Father Of The Brood

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Elizabeth Bevarly

Dear Reader

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Copyright

“I Know Exactly What You Were Thinking About Right Now,” Ike Said Softly.

“I’ve seen that look often enough on a woman’s face. You were thinking about having something, all right, but it wasn’t dinner.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “Boy, you have got some ego. Food was exactly what I was thinking about. I was thinking that the breast of chicken in Ike sauce…I mean wine sauce…would be really good. For dinner.”

Ike chuckled. “I see. I can only imagine what you have in mind for dessert.”

“Cheesecake,” Annie said, without looking at him.

“Funny, that’s what I’m planning to have, too.”

“Well, you’ll have to get your own,” she assured him. “Because I’m not sharing mine with you.”

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe that this is the grand finale of CELEBRATION 1000! But all good things must come to an end. Not that there aren’t more wonderful things in store for you next month, too….

But as for June, first we have an absolutely sizzling MAN OF THE MONTH from Ann Major called The Accidental Bodyguard.

Are you a fan of HAWK’S WAY? If so, don’t miss the latest “Hawk’s” story, The Temporary Groom by Joan Johnston. Check out the family tree on page six and see if you recognize all the members of the Whitelaw family.

And with The Cowboy and the Cradle Cait London has begun a fabulous new western series—THE TALLCHIEFS. (P.S. The next Tallchief is all set for September!)

Many of you have written to say how much you love Elizabeth Bevarly’s books. Her latest, Father of the Brood, book #2 in the FROM HERE TO PATERNITY series, simply shouldn’t be missed.

This month is completed with Karen Leabo’s The Prodigal Groom, the latest in our WEDDING NIGHT series, and don’t miss a wonderful star of tomorrow— DEBUT AUTHOR Eileen Wilks, who’s written The Loner and the Lady.

As for next month…we have a not-to-be-missed MAN OF THE MONTH by Anne McAllister, and Dixie Browning launches DADDY KNOWS LAST, a new Silhouette continuity series beginning in Desire.

Senior Editor

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

Father Of The Brood

Elizabeth

Bevarly

For Gail Chasen and Lucia Macro,

who make doing my job a real pleasme.

Thank you both.

ELIZABETH BEVARLY

is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. “I really love to travel,” says this self-avowed beach bum. “To me, it’s the best education a person can give to herself.” Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some first-hand experience with maternity as well—she and her husband recently welcomed their first-born baby, a son.

Dear Reader,

Someone once asked me why I thought romance novels were so wildly popular, and, for a moment, I was stumped for a response. Then I realized it’s because romance novels are one of the few things in our society that are so specifically tailored to women. Almost exclusively, women write, edit and read romance. The heroines in our books are strong, savvy and sensual Too often in our society, women are discouraged from being such things, but in a romance novel, there’s always a gorgeous; intelligent man who prizes a woman for those very traits. Talk about your happy endings…

And those happy endings are what it’s all about. Romance novels are often dismissed as insubstantial fluff. But those of us who love them know that simply isn’t true. Over the years, a good deal of change has come to our genre. And Silhouette Books has always been the front-runner of promoting that change, especially in its Desire line. I’ve enjoyed Desire novels that depict everything from timetravel to single-parenting to overcoming substance abuse to recovering from domestic violence. So much for insubstantial fluff.

A romance novel is just about the only place a woman can visit where the world works the way it’s supposed to, where good people are rewarded for their good deeds, and nice guys never finish last. In romance novels, no matter how tough a woman’s life gets, by the last page, we know she’s going to be just fine. And in this day and age, with the society we have to meet head-on every day, what woman wouldn’t be attracted to that?

There’s nothing better than a good romance. That’s something Silhouette knows, and something the Desire line has always aspired to bring its readers. I’m proud to be a Desire author and a Desire reader. And I can’t wait for the next 1000.

Best wishes,

One

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

Ike Guthrie gazed at his sister’s reflection in the cracked, spotty mirror and frowned. Nora Guthrie stood behind him, reaching over his shoulders to straighten his black bow tie. Behind her, a chorus of characters and a cacophony of voices split a haze of white cigarette and cigar smoke. Nora gave his tie one final tug, a gesture that nearly cut off his breath. He frowned again.

“Why is it, big sister,” he grumbled through gritted teeth as he loosened the knot that had nearly strangled him, “that you’ve always been able to talk me into doing things I don’t want to do?”

She brushed her palms down the smooth, satiny lapels of his tuxedo and smiled with much satisfaction. “It’s a talent I inherited from Mom. There. You look fabulous. You’re going to bring top dollar tonight. If you don’t win the grand prize, there’s no justice in the world.”

Ike eyed her warily. Like he, Nora was well above average in height, but her five-foot-ten still only brought her to his chin. Like his, her white-blond hair was fine and straight, but where hers was wound into a sleek French twist, his was razor-cut short and stylish. Their blue eyes, too, were a perfect match, right down to the overly long lashes. He glanced at their formal attire and frowned yet again. He looked like a fool in this monkey suit. God almighty, how had he let Nora talk him into this?

“Top dollar?” he repeated, turning to face her fully. “You talk like I’m some prime cut side of beef.”

Nora brushed a speck of lint from his shoulder. “Tonight, dear brother, you are. And all we on the board of St. Bernadette’s Children’s Hospital care about is how much you bring per pound.”

He opened his mouth to reiterate his reservations about this whole affair, but a loud commotion beyond a curtain on the other side of the room halted his objection. All the other men present in the room also paused to listen, each of them wearing an expression of undisguised panic. As if drawn by an invisible thread, Ike moved to stand next to the curtain, lifting his hand to pull it slightly to the side so that he could look past it.

Beyond was a stage surrounded by hundreds of women, each clutching a fistful of dollars. At the moment, those women seemed to be uncommonly pleased by whatever unfortunate man was up for grabs, because they hooted and whistled and cheered as if the home team had just come in for another unchallenged touchdown.

“Two thousand dollars!” Ike heard the auctioneer shout out in delight. Her voice was feminine, loud and rabid. “Going, going, gone! Well, ladies, that’s the highest bid we’ve received so far tonight. Looks like Dr. Gillette might just take home the grand prize.”

“Phooey,” Nora muttered beside his ear. “They haven’t gotten an eyeful of Isaac Guthrie, Philadelphia’s most prominent architect.”

Ike shook his head as more wolf whistles erupted from outside. “Something tells me they’re not going to care too much about what I do for a living,” he said softly.

Nora made a face at him. “I know that. But you’ve got a great tush, Ike. I’m telling you, your choice loins are going to bring in a fortune.”

Dr. Gillette came through the curtain then, dabbing a handkerchief at a forehead that was glistening with perspiration. “They’re animals,” he gasped. “Absolute animals. I don’t even know who bought me. Two women in the front row nearly came to blows.”

Nora patted his back comfortingly as he passed. “Don’t worry, Dr. Gillette. I’m sure whoever purchased you is a perfectly nice woman.” She lowered her voice as she added to Ike, “It was probably Edith Hathaway. She said she was determined to buy a doctor for her daughter, Pamela, no matter what the cost. And hey, if you ask me, a cardiologist for two thousand bucks is a steal.”

“Our next bachelor up for bids” came the auctioneer’s voice from the other side of the curtain, “is Mr. Isaac Guthrie, one of Philadelphia’s most prominent architects and most desirable men. I’m sure you’ve all admired the new Bidwell Corporate Center downtown. Well, Mr. Guthrie designed it. In addition to his architectural acumen, Isaac enjoys horseback riding, the poetry of Lord Byron and moonlit walks along the beach…”

“No, I don’t,” Ike whispered to his sister. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life, and I hate poetry. Where’s she getting all that stuff?”

“Shh,” Nora quieted him. “There’s more. I wrote it myself.”

“You wrote it? But, I gave them a different—”

“Shh.”

His sister silently mouthed the rest of his introduction as the auctioneer offered it. “He’s a Scorpio, thirty-six years old, a gourmet chef and excellent tennis player, who sees his dream woman as someone who’s smart, sensitive and has a great sense of humor….”

Ike expelled a sound of disgust. “That’s supposed to read ‘someone who’s small, sexy, and has a great set of hooters.’ I thought it might keep anyone from buying me.”

“I know, you jerk. That’s why I changed it.”

He sighed. “Just wait, Nora. Someday, somehow, I’ll get even.”

“Shh.”

The auctioneer continued. “And the date Mr. Guthrie is offering is an overnight weekend extravaganza!”

More catcalls and whistling indicated the crowd was very enthusiastic about the announcement, not to mention digging deeply into their pocketbooks.

“‘Weekend extravaganza?’” Ike repeated incredulously. “I told them it was going to be dinner and a show. Where’s this all-night stuff coming fr… ?”

He looked at his sister. Nora was smiling. “I told you you’re going to bring top dollar.” She rolled her eyes at his expression. “Oh, quit pouting. I’ve taken care of all the arrangements for you. All you have to do is show up.” Her smile became devilish. “Hey, it’s not like you can’t afford it, Mr. Moneybags. And it’s for charity, after all, Ike. Just remember that some deserving children are going to get the medical treatment they wouldn’t get otherwise because of you. Thousands of dollars worth of medical treatment if I have anything to say about it.”

“Obviously, I don’t have anything to say about it, do I?”

Nora shook her head.

“Even though it’s my choice loins that are on the block?”

“Shh. You might just be bought by the woman of your dreams.”

“I doubt that.” He sighed, resigned to his fate. “Oh, well. I guess I should be happy that you at least got the part about my being a Scorpio right.”

The auctioneer had by now finished describing the overnight excursion to Cape May, New Jersey—her tone of voice carrying just the right amount of dubiety when she mentioned the separate rooms at the Hanson House Bed and Breakfast—and was lingering over the catered seafood brunch on the beach. Ike was shaking his head in wonder at his sister’s imagination and almost missed his cue. Then Nora shoved him hard from behind and he had no choice but to stumble out onstage.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

Annie Malone stared at her older sister, wondering how on earth Sophie always managed to get her to do things she normally wouldn’t even dream of doing. A bachelor auction. Honestly. Even if it was for charity, Annie had a million other things she should be doing tonight.

“Shh,” Sophie told her, glancing down at her program. “Look, this guy is perfect for you. He loves horses and Byron, and he knows how to cook.” She threw her sister a look of censure. “And seeing as how your idea of boiling water is putting it in the oven and setting the temperature at two-hundred-and-twelve degrees, this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

“I don’t want a relationship,” Annie told her petulantly, “beautiful or otherwise. Mark was—”

“I know,” Sophie cut her off. “Mark Malone was the man of your dreams, the heart of your heart, and you’ll never find another love like him again. But Mark’s been dead for five years, Annie. It’s time to get on with your life.”

Annie flinched at her sister’s matter-of-fact mention of her dead husband. Yes, Mark had been gone for a long time now. But she couldn’t possibly forget about him as quickly as Sophie evidently had. Nevertheless, she countered, “I have gotten on with my life. Quite nicely, in fact. I don’t want or need a man in it.”

“Yes, you do,” Sophie assured her with another quick scan over the new bachelor’s vital statistics. “And I’m going to buy you one. It’s the whole reason I insisted you come with me tonight. It’s the only reason I came myself.”

“I thought it was because you think St. Bernadette’s Children’s Hospital is a deserving charity.”

Sophie waved her hand at her as if Annie had just made a quaint little joke. “Silly. Come on, get an eyeful of this guy. He’s exactly the kind of man you need. You want him and you know it. And I think you should have him.”

Before Annie could say a word in protest, Sophie lifted her hand at the auctioneer’s request for three hundred dollars. She lifted it again when the bidding went to five hundred. And again when it went to seven hundred. And then to one thousand. And two thousand. Annie didn’t try to stop her sister, simply because she couldn’t believe Sophie was going to go through with it. Then she reminded herself that her sister was everything she wasn’t—assertive, confident and married to lots and lots of money. If Sophie got it into her head that she was going to buy a man for Annie, then she would and could sit here and bid all night.

When Sophie started to raise her hand in agreement to a bid of three thousand dollars, Annie grabbed her wrist in an effort to stop her. But Sophie only raised her other hand instead, and shouted out, “Five thousand dollars!”

“Five thousand!” the auctioneer repeated on a gasp. “My goodness, Mr. Guthrie, you are greatly desired.” She tittered prettily at her double entendre.

For the first time, Annie took a moment to consider the man her sister seemed determined to buy for her. She glanced up onto the stage to find that the bachelor in question was very tall, very blond, very well groomed, very good-looking, and, as all the other bachelors up for bids had been that evening, doubtless very wealthy. In other words, he was everything she didn’t want in a man. As she opened her mouth to warn Sophie to knock it off right now, Annie noticed that the bachelor onstage was also staring back at her sister without even trying to mask his unmistakably sexual interest in her.

And that was when Annie really got mad.

Okay, she couldn’t fault a man for looking at Sophie like…like…like that, but this guy was about to burn down the building with his incandescent gaze. So what if Sophie’s henna-stained auburn hair and pale green eyes caught the edge of the spotlight as if born to it? So what if her sapphire evening gown was virtually cut down to her navel and nearly every body part sparkled with gems? So what if her bright red smile suggested any number of unearthly delights? So what?

So why couldn’t the man onstage look at Annie that way, too?

The question exploded in her brain before she even knew what hit her, and for the life of her, she could understand none of it. Helplessly, she looked down at her own modest, long-sleeved, black cocktail dress, and at the simple, sandy-colored braid that fell over one shoulder nearly to her breast. Almost unconsciously, she brushed a hand over the pale freckles on her nose and cheeks that had survived her adolescence along with her well-scrubbed, gee-whiz complexion. And although she did have green eyes like Sophie’s, Annie’s were rounder and less remarkable without the added enhancement of shadow.

All in all, she knew she looked like the wholesome, sensitive kind of woman a man would want to talk to about the other women in his life. Other women who could very easily include her own sister. Annie had been through that scenario often enough, after all.

Of course the man onstage would be looking at Sophie, she told herself without an ounce of envy. What man wouldn’t? Who cared if he was ignoring Annie and focusing on her sister as if Sophie were the answer to a prayer? Annie wasn’t interested in him anyway. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sophie was already happily married, she would. wish her sister and the bachelor the best. Unfortunately, Sophie’s five grand wasn’t paying for a man for Sophie. It was paying for a man for Annie. And maybe that was what was really making her angry.

“Sophie, you don’t have to buy me a man,” Annie told her sister in a grim whisper. “I can find one for myself. I mean, I could find one, if I wanted one. Which I don’t.”

“Not like this one, you couldn’t,” Sophie countered. “Not working with the kind of people you work with.”

“Underprivileged children,” Annie reminded her sister, trying to tamp down her irritation. “I work with underprivileged children.”

“Exactly. Which means you couldn’t meet a decent man to save your life. The men you meet are all social workers and family counselors and public servants and the like.”

“In other words, decent men.”

“That’s not the kind of decent I mean and you know it. You don’t need a decent man, Annie. You’ve got all the decency you can handle in that overgrown, do-gooder heart of yours. What you need is an indecent man.” She smiled mischievously. “The more indecent the better.” She nodded toward the bachelor onstage. “Just look at that guy’s nether regions. He’s going to be perfect for you.”

Annie declined her sister’s instructions and looked at the man’s eyes instead. They were cool, distant and still fixed on Sophie. “Even if he likes Byron?” she asked absently.

“Especially if he likes Byron. Byron was pretty indecent himself, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I minored in English, remember?”

Instead of answering, Sophie nodded with satisfaction at the auctioneer’s announcement of “Going…going… gone for five thousand dollars!”

“Come on,” she said as she tugged on Annie’s sleeve. “Let’s go get your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Annie said, remaining seated steadfastly in place. “You bought him. He’s yours.”

Sophie smiled wryly, “And what am I supposed to tell Philip?”

Annie shrugged. “Tell him you’re going to lovely, romantic Cape May for the weekend with one of Philadelphia’s most prominent architects and indecent bachelors.”

Her sister gazed at her mildly. “And then Philip will divorce me. Is that what you want?”

She shrugged again. “You’re the one who bought Mr. Wonderful up there, not me. I’m not going anywhere with him.”

Sophie stared at her sister for a moment through slitted eyes, as if she were carefully considering her options and thoroughly unwilling to let five grand go to waste. Because, naturally, Sophie would consider a charity donation an unnecessary expense. Then Sophie began to smile. A decidedly evil smile that Annie didn’t like one bit.

“So what you’re telling me,” Sophie began, “is that I just paid five thousand dollars for an attractive, successful, intelligent man who is going to take you to spend the night in one of the most beautiful towns in the United States, and that you refuse to go.”

“That’s right,” Annie told her. “I refuse to go.”

“How about if I bribe you?”

Annie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What kind of bribe?”

“How about if I double the amount I just paid for him and donate it to Homestead House? Then would you go?”

Annie stood to meet her sister’s gaze levelly at that. “Ten thousand dollars to Homestead?”

Sophie nodded, her smile growing broader.

“That’s a low blow, Sophie.”

“Yes, I know, but hey, it’s tax deductible, right? Philip wouldn’t care. He’d think it was a sweet gesture for me to make. Besides, it will work, won’t it?”

Annie didn’t have to think twice. Homestead House was a juvenile home that she and her husband had started ten years ago and that she had kept going after his death. She had met Mark Malone in college, where they were both studying social work. Upon graduation, they’d scraped together personal funds, found a few backers, and won a few government grants, and had pooled the money to buy an old, dilapidated house in one of Philadelphia’s less-thandesirable neighborhoods. They’d brought it up to code, and had then turned it into a haven for kids who got lost in the system and had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to.

Even during the best of times, Annie had to scramble to make ends meet and keep Homestead House open. Ten thousand dollars would buy a lot of the things she needed.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she agreed. “But only because of Homestead.”

Sophie shook her head in amazement. “Little Annie Malone,” she muttered in the way that Annie had always hated. “Still thinks she can save the world from itself after all these years. Well, let me tell you something, little sister. Something I learned a long time ago. The world’s a brittle, ugly place, and nothing you can do will ever change that. You better get yours while you can and enjoy it, and then watch your back. Because nothing in this life is worth much, but there’s always someone who wants to take it away from you anyhow.”

Annie nodded, not in agreement, but because this was the same philosophy Sophie had been spouting since they were adolescents. “Maybe that’s what you believe,” she said softly, “but I see things a little differently. You’ve got your life, Sophie, and I’ve got mine. As brittle and ugly as you think it is, I find it very rewarding.”