The Baby Jackpot

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “Did I tell you about eating dinner with Owen and the twins?” Cole asked as they strolled hand in hand toward the elevator. “They do funny things with their food.”

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” she answered, laughing.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d said to amuse her, but it didn’t matter. Because Stacy loved him just as he was, and Cole planned on spending the rest of his life making her happy.

  * * *

  HE’D NEVER SLEPT IN Stacy’s bed before, Cole realized as he eased between the sheets in his crisp pajamas. He loved the lily fragrance and silky texture of the sheets—and the sight of Stacy’s body in a filmy nightgown, silhouetted against the light from the bathroom.

  “I always think it’s a shame to save the wedding night for after the wedding,” she teased as she joined him in bed.

  “We didn’t,” he pointed out.

  “I keep forgetting how literal-minded you are.” Snuggling against him, she kissed the hollow beneath his jaw.

  Joyously, Cole rolled onto his side, stroking her hip and waist. When his hand cupped her breast, she gasped.

  He waited a second, to make sure she wasn’t objecting, and bent to kiss the tight nub. Her sigh of pleasure tightened his body, making him hard and eager.

  Cole wished he was a more skilled lover. Fortunately, Stacy didn’t hesitate to show him what she liked—long caresses, gentle kisses, his bare body exploring and arousing hers.

  When he slid inside her, he felt bathed in a glow, as if all his cells were lightly shivering. Every movement simmered through him, and it wasn’t nearly long enough before he lost control, moving harder and faster, urged on by Stacy’s moans.

  For a glorious instant, they fused, vibrating at exactly the same frequency. The feeling ebbed slowly, leaving him with a sense of peace and belonging.

  “Was that...?” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “Even better,” Stacy murmured.

  “How soon can we get married?” While Cole didn’t believe she’d change her mind, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “How about September?” she asked.

  “Any particular reason?”

  “The weather’s usually good.” She shrugged.

  “This is Southern California. The weather’s always good,” he pointed out.

  She kissed his shoulder. “And I should still be able to walk down the aisle.”

  Cole recalled his image of rolling her down the aisle in a bridal gown with her feet propped up. “That’s a good reason.”

  Stacy didn’t seem to want to talk anymore. That was fine with him.

  There’d be plenty of time to make plans. All the time in the world.

  * * *

  BY SUNDAY EVENING, Cole had moved his furniture back in, although he still shared Stacy’s bed. Every time she touched his hair or felt his warmth against her, she reveled in the magic that had caught her unawares. That old cliché about looking for love in all the wrong places...if only she’d listened, she could have had this sooner.

  His printed-out calendar, tacked neatly on the wall in the kitchen, told the story of the children growing inside her. While he washed the dinner dishes, Stacy studied the entries, one hand over her abdomen.

  Cole had incredibly neat handwriting. Everything about him was orderly and reliable. Yet there was nothing stodgy about the joy on his face when he looked at her.

  How incredible that this had happened.

  When the phone summoned her, Stacy scooped it from her pocket. It was Ellen. Guiltily, she reflected that she hadn’t called her mother yet. She’d been engaged for two entire days and she had no excuse for not notifying her parents, except that her feelings for them were complicated.

  She’d better get it over with. “Hi, Mom.”

  “It’s been a week since I heard from you,” Ellen said. “Are you okay?”

  “Cole and I are getting married.” So much for subtlety. “Mom, I can’t wait for you to meet him! Well, I guess you’ve seen him on the news. He’s so wonderful.”

  Stepping out of the kitchen, Cole gave a pleased wave. He didn’t take the phone to introduce himself, though. Stacy was glad. She’d prefer to prepare her fiancé before he chatted with his future in-laws.

  He disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I hope you aren’t doing this just to satisfy your father,” Ellen said.

  “Not at all.” Had her mom missed the part about how fabulous Cole was? “We love each other. It’s perfect.”

  “You may be idealizing,” she warned.

  “In this case, it’s justified.”

  “Uh-oh.” Her mother lowered her voice to a whisper. “Your dad just came in. He went for a walk after dinner, and usually he’s gone at least half an hour. I thought it was safe to call.” In the background, Stacy heard him ask who it was.

  “Tell him, Mom,” she said.

  “It’s Stacy.” Ellen’s voice grew fainter as she addressed her husband. “She’s engaged.”

  “This isn’t one of those engagements that lasts for years, is it?” he grumbled in the background.

  “Put him on,” Stacy insisted.

  “Maybe you should...” Whatever her mother meant to say, she didn’t finish. Instead, random noises indicated the phone was changing hands.

  “Stacy?” her father said. “Congratulations. I’m glad you came to your senses.”

  A burst of anger nearly sent her into attack mode. She curbed it, not for his sake but for hers and her mom’s. “My senses have nothing to do with it. I’m marrying the man I love. Not for you, Dad. Not for anyone else. For me.”

  From the kitchen, a series of bangs and a delicious buttery scent indicated Cole was making popcorn. Suddenly Stacy wasn’t angry at her father anymore. Only sad for him and her mom, who could have had so much more happiness over the years if he’d truly devoted himself to their marriage.

  “I’d like to walk you down the aisle.” Was that a note of uncertainty?

  “Of course,” Stacy said. “And Dad...” If she chewed him out, it might gratify her sense of justice, but Ellen had revealed his transgressions in confidence. Besides, Stacy loved her father. “I was lucky to find a man who’ll be a great husband. Who puts me and the kids first. Who’ll always be there for us. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”

  “He sounds like a terrific fellow,” Al said. “I’m glad for you, baby. Please forgive me for what I said last time. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Stacy was tempted to say more, but had no wish to stir up trouble. “Take care of Mom, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean that.”

  “What’s she been telling you?” he asked.

  “Nothing that I can’t see for myself,” Stacy said. “I’ve learned a lot from Cole about how actions speak louder than words.”

  There was a long pause.

  “You shouldn’t take the people you love for granted,” she added. “They might not always be there.”

  Then he said something that surprised her. “Your mother’s been urging me to go away with her for a marriage renewal weekend. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

  “It gets my vote,” Stacy told him.

  “Might even be fun,” he said. “I’m pleased for you, honey. I’m sure you’ve picked the right man this time.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  After saying goodbye to her mother, Stacy finished the call. She was happy that her father had agreed to invest more in his marriage. In their sixties, her parents might have another twenty or more years together.

  Cole walked in with a large bowl of popcorn. “Everything shipshape on the home front?”

  She related the conversation. “They’ll have to negotiate their own peace from now on. I’m resigning from that role.”

  “Maybe we should go on one of those marriage weekends.” After setting the bowl on the coffee table, Cole retrieved some DVDs from a cabinet.

  “I believe you
have to be married first.”

  “Minor impediment. But it can wait.” He helped her onto the couch as if she was already ballooning. “While we’re on the subject, I thought we might watch a movie about weddings, to get ideas.”

  “Oh, fun!” She studied the DVD choices. The Runaway Bride, Four Weddings and a Funeral and Bride and Prejudice. “What’s that one?”

  “It’s the Bollywood version of Jane Austen’s novel,” he explained. “Lots of catchy singing and dancing in India.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I’ll try it.” He was right, she discovered. The classic story translated beautifully into another culture, with the bonus of upbeat melodies and appealing performers.

  Afterward, they watched the outtakes, which were hilarious. Her head on Cole’s shoulder, Stacy murmured, “Do you realize we have to choose three baby names?”

  “Six,” he corrected. “Since we don’t know the gender yet.”

  “We could pick unisex names,” she said. “Or wait.”

  “Why play it safe?” Cole said.

  “Yes, let’s live dangerously.” As long as they were being silly, she added, “I know! I’ll pick the girls’ names and you can pick the boys’ names.”

  “How about Harpo, Chico and Groucho?”

  “Never mind,” Stacy said. “I’ll pick all the names.”

  “Okay.” Cole’s arm tightened around her. “Want me to get up and put on another movie?”

  “Maybe later.” Stacy preferred to treasure their quiet intimacy awhile longer. To bask in the fact that she was living a love story of her own, complete with a happy ending. No doubt they’d commit more bloopers along the way, but sometimes that was the best part.

  Or rather, with Cole in her arms, it was all the best part.

  * * * * *

  Watch for Jacqueline Diamond’s next book in the Safe Harbor Medical series, HIS BABY DREAM, coming June 2013, only from Harlequin American Romance!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Son by Leigh Duncan!

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin American Romance story.

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  Chapter One

  Sarah Magarity rose to her tiptoes on the stepladder. The large silver star atop the Christmas tree wobbled when her fingers brushed against it. As she wrestled the heavy ornament from the center post, it tipped, threatening to throw her off balance. For a second, Sarah saw herself lying on the floor, alone and injured, through the long holiday weekend. Normally hectic on a Thursday afternoon, the Department of Children and Family Services in Fort Pierce, Florida, had slowly emptied once the tech guys shut down the computers for a system-wide upgrade. Now only a tree that smelled more like plastic than pine stood between her and a much-needed two weeks out from under a crushing workload.

  Two weeks of white, sandy beaches and a cell phone that didn’t buzz with a new crisis every ten minutes. Two weeks of gathering plants for her growing collection of tropical flowers. Sarah took a deep breath and braced herself against the wall. She could almost smell Hawaiian orchids and plumeria.

  Dreaming of ukuleles and fruity concoctions decorated with tiny umbrellas, she whistled a slightly off-key version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Carefully, she toted the star down the ladder. Her foot had barely touched the worn carpet when one of the doors at the main entrance swung open. Sounds of heavy traffic on U.S. Highway 1 blared into the office before the door swished closed. Silence, broken only by the noisy hum of an air conditioner, once more filled the room.

  “C’mon, Jimmy.” A voice whined over the warren of empty cubicles. “We hav’ta find someone pronto. It’s late.”

  Late for what?

  Sarah swallowed a groan. Whoever had arrived at four-thirty on Christmas Eve, they were late, all right. The holiday party for kids in foster care had ended at two.

  “Can I help you?” Sarah prayed the curvy brunette rounding the last of the partitions wanted nothing more than grocery money. A couple of ten-dollar gift cards, and not much else, remained in the emergency fund.

  “This is Jimmy Parker.” The woman’s plunging neckline dipped perilously low as she placed her hand square on the back of the little boy at her side and shoved. The child stumbled forward. “His mom asked me to drop him off.”

  Sarah mustered a smile for the pair of sad brown eyes that peered up from beneath a thatch of sandy-blond hair. The boy’s hollow gaze met hers only briefly before he looked away. When his focus dropped to a pair of tattered sneakers, Sarah hiked an eyebrow. She skimmed over high-water jeans, frowned at a shirt Goodwill would reject. Fighting a protective nature that made her want to wrap the little boy in her arms and make everything right in his world, Sarah stiffened her spine.

  The brutal truth was, a dozen kids just like this one walked into the DCF offices each month. She had a hundred more open cases in her file cabinet. She couldn’t give every child assigned to her the attention they deserved. Not and still keep her sanity. The situation was far from her idealistic dream of how things ought to work. But there were too many at-risk kids, too few dollars to go around and too few workers to do the job.

  Letting her eyes narrow, she faced the older of her guests head-on. “You’re too late.” She grimaced when a little more vehemence than usual crept into her voice. “The party was hours ago. You should have been here then.”

  Despite herself, Sarah glanced across the room at a whimsical mural of a sleigh propelled by eight flying porpoises. Were there any presents left? Not a chance. Every gift from Santa’s bag had been distributed into the eager hands of other kids who were just as needy as this one.

  “Party?” The latecomer’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Who said anything about a party?” The brunette chewed a wad of gum and swallowed. “I promised to deliver the kid, and here he is.”

  An uneasy feeling settled in Sarah’s chest when her visitor dropped a worn duffel bag to the floor.

  “Hold on a sec,” she ordered. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning and tell me exactly what brought you here. I’m Sarah Magarity, the senior caseworker.” She paused for a look around. With no husband or children of her own to rush home to, she’d offered to keep the office open until closing time. A skeleton staff would report in on Monday and man the offices through the New Year. For tonight, though, she was it. “And you are?”

  “Candy. Candace, really, but everyone just calls me Candy.” The woman settled one hand on a cocked hip. “Candy Storm. And this little guy,” she said, tapping a bloodred fingernail on the boy’s head, “is James Tyrone Parker. Jimmy. He’s five. His mom was my best friend.”

  The implication sent Sarah’s stomach into free fall. She swept another look at the child who studied the stained carpet at his feet. “His mom is…?”

  “Yeah.” Candy blinked several times before patting the skin beneath lashes so long they had to be fake.

  “I think you and I should talk privately.” Sarah motioned toward a nearby cubicle. “Jimmy, I need you to watch TV or play with some toys while Miss Candy and I chat for a few minutes.”

  Without waiting for a response, Sarah took the child’s tiny hand in hers. His thin shoulders and bony frame raised troubling questions. When was the last time this kid ate? How long ago had his mother passed? Who had been taking care of him since then? And where?

  Her tone softened. “I think we have
some cookies in the break room. Would you like some?” When Jimmy didn’t answer, she called to Candy. “Does he have any allergies?”

  The woman’s gum snapped and popped before she shrugged a vague “Nope?”

  As the child scrambled onto the couch near the bare Christmas tree, Sarah overlooked his soiled shirt and grimy fingernails, knowing that if she accused the parents of every unwashed youngster of neglect, the foster system would collapse under the load. Bruises or injuries were another matter, and she scanned the child for visible signs. Her breath eased at the sight of pale, but unblemished, skin. Relieved that the boy wasn’t in immediate physical danger—and thus, not really her problem—she clamped a heavy lid over the urge to take him under her wing.

  She couldn’t get involved. Not now. Not when doing so would ruin her plans for the holidays and dash her hope to rest and recharge. And, after five years with the DCF in Melbourne and two more in Fort Pierce, it was either that or quit. No, she shook her head, this little boy was Candy’s problem and he had to stay that way. At least until next week when her coworkers would be back in the office. Steeling her heart, she settled him in front of a cartoon video with a small plate of cookies and a juice box she took from the office refrigerator.

  “Okay, what’s this all about?”

  With Candy lagging behind, Sarah led the way to a cubicle where a line of red X’s across the bottom of the calendar marked the vacation days she had to use or lose according to DCF’s policy manual. She waved her guest into the only other chair in the cramped space and swung to her computer. She stilled. Until the IT department completed their work, no one could access the DCF database. Or learn whether Jimmy Parker already had a caseworker to look after him.

  With a sigh, Sarah pulled a yellow legal pad and a pen from a drawer and hoped Candy would quickly get to the point. Across the desk, the woman gave her a petulant look, her jaw jutting forward.

  “Millie, Jimmy’s mom, made me swear if anything ever happened to her, I’d bring the kid to Florida,” she said, with an accent from considerably north of the Sunshine State. “She said his dad owns a ranch somewhere near Lake Okeechobee. Jimmy’s named after him.”