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Sugar Baby
Karen Young
Women Who Dare"Karen Young is a spellbinding storyteller…" – Romantic TimesShe could lose her son, after all.Little Danny Woodson witnessed a murder, and now the killer is after him. Claire Woodson will do anything to protect her son. Even if it means living with the enemy. And Mack McMollere, Danny's uncle, is the enemy. The wealthy Louisiana sugar baron is fighting Claire for custody of the boy.Mack–and the powerful McMollere family–swear they can keep Danny safe. But now there's new danger. Danny is fitting in too well with his late father's family. And when she's with Mack, Claire's finding it all too easy to forget that the McMolleres want her son….Exciting and emotional–a compelling new novel from RITA Award winner Karen young, author of The O'Connors trilogy and Having His Baby.Women Who Dare
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u28313231-9397-55d1-a4ac-e4cbd7ac90f1)
Excerpt (#u7dea2fbd-d3e8-53af-b882-600b4ac67ea6)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u8b18c084-8d67-5859-bd25-c2ef22ae0338)
Title Page (#u7847171b-a4e1-57cd-bd99-8e622ffc4d21)
Dedication (#u6f84392a-3ec9-5d89-a577-1063c50ae5ba)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue7d92d6e-1c6a-5847-a25a-2e09898de8a5)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc66fb887-43ae-53a4-aa46-e9c6b603629a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u08228356-a5ae-5d4e-b916-214a32650be8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud4e828d7-4fba-5aa9-8d94-aa3cc426a60b)
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)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You planned to steal my son!”
Before Mack could respond, Claire continued. “Don’t deny that the purpose of your lawyer’s visit was to get me to agree to have Danny’s name changed to McMollere. The man rattled on and on about the wonderful heritage Danny has here at Sugarland, about how as Carter’s son, it’s rightfully his. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and presto! Danny’s a McMollere and everything’s just peachy keen.”
Mack was shaking his head long before she finished. But she paid no attention to him.
“I’ll be out of here just as soon as possible. And I’ll be taking my son with me. My son, Daniel Woodson.”
Mack took a deep breath, obviously coming to a decision. “The problem with Danny’s name was going to resolve itself,” he said. “At least, that’s what I was hoping.”
“How?”
“I was thinking that you’d change Danny’s name to McMollere—if that was your name, too.”
Claire’s heart was suddenly in her throat
“I’m talking…marriage, Claire.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RITA Award winner Karen Young needs no introduction to Superromance readers. This talented author has published eleven books for the line. Sugar Baby is set in Louisiana, where, until very recently, Karen and her husband lived. The couple has now moved to Jackson, Mississippi, which means Karen—a native Mississippian—has come home. An added bonus is that they’re close to their daughter and her family, including three grandchildren.
Be sure to watch for upcoming tides by Karen Young. This Christmas she appears in Harlequin’s Christmas anthology (Merry Christmas, Baby!) with a short story entitled “It Takes a Miracle.” Then, early in 1998, her first mainstream novel will be published under the MIRA imprint
Sugar Baby
Karen Young
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the Ladies of the Club—the Thilbodaux Literary Guild.
Thanks for the memories.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_118c2f37-8fd5-5d79-ae49-d825953dd2ec)
“POLICE…FREEZE! FREEZE!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
“Officer down! We need backup!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
With her face buried in a hand towel, Claire Woodson froze. Oh, great! Just what she needed. Danny was channel surfing with the remote again. Thanks to the hotel’s free premium channels, she could just imagine what he was watching. Muttering a word she never got to say out loud, she balled up the towel and tossed it in the sink, then with blood in her eye, she marched out of the bathroom.
Her five-year-old son sat cross-legged in front of the TV, his nose no more than a foot from the screen. “Oh, boy, shoot ’im, shoot ’im.”
“Danny! What are you watching?”
His eyes were glued to a scene in which a man lay covered in blood, his body in a grotesque sprawl. “This guy just killed a policeman, Mommy. Bullets were everywhere! It was neat!”
Claire marched over and took the remote. “It isn’t neat to kill policemen, Danny.”
“But he was really bad!”
“That was make-believe. In real life, policemen are here to help us.” She began flicking through the channels. “You know you’re not supposed to watch adult channels. Look, here’s something good.” She stopped at a cartoon.
Danny crossed his small arms and poked out his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna watch dumb ol’ cartoons. Why won’t you let me see anything I like? Ryan gets to watch whatever he wants on TV.”
“Too bad. I don’t happen to agree with Ryan’s parents.”
“I wanna go home! I don’t like it here.” Scrambling up from the floor, he stomped across the room to the French doors.
Join the club.
With a sigh, she let him go out. Their room had a balcony overlooking a courtyard. He could hardly get into mischief from the third floor.
She sank onto the bed and willed away the start of a headache. She was here in LaRue and she would make the best of it. Hadn’t she been making the best of things for about six years? This situation wouldn’t be any different.
Rubbing her temple, she gazed around the room. At any other time, she might have enjoyed the place John McMollere had recommended.
Complete with slowly revolving ceiling fans and patrons in rumpled suits and Panama hats, the White Hotel was like something out of a Hemingway novel. Built in the days of Louisiana’s rice and sugarcane barons, it was garishly grandiose. But just as those were bygone days, the hotel was past its heyday.
Not that any of this mattered. Claire was in no mood to appreciate decor. Her thoughts were on the upcoming meeting with her son’s grandparents, the McMolleres. Because of their power and arrogance, they’d won this round, but she was determined they weren’t going to win the war.
They were not going to take Danny away from her.
She glanced at her watch. Three hours before she and Danny had to meet them. Just the thought sent up a flock of butterflies. She touched her stomach, and her troubled gaze strayed to the balcony and Danny. He was usually a happy, good-natured boy, but lately he was picking up on her anxiety. Somehow she was going to have to keep from communicating her distress to him. Closing her eyes, she vowed to do better at keeping her fears to herself.
The telephone rang.
She stared at it, knowing the caller had to be one of the enemy. If not the lawyer, then old Angus McMollere, himself. If not him, then John McMollere, the older son—the one everybody called Mack. He was the one she most hated dealing with. Not that she’d seen him during the negotiations for this visit. They’d communicated only by telephone. Knowing that she was being silly—even childish and cowardly—she allowed the telephone to ring four times before she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Claire Woodson?”
The voice was dark and deep and confident. Not cold, but not friendly either. She recognized it instantly and sighed. John McMollere. Strangely enough, a picture of him flashed vividly in her mind even though she’d only seen him once. Six years ago in Houston on a night that had changed her life forever.
“Claire?” he repeated.
“This is she.”
“John McMollere here.”
“Yes.”
“I expected to hear from you earlier.”
“The appointment is for seven. Has that changed?”
“No. Nothing’s changed. But a woman and a child traveling alone, I thought—”
“Danny and I are used to traveling alone, Mr. McMollere.”
“Mack.”
She murmured something. She wasn’t ready for a chummy relationship with any of them.
He waited a beat. “Satisfied with our hotel?”
“It’s…interesting.”
“How’s Danny?”
Her gaze went to Danny who was leaning over the balcony railing obviously interested in something going on below. “He’s fine. Bored with no one to play with, but he’ll be okay.”
“He’ll like it here at Sugarland. No little kids, of course, but it’s a big place. He can explore to his heart’s delight. His grandparents can’t wait to see him.”
Two days. Only two days and we can go home.
She clutched the receiver. “I need directions to get there.”
“No need. I’ll pick you up.”
“No! I mean…ah, that’s not necessary. I’m—”
“I know it’s not necessary, Claire,” he said patiently. “But you’ve been on the road most of the day. It’s another twenty miles out here with twists and turns you might miss.”
“I can follow directions.”
“I know this whole thing is stressful for you. It’s not exactly easy for us on this end, either.”
“What does that have to do with whether or not I drive myself to Sugarland?” she asked. Even to herself she sounded negative and testy. She heard him draw in a deep breath.
“I think we should all try to make this visit a happy one, Claire. For Danny’s sake.”
She gripped the receiver even tighter. “Where was all this concern for Danny when you people first learned of his existence, Mr. McMollere?” she asked. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I’m here only because a judge ordered it. And we both know he ordered it because of the prestige of the McMolleres. You’ve got what you wanted—a weekend to meet my son. And contrary to what you might think, I will do everything I can to see that nothing upsets Danny. As his parent—his only parent—how could I do otherwise?” Touching her head, she wished for a pill to take away the headache and the weekend. “Maybe that’s the one thing you, your parents and I can agree on,” she ended in a weary tone.
“Then there’s no problem.”
“Fine.” The man sounded as though he agreed with everything she’d said, which was impossible. “Good. So how about those directions?”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“The directions, please.”
There was a moment when she thought he’d argue, but he made a sound—surely not a chuckle?—then began to rattle off a string of instructions which would get her to Sugarland.
