His Baby Dilemma

by Catherine Lanigan

  Must they always be continents apart?

  Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him.

  Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He’s barely learned to navigate his post-accident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he’s always wanted to be—the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.

  “Grace,” Mica said with a sharp edge of irritation. “What are you doing here?”

  Her heart slammed violently in her chest. Her hands were shaking. She had to do this quickly.

  “I brought you something.”

  “You what?”

  Grace leaned into the back seat and unhooked the straps in the baby carrier, lifting Jules.

  She straightened and shut the door with her hip. Mica stared at her and then at the baby. “Hold out your arm, Mica.”

  He was speechless as she walked up to him, but he took Jules when she held him out.

  “He’s yours, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”

  Mica’s blue eyes blazed with mistrust and something akin to revulsion. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Does he look like a joke?”

  “No.” His surprise and mounting anger hit her like shotgun pellets. Sharp, painful and deep. She’d thought she’d prepared herself for his reaction, but seeing Mica and remembering what it was like to be in his arms... Grace hated herself for being the bad guy. There wasn’t a single thing she’d done since last October that merited his trust, love or respect.

  “I don’t have a son,” Mica said and started to hand the baby back to her.

  “Yes, you do. This is Jules.”

  Dear Reader,

  Mica Barzonni never questioned his fate until an accident paralyzed his left arm. He’d always assumed he’d inherit his father’s successful farm. Despondent and frustrated, Mica wasn’t looking for love when Grace Railton came back to Indian Lake to help her aunt Louise at the ice cream shop. But he was looking for comfort.

  It had been over a decade since the summer Grace lost her heart to Mica. She’d never forgotten the kiss they shared in his parents’ swimming pool. Mica didn’t remember much, except that Grace was a silly beauty pageant contestant. Now she’s an up-and-coming fashion designer in Paris. Little can distract her from her career. Except Mica.

  After a romantic October in Indian Lake, Grace returns to Paris. And Mica doesn’t hear a word from her for fourteen months...until she shows up on his doorstep and shocks him to his soul.

  She presents Mica with their son.

  Mica is angry that Grace has kept six-month-old Jules from him, but now that he’s met his baby, he wants to keep him—forever. Grace is still looking for one thing and one thing only: Mica’s love.

  I hope you like His Baby Dilemma. I must admit I had fun writing the comic scenes in this story. Not only has Mica never changed a diaper, but he must do it one-handed! As poignant as the love story between Grace and Mica is, there were strong moments of insight, even for me.

  Please send me your thoughts and comments at cathlanigan1@gmail.com, follow me on Facebook and Twitter, @cathlanigan, or visit www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com.

  Catherine Lanigan

  His Baby Dilemma

  Catherine Lanigan

  Catherine Lanigan knew she was born for storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer. He promised her that he would be her crutches and get her through his demanding class with a B grade so as not to destroy her high grade point average too much, if Catherine would promise never to write again.

  For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. She wrote a six-hundred-page historical romantic spy thriller set against World War I. The journalist sent the manuscript to his agent, who then garnered bids from two publishers. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago.

  Books by Catherine Lanigan

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Shores of Indian Lake

  Love Shadows

  Heart’s Desire

  A Fine Year for Love

  Katia’s Promise

  Fear of Falling

  Sophie’s Path

  Protecting the Single Mom

  Family of His Own

  MIRA Books

  Dangerous Love

  Elusive Love

  Harlequin Desire

  The Texan

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

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  This book is dedicated to my late husband,

  Jed Nolan, my hero and best friend. I will love

  you to the moon and back, and throughout all

  the galaxies and universes.

  Acknowledgments

  This year has been a difficult one for many authors and editors. For the family of Heartwarming authors, we must say goodbye to our extraordinarily talented, warmhearted and savvy senior editor, Victoria Curran. Granted, she may not be part of our line any longer, but, Victoria, you will always be a part of my life and my future. For those authors like me who have been in this business, decade after decade, we’ve walked through these valleys and this I know...you are never alone. Editors are not simply work colleagues. For an artist, an author, an editor is part of our brain, heart and soul. It isn’t possible for me to put a part of my heart on a shelf and say, “Be seeing you.” Instead, I will say, “Let’s talk soon.”

  To Claire Caldwell, there are no words to express my appreciation for your insights and my downright giddiness when we brainstorm and pull yet another story together. With each story, we have more and more fun. And that’s the way it should be.

  To my agent, Lissy Peace, to whom I’ve been “joined at the hip” for over twenty years—it’s

  been a ride!

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE
HAPPINESS PACT BY LIZ FLAHERTY

  PROLOGUE

  Fifteen months ago

  GRUMBLING AT HER travel-weary reflection in her palm-sized mirror, Grace Railton used a cotton swab to clean away the mascara smudges under her eyes. Jet lag. No sleep and a seven-hour time difference between Paris and Indian Lake are not your friends, Grace. She peered into the mirror. Nope. Not by a long shot.

  “Next stop—Indian Lake. Indian Lake!” the conductor announced as he trundled down the crowded aisle.

  Grace inhaled—for courage or stamina, she didn’t know. Almost there.

  “Indian Lake!” the conductor shouted again as he passed Grace’s seat.

  Grace reached out to touch his sleeve. “Excuse me, would it be possible to get some help with my bags when we stop? I’ve been traveling for nearly fourteen hours and—”

  “Not my job,” he barked back and started to move away.

  Grace gripped his sleeve. “Sir. I’m most happy to pay for the service and I—”

  “We don’t take tips.” He peered at her, taking in her clothing. “You’re not from around here.”

  “I just flew in from Paris.”

  “Let me guess. You’re the one with the huge bags blocking the exit?” He glared at her.

  Grace wasn’t about to be shut down. “I only need help off the train.”

  He continued to glower at her. Hard.

  “Thirty dollars?”

  “I’ll meet you by the door.” He looked down at her high-heeled boots. “Think you can manage the steps in those things?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a bright smile.

  Grace wasn’t sure if the man was angling for more money or if he was criticizing her apparel. Either way, she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain. Her bags were overloaded and overweight—and for good reason. She would be staying in Indian Lake for over a month, helping her Aunt Louise at The Louise House ice-cream shop while she recovered from back surgery.

  Aunt Louise’s request was one that Grace wouldn’t have dreamed of declining. Louise was the only family Grace had left. Grace’s father, Jim Railton, had died when she was very young and her mother, Amanda, had died the day after Grace’s high-school graduation.

  However, Aunt Louise was always a prominent part of Grace’s life and all of Grace’s happy childhood memories featured Aunt Louise’s quirky presence.

  Louise had always treated Grace as the daughter she never had, and because Grace had dreamed of a career in fashion design, Louise had insisted that only Parsons, one of the best design schools in the country, was good enough for her talented niece. Grace had already saved nearly half the tuition from her Junior Miss Illinois and Miss Teen Illinois pageant winnings. Since Grace had grown up in fashionable, urban Chicago, the competition for the crown was stiff, but her determination and talents had bloomed early. Louise had generously offered to cover the rest. Once she graduated, Grace had diligently sent Louise a check every month, though she’d never asked to be repaid. Grace was no longer in financial debt to her aunt, but she wasn’t sure she could ever repay the kindness and support Louise had given her over the years. Helping her at the ice-cream shop was merely a drop in the bucket.

  The train rumbled past a riot of autumn-bronzed trees and rolling farmland, golden now with harvested corn shocks and soybeans. The land was serene and lush with abundance, and Grace realized she’d never quite felt the same about any other place. Not even the South of France, with its vineyards, cobblestone streets and outdoor cafés, held the allure for her that Indian Lake did.

  Odd, it’s taken so long for me to return here.

  The last time she’d been in Indian Lake she’d been two months shy of her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had still been alive. Grace had been the first runner-up in the Miss Teen Illinois contest. After winning the crown for Junior Miss Illinois in prior years, Grace was blindsided by her near miss. She’d been certain she would win. Her piano performance was impeccable. The gowns she’d designed and that her mother had helped her make were perfection. She’d delivered answers to the judges’ questions with insight and flawless diction. She should have won. But she hadn’t.

  That summer was a turning point in her life. After that summer, Grace had altered her goal of becoming a model and directed her ambition toward fashion design. It had been a summer for growing up. That much was certain.

  Grace ran her palm over the lapels of her jacket, making certain they lay flat.

  Nervous habit, she groused to herself and dropped her hands. She’d worked hard on the design she was wearing. Her fingers traveled over the wool fabric she’d snagged at a bargain price from Johnstons of Elgin. The cashmere was from Nepal, but Grace believed the Scots knew how to weave it best. As comforting as her black jacket and slim skirt were, she was anxious.

  She leaned her head against the hard seat and exhaled. She had to calm down.

  “You coming back home?” the man across from her asked.

  Grace had been so deep in thought, she’d barely noticed anyone else on the train at all.

  “Yes. No. Yes,” she replied, looking at him. Attractive was an understatement. He was tall and trim in his well-tailored black business suit, white cotton shirt and conservative tie. The clothes were not expensive, off the rack. He had a good eye for putting himself together and watching his budget. She liked that.

  His blue eyes danced and a wave of thick chestnut hair fell over his forehead.

  “Can’t decide, huh? Think you’ll get off when we stop?” He smiled broadly.

  He was observant. She had to give him that.

  Grace couldn’t hold back her own smile. She was used to men striking up conversations with her in cafés. Trains. Airplanes. She’d worn a rhinestone crown since she was ten, and didn’t give it up until she was fifteen. Sometimes she thought men could still see the glimmer, even though the glamour and floodlights had faded for her long ago.

  He leaned forward. Just a bit. Not so much that the gesture cut through her personal space. “Dylan Hawks.” He extended his hand and she took it.

  “Hawks? I know that name. Are you related to Isabelle Hawks?” she asked.

  “My sister,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. “She’s why I’m home for the weekend. Her bridal shower.”

  “How nice.” Grace swallowed hard. She limited thoughts of brides to design projects, never imagining herself in that role. “I’m Grace Railton, by the way.”

  “Pleasure.” He smiled and then continued. “It’s a big couples’ thing at our friend’s house. Mrs. Beabots.”

  Grace’s spirits lightened. “I know her very well. She was practically my mentor.”

  “Mentor?”

  “It’s a long story,” Grace replied. After high school, Grace had left for New York and entered Parsons School of Design. While her friends went to parties, she drew, created and studied. When they went to Florida for Spring Break, she wrangled appointments with fashion house assistants and design team members. Over large lattes—which she bought for them—Grace picked their brains and soaked up information. In the summers, she took part-time internships on Seventh Avenue. She hadn’t cared how menial the job; she’d only wanted to learn. Like striving for one of her pageant crowns, she had to be the best.

  She’d graduated at the top of her class and landed a summer internship at Tom Ford. Grace knew that the very best designers worked in Paris, and she’d believed that until she had a chance to prove her talent in the biggest and toughest arena in the world, she’d never be happy.

  Aunt Louise had told Grace of Mrs. Beabots’s former life in Paris, where she had “done something” at Chanel, though no one in town was certain what, since Mrs. Beabots was as tight-lipped, as Louise put it, as the seal on a coffin. Grace had gotten to know Mrs. Beabots during her visits to Indian Lake in
high school. Grace had taken an instant liking to the older woman and they shared an admiration for beautifully made clothes. Mrs. Beabots had eventually suggested Grace sketch the dresses she envisioned and send them to her. Grace did precisely that. Throughout high school and college, Grace had corresponded with Mrs. Beabots, sending drawings and photos of her designs. Grace had pleaded with her her aunt to enlist Mrs. Beabots’s help in making connections in Paris, and by that autumn after her college graduation, Grace was on a plane headed to Paris as an assistant to an assistant at Jean Paul Gaultier. Grace’s penchant for perfectionism had gotten her noticed within weeks and she had been challenging herself ever since. Now she was an independent designer with her own team, hoping they would be “brought on” to a top couture house. Under an iconic umbrella, they would have respect, clout and the freedom to create their own line of clothing and accessories, with Grace’s name and logo stamped on every ensemble. They would have security and respect. Fortunately, up to this point, her designs had sold enough to keep them all afloat. Barely.

  No question about it. If not for Mrs. Beabots, Grace would not be anywhere near where she was now.

  “So are you here for the party as well? Odd we haven’t met. I would remember you...” Despite racing through his questions, Dylan spoke with a dash of charm that was so light most would miss it. Grace did not.

  “What a nice thing to say. Thank you. But no, I’m not invited to the party, though I knew Isabelle years ago.” She paused, her mind floating back to that summer, when all of Sarah Jensen’s friends hung out together. Barbecues. Slumber parties. Pool parties... Grace wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I’m helping my Aunt Louise. Perhaps you know her. Louise Railton?”

  He snapped his fingers. “The Louise House! An Indian Lake institution.”

  Grace flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  The train slowed as it neared the town. Blazing maple, oak and walnut trees hugged the crystal blue lake like bejeweled arms. White clouds scudded across the sky, the sun dazzling Grace’s eyes.