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The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2008 by Sherrie Kelley and Donna Smith
First published in 2009-03-13
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the author...
Thank you for purchasing
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"Treet! Treet Miller!"
Hastily, Treet removed his foot and shut the door, bolting it from the inside.
Stunned, shaken, still reeling from the bizarre events of the last few moments, Hadleigh found herself alone in a very small space with a man who could arouse millions of otherwise sane, mature women to a frothing, crazy frenzy.
America's number one heart throb.
A superstar.
A sexy, drop-dead gorgeous hunk with blazing blue eyes and a killer smile. A man who obviously possessed an irresistible charm, not to mention the fact that he filled out his jeans like nobody's business—front and back.
Samantha's father.
She put a hand to her throat, not surprised to find her pulse pounding in a crazy, erratic rhythm. It was a brutal reminder that she, too, was a woman. Did she really think she was immune where others were not? Even now, the crowd outside continued to chant Treet's name as if their lives would change dramatically if they could only touch him.
When he turned from securing the door and leaned his back against it, Hadleigh blurted out the first silly thing that came to her mind, which just happened to be a corny cliché. “Do—do you come here often?"
Those
Baby Blues
by
Sheridon Smythe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Those Baby Blues
COPYRIGHT ©
2008 by Sherrie Kelley and Donna Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2008
Print ISBN 1-60154-408-1
Published in the United States of America
Prologue
"Don't think about the pain, Hadleigh, concentrate on the contractions. She's crowning nicely. A little more help from you, and we'll be done here."
Don't think about the pain? Hadleigh Charmaine, in the grip of the most agonizing contraction yet, had but three choice words for her infuriatingly cheerful obstetrician, Dr. Cole.
Gasping as she surged forward, she ground out, “Go ... to ... hell!” Her face felt as if it would explode. She strained and heaved, vowing to kill her coward of a husband—if she ever saw him again—and all three of her lying friends.
"Nothing to it," Doreen had assured her.
"Just wait until the contractions are close together before you go to the hospital," Barbi had advised. “I've heard that first babies take forever, and you'll go stir crazy sitting in the hospital."
And the mother of them all, Karen's smug assurance that once they administered the epidural, she would feel little or no pain.
"Again, Hadleigh. Push again and hold that breath until you have to let it go. One more should do it."
Hadleigh grabbed the handles as another contraction snagged her tortured body. Between her bent knees and over the mountain of her belly, she saw Dr. Cole shake his head and exchange an exasperated look with one of the hovering nurses.
"Look's like we missed again. You didn't push long enough."
"I hate you!” she gasped out as she released her breath in a whoosh. And she hated her friends. In their infinite, smug wisdom, they'd failed to mention that the epidural could not be administered after a certain point.
She was beyond that point when she checked into the hospital an hour ago, following Barbi's advice to wait as long as she could.
Someone, it seemed, had failed to inform this baby that she was supposed to take her own sweet time.
"Come on, Hadleigh,” Dr. Cole said. “My butt's growing numb sitting on this stool."
If her hands hadn't had a death grip on the handles attached to the bed, Hadleigh would have checked her ears to see if they were clogged with something. He was uncomfortable? While she was being relentlessly ripped apart, the doctor was complaining about his—his butt growing numb? Red spots danced before her eyes. Oh, she'd show him discomfort! She'd rip his heart out and—
"That's my girl! Get mad! Come after me. I'm insured."
The chuckle that followed his outrageous taunt was the last straw for Hadleigh. The insensitive, not-so-funny Dr. Cole had to die.
With a hiss of rage, she followed the contraction forward, lunging for him and unwittingly propelling the baby into his waiting hands.
In smug triumph, he held the newborn high.
And, in shock, Hadleigh stared at her daughter. She was covered in blood and a white, cheesy substance that did not inspire instant motherly love. This was her baby? Once again, it seemed, her three best friends had omitted a few important facts.
Slowly the bright fluorescent lights began to recede.
"I think she's going to faint."
"It wouldn't be the first time,” Dr. Cole said, sounding amused. “Check her blood pressure and give her a shot of happiness. She's earned it."
Damned right I have, Hadleigh thought, fighting to stay conscious. She felt cool hands on her shoulders, easing her against the mattress. After all she'd been through, the sharp prick of a needle against her skin hardly registered.
Almost immediately, her eyelids grew heavy. Her body began to feel as if it were floating, her previous aches and pains fading away. Happiness ... oh, yes, this was definitely a happy feeling.
The nurses worked around her, chattering and gossiping as they went about their routine cleanup. Floating at leisure through the clouds, Hadleigh fought to stay awake and enjoy the feeling.
"Have you seen him yet?"
"You mean Treet Miller? I heard the rumor, but I didn't believe it. What's the scoop?"
"His girlfriend's having a baby in 315."
"His baby?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Depends on which rag you believe."
"The Galaxy said he's denying the baby."
"Yes, but the Hard Truth says he's overjoyed at impending fatherhood,” another nurse interjected. With a wistful sigh, she added, "I'd have his baby any day. He's cuter than Richard Gere, and believe me, I'm crazy about Richard."
Hadleigh smiled, picturing Treet Miller in her mind. Yes, he was definitely hot. And it wasn't just that he was gorgeous, she thought. It was the way his baby blue eyes smiled along with his incredibly sexy mouth, as if he knew secrets, delicious secrets no one else knew. Hadleigh licked her dry lips. Imagine, Treet Miller, right here in the same hospital. Incredible.
And probably a hallucination.
"Well, I heard the truth straight from the horse's mouth."
Frowning, Hadleigh tried to fit a face to this new, hard-edged voice. She struggled to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as if they were weighted with something thick and heavy. Like cold cream, maybe. Or Cucumbers. The image made her giggle.
"Tell us, Nurse Priscilla!"
"Cheyenne Windsor just delivered a seven-pound girl, and she claims that Treet Miller is threatening to take her baby. We've got security on watch."
There was a round of collective gasps, and Hadleigh would have joined them ... except she felt more like giggling. She couldn't imagine the self-assured movie star pacing the waiting room of a county hospital, issuing threats. The only role she pictured him in was the devil-may-care persona she'd seen him use in his movies.
"He can't do that, can he?"
The grim new voice continued. Nurse Priscilla, Hadleigh mumbled, tickled that she could remember.
"Not at this hospital, he can't. He'll have to settle this in court.” She snorted. “I don't care how rich and famous he is, Miller won't upset my patient again without answering to me."
Of this, Hadleigh had no doubt.
"Why would he want the baby? I read—"
"Forget what you read, Josie. You should know better than to believe those ridiculous rags. Miss Windsor said he tricked her into having this baby, promising to marry her. She's a model, you know, and now it will be months before she can work again. All Mr. Miller cares about is getting the baby."
Murmurs of disappointment swirled around Hadleigh. She sympathized with them. The great Treet Miller had fallen from his pedestal in her foggy eyes, as well. Or was that her foggy brain? Right now, she mused, with another drug-induced giggle, it was her foggy everything.
"Cheyenne swears he won't get her baby. I just hope she has a good lawyer."
Me too. Hadleigh continued to resist the pull of sleep. She was exhausted but too intrigued by the conversation to give in to the sandman. At least she wouldn't have to worry about Jim fighting for custody of Samantha Leigh. Since she'd told him she was pregnant, it was as if he'd disappeared from the face of the earth. The coward.
And Treet Miller was an arrogant asshole, if Cheyenne Windsor could be believed. Humph! It would be a cold day in hell before Hadleigh watched another one of his films....
Men. Even when they did stick around, it seemed they were a pain in the butt.
"Let's put her in the room with Miss Windsor. Maybe that will help keep the woman calm and you-know-who out of there."
"Good idea."
Hadleigh wasn't so certain she agreed, because after hearing their conversation she wasn't too keen on being in the room with anyone remotely connected with the baby-stealing, promise-breaking Treet Miller.
But she was too tired to argue.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
"I'm afraid the DNA testing shows that Jim is not Samantha's father."
Hadleigh's first, instinctive response to Dr. Manubay's grave announcement was to laugh. She was joking, of course. She had to be. But someone definitely needed to tell her this was not the time or place for humor—although Hadleigh would be the first to agree that Jim's return from abroad after nearly a five-year absence and subsequent demand for a paternity test was a joke—a cheap attempt to humiliate her.
Of course Samantha was Jim's child! She had never even considered being unfaithful during their brief marriage. There was, however, considerable suspicion regarding Jim's fidelity.
"Are you certain, doctor?"
Jim's terse question jarred Hadleigh with the ridiculous realization that they were both serious. She glared at Jim, who had changed little in the time he'd been absent from their lives.
Thank God Samantha was nothing like him.
"Of course Samantha's your child,” Hadleigh snapped out. It would be convenient for her and Jim if Samantha wasn't, because then Jim could do another disappearing act with a clear conscience. But after the doctor's silly statement, Hadleigh felt a perverse need to convince Jim and Dr. Manubay.
The doctor shook her head. “There's no mistake, Mrs. Charmaine, and I'm afraid there's more bad news."
"Miss Charmaine,” Hadleigh corrected automatically, feeling as if she'd stepped into the twilight zone without a script. Inwardly, she braced herself for another blow. “What—what do you mean, there's more? Is—is something wrong with Samantha?” Panic sank its teeth into her. Had they found something in Samantha's blood?
"No, there's nothing wrong with Samantha.” Dr. Manubay paused, obviously reluctant to continue. “But according to the extensive DNA tests your ex-husband demanded, Samantha couldn't possibly be your child, either."
The room tilted wildly. Hadleigh squeezed her eyes shut. “Not ... my ... child?” she repeated over the buzzing in her ears. “What a ridiculous thing to say!"
"What in God's name do you mean?” Jim demanded, for once in harmony with Hadleigh.
Dr. Manubay looked from one bewildered face to the other, her expression one of sincere sympathy. “The only plausible explanation I can think of is that you brought the wrong baby home from the hospital. It's rare, but unfortunately, it does happen, despite every precaution."
"Impossible!” Hadleigh nearly shouted. The panic dug its claws in deeper. “I've raised Samantha for four years. I think I would know my own child!"
"Does she favor you—or your husband?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Have you recognized any obvious traits in Samantha?"
Cold fear clutched Hadleigh's heart like a vise. It was true that Samantha's volatile nature and extreme energy had baffled her from the beginning, and she had just assumed that somewhere in a past generation she or Jim had had an ancestor with red hair, which would account for Sam's auburn tint. Samantha's crystal blue eyes had been even more perplexing, as Jim's eyes were brown, and her own were green.
But these disturbing facts didn't mean—couldn't mean—"Samantha's my child,” she heard herself state with a tinge of desperation. “Do the tests again, and you'll find that you've made a mistake."
"We've performed the test three times, Miss Charmaine. I had my own doubts about the results. We could do it again—at your expense, of course—but these tests are rarely wrong."
Three times.
"No, that won't be necessary.” Hadleigh halted her trembling bottom lip with her teeth and glanced at Jim. The tight compression of his mouth signaled disapproval, and when they were married, had prompted instant feelings of inaptitude and bewildering guilt.
She was relieved to note that his reaction meant nothing to her now.
Numb with shock, she turned back to Dr. Manubay. “What do we do now?"
"We sue the damned hospital, that's what!” Jim said.
Dr. Manubay sighed. “Can't say that I blame you. But in the meantime, it's the hospital's responsibility to find out where your real baby is. They'll have records of who delivered around the time Samantha was born.” She sat back in her chair and placed a finger along her rounded chin. “Don't worry, they'll find your child."
Hadleigh took a deep breath, struggling against an overwhelming urge to throw up. Something vital had just occurred to her. Something ho
rrendous, and ugly. Something unthinkable.
"No!” she burst out, jumping to her feet and startling the doctor and Jim. “I won't give Samantha up—she's my daughter! I can't just hand her over to strangers!"
"Hadleigh, she's not ours. We know nothing about her parentage,” Jim said in that pompous, patronizing tone Hadleigh didn't miss one bit. “In fact, we have no idea how our real daughter has been raised—” He was stopped by a quelling look from Dr. Manubay.
"Miss Charmaine, I'm afraid we have no choice. Somewhere out there someone else has your child. That means you have their child. Ethically and lawfully, we have to let them know."
"How ... how much time do I have?"
"Until we find the other child. I'm sorry, Miss Charmaine."
Without responding, Hadleigh rose and stalked from the room. If she didn't have much time with Samantha, then she didn't want to waste another moment.
As for Jim and his not-so-gallant attempts to reconnect with his daughter, she had a very strong feeling that after today, she would never have to worry about Jim and his scheming, childless wife again.
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"Daddy, is this a boat?"
Sitting in the director's chair with Caroline on his lap, Treet Miller glanced at the book in her hands. “That's definitely a boat. See the paddle wheels?"
"Peddle wheels? What's that?"
Smiling, Treet explained, knowing he was paving the road for a whole new set of questions. It didn't matter; he never seemed to tire of answering.
"Treet! Break's over. We need to shoot this scene before midnight.” Sands Echo, the youngest director in history, waved at him from across the set.
Caroline curled her little fingers around his arm and whispered, “No, Daddy. Not yet!"
Treet's heart melted at the sight of her upturned, earnest face. With a wink, he called out to Sands, “Give us another five, will ya?"
Sands let out a dramatic sigh as he walked in Treet's direction. “Okay, but I'm sending make-up over. Oh, and you have a phone call."
Frowning at the intrusion, Treet took the cell phone and jammed it between ear and shoulder so that his hands would be free to continue turning the pages. Caroline didn't seem to notice his preoccupation, pointing at pictures and asking questions with a relentlessness that continued to astound Treet.
Those Baby Blues Page 1
