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Meet the Mommies-To-Be…
Liz Van Zandt
My twin sis Bridget and I are so much alike—even our biological clocks are synchronized! As girls, we made a deal to start our families, regardless of our marital status, at age 30. Well, here we are at the big 3-0 and all I need is a fine male specimen to offer up his DNA. But how am I ever going to make my baby dreams come true when I keep finding myself lip-locked with the fabulously wealthy, utterly masculine Eric Statler?
Hey…
Bridget Van Zandt
My sister Liz may have entered this world four minutes before me, but this time I got the jump on her. While she’s scrambling for a “suitable donor,” I’m basking in full-fledged pregnancy. Who needs modern man when you’ve got modern science! Still, one gorgeous guy has blipped across my husband-radar—black sheep bachelor Nick Raines. And one lightning-bolt kiss from Nick and I’m suddenly wishing I’d waited to make my little darling the old-fashioned way!
Dear Reader,
Harlequin American Romance is celebrating the holidays with four wonderful books for you to treasure all season long, starting with the latest installment in the RETURN TO TYLER series. Bestselling author Judy Christenberry charms us with her delightful story of a sought-after bachelor who finds himself falling for a single mother and longing to become part of her Patchwork Family.
In Pamela Browning’s Baby Christmas, soon after a department store Santa urges a lovely woman to make a wish on Christmas Eve, she finds a baby on her doorstep and meets a handsome handyman. To win custody of her nephew, a loving aunt decides her only resource is to pretend to be engaged to a Daddy, M.D. Don’t miss this engaging story from Jacqueline Diamond.
Rounding out the month is Harlequin American Romance’s innovative story, Twin Expectations by Kara Lennox. In this engaging volume, identical twin sisters pledge to become mothers—with or without husbands—by their thirtieth birthday. As the baby hunt heats up, the sisters unexpectedly find love with two gorgeous half brothers.
I hope you enjoy all our romance novels this month. All of us at Harlequin Books wish you a wonderful holiday season!
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
Twin Expectations
Kara Lennox
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Texas native Kara Lennox has been an art director, typesetter, advertising copy writer, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and has conducted telephone surveys. She’s been an antiques dealer and briefly ran a clipping service. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels.
When Kara isn’t writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of weird hobbies, from rock-climbing to crystal digging. But her mind is never far from her stories. Just about anything can send her running to her computer to jot down a new idea for some future novel.
Books by Kara Lennox
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
840—VIRGIN PROMISE
856—TWIN EXPECTATIONS
THE OFFICIAL BIOLOGICAL CLOCK PLEDGE
We, Bridget Van Zandt and Elizabeth Van Zandt, being of sane, sound minds, want to someday raise families. However, families usually require husbands, which neither of us have—yet. Should we reach the age of thirty and still be unmarried, un-engaged and with no serious boyfriends, we hereby solemnly swear, pledge, promise and affirm that we will attempt to have babies anyway, using whatever means we feel is appropriate.
Signed,
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
Epilogue
Prologue
“So, do you feel any different?” Liz Van Zandt asked her twin sister, Bridget. They sat in the front seat of Liz’s shiny new Miata in the parking lot of the Statler Clinic.
Bridget fidgeted with the hem of her denim skirt. “No. Do you think I should?”
“How should I know?” Liz said. “I’ve never been pregnant. But it probably hasn’t happened yet. I’ve read that it can take hours, even days, for those little suckers to swim to the target.”
Bridget felt light-headed. She placed a protective hand over her abdomen, knowing Liz was just trying to rattle her cage. Liz, older by four minutes, was all in favor of Bridget having a baby. She just didn’t entirely approve of Bridget’s methods.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Bridge?” Liz asked.
“It’s a little late for those.” No, she wasn’t having second thoughts. She and Liz had always agreed that if they hit thirty and were unmarried, they would attempt motherhood anyway. Together. “Still, it’d be nice if there was a father in the picture.”
Liz’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You might as well give up that notion. Men run from single moms as if they have leprosy.”
“I don’t care,” Bridget said defiantly. “In twenty-one days, I’ll come back to the Statler Clinic and find out whether I’m pregnant.”
Liz sagged against the leather seat. “I guess it’s my turn. I’d better get cracking.”
“Oh, Liz, you aren’t really going to carry through with your harebrained plan, are you?”
“It’s not harebrained. I want to know exactly what kind of genetic material my baby is getting.”
“You can’t just tackle some man on the street and say, ‘Hey, could you give me some of your DNA?”’
“I plan to be a little more subtle. If I can even find a suitable…donor…” Liz’s eyes glazed over, and she stared at something in the distance. “Oo-la-la, there’s one now.”
Bridget gasped as she realized the subject of her sister’s appraisal. “Is that who I think it is?”
“It’s him, all right. He was on the cover of Inside Texas a couple of months ago. I recognize every blue-blood inch of him. And he’s even more gorgeous in person.”
The man in question, J. Eric Statler III, had just come waltzing out of the clinic that bore his name.
“What the heck is he doing here?” Liz asked.
“He does own the clinic,” Bridget pointed out.
“He owns half of Oaksboro,” Liz said, which was almost true. The Statler Clinic was only a tiny piece of the Statler empire, which included hospitals, oil companies, newspapers, restaurants and a tennis-shoe manufacturing plant. He had businesses scattered throughout north Texas. He even owned the ad agency where Liz worked.
Liz sighed. “He’s rich and good-looking, but nice, too. In that magazine article, it says he donates a lot of money to several local charities.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll donate his DNA,” Bridget said. “And if he’s so perfect, then why hasn’t he ever married?”
“Hasn’t found the right woman, so I hear.” Liz got a thoughtful look on her face. “Maybe he’s waiting for me.”
“Dream on, sister.”
“Now, wait a minute. I’m a successful account executive at Oaksboro’s biggest ad agency, I can eat fettuccini without making a mess, and I’m a darn nice person. Are you saying I wouldn’t be a good match for Eric Statler?”
Uh-oh. Bridget recognized that gleam in Liz’s eye.
“All right, maybe he wouldn’t marry me,” Liz continued, “but he’s good father material.”
“Liz, you don’t even know him.”
“I could meet him. It would be easy. I have contacts.”
Bridget laughed. “You’re nuts.” But she could tell Liz was warming to this idea, another one of her crazy schemes.
Suddenly Liz focused her sea-blue eyes on Bridget with the force of double laser beams. “Hey, Bridge, will you help me?”
Bridget cringed. When Liz got that light of zeal in her eyes, nothing could stop her. “I have a few contacts I could tap, I suppose,” she agreed reluctantly. She decided she’d better keep an eye on her competitive sister. If Bridget’s artificial insemination worked and she ended up pregnant, Liz would be desperate to keep up. And no telling what she might do in her quest for, as she so elegantly put it, a “donor.”
Chapter One
Bridget sipped her club soda nervously as she surveyed the jewel-and tux-bedecked crowd around her. Normally she favored a little something with the soda. But now that she was pregnant…
She paused in her thoughts, savoring the word. Pregnant. Today she’d had her official pregnancy test at the Statler Clinic. The results had only confirmed what she’d already known. At just three weeks from conception, her body was changing in some slight, indefinable way.
In a few months she would start expanding like a dashboard airbag. The prospect was scary but kind of exciting, too.
“See anyone we can mingle with?” asked Liz, standing beside her. They’d wangled invitations to the Oilman’s Ball from a dry-cleaning baroness, a family friend whose portrait Bridget had painted. The ball was Oaksboro’s social event of the season, and Eric Statler was guaranteed to be in attendance. But now that they’d arrived, the hard work began—finding someone who would provide Liz with a personal introduction to Statler.
“I’ve never been that great at mingling,” Bridget replied. “Wait…over there. Are those Eric Statler’s parents?” She nodded toward a distinguished-looking couple who appeared to be holding court.
“That’s them, all right,” Liz said. “Geraldine and Eric Statler, Jr. Everyone calls Mr. Statler ‘Two,’ you know. Because he didn’t like ‘Junior.”’
“And the son?” Bridget wanted to know. “Do they call him ‘Three?”’
“They call him just plain Eric,” Liz said, her eyes scanning the crowd.
“How do you know so much about the Statlers?”
“The Internet. Wait, I see one of our agency’s clients,” Liz said. “Let’s split up. We can cover more territory that way.”
Bridget nodded, only too happy to step away from Liz. They’d foolishly forgotten to check with each other beforehand, and they’d worn nearly identical dresses. Even their shoulder-length blond hair was styled in a similar fashion. That was one of the hazards of being a psychically attuned twin.
Liz winked at Bridget, then took off, leaving Bridget to find someone of her own to mingle with. Fortunately, she spotted Mrs. Hampton, the dry-cleaning baroness.
“Bridget, I’m so pleased you could make it,” the stylish silver-haired matron said as Bridget approached. “There’s a lovely couple I want you to meet. I bet they’re in the market for a portrait.”
Though she was booked through the summer, Bridget was always pleased at the prospect of new business. And, who could tell, maybe this couple knew Eric Statler.
She’d thought this romantic goal of Liz’s was crazy at first. But the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d come to realize that Liz would make a good match for Statler. She had the social skills, the assertiveness, the self-confidence to keep up with someone who moved in his circles, whereas Bridget, while appreciating the man’s finer qualities, knew she would prefer a…quieter marriage.
Mrs. Hampton trundled off, dragging Bridget gamely behind her.
NICHOLAS RAINES drained his second gin-and-tonic and stifled a yawn. He despised these functions, but his mother had laid a guilt trip on him about attending. It was for charity, she’d said. It was a chance to see and be seen, make important business contacts, blah-blah-blah. She’d even hinted that he might meet a woman, as if he had time for a relationship. Still, if a mother couldn’t count on her own son to buy a ticket to a charity ball when she was on the committee, who could she count on?
He hoped the charity—a women’s shelter—raked in a bundle. But he’d yet to meet anyone this evening with whom he had the slightest interest in doing business. As for running into an appealing woman, what a joke. Practically every woman here was either over sixty, married or both.
He wondered how long he had to stay. Till the auction, he supposed. If he didn’t bid on something, he’d never hear the end of it from his mother. He was already in trouble because he hadn’t worn a tux. Maybe he could hide behind one of those big potted trees until the—
His thoughts froze. Who was that? She was under sixty, that was for sure. Maybe even under thirty. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he noticed right away. And he’d never laid eyes on her before, because he would have remembered that face. So she wasn’t a regular among this crowd. They had that in common to start with.
He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and approached the woman, noting with pleasure that she got even prettier the closer he came. She looked up, smiling boldly as he held out his offering to her.
“Oh, champagne!” she said, her blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Thank you. I’m Liz Van Zandt. And who might you…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze focused on something faraway and over his left shoulder. He turned to look, then felt a momentary deflation when he saw what had snagged her attention.
Eric. Why did his handsome, rich, and well-meaning little brother always intrude at the wrong time? Social situations, business, it didn’t matter. Didn’t he know how annoying perfection could be?
“Is something wrong, Miss Van Zandt?” Now, what the hell was her first name? Faces stayed in his brain on permanent record, but he had an appalling memory when it came to names.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” The woman returned her attention to Nick. “I believe that’s Eric Statler, near the podium,” she said casually.
“Yeah. That’s Eric, all right.”
“You know him?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah.”
“Really?” She continued to study Eric with undisguised hunger. “Is he as smart and hardworking as everyone says?”
“He’s an okay guy,” Nick was forced to admit. It would be so much easier if he could hate Eric, but he couldn’t. His younger, half brother was pretty cool.
The woman continued to wax enthusiastic. “I was just doing some reading about Eric Statler. This one article said he baled his black-sheep brother’s airline out of bankruptcy, took it over, then fired him. Or the brother quit, no one’s sure.”
“The brother quit,” Nick confirmed, gritting his teeth. That wretched magazine story, back to haunt him again. Eric had bought up a majority share in Lone Star Air so that his half brother would be free to fund a new start-up. That was what Nick did best. Lone Star wasn’t, and never had been, near bankruptcy, but the press loved to twist things around, give commonplace events more drama.
“Oh, so then you must know the real story,” she said. “Not that I’m into gossip, but I had a feeling the magazine account wasn’t accurate. Care to enlighten me?”
“Why are you interested?” Nick wanted to know.
“Because I want to discuss business with him. And I’d like to have the facts before I do.”
Nick shook his head. He’d already spent far too much of his life apologizing for his position within the Statler family. He’d vowed not to do it again. He was over that, on to bigger and better things.
“The matter’s confidential,” he said.
“Hmm. Well, in that case, is there any chance you could introduce me to him?”
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, Nick conceded. This woman was gorgeous, but in the last thirty seconds he’d decided she wasn’t his type. Too brassy, too forward. And she was spreading lies about him, to boot, although not intentionally.
“I might be able to arrange an introduction.” Yeah, he’d like to watch his brother handle this hot potato. Women came at Eric by the dozens, with strategies both subtle and obvious. He was curious to see what this one would try.
He held out his arm. “Come with me, Ms. Van Zandt. I’ll take you to meet my brother.”
“Who?”
“My brother. Eric Statler. You told me your name, but I neglected to tell you mine. It’s Nick Raines.”
He enjoyed the look of discomfiture on the pretty blonde’s face. He could read her thoughts. She was torn. Should she apologize for that “black-sheep” business? Or should she recover her dignity as best she could and make her escape?
LIZ WISHED she could sink right into the carpet. She’d stumbled into a golden opportunity—meeting Eric Statler’s half brother—and she’d bungled it. Foot-in-mouth disease was one of her shortcomings. She was bubbly, talkative, not at all shy like Bridget, and she was tops on the invitation list to just about any party, but she had a distinct problem when it came to tact. Sometimes words just came out of her mouth, bypassing her brain entirely.
“I apologize for any hurtful remarks,” she finally said when she’d recovered her composure. “I hadn’t realized who you were, of course, or I might have been more discreet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been insulted by worse than you,” Nick Raines said easily. “Invitation’s still good. Want to meet Eric?”
Liz swallowed her embarrassment. “Sure, I’d like that.” She took Nick’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the crowd. He was a nice-looking man, she conceded, but not her type at all. He had a solemnity to his personality, a shadow in his eyes, that wouldn’t mix well with her fun-loving attitude. She could see him more easily dating someone like Bridget, who could spend hours just reading poetry or studying the play of light and shadow in a tree.
Maybe, once she made friends with Eric, she would get Nick and Bridget together. But right now, she had to focus on her own impending moment of truth. Nick was leading her unerringly toward her target, Oaksboro’s golden boy himself.
Even from several feet away she could feel his charisma. He was undeniably handsome, yes, with his blond, suntanned, clean-cut good looks. Piercing blue eyes, square jaw, broad shoulders, commanding height—clearly no one could argue his physical appeal. But it was more than that. He carried himself with a certain arrogance, yet his smile was friendly, and she could tell that he listened attentively whenever anyone spoke to him.
Her heart beat double time. What was she going to say to him? She’d better have one hell of an opening line or she wouldn’t stand a chance, not when so many of his admirers were attractive female types.
Eric looked up as Nick and Liz approached. “There you are,” he said to Nick. “Mother’s been looking for you.”
“Terrific.” Nick pulled Eric aside to where they could converse semiprivately. “Eric, I’d like you to meet Ms. Van Zandt.”
Liz held out her hand, still trying to come up with that perfect bon mot that would catch and hold this magnificent man’s attention. “It’s Liz,” she said smoothly. And then the words just poured out of her mouth. “My sister is very grateful to you.”
“And why is that?” Eric asked pleasantly, shaking her hand. His hand was strong, his grip firm. He listened to her with that same undivided attention she’d seen him devote to others, and it unnerved her.
“Well, she’s pregnant, and in a way you’re responsible!”
Eric’s smile froze. “Ms. Van Zandt, I don’t take accusations of that nature lightly—”
“Oh, wait, that came out all wrong—”
“One more word, and you’ll be talking to my lawyers, is that clear?”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded—”
“This conversation is over. I don’t wish to make a scene at a charity event, but I trust I won’t lay eyes on you again this evening.” He turned and strode away.
Liz turned toward Nick, so she could at least explain to him what she’d meant, but the crowd had claimed him, also.
“Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again,” Liz murmured. She skulked away, wondering how she was going to explain her utter, humiliating failure to Bridget.
“TEHRE YOU ARE,” Mrs. Hampton said, limping arthritically toward Bridget, who was doing her best imitation of wallpaper. Again. She just wasn’t any good at parties. “My, such a crowd here. You are having a good time, aren’t you?”
“Well, not as good as Liz,” Bridget couldn’t resist remarking. Her sister really knew how to work a party. She mingled, she chitchatted, she glowed.
“Oh, you know how Liz is,” Mrs. Hampton said, patting Bridget’s hand as she pulled her along. “Come, now, there’s someone else I want you to meet. This one is in the art supply business. Now, promise me you won’t talk shop all night.”
“Promise,” Bridget said. Lord, could this get any worse? She wished brazen Liz would just walk right up to Eric Statler and introduce herself. Then Bridget could consider the night a success and go home.
“Here we are. Bridget Van Zandt, meet Fred Santoro.”
“How do you do, Mr.—”
The pudgy, fiftyish man shook her hand while his gaze focused firmly on her cleavage. “Nice to meet you, honey. Say, that’s some dress. Really displays the goods to perfection, know what I mean?”
Yikes! She was afraid she did. She looked helplessly for Mrs. Hampton, who had immediately disappeared.
“You married, little lady?”
Oh, barfola. Little lady? “Um, well—”
He upped the wattage of his leer. “Ah, I see. No ring. You must be one of these liberated gals, don’t want to be tied down with a kitchen and kids. Yeah, I understand.” He winked, then took her arm and tried to lead her away. At such close proximity, she could smell overindulgence on his breath. “Do you like Cadillacs?”
Bridget dug in her heels. “Let me go.”
“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked, genuinely befuddled. Maybe this approach usually worked for him, but she couldn’t imagine how.
“Listen, Mr. Santoro, I’m not your honey and I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He looked skeptical.
Feeling panicked, she resorted to a lie. “There’s my husband, that’s him, right over there.” She pointed to a complete stranger who stood out from the crowd, and not just because of his clothing. He was tall. And gorgeous. And a bit out of place in this fancy gilt ballroom with his outdoorsy good looks. She could picture him riding a horse or chopping wood or paddling a kayak.
He watched her, amused for some reason.
Her mouth went dry. My, my, why hadn’t Mrs. Hampton introduced her to him?
Mr. Santoro immediately released her. “Oh, um, sorry, there, now, didn’t mean to step on any toes.” He literally backed away, ducking his head, holding his hands out as if beseeching forgiveness before disappearing behind an ice sculpture.
“I see you’ve made another conquest.”
Bridget nearly jumped out of her high heels. The man—the fictitious husband—had materialized at her side, and he was looking at her through intriguing gray eyes with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. Surely he hadn’t been standing close enough a few moments ago to hear her fib to Mr. Santoro.