Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep

A roaring twenties runaway...

A baby who needs a daddy!

With the Chicago mob hot on her heels and her late best friend’s baby in her arms, Helen Hathaway hightails it to Hollywood. There she finds little Grace’s uncle, charismatic film producer Jack McCarney. She knows she should keep him—and Grace—at arm’s length; after all, they could be wrenched apart by Grace’s father’s return. But instead she’s falling for Jack, bonded by the baby who needs them both...

A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset…or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com, facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or twitter.com/LauriR.

Also by Lauri Robinson

Saving MarinaWestern Spring Weddings

Her Cheyenne Warrior

Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret

The Cowboy’s Orphan BrideMail-Order Brides of Oak GroveWinning the Mail-Order Bride

Western Christmas Brides

Married to Claim the Rancher’s Heir

In the Sheriff’s ProtectionDiary of a War Bride

Brides of the Roaring Twenties miniseries

Baby on His Hollywood Doorstep

And look out for the next book

coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Baby on His Hollywood Doorstep

Lauri Robinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08899-2

BABY ON HIS HOLLYWOOD DOORSTEP

© 2019 Lauri Robinson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my only sister, Cheri.

An amazing woman.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

She’d done it!

Helen Hathaway pinched the clasp on her purse, making sure it was securely closed. It was only a piece of paper, but that secretarial course certificate meant far more to her. It was her future.

She already had a job!

Would start tomorrow.

The happiness of her accomplishment was overshadowed by worry of what her father would say about it all. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach while glancing at the back of his head in front of her. He was driving, her brother sitting next to him. The two of them were laughing about something. She hadn’t heard what. Hadn’t been paying attention.

Her mind was on that certificate in her purse.

She glanced at her mother, sitting next to her in the backseat. Mother was the only one who knew she’d taken the secretarial course. Who knew she wanted a job outside of the family business. One that would eventually get her out of Chicago.

Far. Far away.

A hint of guilt tickled Helen’s stomach. Not even Mother knew how far away she wanted to get.

Offering her one of her secretive smiles, Mother nodded. “Ray,” she said while smoothing the cuff of the pink glove on her wrist. “Helen has something to celebrate tonight, too.”

“She does?” Father answered.

A ripple of excitement shot through Helen at the sound of enthusiasm in his voice. She bit back a smile, but it was to no avail. She couldn’t keep it hidden.

Mother nodded again, and glanced toward the front seat.

“Yes,” Helen said. “I got a job today.”

“A job?” Junior, her brother twisted and lifted a dark brow as he looked at her over the seat. “Doing what?”

He was only three years older than her, had just turned twenty last month, but acted far older and far more superior. As most of the men she knew did.

She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Typing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Typing what? Where?”

“Helen completed a secretarial course, and today Mr. Stamper offered her a job at the laundry,” Mother said, giving Junior an eye that told him to keep any comments to himself. “It’s only a couple blocks away from the house, and will be something to keep her busy.”

The smile tried to slip off Helen’s face, but she wouldn’t let it. Not while Junior was still looking at her. This job would do more than keep her busy, she’d show him. Show all of them.

Junior snorted, and then turned around as father pulled the car into the lot near the restaurant. It was her uncle’s birthday. A big celebration. It was the first one like this that she’d been allowed to attend. She wasn’t overly excited about that. The less she had to do with the family, the more she liked it, but she was excited about her new dress. White with green stripes. The weather was warm, so she wasn’t wearing a jacket, but did have on a pair of pristine white gloves and matching shoes. Mother had helped her pick out the outfit and she would wear it again tomorrow, to her first day of work.

That’s what she was really excited for.

Father kissed her cheek as she climbed out of the car. “You want to work at the laundry?” he asked.

Fearful that he’d deny her this, she nodded. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

He smiled and nodded. “All right, then.”

Happiness fully engulfed her. She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you.”

He gave her a tight squeeze and then let her go to take ahold of Mother’s arm. Junior walked beside her as they all headed toward the restaurant. Junior gave her a questioning look, but she kept her eyes forward. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents and her brother, she just didn’t like who they were. Who she was. Now that she fully understood. The truth hadn’t shocked her, she’d always known they were different, that her father and brother didn’t have normal jobs.

They were part of the Outfit. All of them. Her parents. Junior. Her. They were one of many families who lived two lives. An outside one, and an inside one.

The noise inside the restaurant filtered out as Father opened the door and Junior held it as they all stepped inside. It was wall-to-wall people. Her uncle Vinnie, a formidable figure, stood on the far side of the room, surrounded by others, and waved at them as they entered.

Mother took ahold of her arm. “Let’s go to the powder room while the men get a drink.”

Helen caught glimpses of people she’d known her entire life, cousins, aunts and uncles as she followed her mother around tables and chairs toward the hallway at the back of the building. Most of them weren’t blood relatives, but were referred to as family because they were all part of the Outfit. Helen wondered if any of the others thought like her. Wanted out of this life before it was too late. That had resonated deep inside her when her cousin Amelia had been mugged by a member of the North End Gang.

More than mugged.

Mother stopped to visit, talking about the new dress she was wearing, and Helen, espying her cousin Karen, kept walking toward the hallway.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Karen asked, clapping her hands with glee. “Your first grown-up party?”

Helen nodded, but kept her honest opinion about that to herself. “I got a job,” she whispered instead.

Karen frowned. “Why?”

Helen open her mouth to reply, but chaos struck just then. It was a moment before she realized what was happening. That the earsplitting rat-a-tat sound was gunfire. Tommy guns. Bullets were flying, glass shattering and people screaming, running, falling.

“Run!”

Someone grabbed her arm, she tried to shake it off, searching for her family, but there were too many people. Too many bullets.

Chapter One

California, 1927

Helen tucked her chin into her neck in order to see over the top of her glasses and get a clear look at the building out of the car window. It wasn’t tall like the hundreds, maybe thousands they’d driven past, nor was it made of bricks or stone like so many of the ones that had taken up miles upon miles of the streets of Los Angeles. The city was larger than she’d imagined. That unsettled her and she hugged the baby sleeping in her arms a bit tighter while attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

Made of wood, the building sprawled out along the street rather than upward like those downtown, and there were few windows, almost as if they didn’t want people looking inside. Several tall palm trees grew next to the building, and she had to wonder how trees could grow amongst so much concrete and traffic.

“This is the address, ma’am,” the driver repeated.

The streetcars didn’t come this far out, which is why she’d had to hire a taxi, yet there was plenty of traffic traveling up the road toward a gigantic white sign up on the hill. HOLLYWOODLAND.

Drawing in a deep breath, Helen held it until her lungs burned. She checked the knot of the scarf tied beneath her chin, making sure it was tight, then picked up her purse and twisted to step out of the car without juggling Grace too much. Once on the curb, she shifted the baby farther into the crook of her arm in order to slip her purse onto her wrist under the baby so she could take the small suitcase the driver was fetching out of the black-and-green-checkered cab. That suitcase held all of her earthly possessions as well as Grace’s. A shiver rippled her insides, once again making her wonder if she could do this; yet she knew she had to.

“Would you like me to carry this inside for you, ma’am?”

Every nerve in her body was trembling. “No. No. Thank you.” Helen reached out, took the hard-sided case. “Thank you again for the ride.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am, and good luck to you.” He climbed back in the taxicab and pulled away from the curb.

A horn honked as the taxi cut into the traffic and Helen’s stomach sank. Not in criticism of his skills, but at the departure itself. She was here. In California. Taking the last steps of the journey she and Grace had traveled. Once again, as she had a million times already, she wished there was another choice.

There wasn’t.

Her throat swelled up. Grace was such a good baby. Had barely fussed the entire train ride. Only whimpered a bit when she’d been hungry or needed a diaper change. She was adorable too, with her soft fuzzy blond hair and big dark eyes. The wave of sadness that engulfed Helen made her eyes sting.

She approached the building with caution at first but, remembering that Grace would soon need to be fed, her footsteps grew more purposeful.

It seemed odd that the address was for this—a building rather than a residence, a house or an apartment. But this is where Vera had mailed the letters to, so this is where they’d traveled to. She and Grace. All the way from Chicago.

At the door, Helen paused. Star’s Studio was painted on the glass in sparkling gold paint. She had no idea what that would mean for Grace, and had to hope it would be good.

She took another deep breath and grasped the handle.

The door wouldn’t budge.

She tried again. Jiggled the door.

It was locked. Locked. In the middle of the day.

She peered through the window, but it was too dark inside to see anything.

Flustered she stepped back and glanced down at Grace. The baby was still sleeping, yet Helen whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t just leave you on the doorstep.”

She wouldn’t, but she had prepared herself for this moment—the time where she would turn Grace over and walk away. It was going to break her heart, but the alternative was worse.

The pain of losing her entire family in the raid by the North End Gang on the restaurant two years ago still lived inside her, as did watching Vera die only a few months ago. Pain like that was crippling, but she’d lived through it, and would this, too. Grace’s safety was far more important than anything else.

“If I could keep you, I would,” she whispered to Grace. “But I can’t. You’ll never be safe with me. Never.”

“Mr. McCarney isn’t booking any auditions right now.”

Helen spun around and had to squint through the glasses she’d taken to wearing two years ago. They were part of her disguise, as was the dull baggy dress. Through the blur of the magnified glasses she didn’t need, she made out a woman walking toward her. She was dressed in a sleek, hip-hugging black-and-white-striped dress, complete with matching head scarf tied on the side, and shoes that clicked against the concrete sidewalk.

Another immense wave of everything from heartbreak to fear washed over Helen. “Mr. McCarney is here?” She glanced at the door. “Inside the building?”

The woman stopped next to the door and frowned as her overly long and hard appraisal went from Helen’s toes to the top of her head before it settled on Grace. “Yes, he’s here, but he’s not taking auditions.” The woman inserted a key in the door.

It took Helen a moment to find her voice. “I’m not here for an audition. I just—”

“Whatever you are here for, Mr. McCarney cannot be disturbed.” The woman pulled the door open. “By anyone.”

Despite the way her heart was breaking and her eyes burning, Helen knew she had to act now, or never might.

“Here,” she said, handing Grace to the woman.

Startled, the woman jostled slightly, but took Grace. Hurrying before she changed her mind, Helen set the suitcase on the ground and snapped it open. She pulled out the flour sack she’d filled with all of Grace’s things as the train had pulled into Los Angeles this morning. Then she reached in her purse and pulled out the bottle full of milk.

Since the woman’s hands were full, Helen set the bag inside the door. Her throat was on fire and she had to fight hard to keep herself from crying. “Her clothes and diapers are in here, and another bottle and cans of milk.”

“What? What are you doing?”

Helen could no longer hold back the tears. They burned her cheeks as she set the bottle full of milk on Grace’s stomach and kissed her soft head one last time. “Her name is Grace and she’s a good baby.” Sobs were stealing her breath away. “A—a very good baby.”

“What? No. Take her back!”

The woman held Grace out, but Helen backed away. The pain inside her was so strong. Her heart was truly breaking in two. She shook her head. “She needs her father.”

“I’m not her father!” the woman said.

Helen grabbed the suitcase off the ground. “Mr. McCarney is.” She couldn’t see through the blur of tears, but she had to get away, so she ran. Ran. Like she had that night back in Chicago, when tommy guns had been spitting out bullets all around her.

* * *

It wasn’t just accomplishment or relief, it was knowing this was some of his best work that had Jack McCarney finally returning to his office from the production lot, throwing down the stack of paper in his arms onto the desk and stretching his hands over his head and popping his knuckles. The last three days had been a hellish race against the clock. Locked in a tiny room at the back of the lot, with his director for almost every single minute of them, they’d finally hashed out the script changes needed to make this film the best it could be.

He loathed script changes as much as he loathed actor changes. But he’d be the first to admit, it would have been impossible to film the script the way it had been originally written. This new version, the reason he’d barely left the studio for over fifty hours, would take Hollywood by a storm.

It was good. Damn good. He’d worked with Malcolm Boyd before, and though the actor wasn’t as well-known as who he’d originally cast to play the role of Walter Reeves, Boyd was now a good fit for Reeves and would play the role to a T with Wes Jenkins as the perfect supporting actor.

Full of exhilaration Jack leaned forward and slapped his desk. This was it. His big chance. He couldn’t wait to start filming.

He couldn’t wait to eat something, either. His ribs were damn near poking out of his shirt.

Jack glanced at his watch, checking to make sure Julia’s diner was still open. She hated Hollywood and everything about it, mainly because of the way Bart Broadbent had swindled her family out of several hundred acres of land. Julia had tried, but couldn’t get the land back. Bart had already sold it to the folks building Hollywoodland. Fancy houses that only the rich and famous could afford. Julia held on to the last few acres of her land with an iron fist, and was making a nice bundle of cash for herself in the process. Her diner had the best food in the neighborhood. Perhaps the city.

He felt bad that Julia’s family had gotten sucked in, but Bart had been known as a dew dropper. The whole lot of Broadbents had been four-flushers, mooching off everyone and anyone.

Recognizing that long ago, Jack had steered clear of Bart and the rest of the Broadbents. He’d warned his brother to steer clear of them too, but like most every other time he’d warned him of something, Joe hadn’t listened. Right before leaving, he’d borrowed money from the Broadbents against his shares in the studio.

Frustration washed over Jack as he pushed away from his desk. The Broadbents had been hounding him, wanting to increase their dividends, ever since Joe left.

He refused, but did send them monthly payments, cleaning up yet another mess that Joe had left behind, because that’s what he’d always done. Cleaned up after Joe.

If his brother hadn’t been such a windsucker, things would be different right now. But that wouldn’t have been Joe. He’d thought he was too big to go down. Too high above the rest. Joe had always thought like that, despite the fact that that had never been the case. No matter how famous one gets, there’s always someone more famous. Richer. With better contacts and contracts.

That was Hollywood, and why you had to be tough to play here.

Joe had been tough, but he’d also been foolish. Too foolish. That’s what had gotten him blacklisted. Banned from ever acting in Hollywood again for immoral conduct.

Jack almost laughed, except it wasn’t funny.

Others were just as immoral, but they didn’t flaunt it. That’s what had brought Joe down, and the reason he’d left. Why he’d been gone for over two years and most likely would never be back.

It hadn’t completely stopped Joe. He was still out there, somewhere, flaunting his Hollywood connections and making promises that would never be fulfilled. The steady flow of women contacting the studio was proof of that. Each one claimed Joe had sent them, promising stardom. Riches. Fame.

There was also a bag full of unopened letters from others who hadn’t been able to muster up the money to actually make it to Hollywood, but wanted the same promises fulfilled.

After opening the first few letters, Jack had simply given instructions to put any other mail that arrived for Joe in the bag. Shattering the dreams of the ones who walked through the studio door was more than enough to deal with.

With frustration rising, Jack stood up. Scooping up the stack of papers that were full of script changes, Jack carried them out of his office and down the long corridor to the front lobby. Beverly Hobbs had done a fine job of following his orders about not being disturbed the past couple of days, and he hoped she was as good of a typist as she was a gatekeeper.

He pushed open the door to the lobby, but froze in his tracks. Front office girls came and went as fast as actors, and right now, even though she’d been working here for only a week, he needed this one. Therefore, he cautiously asked, “You have a baby?”

“No.” She set the bottle on her desk and lifted the infant to her shoulder. “You do.”

Shocked, it was a moment before Jack shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

She stood. “That’s not what the woman who dropped this one off said.”

Jack backed up, half-afraid she was going to hand him the infant. “What woman?”

“The one who was at the door when I came back from lunch.” She pointed to a sack on the desk. “She gave me that bag of diapers and milk and said the baby’s name is Grace and that she needs her father. Mr. McCarney.”

His blood turned to ice. He’d thought he’d seen it all. Women had tried all sorts of things to catch his attention, to make them stars, but claiming he’d fathered their baby. That was a first. “Where is she now? The woman?”

“Can’t say for sure. She took off running like a swarm of bees were chasing her. Last I saw, Julia from across the street ran out to keep her from getting hit.” Miss Hobbs shook her head. “Cars were coming from both directions. It was as if she hadn’t even seen them.”