Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour

Lonergan’s Secrets

Expecting

Lonergan’s Baby

Strictly

Lonergan’s Business

Satisfying

Lonergan’s Honour

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Expecting

Lonergan’s Baby

Maureen Child

MAUREEN CHILD is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur. Visit Maureen’s website at www.maureenchild.com.

Look for Cinderella & the CEO, also available this month from Maureen Child

For my family—for always being there.

I love you.

One

Sam Lonergan had expected to find a ghost at the lake. He hadn’t expected a naked woman.

Given a choice, he much preferred this view. He knew he should look away, but he didn’t. Instead he focused his gaze on the long, lean woman slicing through the dark, moonlit water.

Even in the pale wash of moonlight her skin glowed tan and smooth. The water she displaced slipped behind her with hardly a splash. Her arms made long strokes through the water, carrying her from one edge of the small lake and back again to the other. A part of him saw her as a trespasser on holy ground—but another part of him was grateful she was here.

While he watched her, he told himself he shouldn’t have come. This lake, this ranch, held too many memories. Too many images that crowded his mind and made remembering an exercise in pain.

Abruptly he squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and slowly released it before opening his eyes again. She’d stopped swimming and was now treading water, watching him watch her.

“Seen enough?” she asked.

“Depends,” he told her. “You have anything else to show me?”

Her mouth worked as if she were biting down on words she wouldn’t allow herself to say.

“Who are you?” she finally demanded, her voice more angry than worried.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out.

“This is private property.”

“Sure is,” he agreed, hitching one hip higher than the other and folding his arms over his chest. “So I have to wonder what you’re doing on it.”

“I live here,” she replied, swinging a long, wet fall of dark brown hair back from her face.

Water droplets arced around her head and dropped to the lake like raindrops. It took a minute or two, but her words hit home.

“You live here? This is the Lonergan ranch.”

A ranch that had been in his family for generations. Since the early days of the gold rush, when Sam’s great-great-whatever had decided that the real fortune to be found in California was the land—not rocky cold streams where the occasional nugget was discovered.

That Lonergan had settled here, raising horses and a family. A family that now consisted of one old man, one ghost and three Lonergan cousins: Sam, Cooper and Jake.

His grandfather, Jeremiah Lonergan, had lived alone for the last twenty years. Ever since his wife, Sam’s grandmother, had died. Now, if a naked woman was to be believed, he had a roommate.

“That’s right,” she said, warming to her subject. “And the owner of this ranch is very protective of me. And vicious.”

Sam wanted to laugh. His grandfather was maybe the most gentle-hearted man Sam had ever known. But to hear this woman tell it, Jeremiah was a mad dog.

“Well, he’s not here right now, is he?”

“No.”

“So since it’s just the two of us and we’re getting so friendly… mind telling me if you go skinny-dipping often?” he asked instead.

“You spy on naked women often?”

“Whenever I get the chance.”

She scowled at him and pushed one hand through her wet hair. She dipped a little lower in the water, and he figured her legs were getting tired of the constant kicking to keep afloat.

“You don’t sound ashamed of yourself.”

He gave her a lazy smile that didn’t go anywhere near his eyes. “Lady, if I didn’t watch a naked woman when given the opportunity, that’d be something to be ashamed of.”

“Your mother must be so proud.”

He chuckled. Probably not, but the old man would have been.

She glanced around her and he knew what she was looking at. Emptiness. Except for the oak trees standing like solitary guardians around the ring of the lake, they were alone. The ranch was a good mile east of here, and the highway ten miles south.

“Look,” she said and dipped again, the water lapping at the tops of her breasts. “You’ve had your peep show, but it’s cold and I’m tired. I’d like to get out now.”

“Who’s stopping you?”

Her eyes went wide and dark. “Hello? I’m not getting out of this water with you watching me.”

Something like guilt nibbled at the edges of a conscience that was already too noisy. But he ignored it. Yes, he should look away, but would a starving man turn down a steak just because it was stolen?

“You could turn your back,” she said a moment later.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Now, if I do that, how do I know you won’t hit me over the head with something?”

“Does it look like I’m carrying a concealed weapon?”

He shrugged. “A man can’t be too careful.”

She nodded, dipped low enough to have the surface of the water lap at her throat, then muttered, “Perfect. I’m naked and you’re the one threatened.”

A wind kicked up out of nowhere, rustling the leaves on the oaks until it sounded as if they were surrounded by a whispering crowd. She shivered and dipped even lower in the water, and another ping of guilt echoed inside Sam.

He tipped his head back to look at the star-studded sky before looking at her again. “It’s a nice night. Maybe I’ll camp out right here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No?” Beginning to enjoy himself, he pretended to consider it. “Maybe not. But the question remains. You getting out of the lake or do you know how to sleep while treading water?”

She huffed out a disgusted breath and slapped one hand against the water. “I’m getting out.”

“Can’t wait.”

“You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

“That’s been said before.”

“Color me surprised.”

“You’re still in the water.” He unfolded his arms and stuck both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Must be getting pretty cold about now.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Told you I’m not going anywhere.”

She gave another quick glance around at the dark country surrounding them, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the cavalry riding to her rescue.

“How do I know you won’t attack me the minute I get out of the lake?” she asked, eyes narrowed on him.

“I could give you my word,” Sam said, “but since you don’t know me, that wouldn’t be worth much.”

She studied him for a long minute and he had the weird sensation that she was looking far more deeply than he would like. But after another long minute she said, “If you give me your word, I’ll believe you.”

Frowning, he pulled one hand from his pocket and scrubbed the back of his neck. A beautiful, naked trespasser trusted him. Great. “Fine. You have it.”

She nodded, but another long minute or two ticked past before she started in toward shore. Something inside him quickened. Anticipation? Excitement? It had been long enough since he’d felt either, he couldn’t be sure. But the moment came and went so fast, he couldn’t explore it or even take a second to enjoy it.

Moonlight dazzled on her wet golden skin as she walked out of the water and up the short incline to where her clothes were stacked in a neat little pile. He watched her and felt a hot, pulsing need rush through him with enough force to stagger him.

She was tall and lean, with small, firm breasts, narrow hips and a tan line that told him she didn’t usually skinny-dip. He could only be grateful that she’d chosen to tonight. Somehow those tan lines made her nudity that much more exciting. Paler strips of skin against the honey-brown tempted a man to define the edges of those lines.

Desire stirred and heat pooled inside him.

She was magical in the moonlight, and it took everything he had to keep from grabbing her up and pulling her close. It was like watching a mermaid step out of the sea just long enough to tempt a man.

“You are amazing.”

She faltered slightly, then lifted her chin and stood tall and proud, no embarrassment, no hesitation. And Sam knew he should feel guilty for staring at her, taking advantage of the situation.

But damned if he could.

In seconds, she’d yanked on a T-shirt and stepped into a soft-looking cotton skirt that swirled around her knees as she bent to pull on first one sandal and then the other.

Hell, he should be thanking her. She’d taken his mind off the past, made facing this lake and the memories again much easier than he’d expected.

“Look,” he said as she straightened up, “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, but seeing you here surprised me and—”

She slugged him in the stomach.

Didn’t hurt much, but since he was unprepared, all his air left him in a rush.

“I surprised you?” Maggie Collins grabbed her long brown hair, held the mass off to one side and quickly wrung the excess water from it before flipping it all over her shoulder again.

Amazing. He’d called her amazing.

She could still feel the flush of something warm and delicious as he watched her. It was as if she’d felt his touch, not just his gaze, locked on her. And for just one brief moment she’d wanted him to touch her. To feel his hands sliding over her wet skin.

Which only made her madder. She looked him up and down dismissively, then lifted her chin. “You rotten, self-serving, miserable…” Oh, she hated when she ran out of invectives before she was finished.

Inhaling sharply, she threw her shoulders back and gathered up her tattered pride. She’d about had a heart attack when she’d first seen him, standing on shore, watching her in the darkness. But the initial jolt of fear had subsided quickly enough the longer she’d looked at him.

Maggie’d been on her own long enough to develop a sort of radar that told her when she was safe and when she was in danger. And none of her internal warning bells had gone off, despite the fact that he hadn’t been gentleman enough to either leave or turn around.

He wasn’t dangerous.

At least not physically.

Emotionally—now that might be a different story. He was tall and gorgeous—already worrisome—and then there was the gleam in his dark eyes. Not just the flash of desire she’d seen and noted—but an undercurrent of something sad and empty. Maggie’d always been attracted to wounded guys. The ones with sad eyes and lonely hearts.

But after getting her own heart bruised a few times, she’d decided that sometimes there was a reason men were alone. Now all she had to do was remember that.

She stood her ground, glaring at the man who’d intruded on her nightly swim. Just a few years ago she might have skittered away quickly, trying to disappear. But not now. In the last two years things had changed for her. She’d found a home. She belonged on the Lonergan ranch, and no one—let alone a surly, good-looking stranger—would scare her off.

“You’ve got a good right jab,” he conceded.

“You’ll live.” She started past him, headed for the line of trees and the path beyond that would lead her back to the ranch house.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Instantly her skin sizzled and her blood bubbled in her veins. She yanked free of his grasp and took a step back just for good measure.

“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice soothing as he lifted both hands in mock surrender. “It’s okay. Relax.”

The quick jolt of adrenaline she’d felt at his unexpected touch was already dissipating when she glared at him. “Just… don’t grab me.”

“No problem.” he said, “Won’t happen again.”

She blew out a breath and willed herself to calm down. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d surprised her by taking hold of her arm—it was the sudden flash of heat that had dazzled up her arm only to ricochet throughout her body. She’d never felt that punch of awareness before and wasn’t sure she liked it much. Better to just get away from the man. Fast.

“It’s going to take me about ten minutes to walk back to the house,” she said when she was certain her voice wouldn’t quiver. “I suggest you use that time to get gone.”

He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

“You’d better. Because the minute I get to a phone, I’ll be calling the police to report a trespasser.”

“You could,” he said and fell into step beside her as she once again started for the tree line. “But it wouldn’t do any good.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because,” he said, coming to a stop, “I went to high school with half the police force in town. And I think Jeremiah Lonergan might just object to you having me arrested.”

A sinking sensation opened in the pit of her stomach, but Maggie asked the question anyway. “Why would he object?”

“Because I’m Sam Lonergan, and Jeremiah’s my grandfather.”

Two

Everything else faded away but a rush of anger that nearly strangled Maggie. She’d known, of course, that all three of Jeremiah’s grandsons were arriving this summer, but she hadn’t expected one of them to sneak in under the cover of darkness and then turn out to be a Peeping Tom.

“If I’d known who you were,” Maggie snapped, “I would have hit you harder.”

“Lucky for me I kept quiet then.”

“How could you do this to him?” she demanded, planting both hands on her hips.

“Do what?”

“Stay away,” she snapped. “You—all of you. Not one of the three of you has so much as visited your grandfather in two years.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve been here,” she said, slapping one hand to her chest. “Me. I’ve been taking care of that sweet old man for two years and I don’t remember tripping over any of you in the house.”

“Sweet old man?” His laughter shot from his throat. “Jeremiah Lonergan is the most softhearted, crustiest old goat in the country.”

“He is not,” she shouted, infuriated by his amusement at the expense of an old man who had been even lonelier than she had when she first met him. “He’s sweet. And kind. And caring. And alone. His own family doesn’t care enough to come and see him. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Especially you. You’re a doctor. You should have come home before this to make sure he was all right. But no. You wait until he’s.” God. She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word dying.

She couldn’t think about losing Jeremiah. Couldn’t bear the thought of losing him and the home she’d come to love so much. And here stood a man who took all of that for granted. Who didn’t appreciate the love that was waiting for him. Who didn’t care enough about that sweet old man to even visit.

New fury pumped through her and she narrowed her eyes on the man who only moments before had stirred her blood into a simmering boil.

His laughter faded away and a scowl that was both fierce and irritated twisted his features. “Just who the hell are you anyway?”

“My name’s Maggie Collins,” she said, straightening up to her full five feet four inches. “And I’m your grandfather’s housekeeper.”

And she had that position because the “crusty old goat” had taken a chance on her when she’d needed it most. So she wasn’t about to stand by and let anyone, even his grandson, berate the old man she loved.

“Well, Maggie Collins,” he said through gritted teeth, “just because you’ve been taking care of Jeremiah’s house doesn’t mean you know squat about me or my family.”

She leaned in at him, not intimidated in the slightest. In the last two years she’d watched Jeremiah flip through old photo albums, stare at home movies, lose himself in the past because the grandsons he loved didn’t care enough to give him a present.

And it infuriated her that three grown men who had the home she’d always longed for didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“I know that though the man has three grandsons, he’s alone. I know that he had to take in a stranger to keep him company. I know that he looks at pictures of the three of you and his heart aches.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I know that it took his being near death’s door—” her breath hitched and she hiccupped “—to get you all back here to see him this summer. I know that much.”

Sam shoved one hand through his long dark hair, looked away from her for a slow count of ten. Then, when he turned his gaze back to her, the anger had left him. His eyes were dark and shadowed.

“You’re right.”

She hadn’t expected that and it took her aback a little. Tipping her head to one side, she studied him. “Just like that? I’m right?”

“To a point,” he admitted and his voice dropped, wrapping the two of them in a kind of insular seclusion. “It’s… complicated,” he said finally.

So much for being surprised into feeling just a tiny bit of sympathy for his side of the story. Disgusted, she shook her head. “No, it’s not. He’s your grandfather. He loves you. And you ignore him.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She folded her arms across her chest, tapped her foot against the rocky ground and waited.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Maggie Collins, so don’t bother waiting for one.”

No, he didn’t, though she desperately wanted one. She couldn’t understand how anyone with a home, a family, could deliberately avoid them. “Fine. Maybe you don’t owe me anything, but you certainly owe your grandfather.”

That scowl deepened until it looked as though it had been carved into his face. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Finally. Have you seen him yet?”

“No,” he admitted, shoving both hands into his pockets as he shifted his gaze to the lake behind them. “I haven’t. I had to come here first. Had to face this place first.”

And just like that, Maggie’s heart twisted. She knew what he was seeing when he looked at the small lake. She knew what he was remembering because Jeremiah had told her everything there was to know about his grandsons. The good, the bad and the haunting.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, wishing she could pull at least some of her harsher words back. “I know how hard this must be for you, but—”

He cut her off with a look. “You don’t know,” he said tightly. “You can’t. So why don’t you go back to the house. Tell my grandfather I’ll be there soon.”

He walked away to stand at the water’s edge, staring out over the black, still surface of the lake. His pain reached out to her and she flinched from it. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Though even if he did have his reasons for avoiding the Lonergan ranch, she thought, that didn’t make it all right for him to avoid the old man who loved him.

Her sympathy evaporated and Maggie left him there, alone in the shadows.

Jeremiah just had time to shove the blood-curdling horror novel he’d been reading under his covers before Maggie opened his bedroom door after a brief knock. He watched the girl he’d come to think of as a granddaughter and smiled to himself. Her dark brown hair was wet, trailing dampness across her T-shirt. Her long, flowing skirt was wrinkled and dotted with dried bits of grass, and her sandals squeaked with the water seeping into the leather.

“Been down to the lake again, eh?” he asked as she came closer and straightened the quilt and sheet covering him.

She smiled but couldn’t quite hide the flash of something else in her dark eyes.

“What is it, Maggie?” He grabbed her hand, making sure to be as feeble as possible, as she reached for the glass pitcher on his bedside table. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling her hand free and giving him a pat before carrying the carafe to the adjoining bathroom to fill it with fresh water. She stepped back into the bedroom and walked quickly back to his side. “I met your grandson, that’s all.”

Jeremiah’s heart lifted, but he remembered just in time that he was supposed to be a dying man now. Keeping his voice quiet, he asked, “Which one?”

“Sam.”

“Ah.” He smiled to himself. “Well, where is he? Didn’t he come back with you?”

“No,” she said, frowning as she turned the bedside lamp with the three-way bulb down to its lowest setting. Instantly the room fell into shadows, the pale night light hardly reaching her, standing right at his bedside. “He said he wanted to stay at the lake for a while first.”

Jeremiah felt a twinge of pain in his heart and knew that it was only a shadow of the pain Sam must be feeling at the moment. But damn it, fifteen years had gone by. It was time the Lonergan cousins put the past to rest. Long past time, if truth be told. And if he’d had to lie to get them all to come here, well, then, it was a lie told with the best of reasons.

“How’d he look?”

Maggie fidgeted quickly with his pillows, then straightened up, put her hands on her narrow hips and said thoughtfully, “Alone. Like the most alone man I’ve ever seen.”

“Suppose he is.” Sighing, Jeremiah let his head fall back against the pillows that Maggie had plumped so neatly. He should feel guilty about tricking all of his grandsons into coming home. But he didn’t. Hell, if you couldn’t be sneaky when you got old, what the hell good were you?

“It’s not going to be easy,” he said. “Not on any of ‘em. But they’re strong men. They’ll make it through.”

Maggie gave the quilt covering him one last tug, then leaned down and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “They’re not the ones I’m worried about,” she said, then stood up and smiled down at him.

“You’re a good girl, Maggie. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine once my boys are home.”

Sam entered the house quietly, half expecting the old man’s bodyguard to leap at him from the shadows, teeth bared. When there was no sign of Maggie Collins, though, he surrendered to the inevitable and glanced around the room he’d once run wild through.

Two lamps had been left burning, their soft glow illuminating a room he would have been able to find his way through blindfolded. Nothing had changed. Oak floors, scarred from years of running children and booted feet, were dotted with faded colorful throw rugs. Four dark brown leather sofas sat arranged in a huge square, with a table wide enough to be a raft in the dead center of them. Magazines were stacked neatly in one corner of the table and a vase of yellow roses sat center stage.

Had to be the bodyguard’s doing, he told himself, since he knew damn well Jeremiah wouldn’t have thought to cut fresh flowers. Maggie Collins’s face rose up in his mind, then faded away as Sam looked around the house, familiarizing himself all over again with his past.

A river-stone hearth wide and high enough for a man to stand in dominated one wall, and a few embers still glowed richly red behind a fire screen of scrolled iron. The walls were adorned with framed family photos and landscapes painted by a talented, if young, hand. Sam winced at the paintings and quickly looked away. He wasn’t ready just yet to be smothered by ghosts. It was enough that he was here. He’d have to swallow the past in small gulps or he’d choke on them.