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And Baby Makes Six
Linda Markowiak
Suddenly he's got two females in his life–and maybe a third…Mitch Oliver is a man's manWhich is probably a good thing since he's raising four rowdy teenage boys on his own. His schedule is filled with guy stuff such as hockey, baseball, football. Then he gets custody of his feminine little niece. Her schedule includes Barbie dolls and ballet.Fortunately, Jenny Litton–his sister's best friend–is willing to help. Suddenly Mitch finds himself struggling to understand two females–one charming little girl and one equally charming woman.One very pregnant woman…
He kissed her
He pulled her to him and tipped up her chin. And kissed her.
She forgot resistance, reserve and all her careful plans. She sensed the breadth of his shoulders and chest, his sheer masculinity. She breathed in a combination of the spicy scent of the cologne he must have put on this morning and the clean sweat from his just-completed workout. Man, that scent said. And everything about her hormone-driven body shrieked woman.
“Dad, Dad.” A pounding of feet on the stairs and through the front hall.
Abruptly Mitch broke the kiss. “Stay here,” he whispered. He took a few long strides to the door and vanished from sight. She heard muffled voices—Mitch’s and those of his sons.
Jenny smoothed her blouse. Her hands were shaking. It was a good thing the kids had come home just then.
A very good thing, because if Mitch meant what she thought he meant…
He doesn’t want to marry you, for heaven’s sake. He’s talking about starting a relationship. As in dating.
But she couldn’t date him. What Mitch didn’t realize was that he was kissing a woman who was pregnant with another man’s baby.
Dear Reader,
All my life I’ve been surrounded by the male point of view. I had two brothers—no sisters. When I was a kid, my dad and brothers would sit around the dinner table and talk sports, sports, sports. My mom and I would look at each other and roll our eyes.
Then my career put me squarely into the male world. In the late seventies and early eighties, women were just beginning to enter the legal profession in significant numbers. And trial law—my choice—wasn’t a popular specialty among women lawyers at that time.
My household now consists of males: one sweetheart of a husband and a wonderful son who will be a teenager soon.
So I think I know something about men. And I like men. I like the differences between us and them. I like the male protectiveness, their focus, their pride, their loyalty…and their struggles to “understand women.” I like how they laugh, how they tease, how they kiss.
I hope you do, too, and that you get a kick out of Mitch and his rowdy household of boys. I loved writing this story, as man’s man Mitch struggles to deal with one little girl and one feminine woman. One very pregnant feminine woman…
Linda Markowiak
P.S. I love to hear from readers. Please write to me c/o Harlequin Enterprises Limited or e-mail me at lindamarkowiak@superauthors.com.
And Baby Makes Six
Linda Markowiak
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u5a122b45-cb90-587b-b171-6ab933834c49)
CHAPTER TWO (#u3bd82949-46a5-5f53-9f3d-7dc97935081d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u3638fb9f-b7b6-5a9a-a05e-37f51e971c40)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc43189f9-9c05-594f-8e9d-00d59a39cd80)
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)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
MITCH OLIVER WAS FAST on his feet, could face down a two-hundred-and-sixty-pound bully, give a glib talk on national television and handle being a hometown hero with class.
So he certainly shouldn’t be scared of an eight-year-old girl.
Remember, she’s got to be a lot more scared than you are, pal.
The social worker went ahead of him down the hallway to the office. It was here that he’d sign the final papers, and bring Crystal home with him.
The funny thing was, his niece hadn’t cried much when they’d had her mother’s funeral yesterday. Mitch had thought he’d have to do more…comforting somehow, but…the kid had just sat there with that Litton woman, staring straight ahead. And afterward she’d hardly said a word to Mitch.
It had been that way over dinner last night, too. The only person the child had talked to was Jenny Litton, who hadn’t had too much to say to Mitch, either.
The social worker paused at the closed door to her office.
Mitch said, “It’s just that it took me so long to get here.” Seeing the look of puzzlement in the woman’s eyes, he clarified. “It would have been better for Crystal if I’d got here sooner. I could have helped with something. Made…you know, arrangements. The funeral.” After all, his own wife, Anne, had died four years ago. He knew there was a lot to do, sad decisions, kids’ tears to wipe.
That thought got him back to Crystal and those dry eyes of hers.
Alma Winters sighed. “I don’t know, Mr. Oliver. Miss Litton took care of everything. I mean, I don’t know if a day or two earlier would have made any difference.”
“Mitch. Please call me Mitch.” He’d told her that a couple of times now, but he knew people were more formal down here.
He’d never visited his baby sister in South Carolina. He’d never been close to Kathy, even though she was the only family he had anymore outside of his kids. In fact, he’d only seen Crystal once. About six years ago Kathy had made a short visit to Ohio. He and Kathy had loved each other, he guessed. But he’d already been on the road by the time she’d hit junior high, and as an adult she’d always lived so far away…In fact, he’d seen little of Kathy even before her young husband died and she’d moved to South Carolina to raise Crystal alone. A sense of loss filled him. His baby sister was gone and he hadn’t really known her. Now he wouldn’t have the chance. His memories were from long ago, childhood ones. Armloads of lilacs, Kathy going out to the big old bush by the pond and picking more than she could carry up the hill.
He raked a hand through his hair. No use in sugar-coating it. He’d been too busy for his kid sister, and now it was too late.
Once he’d been too busy for them all—playing professional hockey, managing his endorsements and his investments. He’d become a rich man, but he’d missed out on family life. Four years ago he’d made a promise that that would change.
“If we hadn’t been camping so far out, and if I hadn’t had to make an unscheduled stop in Memphis, I would have been here sooner.” Mitch stopped. He had to quit explaining.
The older woman smiled at him, her eyes warm black-brown, her skin a shiny mahogany. “You can’t help the fog. It’s like that on Hilton Head. It’s an island. We get fog.”
Kathy had liked the South Carolina island for the warm climate and proximity to the seashore. Crystal had a real southern drawl that made her seem even more strange to him.
“I’ll do my best with Crystal,” he promised suddenly.
The social worker sighed. “I believe you. But it’s always a sorry time when a baby’s momma dies. Fortunately, she’s had Miss Litton. Miss Litton has been a good friend, done the right thing by taking Crystal in and arranging for Kathy’s funeral. I want you to remember that.” Her eyes crinkled with kindness even as she hesitated. “Look, Mr. Oliver—”
“Mitch.”
“Mitch. Thank you. Mitch, I need to tell you something before you go in there. Crystal keeps saying she doesn’t want to go with you.”
Ah, hell. The greasy breakfast he’d eaten went sour in his stomach. “She doesn’t even know me.”
The social worker put a light hand on his arm. “Right. I understand that. She needs to give you a chance.”
He swallowed. “What if she isn’t in the mood to, ah, give me a chance?” He needed to know exactly what he was up against.
“Try not to worry too much. Just take her home, ease into things.”
“I’m good at going with the flow.”
She smiled again. “Listen to her, maybe try to do things in your home that will make her feel welcome. Your sister named you guardian in her will, and you’re the only close family Crystal has. Her father died about eight years ago, and his parents were never really involved with Kathy or Crystal. In fact, I gather they’re relieved to have you handle the situation.” There was a slight pause. “We’ll have a social worker in Ohio stop in and do a couple of quick checks of your household, but it’s just a formality, really.”
“A formality?”
She hesitated again, and Mitch got impatient. “Just break it to me. What are you trying to say here?”
Alma Winters touched him on the arm again. “All right. Jennifer Litton has raised the issue of whether you’re the proper person to care for Crystal. That’s why we’re having an Ohio social worker check. You see, Miss Litton was under the impression that Kathy’s will named her guardian.”
Mitch stared at her, bewildered. He and Kathy might not have been close, but they’d stayed in touch. She hadn’t trusted him to care for her daughter?
The social worker said, “Miss Litton claims Kathy had mentioned changing her will a couple of times.”
“Well, she never did it, did she?”
“No, she never did. Look, I’m a southerner, and nobody believes in family like a southerner does. You’re blood. You’re kin. But you have a lot of responsibility. It’s not too late to change your mind. If you can’t see your way to providing a home for your niece, Miss Litton would—”
“No. I believe in family, too.” He looked her directly in the eye.
There was a second’s pause. Then she said, “Ready to take your niece home?”
“Sure.” Crystal was just a little kid. A little girl.
A little…girl. He stepped through the door Alma Winters held open.
Crystal was sitting on a chair by the window. She wore her hair long and wavy, and was dressed in shorts that made a yellow bib kind of thing over a T-shirt. Sandals on her feet, those feet swinging up and down as if she were on an imaginary swing. Mitch’s sons’ legs were full of scars, scratches, insect bites in the summer, but his niece’s weren’t. A scrap of a cat, as orange as her hair, lay curled in her lap. A cat so small his dog, Face-off, was likely to have it for lunch and then look for more.
She was just a little kid.
His gaze was caught by the blonde who stood with a hand on his niece’s shoulder. Jennifer—Jenny—Litton. Miss Jenny Litton was real pretty, like some high-class southern belle right out of an old movie. He’d had trouble not looking at her last night at dinner. He glanced away now. After all, he was used to looking—and then not looking—at attractive women.
He addressed himself to his niece. “Hi, Crystal.”
Her legs swung higher. The kitten woke up and stretched.
“We’re going home today. On the airplane, remember? You haven’t ever been on a plane.”
Those bare legs kept swinging. He clenched a fist in his pocket, painfully conscious of the social worker behind him, and the silent woman next to Crystal. The pretty, uppity woman Kathy might have preferred to him to raise her kid.
“You’re going to like it in Ohio. We talked about it last night. We live in an old farmhouse and we do a lot of fun stuff, like sports. In the spring, you can use that mitt and baseball I got you last Christmas.”
The cat turned to stare at him.
Jenny spoke for the first time. “Crystal doesn’t like sports.”
“Oh.”
“Kathy used to say you were a big hockey star. Rich and famous.” There was no admiration in her voice. That voice was low and feminine, and she drew out the syllables until she sounded as southern as fried chicken and biscuits. Mitch frowned. No, not fried chicken. More like a cool glass of iced tea.
He wasn’t a big hockey star anymore, and he wasn’t that famous anywhere outside of North Shore, Ohio, these days, but his sporting-goods store, Serious Gear, was doing well and he didn’t have to answer to this woman.
Belatedly, Mrs. Winters came forward. “Crystal, maybe you’ll learn to enjoy baseball, and here you are with your own mitt and ball.”
Her voice was so falsely cheerful that even Mitch winced.
Crystal shrugged, and her movement must’ve startled the cat. It leaped to the floor. “Jewels,” she called and scrambled down after it.
But Jenny was quicker. She took a couple of steps and bent to keep the cat from scurrying away. “Here, Crystal. Your baby landed on its feet.” Jenny ran her fingers down the kitten’s head and back, her long, polished nails scratching behind its ears. The cat set up a purr so loud even Mitch could hear it.
The floor was dusty, but she got down on her knees despite those expensive-looking silky stockings she wore, and petted the tiny animal. Crystal sat beside her. Jenny stroked along the kitten’s backbone, and its hind end came up as her fingers reached it, its skinny tail in the air like a flagpole. Crystal turned and looked up at Mitch. “My momma named him Jewels because I’m Crystal.”
Huh? Well, at least she was talking to him. “Ah, that’s a good name. For a cat. Jules.” He tried harder. “He’s a cute cat.”
“He’s a she.”
Jules was a weird name for a girl cat, but Mitch decided to let it go. He said, “Okay, a she then.”
But he must have said something wrong, because his niece turned then to Jenny. “Do I have to go with him, Miss Jenny?”
