Bluegrass Baby

“Talk about what?” Her voice waffled, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“About you and me.”

His gaze snagged hers, and even though sexual awareness nearly knocked her for a loop, getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea.

The problem was her mind had no trouble believing that, but her body wasn’t listening.

She turned, trying to break eye contact with the man who aroused everything but her common sense. “Nothing has changed.”

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Things had changed, big-time. Kyle just didn’t know it yet.

Dear Reader,

Well, if it’s true that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, you’re going to need some fabulous romantic reads to get you through the remaining cold winter nights. Might we suggest starting with a new miniseries by bestselling author Sherryl Woods? In Isn’t It Rich?, the first of three books in Ms. Wood’s new MILLION DOLLAR DESTINIES series, we meet Richard Carlton, one of three brothers given untold wealth from his aunt Destiny. But in pushing him toward beautiful—if klutzy—PR executive Melanie Hart, Aunt Destiny provides him with riches that even money can’t buy!

In Bluegrass Baby by Judy Duarte, the next installment in our MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries, a handsome but commitment-shy pediatrician shares a night of passion with a down-to-earth midwife. But what will he do when he learns there might be a baby on the way? Karen Rose Smith continues the LOGAN’S LEGACY miniseries with Take a Chance on Me, in which a sexy, single CEO finds the twin sister he never knew he had—and in the process is reunited with the only woman he ever loved. In Where You Least Expect It by Tori Carrington, a fugitive accused of a crime he didn’t commit decides to put down roots and dare to dream of the love, life and family he thought he’d never have. Arlene James wraps up her miniseries THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS with Tycoon Meets Texan! in which a handsome billionaire who can have any woman he wants sets his sights on a beautiful Texas heiress. She clearly doesn’t need his money, so whatever can she want with him? And when a police officer opens his door to a nine-months-pregnant stranger in the middle of a blizzard, he finds himself called on to provide both personal and professional services, in Detective Daddy by Jane Toombs.

So bundle up, and take heart—spring is coming! And so are six more sensational stories about love, life and family, coming next month from Silhouette Special Edition!

All the best,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Bluegrass Baby

Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the special women who have loved and supported me since

birth, blessing my life in so many special ways. My aunts:

Mary Jane Coleman, Frances Houser, Beatrice Johnson,

Dottie Johnston, Mae Johnston, Loraine Shaw

Thank you, ladies, from the bottom of my heart!

JUDY DUARTE,

an avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.

Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose awards, and in 2001 she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.

At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.

Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at: www.judyduarte.com.

Merlyn County Regional

Hospital Happenings

Congratulations to midwife Cecilia Mendoza on her engagement to our very own Bingham Enterprises executive Geoff Bingham! A combination bridal and baby shower for the happy couple is tentatively scheduled for late fall. Please see nurse Vanessa Harris for more details, or to volunteer for the decorating committee.

Detective Bryce Collins will be working alongside Dr. Mari Bingham on an investigation into procedures at the Foster Clinic. Please give the detective your full cooperation should he request information about the hospital. And please continue to report any strange behavior at the Foster Clinic or in the pharmacy department to Dr. Bingham or her receptionist.

Finally, a belated—but hearty—greeting to Dr. Kyle Bingham. Back in his hometown for a pediatrician residency, the handsome doctor has reformed his bad-boy ways in order to help the children of Merlyn County. Everyone—especially you single ladies—be sure to give him your warmest welcome!

Contents

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 One

Milla Johnson pressed the cell phone closer to her ear and glanced around the hospital cafeteria, glad no one could hear her conversation with her mother.

“The Binghams will turn on you,” her mom said, “now that you’ve been named in that malpractice suit.”

Milla rolled her eyes. She had enough stress in her life without her mother creating an enemy force out of the town’s most prominent family.

“I worry about you,” her mom added.

“I’m worried, too.” Milla, a midwife for only a year, had been unfairly charged with malpractice, following the home birth of a baby girl. “That lawsuit could potentially end my career before it gets off the ground. And it could shut down the Foster Clinic’s unique home-birth program.”

“That’s what I mean about the Binghams turning on you.” When Milla didn’t respond, her mother asked, “Did you hear what I said?”

Actually, the words rang loud and clear, but listening to unwelcome advice was another story. Especially when the Bingham family wasn’t responsible for the lawsuit. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s a bit noisy in here.”

Milla stared at the plate of meat loaf in front of her, then shoved it aside. She’d thought the mashed potatoes might sit well. Now she wasn’t so sure. Her stomach had been a mess ever since learning of the malpractice suit, more so now that she’d talked to her mom.

“You watch your back, honey.”

“I’ll be careful.” Milla felt badly enough about being blamed for something that hadn’t been her fault and for the problems the lawsuit would cause the Bingham Foundation. She didn’t need a dose of maternal paranoia to complicate things.

Her mother had never made a secret of her distrust of the Binghams, but Milla was grateful to them. The family had done a lot for Merlyn County, and the Bingham Foundation had provided the grant that had paid for her midwifery education. True, she agreed to work for the clinic for the next five years to pay back the funds, but she loved her job and the professionals with whom she worked. She couldn’t imagine working at another clinic. Or worse, if the plaintiffs had their way, not working as a midwife ever again.

“Those people have brought nothing but heartache to our family.”

“By ‘those people,’” you mean Billy Bingham in particular. And the man has been dead for eight years, Mom.”

“Your aunt Connie died giving birth to one of Billy’s illegitimate babies.”

It was an age-old complaint and one Milla had grown tired of hearing. Her mother had never forgiven the man she blamed for her sister’s death, a man who died in a plane crash months before his youngest son’s birth.

Milla and her mother had raised the boy in their cramped, two-bedroom home since the day he was born. They both loved Dylan, in spite of his penchant for mischief. But oftentimes the money had been scarce, and even Milla had to admit life would have been easier on the Johnson household had Billy Bingham provided for Dylan the way he had for the other children he’d fathered without benefit of marriage.

Desperate to change the subject and to fast-forward the conversation she said, “I’m going to stop by the market on the way home. Do you need anything?”

“We’re out of milk.”

“Anything else?” While her mother recited a list, Milla glanced up and saw Dr. Kyle Bingham enter the busy cafeteria, and her heart skipped a beat.

The good-looking resident spotted her, too, and grinned, sending a jolt of awareness to jump-start her pulse. Kyle had turned her head on more than one occasion, and the attraction seemed to be mutual.

He headed toward her table.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll buy the groceries after I pick up Dylan from day camp. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Just remember what I said about the Binghams. Watch out.”

“I will,” Milla said, although the only thing she felt like watching was the blond Adonis coming her way. For some reason she didn’t even want to ponder, his smile had the power to make her heart rate go absolutely bonkers.

Tall, broad-shouldered and more handsome than a man had a right to be, Kyle Bingham had a flashy wardrobe, a promising medical career and no financial worries, even after attending Harvard Medical School. The guy could have more than his share of women—and probably had. So the fact that he found Milla even remotely attractive was flattering. Thrilling.

As he approached her table, she tried to come up with a reason why she didn’t need to get involved with him—anything other than her mother’s warning.

“This chair taken?” Dr. Adonis asked.

“No.” Milla shoved her phone back into her purse, setting it aside just as she had her mother’s warning. Even if she’d wanted to be mindful of the well-intentioned maternal advice by avoiding the Bingham family—which Milla didn’t—avoiding Kyle wasn’t the same thing.

Kyle was one of Billy’s illegitimate children. And from what Milla had heard, he didn’t have much to do with the other Binghams who’d been blessed with legitimacy.

Of course, watching herself around the man for other reasons might be wise. The young pediatrician was a bit cocky and on the arrogant side, although Milla could understand why. Kyle Bingham was a brilliant young doctor, and he knew it. She couldn’t fault him for having self-confidence.

Kyle took a seat across from her and cut right to the chase. “I want to testify on your behalf in that lawsuit.”

“You do?” Relief washed over her, and she had to struggle not to fall at his feet and gush her appreciation. As the attending physician on call when Joe and Darlene Canfield had rushed their sick newborn to the E.R. of Merlyn County Regional Hospital, Kyle would make an excellent witness.

“You and I both know that umbilical infections don’t happen at birth. That baby’s illness wasn’t caused by anything you did or failed to do.”

Milla knew it hadn’t been her fault. In spite of what the Canfields had said, she’d taken every precaution. She’d cut the cord textbook perfectly. And before she left the house, she’d told the new parents how to care for the umbilicus. She’d also advised them to bring the baby in for a postnatal exam, something they’d neglected to do.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate you saying that,” she said.

“The Canfields had bandaged the umbilicus, which first alerted me to the probable cause of the infection.”

Milla had told them to keep the umbilicus clean and dry. And she’d not only shown them how, she’d left them with printed instructions, although the lawsuit claimed she’d haphazardly cut the cord and left two new parents without any direction at all.

“After the baby stabilized, I took time to talk to Mrs. Canfield and question her. They hadn’t cleaned the umbilicus properly, and in addition, the disposable diapers she was using were entirely too large, which irritated the stump. At that time, they applied the bandage.”

“Which kept the umbilicus moist, instead of dry.”

Kyle nodded. “Mrs. Canfield was also having nursing difficulties.”

“Is she claiming that was my fault, too?” Milla asked. “I worked with her at length before leaving the house. The baby took right to the breast, and they didn’t seem to be having any trouble.”

“She didn’t blame that on you. But I don’t think she was comfortable breast-feeding, and I’m not sure how often she nursed the baby, which might have compromised the infant’s immune system.”

Milla blew out a sigh of relief, glad to have someone else realize she hadn’t been at fault.

“The Canfields claim the umbilicus was already infected before they bandaged it,” Kyle added, “which is probably the argument their attorney will use.”

“So, even with your testimony, this lawsuit may not be settled easily.”

“Who knows what will happen with the attorney involved. But the baby’s infection wasn’t your fault.”

“And you’ll testify to that?”

“Absolutely.”

In her heart, she knew she’d done everything right during that delivery. But it was important to know that Kyle had agreed to testify for that reason alone, and not because he ultimately meant to protect the Binghams, the foundation and the clinic.

“And what if you thought the infection had been my fault?” Milla asked.

He leaned forward, assessed her as though she’d accused him of moral ineptitude. “I’d have no qualms about testifying against you or the Foster Clinic if I thought that infection had been caused by professional negligence.”

For the first time since being served notice of the lawsuit, Milla began to breathe easier.

She had someone on her side.

And not just anyone.

Dr. Kyle Bingham.

“By the way,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to the E.R., but I wondered if you might like to have dinner with me tonight.”

Dinner? With the best-looking doctor in all of Merlyn County? Was it a professional meeting? Or was it more like a date? She couldn’t be sure, yet when his blue gaze caught hers, her heart fluttered and something powerful passed between them.

Her mother would throw a walleyed fit—if she found out. But what Sharon Johnson didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Milla might live under her mom’s roof, but not under her thumb. Their living arrangement had more to do with finances. And, more recently, Dylan’s well-being.

“Sure,” she told the handsome resident. “I’d like to have dinner with you.”

“I’ll pick you up around six, if you’ll give me your address.”

Uh-oh. That might not be a good idea. Milla wasn’t up for another defensive bout with her mother this evening—not at this point in what might or might not develop into a relationship. She’d need time to work on her mom, more time than she would have between now and six o’clock. “Why don’t I meet you at the restaurant?”

“All right, if you’re more comfortable doing it that way.” Kyle slid her a heart-stopping grin. “I’ll see you at Melinda’s. Around six.”

Milla merely nodded, afraid her voice would betray her nervousness.

And her excitement.

At five minutes to six Milla pulled into Melinda’s parking lot. The red brick building, once a firehouse, had been converted into a steak and seafood restaurant. Melinda’s might not be as fancy as some restaurants found in Lexington, but it boasted an extensive wine list and was the fanciest eatery Merlyn County had to offer.

She parked her car, a white Caprice Classic whose odometer had lapped once or twice and still showed considerable mileage. But rather than opening the door, she continued to sit behind the wheel. Nervous. Apprehensive. And far more expectant than she cared to admit.

She spotted Kyle’s black, late-model BMW parked close to the restaurant’s entrance.

Waiting for her.

Milla Johnson.

Could she be any more flattered? She’d never had a man like Kyle interested in her.

Or had she read him wrong? Maybe he had only asked her here to discuss the lawsuit.

She’d wanted to primp before coming, to try on several outfits and fuss with her hair and makeup. But she’d feared her mother would notice and ask questions Milla didn’t have time to answer, questions she’d have to skirt until she had time to set her mom straight about her personal life, about boundaries.

A quick glance in the mirror told Milla she looked all right. Not bad. But deep inside she wanted to look her best.

As she climbed from the driver’s seat and closed the car door, she heard a man’s voice.

“Why, look there, Darlene. That’s the woman who nearly killed our baby.”

Milla’s feet seemed to take root in the asphalt. She didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was. Joe Canfield, the father of the baby who’d been rushed into the E.R. burning with fever and its limp, little body racked with infection.

The baby girl she’d been accused of neglecting.

The baby Kyle Bingham had saved.

“Enjoy your night out on the town,” Canfield said, as he and his wife strolled down the sidewalk that ran along Main Street. “When we get done with you, you’ll be doing jail time.”

Trying desperately to heed her attorney’s advice and avoid any conversation—let alone a confrontation—with the plaintiffs, Milla strode toward the entrance of Melinda’s. Her chest tightened to the point of making breathing difficult.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Why were they doing this to her? The baby’s infection hadn’t been her fault.

All she wanted to do was hightail it home and lock the door behind her. For a moment, she’d considered getting back in her car and using her cell phone to call Kyle and postpone their dinner.

But maybe she needed to meet with him, to see him. To let him tell her all over again that the Canfield baby’s life-threatening condition hadn’t been her fault.

She needed the reassurance. She also needed the distraction. And an evening out with a doctor whose smile could turn her inside out would certainly help her forget her troubles, if only for tonight.

So instead of bolting, she held her head high and continued into the restaurant.

“Ms. Johnson?” the hostess asked.

Milla fingered the narrow shoulder strap of her black purse. “Yes.”

“Dr. Bingham is waiting in the bar. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to his table.”

Milla made her way across the polished concrete floor to the lounge, where a massive, carved-oak bar lined the back wall and a vast display of framed black-and-white photographs decorated the brick of the inside walls.

Kyle stood when she reached his table. He flashed her a dazzling smile that sent her tummy topsy-turvy and her heart soaring. She nearly forgot the unpleasant run-in she’d had with the Canfields.

Nearly, but not quite.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“White wine.” And plenty of it, her nerves shouted in echoed concert.

Kyle motioned for the waitress, and before long their drink order had been placed. “Our reservations are at six-thirty. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”

She managed a smile. “That’s fine.”

Trying to hide her nervousness, she turned to the brick wall and spotted the nearest photo. A small brass plaque said it was the first fire chief of Merlyn County dressed in a Santa Claus outfit and sitting at the wheel of a fire truck. She touched the wooden frame that had been bolted to the wall, then glanced at Kyle and caught him watching her.

He smiled. “I guess the proprietor wants to make sure tipsy, local history buffs can’t run off with any of the old photos.”

Before Milla could respond, the waitress brought a Merlot for him and a Chardonnay for her.

Kyle lifted his wineglass in a toast. “To the start of a friendship.”

A friendship? For the briefest moment, Milla wrestled with disappointment. A part of her, a very young and romantic side she’d almost forgotten about, had hoped for more.

But when her gaze snagged his and she spotted the vibrant sparkle in those baby blues, she realized he had more than friendship on his mind. And so did she. But with her inexperience, at least with guys like Kyle, she wasn’t sure how far she wanted things to go. Still, the idea of letting this night play out romantically intrigued her and sent a warm sense of anticipation coursing through her blood.

She took a sip of wine, then studied him over the rim. He was gorgeous. And charming. And no doubt, a bit of a playboy, the way his dad had been.

Was Kyle Bingham the kind of man she should avoid?

Or the kind of man every woman needed to experience at least once in her life?

Unwilling to give in to either wonder or indecision, she eyed him carefully, as though she knew exactly what they both wanted. Her hormones seemed to kick up a notch. And sexual curiosity appeared to be on the rampage.

What would it be like to touch him, to kiss him, to lose herself in the passion that blazed in his eyes?

She looked at him, as though he might explain the attraction that crackled between them like an electrical storm. But he just sat there, waiting.

Watching her.

Kyle found himself practically gawking at the young midwife who’d caught his eye on more than one occasion since he’d arrived in Merlyn County a few months ago.

Damn. Milla Johnson was one beautiful woman, although she didn’t seem to be aware of it. She’d dressed simply in a classic black dress. And she hadn’t done much to her chestnut-colored hair, other than brush it until it shined. The ends seemed to naturally curl under in a sophisticated style.

She was the kind of woman who stood out in a crowd. The kind of woman who made his libido sit up and beg.

He usually complimented the lady he was with as a means of breaking the ice and gaining an advantage. But tonight, the words came easy. “You look pretty, Milla.”

She flushed at his comment, then smiled, flashing him two dimples he could get used to seeing. “Thank you.”

The women Kyle usually dated were fully aware of their beauty, their sexuality. Milla, although just as lovely and attractive, wasn’t as sure of herself, which, for some reason, pleased him, making her all the more appealing.

She took a sip of wine, then ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

A surge of heat shot through Kyle’s bloodstream, arousing him, tempting him. She glanced again at the photos on the wall, completely oblivious, it seemed, of the effect she was having on him.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, unbalanced by his arousal and by the effect she had on him. The pretty midwife had stirred a powerful hunger, one that dinner at Melinda’s wouldn’t sate.

It was early yet, and there was no reason for him to believe the evening would end with anything more than a handshake. Which would be a shame. He couldn’t remember being this attracted to a woman in a long time.

She set her wineglass on the linen-covered table and looked at him. Her big brown eyes bore evidence of a trying day.

“What’s the matter?”

She fingered the cocktail napkin that rested under her wineglass, rolling the edge then unrolling it. “I almost didn’t come inside.”