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Anybody's Dad
Amy J. Fetzer
CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'RE A… FATHER?!Tessa Lightfoot refused to share her long-awaited child with a total stranger, much less marry the man! True, Chase Madison had gotten her pregnant - courtesy of his unwitting sperm-bank deposit. And his tender touch did stir Tessa's blossoming body. But medical technology and a marriage license weren't enough to create a real family.Nothing was going to come between Chase and fatherhood - not even stubborn Tessa! Tessa carried his baby in her belly. And while he regretted that he hadn't put it there the old-fashioned way, he planned to change that the next time around!
“What Were You Going To Tell My Son When He Asked About His Father?” (#u56222af6-f007-5f1b-ab58-71994c8341e8)Letter to Reader (#u0e3a543e-7e98-53bb-ac52-b08cffcb7f86)Title Page (#u6d562528-8ace-5d1c-ace6-dd9911b1d51d)About the Author (#uf48aff72-290b-56f9-bd78-f7baee257e2c)Dedication (#u3e2042fd-281e-5bf9-9ffd-d60b7d09d215)Chapter One (#u6acc39ec-0867-569b-90d7-3f9bacf8a9a5)Chapter Two (#u8673262c-6152-5b68-9379-7d784b40ccd3)Chapter Three (#uce952d26-4fa9-562b-8aee-9aca137061ee)Chapter Four (#ufe280958-97b8-52d0-9cb5-82b2d983e603)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“What Were You Going To Tell My Son When He Asked About His Father?”
Tessa moved her shoulders restlessly as she poked at her food. “I’d decide when it was appropriate. And if she was old enough to understand, I’d tell the truth.”
Chase leaned close, hemming in the air, the moment. The man was so close Tessa could see the black flecks in his eyes.
“The truth? That he was made in a doctor’s office and not a bedroom? That his father was some man he’ll never know?”
His tone was intimate, husky and Tessa swallowed nervously. “That can’t be helped.”
“Yes, it can.”
“How—?” Her eyes widened instantly at the look of intent on his face. “Oh, no!” She shook her head, looking scared. “Don’t—” she wiped her lips “—don’t say it!”
“Many me....”
Dear Reader,
This month we have some special treats in store for you, beginning with Nobody’s Princess, another terrific MAN OF THE MONTH from award-winning writer Jennifer Greene. Our heroine believes she’s just another run-of-the-mill kind of gal...but naturally our hero knows better. And he sets out to prove to her that he is her handsome prince...and she is his princess!
Joan Elliott Pickart’s irresistible Bishop brothers are back in Texas Glory, the next installment of her FAMILY MEN series. And Amy Fetzer brings us her first contemporary romance, a romantic romp concerning parenthood—with a twist—in Anybody’s Dad. Peggy Moreland’s heroes are always something special, as you’ll see in A Little Texas Two-Step, the latest in her TROUBLE IN TEXAS series.
And if you’re looking for fun and frolic—and a high dose of sensuality—don’t miss Patty Salier’s latest, The Honeymoon House. If emotional and dramatic is more your cup of tea, then you’ll love Kelly Jamison’s Unexpected Father.
As always, there is something for everyone here at Silhouette Desire, where you’ll find the very best contemporary romance.
Enjoy!
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Amy Fetzer
Anybody’s Dad
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMY FETZER was born in New England and raised all over the world. She uses her experiences, along with bits and pieces of the diverse people she’s met, in creating the characters and settings for her novels. “Nobody’s safe,” she says. “There are heroes and heroines right in front of us, if we just take the time to look.” Married nineteen years to a U.S. Marine and the mother of two sons, Amy covets the moments when she can curl up with a cup of cappuccino and a good book. Published previously in historical and time-travel novels and novellas, she happily steps into contemporary category romance with her first Desire for Silhouette Books, Anybody’s Dad.
For my agent,
Irene Goodman
Thanks for tearing off my blinders and
seeing this one coming before I did.
One
“It’s too late, Chase.”
“What do you mean?” he said into the phone, an edge to his voice. Lawyers had an annoying habit of dragging out the details, especially for their friends.
“The procedure took. Six months ago.”
“What! You mean there’s a woman walking around with my baby inside her and I’ve never laid eyes on her?”
“That about sums it up.”
Chase Madison shielded his eyes from the sun blasting through his office window and rubbed his temples. Janis had done this. He just knew it. “God, if Janis wasn’t already dead, I’d kill her.”
“Oh, it gets better.”
Chase closed his eyes, tamping down his temper. “Let’s have it.”
“She believes you’re nothing but a sperm donor.” Something nasty twisted inside Chase just then. “And she isn’t going to let you near this child, nor give you the time of day.”
“We’ll just see about that.”
Chase hung up the phone and sank into the nearest chair, cradling his aching head in his hands. A sperm donor. Wonderful. If his marriage alone wasn’t the grand joke of the century, now he felt as if Janis were taking digs from the grave. Chase wasn’t mourning her. He’d done that briefly months ago, after the accident, with whatever little feeling he had left for her. Now he felt only anger and resentment. She’d used her job at the fertility clinic to get back at him. She’d had access, and God knows she’d had motivation. But this, he thought, was beyond even her. This was vicious.
It always came back to kids. He wanted them. She couldn’t have any. It hadn’t mattered to him at the time. He just wanted to be a father. Anybody’s father. He wanted to feel the sweet energy kids gave, their fascination for discovery, wanted to love them and feel loved. With secret dreams of his own son, he’d convinced Janis to go the adoption route—a seven-year wait for a newborn. But it was Janis, as administrator for the clinic, who’d introduced the possibility of a surrogate mother.
Chase hadn’t liked the idea of a strange woman having his child by artificial insemination. Even the sound of it was clinically impersonal. And he couldn’t imagine a woman going through pregnancy and childbirth only to relinquish her rights to her baby. But Janis had convinced him it was reasonable. Persuaded him with the fact that the child would at least have Chase’s blood in his veins.
You let her convince you, his conscience niggled. He’d wanted a child that badly, yet still he’d dragged his heels. He remembered the humiliation of entering a little sterilized room, staring at the specimen cup in his hand, the leather office couch, the stack of video tapes on the TV/VCR. Then he’d dragged Janis in with him. She was very accommodating about assisting him, as he recalled.
Two weeks later his world fell apart. Or at least what he thought was his marriage. Hell. It had been over before that, he knew. Just as he knew having children was the wrong reason to hold a marriage together. Yet he’d felt cheated out of something precious and wonderful when he’d found the birth control pills tucked in the glove box of her car when he’d taken it to the shop. Janis wasn’t infertile. She’d just never wanted children. Never wanted her career or her figure or her life interrupted. Let the baby machines do it, she’d said, unaware that he’d heard her bitter comments until he stepped around the edge of her office door. Oh, she’d stumbled through an explanation, but in that moment, he’d seen her for what she truly was. Selfish, heartless, a lousy example of impending motherhood. He’d told her to dump their files, their marriage and his donation.
Obviously she hadn’t. He’d known she was bitter, but this? Manipulating files and specimens? Why?
For a baby.
His baby.
An incredible warmth crept into his chest, seeping out to his limbs. Chase sagged back into the leather chair and savored the feeling, knowing it wouldn’t last, wouldn’t stay. Had she intentionally allowed the surrogate-intended sperm to go to a woman who thought she was selecting only genes and chromosomes from a bank? Was she bitter enough to see the child he longed for created, only to keep the baby from his grasp? He hated to think anyone was that horrible.
Leaning forward, he scooted the pad of paper closer and read the name. The woman wasn’t even one of the potential surrogates they’d interviewed.
Tessa Lightfoot.
She wanted a child, but didn’t want the father.
Well, Miss Lightfoot. You got both. And she couldn’t dump him down the drain with the rest of the liquid papas.
Tessa gripped the phone, praying she’d heard wrong. “This can’t be happening. Tell me it isn’t.”
“It is, Sis. Now stay calm.”
“I am calm!”
“Oh, sure.”
“Dia, please,” Tessa moaned, blinking back fresh tears.
“As your counsel, I advise you to meet with him.”
“No way.” She plucked a tissue from a lace-covered box and blotted her eyes.
“Tessa, listen,” Dia said in a calm tone that always soothed Tessa. One would think she was the elder sister. “He’s not an ogre.”
“Have you met him?” Warts and baldness immediately came to mind.
“No, just his lawyer.”
“You guys run like a wolf pack, so that doesn’t count.”
“He has rights.” Dia’s voice was tight.
“No, he doesn’t. This baby is mine, all mine. Selecting sperm from a bank was supposed to insure that. If I wanted a father around I would have gone the conventional route.”
“And you selected his. Why?”
“Oh, that hardly matters now. It’s the clinic’s fault, let him sue them.”
“He’s not suing. He wants to be a part of his child’s life.”
Panic raced through Tessa. “Never. Do you hear me, Dia? Never!”
“Tessa, sit.”
Tessa sat, a soft plop onto a stack of floor pillows.
“Most men get the hell scared out of them when it comes to pregnancy and babies.” Like her ex, Tessa thought, flipping her braid back over her shoulder. “Perhaps he just wants to offer financial support?” Dia finished.
Tessa made a face, then glanced around her cozy little house. “I don’t need it.”
“I know, but give him the chance to do the right thing. If you don’t, this could get ugly.”
A judge, the media, she realized, her child given an initial like Baby M. “Okay, okay. I will, under protest. One meeting and that’s it.”
“Tomorrow morning at nine. My office.”
Tessa’s brows knitted softly. “You were so sure I’d say yes?”
“You pay me to know what you need before you need it.”
“Living in the same house for twenty years didn’t hurt either, huh?”
Dia’s laughter filtered through the phone, making Tessa smile as she said goodbye. Flicking off the cordless phone and tossing it aside, Tessa sank deeper into the mound of pillows, spread-eagle. Toeing off her sandals, she stared at the bordered ceiling, smoothing her hands over her belly. The baby moved in a slow, rolling wave, and she touched every ripple, smiling to herself, gaining strength. She wasn’t going to let this person, this entity she refused to give a face to, get to her. This baby was hers, extra special, extra loved and extra wanted, because when she was young and married to Ryan, she’d had her chance and lost it. Her ex hadn’t wanted to be a father, ever, and although he’d said often enough that she was all he needed, she chose not to believe him. Disillusionment and hard reality hit when her birth control failed and he gave her a choice—abort or divorce. The confrontation had ended her marriage and she realized her own naiveté had allowed it to happen. The foolishness of youth, she thought. But miscarrying in the middle of her divorce had devastated her the most. Tessa’s eyes burned suddenly and she stroked her belly, taking deep calming breaths. Just thinking about how Ryan had come rushing back when he’d heard about the miscarriage still upset her. She’d lived on her anger then, focusing on her career, on becoming financially independent enough to afford a child, without a father.
She’d almost waited too long.
But now, she was exactly where she wanted to be. And she’d fight this faceless enemy with everything she had before giving into the donor’s arrogant demands to be a part of her baby’s life.
“We’ll get through this,” she whispered to her unborn child.
This Chase Madison didn’t know what he was up against when he faced a mother protecting her child.
Two
Chase stood near the office window, his back to his lawyer, Tigh McBain, and stared out the spotless glass, watching the traffic move on the streets below. His breath almost made frost, it was so cool in the long conference room, and he checked his watch for the third time.
“She’s late.”
“Tessa’s always late,” a soft voice said, and he turned to see a small, slender young woman enter the conference room. She greeted Tigh politely, setting her briefcase on the long table as her secretary, a man for God’s sake, followed her, placing a coffee service and a pitcher of water on the table.
“And you tolerate it?”
She met his gaze, and Chase saw the shark beneath the impeccably tailored attorney. “Sisters have a tendency to tolerate a lot from each other.”
Sisters. Wonderful. Nothing like having her family forces joined against him.
“I’m Dia Lightfoot.” Chase looked her over thoroughly, and she seemed to expect it, an odd smile crossing her lips. She was attractive, severe in appearance, businesslike in a fitted Chanel suit, black hair whipped tightly into a twist. Everything about Ms. Dia Lightfoot spoke of a professional hardness he saw too often in women climbing the corporate ladder. But to Chase, every lawyer was a shark, including Tigh. God, was this what awaited him? A woman so unable to spare a moment from her demanding career that she chose a sperm bank instead of taking the time for a relationship? His stomach knotted and he returned his gaze out the window, hands braced behind his back. He rocked on his heels, flinching when a buzzer sounded. He glanced back to see Ms. Lightfoot flip a cellular phone and speak softly, then click it off and drop it into her briefcase.
“She’s on her way up.”
Chase didn’t think his stomach could clench any tighter. He wasn’t noticing the magnificent skyline, or his chilled skin. His imagination was too busy painting an unpleasant picture of Dia’s sister. A duplicate of the shark in heels, he thought. Gritty. Clinical enough to breed her baby in a doctor’s office.
A rap on the door sounded, and Chase turned as the secretary pushed open the heavy wood, then stepped aside.
Chase’s brows rose high on his forehead as a very pregnant woman moved gracefully into the icy room. His conjured images were instantly destroyed as she seemed to float to her sister, hugging her. Not a brief touch of cheeks, but a real, loving hug. The temperature rose, warming the room. And Chase couldn’t take his eyes off her or her rounded tummy. That’s my baby in there, he thought, then brought his gaze to her face. He noticed the small straw hat first, the rolled brim, fanned back over one ear, her long black hair tucked behind and falling down her back. Her obviously pregnant body was clothed in a flowing cream silk and lace creation reaching mid-calf. The dress was shapeless, yet the simple garment draped her like a mystery, showing curves and showing nothing. Bet she never strapped herself into suits and heels, he thought, pleased and wary. His gaze immediately dropped to her legs as if whether or not she wore high heels would make a difference, yet he found matching opaque stockings and shoes that looked more like ballet slippers. Even her feet were delicate.
Tessa Lightfoot was femininity at its finest.
And he was sunk.
