Another Woman's Baby

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s only fair I tell you. I’m crazy about you, Megan. I tried to deny it, tried to pretend the feelings weren’t there, but they only grew stronger. Then last night when we kissed under the mistletoe, I had to face it. And unless I’m reading the signals wrong, you feel something for me.”

She felt a lot more than something, but she’d been determined to blame it on her pregnancy-induced hormonal imbalance. “Has this ever happened before?” she asked.

“You’re the very first. And for the record, it’s against every rule in the book to get hooked on the woman you’re required to protect.”

Dear Reader,

This holiday season, deck the halls with some of the most exciting names in romantic suspense: Anne Stuart and Gayle Wilson. These two award-winning authors have returned together to Harlequin Intrigue to reprise their much loved miniseries—CATSPAW and MEN OF MYSTERY—in a special 2-in-1 collection. Night and Day is a guaranteed keeper and the best stocking stuffer around!

Find out what happens when a single-dad secret agent has to protect a beautiful scientist as our MONTANA CONFIDENTIAL series continues with Licensed To Marry by Charlotte Douglas.

The stork is coming down the chimney this year, as Joanna Wayne begins a brand-new series of books set in the sultry South. Look for Another Woman’s Baby this month and more HIDDEN PASSIONS books to come in the near future.

Also available from Harlequin Intrigue is the second title in Susan Kearney’s HIDE AND SEEK trilogy. The search goes on in Hidden Hearts.

Happy holidays from all of us at Harlequin Intrigue.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

P.S.—Next month you can find another special holiday title—A Woman with a Mystery by B.J. Daniels

Another Woman’s Baby

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, golfing or playing with her grandchildren, and, of course, researching and plotting out her next novel.

Joanna loves to hear from readers. You can request a newsletter by writing her at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851, or e-mail her at JoannaWayne@msn.com.

Books by Joanna Wayne

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

288—DEEP IN THE BAYOU

339—BEHIND THE MASK

389—EXTREME HEAT

444—FAMILY TIES*

471—JODIE’S LITTLE SECRETS

495—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

505—LONE STAR LAWMAN

537—MEMORIES AT MIDNIGHT

569—THE SECOND SON*

573—THE STRANGER NEXT DOOR*

577—A MOTHER’S SECRETS*

593—THE OUTSIDER’S REDEMPTION

621—UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

639—ANOTHER WOMAN’S BABY†

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Megan Lancaster— A surrogate mother who wants only to keep the unborn baby safe.

Bart Cromwell— A stranger in the town of Orange Beach, but does he have a hidden agenda?

Ben and Jackie Brewster— Biological parents of the baby.

Marilyn Lancaster— Megan’s mother, a woman with secrets of her own.

Joshua Caraway— An escaped convict who’s promised revenge.

John Hardison— Megan’s co-worker and past lover, a man who may have more than one reason for seeing that Megan gives the baby up for adoption.

Mark Cox— A handyman who may have seen more than he’s telling.

Fenelda Shelby— Megan’s housekeeper. In and out of dozens of houses, she’s seen a lot and knows more than she should.

Leroy Shelby— He’s trying to overcome a drug problem, but his mother fears he’s losing the battle.

Roger Collier— A local cop and an old friend from high school who seems very glad that Megan is back in town.

Sandra Birney— A longtime friend of Megan’s mother, but does she hold a key to more than Pelican’s Roost?

Penny Drummonds— Megan’s friend and a lifelong resident of Orange Beach.

To everyone who loves to feel the warm sand between their toes, to build a sand castle at the water’s edge or just to curl up with a good book with the rhythmic melody of the surf for background.

And to Wayne always.

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 Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

December 4

Megan Lancaster turned onto the beach road the way she’d done hundreds of times before. Light gray clouds and patches of sunlight merged with the blue-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Swirling, heaving waves washed over white sand. Dozens of seagulls lined the bank. A light breeze danced through clusters of willowy sea oats.

Everything was the same as it had been so many times before when she’d escaped to the rambling beach house. Yet everything was different.

She shifted, trying to find a way to get comfortable behind the steering wheel of her new black sedan. It was useless, even though she’d splurged for the luxury model this time. Her bulging stomach prevented any kind of free movement and now she needed to go to the bathroom—again.

She pulled into a service station and reached for her brown loafers, which she’d shed after the last stop and thrown onto the passenger seat. There was no way she could bend far enough to reach her feet from behind the wheel, so she opened the car door and turned her body so that her legs hung out the open door. The shoes had fit perfectly when she’d shimmied behind the wheel four hours ago when she left her New Orleans town house, but now she had to struggle to force her feet into them. Swelling feet—another side effect of pregnancy that she’d been unprepared for.

Aching feet and cramped muscles notwithstanding, she waddled to the rest room inside the service station, took care of business, then purchased another bottle of spring-water. She stretched the kinks from her neck and shoulders before getting back into the car and switching on the ignition.

One more stop before she could climb the steps at Pelican’s Roost and collapse onto the inviting pillowed sofa. She hadn’t been to the beach house in months and the cupboards would be as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s. And the only thing Megan did more often than go to the bathroom these days was eat. With that thought in mind, she reached her hand into the plastic bag on the passenger seat and pulled out a piece of dried fruit to munch on.

Twenty-three days until the baby was due. Twenty-three days with nothing to do but visit Dr. Brown, who’d already agreed to deliver the baby, and take life easy until she went into labor. With luck, she’d keep a low profile, avoid running into old friends with questions. Avoid having to explain the pregnancy when she wasn’t married, and since her breakup with John over a year ago, wasn’t even in an intimate relationship.

But she had her story ready, just in case. In fact she’d already shared it with Fenelda Shelby and Sandra Birney, the two women she couldn’t possibly avoid. Both had bought her explanation, a mixture of half truths and basic omissions.

Fenelda had been the housekeeper at Pelican’s Roost for years, staying on to keep a watch over the house for Megan after her grandmother’s death two years ago. Sandra Eloise Birney-Ramsey the third was her mother’s best friend in Orange Beach and had been a jewel about watching over Megan’s grandmother before her death. She’d never forgive Megan if she found out she was back at the beach house and didn’t let her know. And nothing went on around Orange Beach that Sandra didn’t find out about.

Driving slowly, Megan noticed another new high-rise condominium, one that had sprung up since her last visit, and a new restaurant as well. The growth in the area had been phenomenal over the last few years as more and more tourists discovered the emerald waters and sugar-white sands along Alabama’s southern coast. The condos, restaurants and shops would all be packed once spring made it’s grand appearance, but December was the off season. Before the snow birds arrived from the north to rent the condos for months at a time and after the summer tourists had returned to work and school.

Easing her foot onto the brake, she slowed and pulled into the parking lot of one of the new souvenir shops. She needed a pair of sandals to fit her swollen feet. The loafers were so tight that even shopping for basic supplies would seem like an endurance test.

She parked and pulled her cumbersome frame from beneath the wheel just as two lithe teenage girls exited the store, each with a large bag clasped in her hand. They moved so easily, almost as if they were floating on air, especially when compared to Megan’s awkward stride.

All because of a baby who grew inside her. The now-familiar feeling washed over her, suffocating her, as if the gray clouds had fallen from the sky and landed on top of her. The feeling was incredible, unidentifiable. A feeling that everything was wrong in a world that up until a month ago had seemed totally right. But the despair never lasted long. A new and precious life was growing inside her.

She held on to the door of the car for support as the baby gave a few hard kicks before resettling in her womb. Then she put on what her grandmother used to call her “company face” and walked inside the store. With any luck at all, she’d get out without running into anyone she knew.

“Megan Lancaster, is that you?”

So much for luck. Penny Drummonds pranced toward her, makeup perfect, hair blond, short and bouncey, her size-six body fitted into a pair of designer jeans and a soft teal sweater. “It is you, and you’re pregnant!”

“How’d you guess?”

“Oh, you,” she said as they exchanged hugs. “You’ll have to tell me everything. I didn’t know you were even married. Last I heard, you were a dedicated career woman.”

“I still am. How about you?”

“Same old stuff. Taking care of Tom and the kids. You’ll have to come over for a visit. Is your husband with you?”

“Actually, I don’t have a husband.” It was almost worth the aggravation of running into Penny just to see the look on her face now. There was an awkward silence while Penny removed her foot from her mouth.

“But you’re having a baby. That’s wonderful.”

“The baby’s not mine.”

Penny stared at her as if she wondered when Megan had escaped the loony bin.

“I’m a surrogate mother.”

“I see.”

Megan could tell from her expression that she didn’t. “Another woman’s fertilized egg was implanted in my uterus.”

Penny put a hand on Megan’s shoulder, her facial expression telegraphing her doubt. “Even if it was yours, Megan, it wouldn’t matter to me. Single women give birth all the time now. When’s it due?”

“December twenty-seventh.”

“A Christmas baby. You must be excited.”

Not the word Megan would have picked, but she chose not to correct Penny. The bell over the door clanged, signaling that another customer had entered the store.

She and Penny both turned as a man in jeans and a gray sweatshirt stepped inside. He was nice-looking in a rugged sort of way—mid-thirties, light brown hair peeking from under a faded baseball cap, about six feet tall, lean and muscled.

Penny eyed him appreciatively but waited until he’d rounded a rack of T-shirts before commenting. “He’d make a nice Christmas present. Something to cuddle up with under the tree.”

“Penny Drummonds, you have not changed a bit since high school.”

“Sure I have. Now I only look and lust.”

“I take it he’s not a resident.”

“I’ve never seen him around here before, and believe me, I would have noticed. He’s probably married with six kids. If not, you should think about reeling him in while you’re here on vacation.”

Megan patted her protruding stomach. “I don’t think I have the bait for that kind of catch.”

“And speaking of catches, I’d better get home and cook for mine. Anyway, we’ll have to get together for lunch one day. There’s a new restaurant that makes a divine spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing. How long will you be in town?”

“A few weeks.”

“Super. I’ll call you.”

Penny headed over to the clearance rack to check out the bargains and the sexy guy. By the time Megan made it back to the table of beach shoes, she could hear Penny’s bubbling voice mingling with the man’s much deeper one. Obviously she could flirt as well as look and lust.

Megan tried on several pairs of shoes, finally finding a set that didn’t bind. She took the long way back to the checkout counter to keep from having to walk by Penny and risk having to answer more questions. It didn’t work. Penny called to her from across the store. “Megan, you’re not staying at your grandmother’s big old house all by yourself, are you? It’s so isolated and lonely on that part of the beach this time of year.”

“It’s home.”

“You’re much braver than me. I’d never stay by myself in that huge house.”

No, but, thank you, Penny, for announcing all the details to the stranger who had quit rummaging through the clearance items to stare at her. Add uneasiness to the myriad emotions that played hopscotch with her hormones these days, hitting and missing in no particular order.

But unless the man was a serial killer or had some bizarre fetish for wobbling pregnant women, he wouldn’t bother looking her up. Still, Penny had hit on a nerve. The last time she’d stayed in the beach house alone, when she was in the process of breaking up with John Hardison, she’d had trouble sleeping, had been wakened more than once by the creaking of the house and the whistling of the wind as it swept under the eaves.

All old houses have ghosts, her grandmother used to say. But only ghosts who harbor hidden secrets came back to haunt you. The rest of the ghosts just live within the happy memories held inside the walls of every home. If that was true, the ghosts at her grandmother’s house were probably sitting around thinking of her grandmother’s keylime pie and the wonderful days of summer and sand castles, lemonade and running in the surf.

So why did she suddenly feel so alone and vulnerable at the prospect of staying at the house she’d always loved?

BART CROMWELL STOOD just inside the door of the souvenir shop and watched the pregnant woman climb into her car. She was extremely attractive, a classic beauty with high cheekbones and a long, regal neck. Coal-black hair, short and thick with bangs that fell across her forehead and an exotic olive complexion with dark bedroom eyes and full lips. Her large, white shirt fell to her hips and flowed over the top of a pair of sleek black trousers. Sophisticated and most definitely pregnant.

She backed onto the highway and headed east. Not much traffic to worry about today, though he imagined the place swarmed with people from spring break through summer. He’d never been to this part of Alabama before, but now that he had, he’d come back. The sand was sugar white, and when the sun reflected off the water, it turned the Gulf into a brilliant rainbow of greens and blues. There were even dolphins, or so he’d heard. He’d check those out tomorrow.

Tonight, he’d check out a big, isolated house on the beach where a pregnant woman was going to be staying all by herself. Pushing through the door, he jumped into his nondescript sedan and gunned the engine to life. He caught up with the woman’s luxury car just as it turned into the supermarket parking lot. Perfect. He needed to pick up a few groceries himself.

Beaches always whet his appetite—for food and excitement. He expected to find plenty of both in Orange Beach.

Chapter Two

Megan fit the key into the lock and opened the front door of Pelican’s Roost, feeling better by the minute, even though she’d climbed the wide stairs with a bag of groceries in each hand. The bottom level of the house consisted of a spacious storage area large enough to hold enough beach furniture for at least two dozen guests, an assortment of life jackets, floats and other beach paraphernalia and a seldom-used catamaran. Behind that was parking for up to four cars. The wide steps to the second level were on the outside of the house, and they were the only way to reach the living area of the rambling structure.

Her grandmother had talked for years of adding an elevator to the place, one that carried you straight from the covered parking area into the interior of the house without your having to get out in all kinds of weather or carry shopping bags and groceries up the stairs. She’d never done it, decided in the end that climbing the steps kept her young. Right now, Megan would have loved to have the elevator.

She pushed through the door, and into the high-ceilinged family room. The room was chilly but welcoming all the same. Tomorrow she’d get someone to deliver wood so that she could build a fire in the massive brick fireplace that took up most of one wall. The opposite side of the room had three sets of sliding glass doors, creating a virtual wall of glass. The drapes were pulled, letting in the late-afternoon glow of the sun and giving the illusion that the Gulf rolled right up to the house itself. Already the sight of the water made her feel calmer. Coming here had been the right thing to do.

She shut the front door behind her and headed for the kitchen. Setting a bag of groceries on the counter, she looked around the room and had the distinct feeling her grandmother might walk in any second. The room was filled with memories…Baking cookies with her grandmother. Icing cupcakes and eating more of the gooey concoction than she put on the little cakes. Cutting strips of red and green construction paper and gluing them into chains to drape about the Christmas tree.

The jangling of the phone broke into her thoughts. She picked up the extension by the sink, wondering who’d be calling her so soon after she’d arrived. “Hello.”

“I see you made it.”

“John. I should have known it would be you. Don’t tell me there’s already an emergency. I was in the office this morning.”

“Rumblings in the merger deal. Boynton wants us to guarantee to keep seventy percent of their management-level people.”

“Stick to the fifty percent we offered them. If they weren’t so top heavy, they wouldn’t have to merge in the first place. Too many chiefs do not make for a good bottom line.”

“And if they won’t go along with that?”

“They will. Cullecci will make a fuss, but he has his orders. He’ll work with you. Play hardball with the retirement plan, too. What we have at Lannier is far more reasonable and fair then what they’ve provided. And, John, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m on leave.”

“How could I forget? Could this pregnancy come at a more inconvenient time?”

“I hope you’re not asking me that question.”

“Sorry. I know this is harder on you than on anyone else. Did you contact the adoption agency?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I’ll call them.”

“Good. I don’t want you to waste any more time on this than is absolutely necessary. We have too much on our plate. You keep doing the job you’ve been doing, and you’ll be the youngest vice president Lannier’s ever had.”

“Do you guarantee that?”

“No, but I can tell you that the new CEO is extremely impressed with you. I had dinner with him last night at Commander’s Palace, and he was singing your praises about the way you’re handling this acquisition.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to work in January and the baby will be in her new home.”

“Then we’re on the same page. Now take care of yourself,” he said sincerely. “By the way, Lufkin called from the London office. He want’s to know if the meeting is still on for January 12.”

“It’s on. I already have my plane reservations.”

“Then just call me if you need anything.”

“Notice I am not offering you that same option.”

When she finally hung up, stabbing little pains had started building around her temples. She loved her job, but it was demanding and hectic and all-consuming. And working so closely with a man she’d practically left at the altar added an extra layer of tension to the job. She needed this break, needed time to think and to relax and to grieve for the mother of the baby she was carrying.

In all honesty, she’d had her doubts when her best friend had come to her and asked her to carry her child. But how could she say no when Jackie and Ben wanted the baby so desperately? Nine months of inconvenience for her, a lifetime of happiness and dreams come true for them.

Only now there was no Jackie. No Ben. No parents for the baby that kicked and slept and curled into a tiny ball just below her heart.

Her hands shook as she took the carton of eggs from the paper bag and placed them in the refrigerator. Cheese, crackers, canned soup, fruit juices, cereal. She put them away, sliding the canned goods into empty cupboards that would have been filled to overflowing if her grandmother were still alive.

The old house seemed to close in around her as she worked. As soon as she put the last item away, she opened one of the doors to the balcony and took a deep breath. The smell of saltwater filled her nostrils, and all of a sudden she couldn’t wait to walk down to the water’s edge and let the incoming surf wash over her feet and pull the shifting sand from beneath her toes.

It was almost dark, but if she hurried, she could watch the final plunge of the sun as it sank into the Gulf. At least that’s what it appeared to do, and when Megan was a child, her grandmother had had a difficult time convincing her otherwise. Pulling on a light jacket, she hurried down the front stairs in bare feet, moving faster than she had in days.

THE SUN SET in minutes, but Megan was not nearly ready to go back inside. Bending over, she rolled up the legs of her black pants so that she could walk at the water’s edge.

The beach seemed to belong to her tonight. She could see lights from some of the high-rise condos in the distance and the flickering beam of a fishing boat a mile or so out from the coast, but there was not another soul in sight.

That’s why she loved December at the beach. The sandy shores were isolated except for the few determined souls like her grandmother who lived here year-round and a few tourists who dribbled in.

Isolated. The word echoed in her mind, and for a second that same unsetting shudder she’d felt this afternoon in the souvenir shop rolled over her. She forced it away. This wasn’t the city, and she’d walked this beach alone day or night for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother did the same right up until her heart had given out at the age of eighty-eight.