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The Baby Gift
Day Leclaire
Alessandro Salvatore was stunned when a woman appeared on his doorstep carrying a baby–claiming he was the father! Alessandro wasn't looking for a wife and he wanted Lauren Williams, whoever she was, off his property….Lauren could understand Alessandro's surprise, but she was determined little Nick should have a family for Christmas. There was nothing else for it–she'd simply have to teach Alessandro to believe in love again!
“I came to give you Nick. He’s…your son.”
Alessandro kept his voice low, but it still bit. “Are you trying to tell me that you and I were lovers?” His laugh held a harsh edge. “There isn’t a chance that once I’d had you in my bed I’d forget such a memorable occasion.”
Lauren’s gaze fastened on him for an endless moment and he felt as if she were searching for something deep within him.
“So when and where was he conceived?” Alessandro’s mouth twisted. “And perhaps I should ask…with whom?”
Dear Reader,
Christmas is my favorite time of the year. It’s a time for joy and laughter as much as it’s a time for stories that touch the heart. It’s also a time for miracles. The miracle of love. The miracle of family….
The Baby Gift is a deeply emotional story about a woman who knows she can’t take care of the baby in her custody by herself, even though she wants to keep the child with every particle of her being. And it’s the story of a man who learns to accept, love and cherish The Baby Gift he’s given—and the very special woman who presents him with this gift.
I hope you enjoy my latest book, and I wish you and yours true happiness this holiday, along with health, peace and a New Year filled with joyful memories.
Love,
P.S. As for the bathtub scene—it really happened. To me, unfortunately!
The Baby
Gift
Day Leclaire
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Dee Tenorio. Many, many thanks for sharing
baby Gio with me! You’re the greatest.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u430ae8bb-8f63-5469-89b1-9e0442d61e67)
CHAPTER ONE (#ucaeacf20-4831-5446-9a76-f8b23b8452b5)
CHAPTER TWO (#u5b494e72-13ee-5928-8d80-abb890ffbfc5)
CHAPTER THREE (#uc8b100f9-c933-5229-b01c-afeb8b7009b4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
Ten days before Christmas…
SHE came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. Everything about her was soft—from her hip-length cornsilk hair, to her gentle, eager touch, to her soothing words. And her mouth… Her warm, hungry, giving mouth was softest of all.
She flowed over him, rousing emotions he thought had been gutted long ago. He was helpless to resist. Hell, resistance was the furthest thing from his mind. He wanted her. Needed her.
Took her.
Alessandro awoke with a jolt.
Tossing back his covers, he escaped the rumpled bed and crossed to stare out at a star-studded winter sky. Why did that dream continue to haunt him? It was so nebulous, so lacking in form or substance. And yet, it filled him with an odd restlessness. There was something he’d forgotten to do. Something urgent.
But he couldn’t remember what.
He reached for the chain and ring that encircled his neck, cursing when he didn’t find it. He’d lost it almost two years ago, and normally, he remembered that. But on the odd occasion—frustrating occasions when his emotions got the better of him—he reverted to a habit that had been established in boyhood, when the chain had first been placed around his neck by his grieving father.
It was because of his dream, he acknowledged, a dream that had been haunting him with increasing regularity for the past nine months. The woman in it was, without question, his ex-wife, though for some reason Rhonda’s hair was longer and silkier than the flaming red corkscrew curls that had rioted around her face during their eighteen months together. And while he wanted his ex with a painful desperation while asleep, when he woke he couldn’t find the tiniest ember of passion lingering from the disaster of their marriage and subsequent divorce.
Pain, sure. Anger, definitely. Regrets, plenty. But there wasn’t a shred of love or desire. He leaned his arm against the casing of the bay window, his hand folding into a fist. So why the dreams? And what the hell was he supposed to do? What had he forgotten?
“Come on, Salvatore. Think.”
The melancholy hoot of a great horned owl escaped from the California woods surrounding the family’s mountain cabin, the sound a painful echo of his own loneliness. He hated this time of year. Or perhaps he just hated the memories it roused. Drawing back from the window, he glared at the dream-tossed bed, his frustration mounting.
What the hell had he forgotten?
CHAPTER ONE
Seven days before Christmas…
SHE came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. There was a uniqueness to her that he instantly recognized, even in his dreams. It was as though they both sang the same song, their voices perfectly pitched to one another. He could hear his own laughter melding with hers, just as their bodies had melded throughout their long nights together. And then she whispered something to him as she danced through drifts of powder-soft snow, something he strained to hear. But the words escaped into the frigid night air before he could catch them. He swung her in his arms before she escaped, too, and the scene changed.
They were no longer outside in the snowy coldness, but in the bedroom they’d shared for eighteen short months. He dropped her to the bed, her long cornsilk hair splaying across the pillow in streams of vibrant red. She said something to him again, but he still couldn’t hear. She smiled in gentle understanding, a smile he’d never before seen on his wife’s lush mouth. He approached, drawn by the warmth of her regard and the sweet promise in her hazel eyes.
He was helpless to resist. He wanted her. Needed her.
Took her.
The harsh bark of an ax biting wood joined with the relentless shriek of the snow-laden wind. Alessandro paused in his exertions long enough to slant a quick upward glance toward the roiling sky. It wouldn’t be long before snow began to fall in earnest. Already fat flakes drifted earthward. He shifted restlessly, plagued by the remnants of what had become an ongoing dream. Or perhaps he should call it a nightmare. It came closer to describing the choked, desperate sensations each incident stirred. Worse, he couldn’t seem to escape them. His grip tightened on the ax handle and he swore beneath his breath.
Why now? It had been two full years, dammit. Why after all this time had memories of Rhonda returned to haunt him? Sweat dripped into his eyes, despite the piercing rawness of the wind, and he shook his hair back from his brow, regarding the felled tree he’d been chopping with renewed determination. With luck, he could drive out the demons haunting him with some plain, old-fashioned manual labor. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the past hour. Muscles straining, he returned to his task, falling into an easy rhythm of forceful strokes.
“Excuse me.”
It took two more blows before the quietly insistent words sank in. Driving the blade into the tree trunk, he turned. A woman stood nearby, watching him. She carried a bundle of quilts almost as large as she was. He suppressed a smile. Something about her—perhaps her snow-flecked silver-blond hair, or the huge powder-blue eyes, or the triangular, pixieish shape of her face—inspired an irresistible smile. He ruthlessly suppressed it, snagging his flannel shirt from the low-hanging branch of a nearby cedar.
“Can I help you?” he asked, thrusting his arms into the sleeves. “Are you lost?”
She waited, her gaze glittering with some strange emotion. What the hell was she staring at? “My car broke down,” she finally said, her voice lightly flavored with the honeyed lilt of the South. He’d heard that accent before and it didn’t bring back pleasant images. Was he never to escape the memory of Rhonda?
“I have a phone inside.”
Still she waited, her expression revealing an odd combination of hope and resignation. “I’m not from around here,” she offered hesitantly. “Maybe you noticed?”
He buttoned his shirt, studying her with an intensity equal to her own. “Yeah, the accent sort of gave you away.”
Releasing her breath in a whisper-soft sigh she approached, coming to a halt a scant foot away. “Please—”
Shifting the pile of quilts she held, she fixed her eyes on him. They were startling blue eyes, filled with unicorns and Santa Claus and impossible dreams. He instinctively took a step backward. He didn’t deal well with dreamers, not when he remained so steeped in reality. At his actions, the sweet illusions slipped from her eyes, leaving behind a soul-deep weariness. For the first time, he noticed the lavender crescents beneath each lower lid and the pale tautness of flesh over bone marking her exhaustion.
“I meant…” She took an instant to collect herself. Switching gears, Alessandro thought. This wasn’t the conversation she’d planned to have with him. He couldn’t begin to guess how he read her so easily. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that what she’d intended to say was far different from what he’d now hear. “I was hopin’ you’d know who to call. About my car.”
Finished with the buttons lining his shirt, he stuffed the tails into his jeans. “There aren’t many choices. You passed a small town in the valley before coming up here. They have a garage or two. With a storm moving in, you’ll want to get off the mountain as soon as you can.”
She closed her eyes for a split second, her lashes dusted with thick wet flakes. They clung for the briefest of moments before melting into diamond droplets. He frowned at the sight. They looked uncomfortably like shimmering tears. Great. A crying elf. Just what he needed for Christmas.
“You’re right,” she murmured at last. The snow came down harder, coating her and the bundle she carried in pristine white. “There is a storm moving in. Best I deal with it sooner rather than later.”
“We’d better get inside. Come with me.”
He opened the back door and stomped his feet to remove the mud and slush that clung to his boots. She followed his example, her stomping taking the form of a more delicate tapping on the throw rug. It was probably just as well since her shoes wouldn’t hold up to a serious pounding. They must be comfortable. He sure couldn’t think of any other reason she’d continue to wear hole-laden bits of leather that should have graced a trash can months ago.
He led the way through the kitchen and into a large two-story living area. A fire crackled in the hearth lending a cheerful warmth to the setting. She hesitated just inside the doorway before approaching the fireplace. Carefully, she set her bundle on the floor and crouched protectively next to it, holding her hands out to the flames.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
Without the quilts concealing her, he saw that she was slighter than he’d thought. In fact, she looked half-starved. Her denim coat had been repaired so many times, it was a wonder there was enough material left to hold it together. It also appeared to be about three sizes too large, the cuffs falling back to expose delicate wrists and long, capable fingers.
“Your coat doesn’t offer much warmth for the sort of weather we’re having,” he found himself saying. To his surprise, a hint of concern threaded his words.
“North Carolina wasn’t this cold when I left. Although I suspect it is by now.” She slanted him a quick glance, as if assessing his reaction to the casually offered information. “It took me a while to get here.”
His eyes narrowed. “What part of North Carolina?”
“Asheville.”
She pronounced it Ash-vul. He thought he’d recognized her accent. This only confirmed it. She came from the same region of the country as his ex-wife, though any similarities ended there. Rhonda had retained the accent while ridding herself of all traces of her mountain heritage. Her tastes ran toward the more sophisticated pleasures, rather than the traditional. He couldn’t say the same about the woman before him. He suspected she embodied the traditional, that it was steeped into her very bones.
He frowned, something about her comments rousing the analytical part of his personality. Something about the weather in the mountains…. “I’ve made the drive from North Carolina before,” he offered. “Depending on which route you take and how many hours you’re willing to drive each day, you can make it in as few as four days. I’d have thought you’d have seen snow in the mountains by now.”
“Not drivin’ poor little Babe. I’ve been on the road for nigh on a month.”
“Babe?”
“My car.” She flashed him a quick grin. “It seemed appropriate seein’ as she’s a shade on the pink side.”
“Pink.”
Her grin widened. It was full and generous and came with an infectious ease that suggested she smiled often, though he had the feeling she hadn’t found occasion to smile much recently. It also gave her a mischievous appearance that sat at odds with the nervous tension he sensed lying just beneath the surface.
“Yeah, pink. Cartoon-pig pink, to be exact. I have to confess, it does rouse comment.”
“I don’t wonder,” he muttered. “Your car is in such bad shape it took you a month to get here?”
“Pitiful, isn’t it? Though it wasn’t just the car.” She broke off and turned her head to study the flames crackling cheerfully in the hearth. “There were other considerations.”
Financial, he read between the lines. That explained the shoes and threadbare coat. “Worked your way across, did you?”
“It got me here,” she acknowledged.
“Here?”
She froze. Slowly her hands dropped to her lap and she snatched a quick, shallow breath. “To California,” she managed to say.
He didn’t know why he felt the need to press the issue, since it wasn’t any of his business. “To this part of California?”
“San Francisco, to be exact.”
She responded readily enough, which sat at odds with her tension. He’d half expected her to refuse to answer. People with secrets weren’t often this forth-coming, and his little elf was chock-full of secrets. There wasn’t a single doubt about that. “This isn’t the best route between Asheville and San Francisco. In fact, I’d say this was quite a way off the beaten path.”
She bowed her head. “It’s where my road led. I just followed.”
“Very cryptic.” Time to bring an end to this nonsense and get her off his mountain and on her way. “Why don’t I find out about arranging for a tow before the weather deteriorates any further. I assume you’ll also want to stay at a nearby motel while you’re car’s being repaired?”
Exhaustion exploded in her face again, along with a painful helplessness. “Yes, please.”
“Is something wrong?” he felt compelled to ask. His mouth tightened at the inadvertent question. Apparently the Salvatore code of behavior hadn’t been eradicated, even after thirty-five years of hard living. He still had trouble resisting a damsel in distress, despite having learned that women were rarely in true distress and frequently expected more than a simple assist. Maybe that was why he’d been so attracted to Rhonda. For all her flaws, she’d been as independent as they came. Still… He sighed, following the dictates his father, Dom, had done his damnedest to instill from the cradle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her frantic gaze fastened on him, urged him to say something—do something. But what she expected of him, he couldn’t begin to guess. “Don’t you know?” she whispered.
Aw, hell. “I’m a man, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want.” He offered a teasing grin. “Try simple, single-syllable words in short, concise sentences. That tends to work best with me.”
She hesitated, her desperation plain to see. Finally, she shook her head, her lashes dipping to conceal the flash of pain that burned in her expression. “No, thanks. The tow truck is enough for now.”
For now, huh? Why didn’t that surprise him? Without another word, he turned and crossed the room to his study. It only took a minute to place the call and secure a promise that the tow truck would pick up “Babe” within the next two hours. Alessandro checked outside. Taking note of the gathering gloom, he grimaced. It was only one in the afternoon and yet it already looked like sundown. If that truck didn’t make an appearance within the next thirty minutes, it wouldn’t be coming at all. Already the woman’s car was blanketed by a couple inches of brittle, icy snow, not a hint of pink showing through the glaze of white.
