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The Pregnancy Clause
Elizabeth Sinclair
She had twelve months to make a baby…Or, according to her father's will, she'd lose her beloved farm. Trouble was, Emily Kingston was wildly wary of men. In fact, the only male she'd ever trusted was her childhood sidekick, Rian "Kat" Madison, who'd rescued her from countless scrapes, who'd promised to always be there. And even Kat had up and vanished without a trace.But suddenly, sixteen years later, Kat was back. All muscle and mystery, he was the perfect candidate to "donate" his traits without entangling Emily's emotions. But her once-boyish buddy had a shocking proposition of his own: Marry…and make a baby the old-fashioned way!
“You’ll father my baby?”
He nodded. “But we do it my way, on my terms, or not at all.” Kat looked directly at her. “First of all, we get married.”
“Married!” Emily stared at him, openmouthed.
“Married. As in old shoes, rice, orange blossoms. Married. As in legitimate mother and father for our child.”
Emily didn’t like the emphasis he’d put on our, but she hadn’t recovered enough to retaliate.
“Second, I won’t agree unless the baby is conceived the old-fashioned way.”
Dear Reader,
May is the perfect month to stop and smell the roses, and while you’re at it, take some time for yourself and indulge your romantic fantasies! Here at Harlequin American Romance, we’ve got four brand-new stories, picked specially for your reading pleasure.
Sparks fly once more as Charlotte Maclay continues her wild and wonderful CAUGHT WITH A COWBOY! duo this month with In a Cowboy’s Embrace. Join the fun as Tasha Reynolds falls asleep in the wrong bed and wakes with Cliff Swain, the very right cowboy!
This May, flowers aren’t the only things blossoming—we’ve got two very special mothers-to-be! When estranged lovers share one last night of passion, they soon learn they’ll never forget That Night We Made Baby, Mary Anne Wilson’s heartwarming addition to our WITH CHILD…promotion. And as Emily Kingston discovers in Elizabeth Sinclair’s charming tale, The Pregnancy Clause, where there’s a will, there’s a baby on the way!
There’s something fascinating about a sexy, charismatic man who seems to have it all, and Ingrid Weaver’s hero in Big-City Bachelor is no exception. Alexander Whitmore has two wonderful children, money, a successful company…. What could he possibly be missing…?
With Harlequin American Romance, you’ll always know the exhilarating feeling of falling in love.
Happy reading!
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
The Pregnancy Clause
Elizabeth Sinclair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Sinclair was born and raised in the scenic Hudson Valley of New York State. In 1988 she and her husband moved to their present home in St. Augustine, Florida, where she began pursuing her writing career in earnest. Her first novel reached #2 on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and won a 1995 Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Award for Excellence. As a proud member of five RWA affiliated chapters, Elizabeth has taught creative writing and given seminars and workshops at both local and national conferences on romance writing, how to get published, promotion and writing a love scene and the dreaded synopsis.
Books by Elizabeth Sinclair
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
677—EIGHT MEN AND A LADY
787—THE OVERNIGHT GROOM
827—THE PREGNANCY CLAUSE
ROSE’S BAKED FRENCH TOAST
1 loaf white bread, cubed
8 oz cream cheese, cubed
8-12 eggs, depending on size
½ cup maple syrup
1 cup milk
Using a 11×13-inch pan, line the bottom with ½ of the bread cubes. Next, layer the cream cheese on top of the bread. Then add the remaining bread cubes on top. Beat the eggs, maple syrup and milk together. Pour entire mixture over bread. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350˚F for 45 minutes or until lightly golden brown.
Serves 8
Contents
Chapter One (#u617c715e-b6b9-5115-82a0-214da2c41afa)
Chapter Two (#u560c333d-b3bb-528a-b8a5-2b3eead57461)
Chapter Three (#u5b8be7a3-09e9-5df8-85da-135c87566f5a)
Chapter Four (#ud722f73a-616e-5538-81f7-b603c825dfe5)
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
“You must have a baby before you turn thirty or Clover Hill Farms will be turned over to charity.”’
A baby? In ten and a half months?
Twenty-nine-year-old Emily Kingston stared in awe across the highly-polished mahogany desk into the somber face of the young lawyer. Lawrence Tippens recited the conditions of the codicil to her father’s five-year-old will as if he’d just told her to put on fresh lipstick.
“Why didn’t someone tell me this five years ago, when my father’s will was read?” She felt her eyes widen. “If I have a baby that means I have to…to…”
A red blush suffused Lawrence’s face. “Yes, well, the codicil doesn’t stipulate how you have the child, only that you have one by the time you turn thirty.”
Despite this emotional upset, Emily had to hide a smile. Lawrence would never change. He was as much a prude now as when he was in high school.
“Now, as to why you weren’t told about the codicil at the reading of the primary will—” He brushed imaginary lint from his navy, pin-striped lapels and avoided her gaze. Obviously, he hadn’t counted on her asking about the delay in the notification, or he’d hoped that she wouldn’t ask for details. “I regret to say that my father’s memory wasn’t too acute in his last years, and he did not employ the best filing system. In fact…ahem…he didn’t really have a system to speak of at all. He did most of his work at home and failed to transfer it to his town office so his secretary could put it in the proper place.”
Emily leaned toward the embarrassed man. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Larry?”
He bristled at the use of the nickname. “Last week, while cleaning out the closet in my father’s home office, my mother found a box of legal papers. My secretary discovered the codicil in that box. Since my father passed away only a week after your father, I doubt anyone knew about the codicil other than the two of them. As it was, if you recall, because my father was so gravely ill at the time, it took two weeks to locate the original will.”
“But this doesn’t make sense. When my father told me about the terms of his will, he gave me the impression that I would have sole ownership of Clover Hill Farms. He never said anything about a baby or the farm reverting to charity.”
Lowering his wire-rimmed spectacles to the bridge of his bony nose, Lawrence stared at her. “I cannot speak to your father’s reasoning or his decision. I can only relate what the codicil says. The terms of the original will were just as you say. The farm went solely to you—however, the codicil changes all that.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
The young lawyer sighed impatiently. “Let me explain.” Lawrence straightened the papers on his desk, lining them up like soldiers at a dress parade. “When your father originally had my father draw up his will, the terms were as you’ve stated them. This codicil applies conditions to that original document and to your continued ownership. You must meet these terms in the allotted time or lose the horse-breeding farm to the charity your father has designated here as his new beneficiary.” He used his forefinger to push his glasses back in place, then shuffled through the papers. “The Horseman’s Benevolent Association.”
Emily sighed, leaned back, then took a deep fortifying breath. The smell of lemon oil, leather-bound books, stale smoke and Larry’s expensive, overpowering, cologne assaulted her. The combination turned her already queasy stomach. “Is it legal? Could he do that?”
“Yes, he had every right to put additional stipulations on the distribution of his estate. I’m afraid you will have to produce a child in ten and a half months or you’ll lose your horse farm.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m sure he assumed that marriage would precede the blessed event.”
“That’s impossible.” Emily wasn’t about to tie herself to any man.
He eyed her over his glasses, his gesture making him look older than his thirty years. “You mean you don’t have a young man who’s pressing you to marry?” Lawrence leered. “Of course, you didn’t date all that frequently in high school, but you’ve turned into an attractive woman. There must be men lined up on your porch.” His leer deepened. “If I can be of any help with the…uh…baby problem, don’t hesitate to ask.”
His condescending tone caused Emily’s anger to churn inwardly. Whatever made this pompous ass think she’d resort to asking him to father her child? She’d spent four years in high school avoiding his amorous overtures. Why would she change her mind now? Not in this lifetime. She’d rather walk over hot coals than climb into bed with Lawrence Tippens.
And as far as her personal life went, she wasn’t about to share with this stodgy legal machine that the Sahara Desert had a better chance of getting a torrential rain than she did of getting a date. She couldn’t be expected to run a business like hers and still play the social butterfly. The only nursery she should be planning to furnish should be one with hay on the floor.
“Thanks but no thanks, Larry. This idea needs getting used to. I’m a horse breeder—I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
He bristled at her rejection, just as he’d done in high school, then became all business again. “Am I to assume then that you’re willing to let the farm go to charity?”
“No, certainly not.” The smug—Emily fought to remember she was a lady.
“In that case, short of contesting this, I see no other alternative for you except to comply.”
A dim ray of hope rose in Emily. “Contesting? You mean I can fight this legally?”
“You can.” Lawrence jogged the papers, papers that had changed her life, into a neat stack, then returned them to the manila folder from which he’d taken them a half hour ago. “However, since your father was of sound mind, your chances of winning are slim at best.”
Standing, Emily walked to the window overlooking the main street of the small town of Bristol, New York. She’d lived here all her life. Everyone knew everyone, along with their business. The thought of having to face people with the news of what had gone on here today made her want to crawl off in a corner and hide. And it would spread beyond these doors, she had no doubt. Larry could never keep a juicy little tidbit like this to himself.
A movement in the windowpane drew her attention from the lazy activity of Main Street. Reflected in the window, she could see Larry fingering a cigar, no doubt in anticipation of her leaving. He was much too proper to light it with her there, but the stale smell of predecessors to the cigar he held already clung to the legal books and drapes. Little did he realize that the cigar didn’t fit his professional personae any more than being a mother fit hers.
She knew nothing about raising babies. What could her father have been thinking? Larry had described Frank Kingston as being of sound mind. An arguable description from her standpoint.
She shouldn’t be shocked at this turn of events. Frank Kingston had either been breaking promises to her, her sister Honey and her brother Jesse all their lives or running other people’s lives. He’d known how much the breeding farm meant to her. He’d promised it would be hers. Hers. Why the change of heart? She shook her head. It didn’t make sense.
However, little her father did made sense to those not privy to his reasoning. Sense or no sense, he’d trapped her by making it all very legal and very binding. Men! They just couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t she figured that one out a long time ago?
“If you have no further questions….” Lawrence stood and walked around his desk, obviously anxious to get rid of her.
“No. I think that’s quite enough for one day.”
As Emily made her way across the thick carpet to the door, she decided that her opinion of Lawrence hadn’t changed since high school. He was a pompous windbag of a man, so full of himself and his profession that she doubted there was room left over for a heart inside his bony chest. Nothing like his gregarious, soft-spoken father.
Emily halfheartedly shook the hand he offered, then left the cigar-scented offices of Tippens, Tippens and Forge.
AS KAT Madison watched out the café window, a young woman, obviously intent on something other than her safety, walked into the street and was nearly run down by an oncoming car. She looked familiar. That he couldn’t place her from this distance didn’t stop him from appreciating the gentle sway of her single dark braid against her denim-encased hips or the swell of her breasts beneath a white T-shirt shouting in black letters, I’ve Got The Answers.
Lucky her. Finding answers had brought him home to Bristol for the first time in over sixteen years, since his parents’ funeral. He’d only stayed for a day. Thoughts of that day drove a pain through his heart. Out of habit, he pushed them to the back of his mind.
“More coffee?”
Kat glanced at the young blonde he’d been flirting outrageously with before spotting the T-shirt-clad woman across the street. Nodding, he turned his gaze back to the street in time to see her red pickup drive by the window, heading out of town. Across the truck’s door in white letters he read Clover Hill Farms.
Emily?
Just his luck to be ogling the one person he really wasn’t ready to come face-to-face with. The one person who would inevitably confront him with questions he couldn’t answer.
“Here’s the key.”
Dave Thornton’s deep voice roused Kat from his observations. “Thanks.” He took the key to the summer cottage his friend had arranged for Kat to use until he found somewhere to live.
“I told the power company that you’d call when you leave so they can cut off the electric. Oh, and I had the phone turned on, too.”
“Thanks.” Kat shook the key. “I owe you one.”
Dave smiled. “So, what do you plan on doing with your parents’ house, Kat? Or do you go by Rian now?”
Kat wanted to correct him, but for all intents and purposes, Hilda and Charlie Madison had been his parents. Were still his parents. Besides, what other name could he use?
He shrugged. “Kat’s fine.”
