SO MANY BABIES

Four heart-tugging stories about the littlest matchmakers as they find their way through the Buttonwood Baby Clinic and into a family’s welcoming arms!

THE BABY LEGACY by Pamela Toth

When an anonymous sperm donor tries to withdraw his “contribution,” he learns a beautiful woman is eight months pregnant—with his child!

WHO’S THAT BABY? by Diana Whitney

A handsome Native American lawyer finds a baby on his doorstep—and more than he bargains for with an irresistible pediatrician who has more than medicine on her mind!

MILLIONAIRE’S INSTANT BABY

by Allison Leigh

Pretend to be married to a millionaire “husband”? It seemed an easy way for this struggling single mom to earn a trust fund for her newborn. But she never thought she’d fall for her make-believe spouse….

MAKE WAY FOR BABIES! by Laurie Paige

All she needed was a helping hand with her infant twins—until her former brother-in-law stepped up to play “daddy”—and walked right into her heart.

Dear Reader,

It’s going to be a wonderful year! After all, we’re celebrating Silhouette’s 20th anniversary of bringing you compelling, emotional, contemporary romances month after month.

January’s fabulous lineup starts with beloved author Diana Palmer, who returns to Special Edition with Matt Caldwell: Texas Tycoon. In the latest installment of her wildly popular LONG, TALL TEXANS series, temperatures rise and the stakes are high when a rugged tycoon meets his match in an innocent beauty—who is also his feisty employee.

Bestselling author Susan Mallery continues the next round of the series PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE with Their Little Princess. In this heart-tugging story, baby doctor Kelly Hall gives a suddenly single dad lessons in parenting—and learns all about romance!

Reader favorite Pamela Toth launches Special Edition’s newest series, SO MANY BABIES—in which babies and romance abound in the Buttonwood Baby Clinic. In The Baby Legacy, a sperm-bank mix-up brings two unlikely parents together temporarily—or perhaps forever….

In Peggy Webb’s passionate story, Summer Hawk, two Native Americans put aside their differences when they unite to battle a medical crisis and find that love cures all. Rounding off the month is veteran author Pat Warren’s poignant, must-read secret baby story, Daddy by Surprise, and Jean Brashear’s Lonesome No More, in which a reclusive hero finds healing for his heart when he offers a single mom and her young son a haven from harm.

I hope you enjoy these six unforgettable romances and help us celebrate Silhouette’s 20th anniversary all year long!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

The Baby Legacy
Pamela Toth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Books by Pamela Toth

Silhouette Special Edition

Thunderstruck #411

Dark Angel #515

Old Enough To Know Better #624

Two Sets of Footprints #729

A Warming Trend #760

Walk Away, Joe #850

The Wedding Knot #905

Rocky Mountain Rancher #951

*Buchanan’s Bride #1012

*Buchanan’s Baby #1017

*Buchanan’s Return #1096

The Paternity Test #1138

The Mail-Order Mix-Up #1197

*Buchanan’s Pride #1239

The Baby Legacy #1299

Silhouette Romance

Kissing Games #500

The Ladybug Lady #595

PAMELA TOTH

USA Today bestselling author Pamela Toth was born in Wisconsin, but grew up in Seattle where she attended the University of Washington and majored in art. Now living on the Puget Sound area’s east side, she has two daughters, Erika and Melody, and two Siamese cats.

Recently she took a lead from one of her romances and married her high school sweetheart, Frank. They live in a townhouse within walking distance of a bookstore and an ice cream shop, two of life’s necessities, with a fabulous view of Mount Rainier. When she’s not writing, she enjoys traveling with her husband, reading, playing FreeCell on the computer, doing counted cross-stitch and researching new story ideas. She’s been an active member of Romance Writers of America since 1982.

Her books have won several awards and they claim regular spots on the Waldenbooks bestselling romance list. She loves hearing from readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, WA 98006. For a personal reply, a stamped, self-addressed envelope is appreciated.

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 One

Mac Duncan stared down at the letter in his hand and swore softly. This was a hell of a way to find out he was going to be a father.

The letter was from the Buttonwood Baby Clinic where he’d left a certain deposit with the fertility department three years before to help out a platonic female friend. Since Linda had changed her mind about having a baby by artificial insemination and was now happily married, Mac had figured it was time for his sperm sample to be destroyed. Spotting the envelope with his incoming mail this afternoon, he’d assumed it contained some kind of consent form for him to sign.

Was he ever wrong.

The brief letter read,

Dear Mr. Duncan,

Our staff is looking forward to helping you and Ms. Megan Malone prepare for the birth of your baby. As per your request, you have both been registered for the next series of childbearing classes at the clinic. Please see the enclosed brochure for details.

Huh?

He hadn’t signed up for a childbirth class, he wasn’t having a baby—and who the hell was Megan Malone?

Could one of his men be playing a practical joke? No, that didn’t make sense. None of them knew about Mac’s donation to the clinic.

Slowly he read the letter again, staring hard at the innocent-looking blue script printed on thick, cream paper. Was it possible that some mix-up had occurred and his sperm had actually been used without his permission?

Mac laid the letter on his drafting table, his hands shaking as the implication sank in. This woman, this stranger, could be pregnant with his child.

His stomach did a queasy somersault. And what was this nonsense about a childbirth class? Weren’t the names of donors and recipients supposed to be kept confidential? Mac glanced at the enclosed flyer in disbelief. The class was for expectant mothers and their partners, not anonymous donors. Not even if their sperm had been used by accident.

Fury replaced Mac’s original confusion. One way or another, a hell of a big mistake had been made and he wanted some answers.

Anger simmering, he grabbed the cordless phone from his desk and punched out the clinic’s number from the letterhead. “Dennis Reid,” he growled.

Mac and the chief of staff had met at the local health club and sometimes played racquetball. Although Dennis was older than Mac, he was fiercely competitive. If he didn’t have answers, he could at least point Mac in the right direction.

Unfortunately Dennis was at a seminar in Denver. “Can I take a message?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes. This is Mac Duncan. There’s been a foul-up,” Mac said, too impatient to wait. “Let me speak to the person in charge of class registration.”

“Just a moment.”

Mac sat back, leather chair creaking like an old saddle, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” said the same cheerful voice. “She’s not available. Perhaps I can help you with that.”

“Not unless you’re prepared to explain why I’m having a child I knew nothing about and am registered for a class with a pregnant woman I’ve never heard of.” Mac held on to his temper with difficulty, frustration curdling in his gut.

“Just a moment.” The annoying cheerfulness was gone from her voice as she put him on hold again. Unable to sit still, he leaped to his feet. His elbow bumped a stack of blueprints and they rolled to the floor. Swearing, he nudged them aside with the toe of his boot. He’d stayed home this morning to get some work done. Too bad the sun and his dog, Rusty, had lured him outside to the mailbox. Now the plans for the Delany project would just have to wait.

After several frustrating minutes, the receptionist came back on the line. “I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll access your file now.”

There was another pause long enough for Mac to slowly count to ten while he stared out the window overlooking his backyard. The flower beds needed attention, he noticed absently. The warmer weather had brought out the weeds.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “Patient records aren’t coming up on my computer screen. We’ve been having trouble with the system. Why don’t you call back later?”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can help me now?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Not really, but I can have someone get back to you.”

“You do that.” He rattled off his number before he hung up. Then he sat back down and reread the letter for the third time. It had to be some kind of clerical error. Any clinic dealing with fertility would take precautions against this kind of breach or they’d be up to their test tubes in lawsuits.

Mac drummed his fingers on his desk. Someone else named Duncan had probably signed up for the class and the letter had been sent to Mac by mistake. It was a computer glitch. No point in getting stressed out.

Not yet, anyway.

He wanted a baby, but not by a stranger. He was thirty-seven and it was past time to start a family, but there was more to fathering a child than just standing at stud like a syndicated racehorse.

He’d been considering the idea of proposing to Justine Connors, the woman he’d been seeing for the past six months, and that was one reason he’d finally gotten around to contacting the clinic about his sperm.

Tying up loose ends was quickly turning into unraveling the Gordian knot.

What if they had actually used his sample by mistake? A chill slid down his spine. If not for the letter, he never would have known.

What if a similar notice had been sent to Ms. Malone? She’d certainly know if she was pregnant, and by whom. All he had to do was to ask her.

Mac flipped open the local phone book, found the right page and ran his finger down the column. There was only one M. Malone. She must be single. He reached for the phone and then he hesitated. What was he going to say? Are you having my baby?

Megan Malone hit the Save button on her computer and leaned back in her chair. She’d been working all morning on a vegetarian cookbook and her back was beginning to ache. Megan knew from experience that it was time for a break.

With a self-deprecating grin at her own awkwardness, she heaved herself out of her chair and waddled down the stairs of her townhouse with one hand on the banister and the other cradling her bulging stomach. True to form, her baby had stopped kicking the moment Megan got up.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she called to the heap of gray fur dozing in the sun shining through the patio door. The rebirth that spring always brought made it her favorite season.

“Time to get the mail, Cassius.”

The cat, a big gray Persian with gold eyes, didn’t even stir. The only indication that he was alive at all was the gentle rise and fall of his stomach.

With a shrug, Megan went outside, breathing in the fresh, sweet air. Sometimes Cassius liked to accompany her, but only if it was his idea. He preferred acting the aristocrat he resembled rather than the bedraggled stray she’d adopted a year ago.

Megan walked out to the cluster of mailboxes in front of her building and retrieved her mail. Turning, she stopped to admire the vivid hues surrounding her—the periwinkle-blue of the sky, the rich green of the velvety lawn, the buttery-yellow daffodils, the waxy white hyacinths and fringe of royal purple crocus that lined the sidewalks.

The complex where she lived was a small one, two units to a building, all painted cream and trimmed with navy-blue. Megan knew several of her neighbors well enough to exchange a few words, especially since she had started to show. They asked how she felt and when she was due, but so far, at least, no one had mentioned the missing father.

Humming to herself, Megan took her mail inside and sat down at the dining room table to go through it. There was a phone bill, a gourmet cooking magazine, a pre-approved credit card application, a bulky package from one of the publishers for whom she did freelance cookbook indexing, a periodical about cats and a letter from the baby clinic.

She’d called the clinic last week to sign up for the birthing class she’d canceled three months before when her friend Helen, who’d agreed to go with her, had been transferred to Boston. Megan still needed to find a new partner. Since she worked at home and had no family in the area, her options were limited.

In the envelope was a flyer about the class and a letter. As Megan read it, the blood slowly drained from her head, leaving her dizzy.

She’d planned on raising her child alone. Except for the biological father’s medical history and a brief physical description, she knew nothing about him. Didn’t want to know. Deliberately she had picked a donor who wished to remain anonymous, and she’d been assured by the clinic that neither of their identities would ever be revealed to the other.

In the past she had tried to do it the traditional way—meet a man, fall in love, get married and have a family. If Mr. Right was out there, Megan hadn’t been able to find him despite several disappointing attempts. The Buttonwood Baby Clinic had offered her an alternative and she’d moved here to take it.

Now she felt betrayed. According to this letter the donor, MacGregor Duncan, was going to be her partner at the new childbirth class.

No, no, no! This was terrible. He never should have been given her name. The people at the clinic were crazy if they thought she’d go along with this arrangement.

Heart racing, Megan grabbed the phone. Not only had she no intention of learning about breathing, contractions and delivery with a perfect stranger, she didn’t want some man interfering in her life and the raising of her child. Her child. Not his. Not theirs. No shared custody. No meddling. That wasn’t the deal.

A few frustrating moments later, Megan replaced the receiver and pressed the heels of her hands to her head. She was too late. Mr. Duncan’s notice had been mailed the same day as hers. By now he knew her identity, too. The woman Megan had talked to had been no help at all and Megan had been too upset to insist on speaking with someone else.

She thought about calling them back. Instead she got up and circled the table, one hand braced on her back. What a mess!

What was she going to do now?

Probably the most sensible plan of action would be to contact the donor herself, but something inside her hated to cross that line. Since she’d become pregnant, she had managed to forget that anyone else had been involved in the process. Now that she knew the donor’s name it was more difficult to ignore his existence. Once she spoke to him, heard his voice, it might become downright impossible.

She popped a peanut butter M&M from a bowl on the counter into her mouth. She could just skip the class. No, it was much too late to reschedule. Although she’d spent a considerable part of her childhood taking care of various younger cousins, they hadn’t actually been babies. Besides, she knew next to nothing about giving birth.

Perhaps the donor was as surprised by the notice as she was. He must realize that being assigned as her birthing-class partner was an unfortunate clerical error, to quote the girl at the clinic. Unless he assumed it was all Megan’s idea. Oh, dear. She had to set him straight and to explain that she wanted nothing to do with him. There was no reason for them to ever meet.

Surely he’d be relieved to know he was off the hook. A man who donated sperm wasn’t looking for parental responsibility, child support, weekend visits, diapers, bottles, or anything else that went along with having a baby together—was he?

She had to know his intentions. There was a chance she would need to consult an attorney and find out her rights.

Since when had maternity gotten so complicated?

Before Megan could reach for another M&M, the baby gave her a hard kick. Despite her refusal to be told its gender, she had always thought of it as a boy.

“Hey, champ, how are you doing?” she cooed, rubbing the spot he’d poked. Already she loved this little being, this tiny, precious part of herself. Since she had first decided to become a single parent and raise a child alone, she hadn’t had one moment of regret or doubt. Together the two of them would become the family Megan had always longed for.

She picked up the letter again and read the donor’s name aloud. “MacGregor Duncan.” No question of his ancestry. She didn’t care about that—there were probably a few drops of Scottish blood in her own mixed lineage.

The man was a stranger and yet, despite her attempt to ignore his contribution, a part of him was growing inside her. She had been told that he was intelligent, healthy, had medium-brown hair and dark eyes. Before she had known his name, she hadn’t given him another thought, but now her curiosity was piqued.

Biting her lip, she shook her head and crumpled up the letter. There were reasons she’d chosen to have this child alone. Best she not forget them.

In the silence of her town home, the sudden shrill ring of the phone startled both her and Cassius, who raised his head and gave her an accusing glance. Usually Megan let the machine take her calls during her working hours, but this time she picked up the receiver without thinking and said hello.

“Is this Megan Malone?”

At the sound of the deep male voice, a shiver of response slid down her spine. Dratted hormones. “Yes, this is she,” she answered warily. Sometimes even telemarketers had attractive voices.

There was another pause, but she could hear breathing. She was about to hang up when a strong suspicion leaped at her. “Mr. Duncan?” she blurted.

“Yes, but how did you know?” He sounded surprised.

“I just read my mail,” she said dryly. “When I called the clinic, they told me you’d been sent the same letter I got. I assume you’re as stunned as I am by this bizarre turn of events.”

“Stunned doesn’t begin to describe my reaction,” he replied with a thread of humor in his voice that warmed her, despite her wariness. At least the situation hadn’t been all his idea.

Megan frowned. She must remember she really knew nothing about what kind of man he was—except, of course, that he had an adequate sperm count. Nor did she want to know. Instantly her defenses went back up.

“It’s the letter I’m calling about,” he said. “This is awkward, but did you request me as a partner in your childbirth class?”

It was the last thing Megan had expected him to ask. “No,” she replied forcefully. “Why would I do that?”

There was a pause. “Could we get together somewhere and talk?” he asked. “It’s hard to discuss this kind of thing over the phone.”

Panic welled in Megan. Everything was happening too fast. “Getting together isn’t a good idea. It’s obvious the clinic made some kind of mistake, but we can still pretend we don’t know each other’s identity. I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Duncan, and I don’t want to meet you.” Her voice was rising, so she took a deep breath. “This was all supposed to be confidential. From here on out, let’s keep it that way.”

Before he could reply, Megan hung up the receiver. She was shaking all over. This kind of stress couldn’t be good for her baby. It sure as heck wasn’t good for her. She ran a soothing hand over her stomach and murmured softly.

Before she could completely calm down, the phone rang again. Taking deep, slow breaths, she let the machine take it. Someone at the clinic had a lot of explaining to do! As soon as she heard Duncan’s voice, she pressed her hands to her ears and left the room. Moving as quickly as she could, she went back upstairs, humming loudly to block him out.

The phone rang twice more that afternoon while she tried to work. She thought about calling the clinic again, but she finally decided to wait until she’d had a chance to think the situation through. When she finally went back downstairs and saw the insistent flashing light on her answering machine, she deleted both messages without listening to them.

He called again while Megan was eating her supper—vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. She wasn’t hungry, but her baby needed nourishment.

“Ms. Malone,” his voice pleaded from her machine, “would you please pick up the phone? We need to talk. I’m not going to go away. Now that I know you’re carrying my child, you can’t expect me to just forget about it. I had no idea the clinic had used my sperm. They didn’t have the right. It was a mistake, do you understand?”

A mistake? How could that be? Why would he donate sperm in the first place if he didn’t want them to use it? She grabbed the receiver, intent on asking him just that.

“Oh, you’re home,” he said as soon as she identified herself.

Ignoring the trace of sarcasm in his voice, she asked about the mistake. “That is what happens when you donate to a fertility clinic,” she added. He wasn’t the only one who could be sarcastic.

He sighed. “Look, it’s a long story, but I never agreed to be a part of the donor program. The first I knew anything about this was when I got the letter today. If you don’t believe me, ask the clinic staff.”

Megan chewed on her lip. “I believe you,” she said reluctantly. Why would he lie when she could find out the truth so easily? “I already called, but no one there could tell me anything. I’ll try again in the morning. They certainly have a lot of explaining to do about violating my confidentiality as well as yours.” It must be an even bigger shock for him, she realized, finding out he’d fathered a child he hadn’t planned on. “I promise I won’t ever bother you about this. Since you never intended to be a donor in the first place, you can just put the whole thing from your mind.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” he said slowly.

“What are you saying?” Fresh panic sliced through her like a machete. “You’re not going to make trouble for me, are you? Sue the clinic if you need some kind of revenge.” Men!

“A lawsuit wouldn’t alter the fact that I’m going to be a father, that a child of mine is living a life I’ll have no part of. I just don’t think I can accept that as easily as you seem to expect me to.”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut. Going to be a father! This kind of talk wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “With or without your consent, you were a donor,” she said. “That’s all. But I’m having this child alone, the way I’ve planned to do all along, and I’m raising it without any interference. As far as I’m concerned, you have no role here. You’re not involved.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “Now that I know about the baby, I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s exactly what you must do,” she insisted. “It’s my baby and it’s going to stay that way. I have a contract with the clinic. I requested an anonymous donor.”

“You don’t have a contract with me.”

“Look,” she said, “the sooner you accept the fact that you have no claim, the better off we’ll both be.” How she hoped that she was right about that! “Now I really have to go. Your complaint is with the clinic, not me.”

If she had to, she would get an attorney and fight him, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She made a good living, but lawyers were expensive. No doubt it was Mr. Duncan’s testosterone beating its chest over the situation, but when he really thought about the hassle, surely he’d lose interest.

Mac waited until the next day before he attempted to contact the birth mother again. Meanwhile, he tried without success to get in touch with someone at the clinic. Dennis hadn’t gotten back yet and the director was still out sick. The receptionist’s voice sounded panicky as she confided that things were a little confused right now and there was no one else who could help him at the moment.

Mac wanted to tell her that “confused” was putting it mildly.

“I’ll definitely pass on your message as soon as I know who’ll be filling in,” she added.

“Good grief, how long is the director going to be gone?” Mac demanded.

“I can’t discuss that. All I can say is that she’s ill, but as soon as I know who’s handling her duties I’ll have them call you.”

Frustrated, Mac gave up. Just his luck the clinic was apparently suffering some crisis of its own. Until he could get a few answers from them, he’d just have to deal with Megan Malone directly.

What was she like? He wondered. What kind of mother would she be? How well could she provide for the child? And what were Mac’s obligations legally, financially and ethically? She might refuse his help, but that didn’t let him off the hook, not as far as his own conscience was concerned. The more he thought about the situation, the more questions came up.

A baby needed a father, despite what this woman had said about raising it alone. Once she met him and saw for herself that he was a pretty normal guy and not a two-headed monster, she was bound to relent.

All Mac had to do was convince her to meet with him and talk over the situation. How hard could that be?

Chapter Two

The man was relentless. Megan fumed silently as she deleted yet another message from her answering machine. No one at the clinic would tell her anything about MacGregor Duncan. How ironic that they were suddenly so concerned with confidentiality.

“The man is the father of my baby,” Megan had protested to some underling on the phone. “Thanks to your clinic’s lack of discretion, I already have his name.”

The person she needed to talk to was still unavailable and Megan’s caustic comment had gotten her nowhere. Perhaps she would have to take Duncan’s call after all. He’d certainly been persistent in the face of her unwavering rejection, making her wonder if he had the tenacity of a pit bull or was merely as dense as muffin batter that had been stirred too long. There was only one way to find out.

The next time Mac dialed the Malone woman’s number, listened to her recorded greeting and identified himself, prepared to leave another message on her machine, she picked up the phone. He was so surprised that he nearly forgot what he was going to say, covering his momentary confusion with brusqueness.

“This class we’re signed up for starts next week,” he said. “We need to make some decisions.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, voice cool. “I still have time to find a partner.”

“You mean you don’t have anyone yet?” Mac demanded. Here was his opening, a way to get to know each other. “Does that mean you aren’t married?”

“Why would it matter?” she countered. “Do you have something against single parents?”

Mac struggled for patience. “No, of course not. It just stands to reason that if you had a husband, he’d want to take the class with you.”

“Oh. No, I’m not married.” Her voice thawed a degree or two. “Are you?”

At least she was curious about him. “I’m involved with someone,” he admitted, “but it won’t be a problem.”

“The class is two evenings a week, you know. That’s a pretty big commitment for a busy man.”

“I said my relationship won’t be a problem.” Mac hoped he was correct. How would Justine react to the news that another woman was having his child? They’d only been seeing each other for six months, but his parents were right. It was time he settled down and raised some little Duncans to carry on the family name.

“I was referring to your job, not your social life,” Megan replied. “You do work, don’t you?”

“Actually, I own a business, so my hours are flexible. Making time for the class wouldn’t be a big deal.” Perhaps he was pushing, but it seemed like the only way to stop her from shutting him out of his baby’s life. If he allowed her to do that, he would always feel like part of him was missing.

The thought of his parents’ reaction, if that happened and they found out, made him shudder.

When Megan didn’t say anything, Mac tried a different tactic. “There’s a part of me growing inside of you. We’ve made this baby together. Aren’t you the least bit curious about me?”

“The clinic gave me all the information I needed when I picked you from the donor list,” she said stubbornly, but he thought there was the tiniest hesitation in her voice.

“What did they tell you?” he asked, praying it wasn’t much. Even if she wasn’t admitting it, she was bound to wonder.

“The description I read said that you’re intelligent and attractive.” Had her voice warmed a little more?

“Sounds accurate so far,” he said lightly. “Did you see a photo?” He knew the answer. The clinic didn’t have his picture.

“No, but I have a general description. Your looks weren’t my first priority, Mr. Duncan.”

“Call me Mac,” he suggested. When she didn’t reply, he forged on. “What are you going to tell our child about me? No kid wants its father to be a test tube.”

“I haven’t worked that all out yet,” she said defensively. “I still have some time.”

“But how will you answer the questions when they come?” Mac demanded. “The clinic can’t have told you whether I played baseball or if I like vegetables, or even what kind of person I am. If you don’t have the answers, our child will eventually be forced to go looking for them somewhere else. You’ll lose any control over what he or she finds out. Is that what you want?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she admitted. “Maybe you could write a letter, one I could give him when he’s old enough to understand the situation.”

“Him?” Mac asked with a tremor in his voice he couldn’t hide. Did she know the baby’s sex already? Good God, was he going to have a son?

“I’m just guessing,” she admitted. “They offered to tell me, but I don’t want to know.” For a moment there was silence on the line. “I think of him as a boy,” she added softly. “It’s probably silly.”

The tenderness in her voice was nearly Mac’s undoing. Hearing it was both reassuring and heart wrenching. At least she cared for the baby, but what was Mac supposed to do with his feelings? Forget them?

“So you know a little bit about me already, but I don’t know anything about you except that you’re pregnant with my baby,” he said, gripping the receiver tighter. “Dammit, that’s not good enough. I have rights, too.”

As soon as the harsh words had left his mouth, he realized he’d made a big mistake. He was met with a wall of silence. “Can’t you put yourself in my place?” he pleaded, the effort to lower his voice nearly closing off his throat. “If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want to know something about the person who was going to be raising your firstborn? Wouldn’t you?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she cried. “I don’t know why you donated sperm and I don’t care, but if you don’t stop harassing me, I’ll report you. I’ll get an attorney if I have to. Leave me alone!”

Before Mac could say anything more, she crashed the receiver down in his ear.

Hell, he’d really blown it with his Me, Tarzan, you, Jane routine.

Before he could think what to do next, the door to his office flew open and one of his men poked his head through the doorway. “Boss, the windows for the Merritt project just came in and we have a little problem,” Archer said, tugging on the bill of his Broncos cap. “Can you take a look?”

Just what he needed—something else to deal with.

“Can’t you handle it?” he demanded.

Archer’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so, but I guess I can try.”

Instantly ashamed of his outburst, Mac muttered an apology. “Show me the problem.” Putting aside his frustration, he followed the younger man out to the large shop where most of the work was done on the custom playhouses they manufactured. This project was a rush job, a birthday surprise for the daughter of a computer guru out on the coast. Like nearly everything Mac’s company created, the playhouse was a miniature reproduction of the family home, right down to the front porch columns and the dormer windows. It was being designed and built in sections here in Buttonwood, using blueprints of the bigger house as well as photos and videotapes. Once the playhouse was finished, it would be shipped and assembled on location.

The windows were one of the few parts that weren’t custom-made at Mac’s plant. Instead they were manufactured by an outfit in Denver.

As soon as he saw them, he recognized the problem. The French doors for the back of the playhouse were supposed to be framed in oak, exactly like those in the main house. Instead they’d been stained a dark walnut color.

“I’ll call Mountain View,” he told Archer. “There’s still time for them to redo the order and express it before our deadline.”

Archer looked relieved as he maneuvered the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. Like the other employees, he had worked with Mac for nearly ten years, since Mac had taken Small World from a hobby to a full-time business and moved it to Buttonwood. Before that, Archer had been a house framer with a local construction company.

Mac could still remember with painful clarity his parents’ reaction when he’d announced that he was quitting his job as an architect with a major Denver firm to build playhouses. To say they had disapproved would be a serious understatement. They were sure he’d lost his mind.

It hadn’t been the first time they were disappointed in their only offspring. Given his track record as a dutiful son, neither would it be the last.

“I’ll let you deal with Charlie,” Archer said. “I’ve got a balcony railing to put together.” His tool belt jingled as he walked away.

Mac returned to his office and looked up Charlie’s number at Mountain View. As Mac had known he would, the window manufacturer promised to make up the correct doors and send them right away. Another crisis averted. If only all of Mac’s problems were this easy to solve.

Megan pushed the cart through the produce section of the local grocery store, glancing at her short list of items before she stopped to pick out a plump, radiant tomato. Since her pregnancy, she’d been making a concerted effort to eat healthy. She walked every day, avoided caffeine and took her prenatal vitamins.

The third bedroom of her town home had already been turned into a nursery, its walls painted a cheerful yellow. In her mind she could picture the wallpaper border that matched the curtains she’d sewn herself. A new crib sat next to a matching dresser filled with baby clothes and supplies. In the closet was a safety-approved baby seat for the car. The only thing Megan hadn’t planned on providing for her child was a daddy.

Blindly, she steered her cart toward the seafood counter, replaying her conversation with Mac Duncan in her head as she dodged a little girl pushing a miniature stroller.

If our roles were reversed, he’d said, wouldn’t you want to know something about the person who was going to raise your firstborn?

Was Megan being unreasonable in refusing to let him into her life? She hadn’t thought so when she put down the phone, but now she couldn’t help but wonder. How would she feel if the shoe was on the other foot?

To have a child out there somewhere, not knowing how it was treated, what it was being taught or even whether it was loved would be the worst pain she could imagine. Countless women who’d given up their babies for one reason or another had to live with that uncertainty. Did Megan have the right to make this man endure that same torture?

Her hand drifted to her abdomen. Whatever Mr. Duncan’s reason for donating sperm, he had in essence given her this child. Did that grant her the right to keep it from him or was she just being selfish?

Megan’s breath caught as an idea took root.

Perhaps all he really wanted was reassurance. Once he was convinced that she was a normal, caring person who would be a good mother to this baby, maybe his conscience would be satisfied and he’d just go away.

As Megan swung her cart around a corner, excitement coursing through her, she narrowly missed running into Blanche Hastings, one of the town busybodies.

“Well, hello, honey,” Blanche said, her gaze darting to Megan’s stomach. “How’s our little mother doing?”

Megan forced a smile. She suspected that Blanche and her friend, Flo Harris, weren’t above gossiping about Megan’s pregnancy and her lack of a husband. They prided themselves on knowing everything that went on in town.

“I’m just fine,” Megan replied politely as she maneuvered her cart around Blanche’s. “And you?”

“Right as rain, and glad winter’s finally over. Are you getting ready for the blessed event?”

“Sure am.” Megan didn’t want to get stuck answering any probing questions like the last time she’d run into Blanche and Flo. Lucky for Megan, another of their friends had appeared and she’d been able to make her escape without responding.

“We’ll have to throw you a shower,” Blanche said now, eagle eyes sharp as she assessed Megan’s tummy. “When are you due?”

“That’s so sweet of you.” Megan’s smile felt stiff. “There’s still plenty of time, though.” The last thing she wanted was to be the center of attention in a roomful of women speculating about her circumstances. “I’ll get back to you, okay?”

Before Blanche could fire off another awkward question, Megan stuck out her arm and glanced at her watch with exaggerated horror. “Goodness, I have an appointment in a little bit,” she said apologetically, mental fingers crossed. “Sorry, but I have to run.” Without a backward glance, she hurried down the next aisle.

Too bad there wasn’t someone whose advice she could seek in what to do about Duncan, but she had no family with whom she kept in close touch. Although she’d made a few friends since moving here and a couple of them knew the circumstances behind her pregnancy, this wasn’t something she felt comfortable discussing with any of them. The decision was hers alone, and it was one she would have to make very soon, despite what she’d told Blanche.

Biting her lower lip, she plucked a bag of peanut butter M&M’s from the shelf. There was good health, and then there was quality of life, she reasoned as she headed for the pasta aisle. Hoping she was correct about assuaging the man’s curiosity, she made her decision.

“I’ve reconsidered.”

It seemed that every time Mac heard Megan’s voice, he was so surprised by it that he nearly dropped the phone. Since he’d last talked to her, he’d been swamped with the Merritt project at work, frustrated with the clinic’s continued evasiveness and curiously reluctant to seek legal advice from a family friend in Denver. Cooperation was always preferable to adversity, and he still hoped to resolve the issue between Megan and himself peaceably.

He’d talked to Dennis briefly and the other man had promised to look into the situation and call Mac back, which he hadn’t done yet.

Unfortunately Mac was leaving for Atlanta first thing in the morning to attend a huge trade show. The convention usually provided a few solid leads and he wasn’t about to forgo the trip while he waited for Dennis’s call.

“What exactly do you mean by reconsidered?” he asked her now in a cautious voice. Was she finally willing to listen to reason?

She blew out a breath. “You’re right. If our situations were reversed, I’d want to know what kind of person was raising my child,” she admitted.

Relief pumped through him. “Taking that class together would give us a chance to get to know each other,” he suggested, his mind leaping ahead. “It starts on Tuesday.”

To his astonishment, she didn’t immediately object. “I think we should have a face-to-face meeting before then,” she said instead.

“I’d like that, too. Unfortunately I’m leaving town first thing in the morning and I won’t be back until late the afternoon of the first class.” Mac felt genuine regret. What if they loathed each other on sight? “I’d postpone the trip if I could, but it’s too important.” Would she think his priorities were out of whack? That he should put the child ahead of everything else? He refrained from pointing out that her own stubbornness was the reason they’d run out of time.

Megan gripped the receiver tighter, still clinging to the hope that he’d lose interest in the class and in her soon enough. She couldn’t imagine him giving up two evenings a week for a stranger and a child he’d fathered with so little involvement. If she was wrong about his staying power she’d be stuck with him for the duration, but if she wasn’t and he did drop out, she would probably be allowed to continue the course without a partner, since her due date was so near.

The idea cheered her. She was tired of arguing, tired of dodging him. And it wasn’t as though she’d lined up anyone else to go with her. If the truth be told, she hadn’t even asked around.

“What time are you leaving on your trip?” Perhaps they could still meet before then.

“Early. My flight out of Denver is at eight, so I’ll have to catch the first commuter plane from the county airport.”

Megan groaned softly. She wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, but now that she was pregnant, getting up at dawn wasn’t a sacrifice she was willing to make. “Okay,” she said on a burst of bravado. “If you’re sure you want to go through with this, I guess I’ll see you at the center on Tuesday evening.”

“How will I know you?” he asked.

“I’ll be the pregnant one,” she quipped, suddenly nervous. What was she getting herself into?

He chuckled appreciatively at her lame attempt at humor. “Oh, sure, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Actually, my hair is kind of long and dark blonde,” she said, gesturing with her free hand even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll be wearing jeans and a red top.”

“And you’ll be alone,” he added with typical masculine bluntness. “I mean, everyone else should be paired up with someone.”

Megan pressed a hand to her stomach, seeking reassurance. “That’s right, two by two, just like on Noah’s Ark.” This was a huge mistake. She just knew it. “And I already have a description of you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” His tone was dry. “Intelligent and attractive. I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

As soon as she hung up, Megan realized that she had completely forgotten to talk to him about ground rules. He needed to understand that just because she’d agreed to take the class with him didn’t mean he was horning into her life.

Mac glanced at his watch as he drove into the clinic parking lot. Of course the plane from Atlanta had been late, and then an unexpected blizzard at the supposedly blizzard-proof Denver airport delayed his commuter flight. Despite all that, it was barely six-thirty. He had hoped to arrive a few minutes early so he could catch his breath and introduce himself to Megan before class began, but at least he wasn’t going to be so late that he made a bad first impression.

While he was in Atlanta he’d talked to Dennis Reid again. The chief of staff had spent the first five minutes of their conversation bragging about his new girlfriend, a “gorgeous babe” named Rachel, until Mac finally interrupted.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes. Were you able to find out anything about my situation?”

On the other end of the line, Dennis cleared his throat and Mac’s heart sank. Bad news.

“Truth is, I haven’t learned a thing, buddy. The director’s had major surgery, very unexpected. Then there was a big computer crash. Between you and me, the place is in chaos. Not my department, you understand, but the admin side’s a mess. Like a ship without a rudder. Until they sort things out, it’s not a time to get answers. Wish I had better news.”

Swallowing his frustration, Mac had thanked Dennis for his time and promised to get together for racquetball the next week. Maybe by then Dennis would have found out something for him.

Now Mac pulled his pickup into a parking slot and hurried inside the clinic, following the bright pink signs down the empty hallway. At the far end he could see a small group of people going two by two into one of the rooms. Slightly apart from the rest stood a woman with her back to Mac. She was wearing red and her hair was a tangle of dark honey.

Megan.

As he walked quickly toward her, his footsteps echoing in the hall, she turned around. Some part of Mac’s brain noticed that she was attractive despite her serious expression. The rest of him was too busy staring at the bulge beneath her red blouse. She was a lot farther along than he’d imagined, her body swollen with his child.

His child.

The enormity of it drove the air out of him like a hard fist to the gut. He faltered, his legs suddenly shaky, knowing he was gawking but unable to stop. Somehow hearing about the baby’s existence hadn’t even begun to prepare him for the visual.

“Are you Mac?” Her voice was low, betraying nothing, but her hands were linked in front of her, fingers poker straight. He wasn’t the only nervous one here.

The other people had already gone inside, leaving him and this woman alone in the hall.

“Yeah, I’m Mac Duncan,” he croaked. “And you’re Megan. Hi.”

He must have sounded normal enough to appease her. After a barely perceptible hesitation, she stuck out her hand. Her full mouth relaxed its pinched expression as she studied him, but when he touched her fingers, they were icy cold.

Wanting to stare at the evidence of her pregnancy, he forced himself instead to focus on her face. Her cheeks were gently flushed and her eyes were hazel. He must have looked as dazed as he felt, because a tiny crease appeared between her brows.

“Hi,” she echoed. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

Vaguely he remembered the time. “I’d hoped to be here a few minutes early,” he said apologetically, “but the Denver airport’s a mess. It’s snowing there.”

She looked surprised. “Well, at least you’re here now.”

Feeling awkward, Mac ran a hand through his short brown hair. It was probably standing on end. He’d meant to shave in the car, but his razor was packed and he hadn’t wanted to take the time to pull over and dig it out. Some impression he must make—running late, with rumpled clothes and a five o’clock shadow.

Megan, on the other hand, looked neat and pretty despite her extremely rounded figure. Mac hadn’t thought to ask on the phone when she was due. “How far along are you?” he blurted.

The blush on her cheeks deepened as she plucked at her blouse. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. Good manners had been drilled into him at an early age, but he had no idea what the protocol was for this particular situation.

“I’m due a month from yesterday,” she replied with a gesture toward the open door. “I think we’d probably better go in.”

From the expression on Mac Duncan’s attractive face, Megan could see that her appearance had been a shock. Had he expected her to be prettier, younger or just thinner? Was he disappointed? The way he’d gaped at her stomach made Megan feel as though she were carrying quintuplets in a wheelbarrow.

Too bad, because he made her wish, just for a moment, that she was available and unencumbered. He was a very attractive man. No doubt the hot flash that engulfed her had more to do with her hormone level than his great cheekbones or his sexy mouth, but having a child who looked like him would be no great hardship.

The rest of the class was waiting for them. As soon as Mac followed her inside, the instructor shut the door behind them.

“Welcome to ‘We’re Having a Baby,”’ the woman said with a smile as Megan hurried over to a couple of empty chairs at the edge of the group, near a pile of mats and pillows. Her footsteps echoed loudly on the vinyl floor. Being the center of attention always made her uncomfortable.

“I’m Dr. Claire Davis,” the instructor continued, “and from the number of maternity outfits I see, you all appear to be in the right place.”

The five other women and their partners chuckled appreciatively while Mac sat down next to Megan.

“I’m a pediatrician here at the clinic,” the doctor continued. She was a slim, pretty woman with dark red hair, blue eyes and a warm smile. Megan wondered if Mac found Dr. Davis attractive. “Several of us on the medical staff are assigned to these classes on a rotating schedule.” She picked up a clipboard and glanced at it. “I’ll be your instructor for the next six weeks and we’ll all be working together closely, so please call me Claire. Now it’s your turn to introduce yourselves. Tell us whatever you’d like everyone to know.” She glanced at Mac and Megan. “Let’s start with you.”

Wondering if anyone else here had gone the artificial insemination route, Megan stood up and gave her name. As she glanced at the others, all paired off and smiling, she felt like the only girl at the dance without a date.

“And who’s this with you?” the doctor prompted gently.

Megan glanced at the man standing beside her, but her mind went blank. Someone giggled. He shifted closer, his hand curling warmly around hers.

“I guess she’s forgotten,” he teased, the twinkle in his eyes taking away any possible sting as a smile tugged at his mouth. “You’d think we just met.”

Megan stiffened. Was he going to pretend that they, too, were a couple, or spill the beans and humiliate her?

His dark eyes seemed to say “trust me.” Fingers laced with hers, he introduced himself to the group. “We live right here in town,” he added.

She knew he was only playing a role, but for the first time since she’d made her decision to have this child, she felt like part of a team. This time when he grinned at her, she managed to smile back at him.

“Are you the father?” asked a girl who looked barely old enough to be pregnant.

“Let’s not ask personal questions,” the doctor interjected. “We’ll volunteer what we’d like the group to know.” She glanced back at Mac and Megan, but neither spoke again.

Megan wondered if anyone could tell that they barely knew each other. She certainly wasn’t ashamed of the method she had used to become pregnant, but neither was she eager to justify herself to a room full of happy couples.

“Well, thank you,” the doctor said after a moment. “We have a lot of material to cover tonight, so let’s move on.”

The two of them sat back down and Megan disentangled herself from Mac’s grip. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’m not usually so inept.”

“No problem.” He shifted slightly away from her. Apparently she’d been right that his show of unity had been just that, an act for the others. Wasn’t that what she wanted—her independence? Before she could sort through her feelings, another couple, both wearing rings, stood up and began talking excitedly.

There were a dozen people in all, including a mother and daughter, another pair who appeared to be platonic friends, a man and woman who kept touching each other and exchanging smoldering glances, and two married couples each having their first baby. None of the other women were as big as Megan.

Glancing at the wall clock, Claire explained what they would be covering in class. “Tonight we’re going to talk about breathing and relaxation techniques to use during labor and delivery. We’ll spread out the mats and go over a few simple positions that will keep you comfortable as your pregnancies progress,” she said. “While you’re practicing, I’ll discuss your baby’s development.” She pulled down a chart that showed the stages of the fetus’s growth in living color.

Megan didn’t look at Mac, but she wondered whether he was having second thoughts yet. The huge colored photographs had to be more than he’d bargained for.

“Next time we’ll tour the labor ward,” Claire continued. “Later on we’ll also cover the Lamaze and Bradley methods of childbirth, the stages of labor, some visualization techniques, the various kinds of anesthetics and how they’re administered, unexpected events, postpartum recovery and infant care.” She glanced around the room. “We’ll review bottle feeding, bathing the newborn and diaper-changing. There will be plenty of time for questions and discussion, so don’t hold back.”

When no one said anything, she directed them to select from the pile of mats and pillows. Feeling awkward, Megan followed her instruction to lie down while Mac knelt beside her.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked in an under-tone as Claire described what she wanted them to do.

Comfortable? Megan felt like the proverbial beached whale who’d washed up at the feet of an extremely attractive beachcomber. If their baby was a boy, she hoped he looked like his father.

“I’m okay,” she stammered when she realized Mac was waiting for an answer. When had she started thinking of this as their baby?

Mac was watching her with a concerned frown, so she did her best to give him a reassuring smile although she felt very awkward when Claire urged them to use the pillows to try the different positions she was describing.

“As your weight increases, you’ll need to make more adjustments,” she said. Her glance at Megan was sympathetic, making her feel even more clumsy. She must look as ridiculous as she felt.

Mac was glad when the exercise was over and he could get to his feet. Trying to help Megan shift and turn on the mat had been an awkward experience, considering that they barely knew each other and he was never quite sure where to touch her.

From the pink in her cheeks, he assumed she found their situation equally uncomfortable. Perhaps this had all been a big mistake. In the week since he’d gotten the letter from the clinic, he’d thought a lot about what he was getting into.

Now he took Megan’s hand and carefully helped her to her feet. Their eyes met and that intriguing splash of color ran up her cheeks again. She looked away, but not before Mac heard her sharply in-drawn breath. No doubt the baby was crowding her lungs or something equally clinical.

Claire called for a short break. There was a general exodus from the room and Megan’s gaze followed the others.

“I need to, um, use the restroom,” she said softly. “Pregnancy does that.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Mac replied. “Maybe there’s a coffee machine somewhere. Want some?”

She shook her head. “Caffeine’s bad for the baby. I’d better get in line.”

Feeling like an idiot, he watched her leave the room.

“How’s it going?” Claire asked him when everyone else was gone.

“I just realized how little I know about this,” he admitted.

“The class?” she asked with a chuckle. “That’s why you’re here.”

“No, the whole deal about having a child,” he replied, wondering how much she had been told.

Claire patted his arm and smiled. “You’re not alone,” she said. “First time father?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Just saying it made him feel good. A foolish grin spread across his face.

“The best thing you can do is to talk to your partner,” Claire suggested. “There’s no better way to share in the experience than communication. And be sure to ask questions while you’re here. No matter how trivial it may seem, you’ll only be putting into words what someone else is wondering about, too.”

Before he could thank her for the advice, three of the women came back. They were laughing and he heard the words “potty breaks” and “shrinking bladder” before he saw Megan trail after them. He remembered Claire’s words.

“Would you like to stop somewhere afterwards?” he asked Megan when she joined him. They needed to talk.

Her gaze was guarded. “What for?”

“How about ice cream?” he asked. “With hot-fudge topping?”

“You make it hard to say no,” she admitted with a slight smile.

Relieved, Mac cupped her elbow. “That was my intention.” If he had his way, she would agree to everything he suggested.

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