The Baby Switch!

by Melissa Senate

  “The minute you let romance in, there’s a heart waiting to be broken. We can’t risk that in our situation, Shelby. So no matter how much I may want to make love to you, I’ll never so much as kiss you on the lips.”

  “You want to rip my clothes off?”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Shelby. I’m just saying that I’m going to keep a certain distance. This marriage is to let us both have both babies. That’s it.”

  “Right,” she said. “The family unit.”

  He nodded. “You know, before I found out about Alexander and Shane, I was thinking about how much I wanted Alexander to have a mother. And how I was going to make that happen given that I didn’t want to marry. At least that worked out.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly as if she was working out something in her mind. Surely she felt the same way after what she’d been through, no matter that she still believed in love. She wouldn’t have to worry about heartache or loss and her baby—her babies—would have a father. A loving father who’d do anything for them and her.

  How he was going to keep his mind off Shelby as a woman was going to take some doing, though.

  * * *

  Shelby turned over in bed and started at her alarm clock. 1:37 a.m. She’d been tossing and turning all night again, bits and pieces of Liam’s words echoing in her head. Want to make love to you... Going to keep my distance... For the sake of our children...

  On Wednesday she’d be marrying him. For good reason. So she had to put everything else out of her mind. Her plans, her former hopes, her future dreams. She should be grateful that Liam Mercer was a single, gorgeous, sexy, very kind and loving father. He could have been a total troll. So many could-have-beens would have derailed any hope of her having Shane and Alexander in her future. Now she wouldn’t have any worries about that. Thank your lucky stars, she told herself, throwing off the blanket. She’d make herself a cup of herbal tea, the chamomile that always soothed her back to sleep, and wake up refreshed and ready to become Mrs. Mercer tomorrow.

  She left her room, the apartment quiet. Liam’s door was ajar, and for a half second she was tempted to poke her head in and watch him sleep. Maybe he’d be half-naked again. Instead, she headed to the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboard for the tea and sugar, then filled up the kettle and sat down at the kitchen table. Her gaze landed on the brown paper bag containing the music box—the other day she’d put the bag on top of the refrigerator and promptly forgot about it. No wonder, given everything going on in her life.

  The secret note! She popped up and retrieved the bag and set it on the table, eager to see if anything was written on the folded-up piece of paper hidden under the lining. She might not be having a hot and passionate romance herself, but perhaps the secret note-writer had and penned a love letter he or she had never intended to send.

  Careful to get to the boiling kettle before it could let out its whistle and wake up the whole apartment, Shelby poured her tea and waited for it to steep, then took out the music box.

  Once again, she edged back the pink velvet lining and pulled out the folded piece of paper—plain white unlined stationery, a bit yellowed with age. It was a letter, written in neat black script. Her gaze went to the bottom of the page. It was signed Mama. It was to: My dear son.

  And dated fifty-eight years ago.

  Wow. Over half a century old. Given its age and that there were no names, Shelby felt justified in reading it.

  My dear child,

  You’ll be coming into the world any day now. I know I won’t be able to care for you properly—I can barely feed myself, let alone make sure a newborn has what he needs, especially for the upcoming winter. A drafty, depressing apartment above a bar is no place to raise a child. But that’s all I can afford and I just don’t see any way out.

  Mrs. Mercer says you’ll want for nothing and that you’ll be so loved that you’ll never know you weren’t her own flesh and blood. When she said that, I admit I broke down and cried. But I know what she meant. She’ll love you just as I would. And she can give you what you need, what you deserve, whereas you’d have a hardscrabble life with me. You’d be called a bastard your whole life. I want more for you, my precious baby. So you’ll go with Mrs. Mercer the moment you’re born. You’ll be her child. But know that I did love you just as much and always will, forever.

  Mama

  Shelby stood up slowly, her legs shaky, and paced the kitchen. What the hell? The letter was dated fifty-eight years ago. Which meant the baby in question was Liam’s father?

  She glanced at the name on the brown paper bag. Harrington Mercer.

  Someone had left the bag containing the music box on Harrington Mercer’s porch. Someone who knew the letter was hidden under the lining and wanted him to know the truth? Who? It would have been easy to miss the hidden letter entirely. The Mercers had given away the box without even knowing the letter was there—that Shelby was sure of.

  Perhaps the person who left it figured Larissa Mercer would open the package out of curiosity, open the music box, see the uneven lining and edge it back to find out what was underneath. But that was a risk. After all, Larissa Mercer hadn’t even gotten that far.

  But Larissa had opened the package and unwrapped it. She’d even twisted the music prong to see if it worked because she’d mentioned it played one of her favorite sonatas. Perhaps whoever left it on the Mercer doorstep knew Larissa would at least open it? Maybe it was one of those Well I’m going to do my part by putting the box where it needs to be and if the person meant to find the letter does, great. If not, at least I tried.

  Maybe the person who left the box was the mother herself? Or a friend or relative of the mother?

  Shelby read the letter again. What was the mother’s connection to Mrs. Mercer? How had they even met, given the difference in their “stations,” especially almost sixty years ago? And was “Mrs. Mercer” Liam’s grandmother—Alexandra, whom Alexander was named for? Or a different Mrs. Mercer?

  Question after question flew at Shelby.

  The biggest one at the moment was whether or not she should wake up Liam to show him the letter. Surely it could wait until morning, not that she’d manage to get a wink of sleep now.

  But considering that Liam was suddenly standing in the kitchen doorway, in those sexy sweats and a University of Wyoming Cowboys T-shirt, it looked like it was going to be now.

  Chapter Nine

  Liam had heard Shelby get out of bed because he’d been tossing and turning all night and his ears were trained on the nursery. But instead of hearing any middle-of-the-night cries from the babies, he’d heard Shelby get up and head to the kitchen. He’d thought about giving her privacy with her thoughts; he was sure it was the wedding—the entire idea of getting married—that kept her awake, but if he could ease her mind, he’d try.

  “Couldn’t sleep again?” he asked, coming in the kitchen and taking a mug from the cupboard. “Is there enough water in the kettle for another cup?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been tossing and turning for so long I figured I might need a few cups to help me back to sleep.”

  He added a tea bag to the mug and poured the still-steaming water on it, then sat down next to Shelby. She held a letter, the old jewelry box his mother had given her beside her.

  “Found something in the box?” he asked, adding cream to the tea.

  “I did, Liam. A letter hidden away under the lining right in the main compartment.”

  “Hidden away? A secret letter?”

  She nodded. “It’s almost sixty years old.”

  “What does it say?”

  She took a deep breath. “Liam, I think you’d better read it. There’s a reason this music box was left on your parents’ porch. Someone wanted your father to find the letter. Or at least have the music box where the letter was hidden.”

  “Huh? What do
es the letter have to do with my father?”

  “I think it’s to him,” she said, handing it over.

  Liam frowned and took the letter. It was signed Mama. Well, his mother didn’t refer to herself that way, so he doubted this was from his mother. Or to his father.

  My dear son, he read, saddened by the first paragraph, by a mother-to-be wanting the best for her child and having to give him up.

  At the second paragraph, at the line Mrs. Mercer says you’ll want for nothing and that you’ll be so loved that you’ll never know you weren’t her own flesh and blood, Liam shot up out of the chair. He quickly read the rest, then his gaze focused on the date. The year his father was born.

  “My father was adopted by Alexandra Mercer?” he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “He never told me. He never let on that he was adopted.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know,” Shelby said gently.

  He stared at her. “Jesus. Maybe he doesn’t.” His gaze fell on the music box. “This was in there?”

  “Tucked under this lining,” she said, pointing at the pink velvet and showing how it edged away from the corners and could be inched over.

  “So the box was his birth mother’s? And she left it on my parents’ porch? On the chance my rich, snobby parents might want some old music box and find a hidden letter? That hardly sounds plausible.”

  Shelby sipped her tea. “I know. I’ve been running through possible scenarios and nothing quite makes sense. I have the feeling someone who’d been close to the birth mother put the box on your parents’ porch. A relative or friend. Someone who knew the secret and thought, well, let me finally deliver this letter that never got sent and if Harrington Mercer finds it, great, and if not, I tried.”

  Liam sat back down. “Why not just knock on the door and hand him the letter and explain everything?”

  “Good question. I really don’t know. Maybe whoever left the box made a promise never to reveal the secret?”

  “God Almighty. Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with this information? Show him the letter? He obviously doesn’t know he was adopted. And I told you how he reacted to the DNA results. DNA means a little too much to my father. It would kill him to find out he wasn’t—in his own words—a real Mercer.”

  “Maybe we could investigate a bit. Try to find out the backstory and history. There must be a connection between your grandmother and the birth mother. Clearly, they crossed paths and a baby was passed between them. I could do a little surreptitious questioning of some of my elderly customers who’ve lived their entire lives in Wedlock Creek.”

  Liam nodded, his head about to explode. “Go ahead. I’ve had about enough of family mysteries for one weekend.”

  “Seriously,” she said, covering his hand, and he was glad she was here.

  “Do you have a family album? If Alexandra Mercer was pregnant in the months before your father was born, maybe this isn’t about her and your father at all.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “I was getting ahead of myself for no reason. This probably has nothing to do with my grandmother and father at all.”

  Wasn’t that what he said about Alexander being switched at birth with Shane?

  * * *

  Early Tuesday morning, Shelby watched downtown Wedlock Creek disappear as Liam drove them out to the ranch lands just fifteen miles out of town. Liam wanted to check out his family photo albums that he had at his house before heading to the office for the day. His plan was to take both babies to the Mercer Industries day care, unless Shelby wanted to stick with business as usual and take Shane to work with her at Treasures. Or both babies. But Shelby had been excited for Shane to spend the day with Alexander at the day care where they’d be doted on, and besides, it would free her up to dig into the family mystery behind the letter she’d found in the music box.

  They drove down a long gravel drive that managed to reflect the Wyoming wilderness and be perfectly manicured in a rustic way. A half mile up was an open wrought-iron gate with a metal sign: The Double M.

  “Double M for the two Mercers?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I guess now I’ll have to change the name to the Triple M.” He glanced at her, eyebrow risen. “Quadruple M since you’ll be a Mercer, too.”

  She stared at the sign at they passed it. She didn’t feel like a Mercer, but then again, she wasn’t one yet.

  “Might be easier to stick with the Double M for old times’ sake. Or just The Mercer Ranch.”

  “Probably,” he said, pulling up in front of a beautiful white farmhouse with shiny black shutters and a barn-red door. There were acres of land as far as the eye could see and pastures and hedges but no cattle or horses. As Liam had said, this wasn’t a working ranch.

  “It’s so beautiful out here,” she said, getting out of the car and heading to the back seat to take out Shane.

  Liam did the same with Alexander. “I’ve missed it, even though I’ve only been gone a couple of days. I sit out on the porch and just watch the land, the trees rustle in the breeze, and I can often figure out a problem.”

  Maybe she’d been hasty in insisting they live in her apartment—even until the babies turned into toddlers. Maybe they could both use all this fresh air and open space to think, to have room to breathe.

  “Come on in,” he said, taking Shane’s carrier and easily handling both. He set Alexander’s down and unlocked the door, then picked him back up and they headed in.

  Shelby gasped. This was not what she was expecting at all. The entry led into a huge open space with floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall. Exquisite rugs and leather couches made a living room around a massive stone fireplace, and across the room was a play area for a baby with floor mats and a walker and bouncer seat and everything a baby could want, just like Liam had said.

  Huh. Shane sure would like that play area. And Shelby could imagine waking up here every morning, having this view with her morning coffee. Her mind would be clear until it focused on how her life had changed so dramatically so quickly. And then while she’d have a minor panic attack, she’d have the view and the natural beauty of this ranch to calm her down.

  “I love it,” she said. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Wait till you see the room that would be yours,” he said. “My cousin Clara decorated a guest room for me since the rest of the place is so masculine. I’ll bet you’ll like it.”

  She had no doubt she would. He carried the boys up the grand staircase to the second floor. He pointed out his room and a bit farther down the hall he opened a door. “This is the nursery.”

  She walked in and for the second time in five minutes, she gasped. “My God. This is a prince’s nursery.”

  “Guilty,” he said. “A little too much disposable income and loving the heck out of Alexander, and I ended up with this.”

  The crib was gold and she wouldn’t be surprised if it was made out of twenty-four-karat gold. A mural of Winnie the Pooh with one of Shelby’s favorite wise quotes from the sweet little bear was on one wall. A giant stuffed giraffe was in one corner, and one wall was lined with low, built-in bookcases full of board books and children’s classics. A glider chair was by a window along with every type of baby paraphernalia imaginable. All the fanciest, the most expensive brands. The room was as grand a nursery as she’d ever seen.

  “The nursery at your place is just as nice,” he said. “It has everything they need—you were right about that. Fancy doesn’t make the room better.”

  Tears poked at her eyes. “You know what I’m thinking about? The letter. How the birth mother wrote that she wanted more for her unborn baby than she knew she could provide.”

  He touched her shoulder. “Shelby, you’re hardly destitute. I like your place just fine.”

  “I appreciate that. But even I wouldn’t pass up the chance to live here. Alexander and Shane can be real Wyoming cowboys
on this ranch.”

  “If you’re sure,” he said. “Why don’t we move both of you in after the wedding?”

  She nodded. “And either I’ll take the boys with me to Treasures for the day or you’ll take them to the day care. Maybe we’ll split the week.”

  “Sounds good.” He looked at her and reached for her hand. “We will make this work. I promise.”

  She nodded, needing to change the subject. She didn’t want to talk about them, about their businessy marriage. “So where do you keep the family albums?”

  “In the family room,” he said. He picked up both carriers, and they went back downstairs. Liam set the babies in the gated play area, carefully babyproofed, she noted, and headed over to the wall of bookcases. He took out two leather albums and sat down on the brown leather sofa.

  She sat beside him, eager to see a photograph of Alexandra Mercer—and if she’d been pregnant in the nine months before Harrington Mercer was born. “I hope there are pictures of her at the right time.”

  “There’s an entire album devoted to her, my grandfather, Wilton, and my dad as a baby. I haven’t looked in these albums in ages, but I’ll bet there are lots of photos of her when she was expecting.”

  Except there weren’t. Not one.

  There were several photos of a nursery in various stages of development, so clearly Wilton and Alexandra had been expecting a baby. But as Liam flipped the pages of the album, there were no photos of her in the family way. One photo was dated January, nine months before his father was born. Alexandra Mercer was slim, her tummy washboard flat in a 1950s-style tucked-in sweater. The next photo was dated October, with Alexandra and Wilton holding infant Harrington. There were countless photos of Harrington as a newborn.

  “Look!” Shelby said. “There’s a photo of your grandparents leaving the hospital with your dad. Cottonwood County.”

  “So did she give birth there—or did the birth mother? And my grandparents brought my dad home.”

  The rest of the albums gave nothing away. They were all of Harrington Mercer growing up.