The dog continued grinning. Name them!
“You’ll be loyal? No broken promises?”
The dog sat. None.
“No grousing about which video I rent? Doesn’t have to have T and A or the Terminator?”
Another wide smile. The important thing is we’ll be watching it together.
“No looking at younger owners with bigger youknow—whats?”
The dog’s head cocked left. I thought you wanted a baby substitute, not something better than a man.
Molly grimaced with chagrin, looking into sympathetic canine eyes. “Smart aleck. But I haven’t gotten to the warm and cuddly part yet.”
“I’m listening.”
Molly started. While she’d been preoccupied with her imaginary discussion with the dog, someone had come into the entryway. A big, dark, dangerously handsome someone.
Six-two or six-three. Close-cropped dark hair, a ruggedly planed face, dimple slashes in his cheeks.
In the surprised silence, the dog whined.
Molly felt a little like doing that herself. Because Mr. Big-and-Just-the-Type-She-Liked was obviously attached. Significantly attached. Straining across his broad chest were the straps of an incongruously feminine baby carrier. Over his heart sat the pack itself, with a pair of floppy baby legs poking out. She could see the top of a little head and one relaxed hand.
“Sorry it took so long to get to the door,” the great-looking man said. “But now that I’m here, well, hi.” He smiled, and the dimple slashes deepened.
Unable to help herself, she smiled back.
Warmth entered his blue eyes, a warmth that sent little tingles through the air to land on her skin. Ooooh. Molly blinked at the feeling, trying to clear her head. He was looking at her in a familiar way, but it didn’t seem right somehow. Something was wrong…
His smile widened even further. “Tongue-tied?” he prompted. His gaze flicked over her again, all hot zips and zaps.
And then she realized what wasn’t right. He was looking at her as if he were single!
She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “I saw the flyer.” Her voice came out crisp and businesslike.
“The flyer.” His smile, that I’m single smile didn’t dim.
Molly’s teeth ground together. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he realize that an attached man—attached and a father, of all things!—shouldn’t look at another woman like this? In a way that made her hot on the outside and itchy on the inside?
“Maybe adopting a dog isn’t such a good idea after all,” she said, not wanting to involve herself with a sleaze like this guy. She stepped back, though she didn’t have the guts to look at the dog.
The man’s smile faded. “You want to adopt Patch?” He pushed open the screen, and both he and the animal bounded out. “Don’t change your mind!”
The anxious note in his voice made her pause. Maybe she’d been hasty. Maybe she’d misread the man’s gaze. Molly looked down at the dog, Patch.
It leaned against her leg, imploring her with its eyes. Give us a chance.
Weaver couldn’t believe he’d almost blown it. The first person to show the least bit of interest in something he needed to get rid of, and he’d been so busy a
dmiring her great—everything—he’d nearly scared her off.
She knelt to pet the dog—good boy, Patch—and he got a few more moments of free admiring time. Her long legs folded beneath her and he followed the sleek line of her dark braid.
“Male?” She turned her head toward him. Wide, silvery gray eyes regarded him coolly. Except that the eyes reminded him of a baked Alaska—cold ice cream wrapped in an otherwise hot package. “Male?” she asked again.
He smiled, because everything about her pleased him. Baked Alaska, he thought again, chuckling to himself. Hot and cold and sweet, sweet, sweet. Male? “You betcha.”
“Neutered?”
He was deep in ice-cream fantasies. “No way, honey.”
She rose abruptly. “Pardon me?” Now the voice was as cool as the eyes.
Weaver hastily collected himself. “No, no. Pardon me. You’re talking about Patch?” Of course she’s talking about Patch, you fool. “Neutered.”
He remembered he was supposed to be selling here. “Two years old. Good with kids.” He smiled at her again and sidled closer. “You have kids?” She didn’t wear a ring, and if she was as unattached as he was, maybe they could get together, have a few laughs…
Her cool eyes were on him again. “No. I don’t have any children.” She focused on his chest. Weaver forced himself not to take an overly deep breath, but he was glad for his disciplined regimen of weights. He vowed to add ten more reps at the bench press.
He started working up to the date question. “Uh, well—”
“So it looks like you’re planning on moving,” she said, rising.
Weaver caught another full-force view of her legs. In a blinding flash, he realized he was a leg man. Long, muscular runner’s legs. “What makes you say that?” Her legs.
“Might be all the For Sale signs.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He snapped to attention. No more goofs. One, get her to take the dog, he ordered himself. Two, get her to go out with him. “Patch needs a home.”
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