The Christmas Baby Bundle: Novella (Windy City Romance 4)

by Barbara Lohr

  Connor was still zoned out, eyes wild and the muscles in his throat working. He handled five-alarms fires better than this. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be right now. Guess I’ll call Logan tomorrow. Isn’t this just a miracle, Connor?” Excitement bubbled through her until she thought she’d explode.

  His smile widened with disbelief. “Guess Christmas really is the time for family miracles.” Connor’s laugh startled the baby and he quickly took it down to a chuckle.

  Amanda couldn’t wait to tell her parents in the morning. But some things were worth waiting for.

  THE END

  From the Author

  If you enjoyed “The Christmas Baby Bundle,” I’d sure appreciate it if you would leave a review where you bought this novella. Thank you for taking the time!

  Finding Southern Comfort

  Excerpt

  The Kirkpatrick family appears in other Windy City Romance novels, including Finding Southern Comfort. Amanda’s sister-in-law sure can get into a lot of trouble in Savannah…until she figures it out, which of course she does.

  Harper Kirkpatrick shoved her Catwoman mask into place and rang the doorbell. Hard to look casual with a whip under her arm. A late evening breeze ruffled the Spanish moss overhead. Didn’t matter. She was sweating big time under the black spandex costume. Savannah in February was a lot warmer than Chicago.

  An older woman answered the door. “Yes?”

  “I'm the entertainment for the party.”

  She stood aside. “Right this way, please. I’m Connie.”

  The heels of Harper’s black boots clicked on the white marble floor as she followed Connie inside. Pink tulips drooped in a crystal vase on a long hall table. Harper sure hoped they were fake. Holding her breath, she scurried past.

  Bypassing a parlor stuffed with antiques, Connie led her around the wide staircase where etchings of the Savannah squares hung above the wainscoting. She’d studied those squares as a design student and knew them well. A wide archway opened into a library and beyond that she glimpsed a dimly lit dining room with a long shiny table.

  Pretty snazzy, as her mom would say. These sprawling southern mansions felt so elegant compared to the solid brick houses in Oak Park, the Chicago suburb where Harper grew up. Still, why was this house so quiet? Where were the birthday party decorations, the cake and the kids? The back of her neck prickled. In the three months she’d worked for Party Perfect, this was a first. Something wasn’t right.

  The note from Rizzo was tucked under the spandex so she couldn’t check.

  Good grief, had she goofed up again?

  “Here you go, miss.” Connie yanked open a door under the staircase. Raucous male laughter shot up a narrow stairway.

  “Thanks, Connie.” Harper reached for the handrail. These suckers looked steep. The door closed behind her, and she was left in the darkness. Maybe the children had brought their parents? She started down. Her wired tail flailed the steps, almost keeping time to the music.

  “Keep 'em in line,” Rizzo had told her with one of his sleazy grins.

  Sure. Right. She’d thought he was talking about rambunctious first graders, not the howling group below.

  A guy waited at the foot of the stairs. The low lighting glinted off blond hair when he glanced at his Rolex. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry, I had trouble finding the—”

  “I’m Cameron Bennett, and you’re thirty minutes late.”

  Her cheeks stung. “I’m Harper Kirkpatrick and I said I was sorry.” She’d had trouble with the zippers. Probably not the time to share. His blue eyes iced her. Stumbling on the last step, Harper pitched forward.

  “Good God.” He broke her fall with both hands.

  “Sorry. So sorry.” Cripes. She pushed away from a chest that had seen a gym or two.

  “You okay?” Cameron Bennett looked more annoyed than worried.

  “I’m fine. It’s dark in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Squaring her shoulders, she peered into the room. “Where’re the kids?”

  “What kids?”

  A chill shot down her spine. Guys with flushed faces lounged in chairs around a few tables. The low-ceilinged room held a hint of Cuban cigars smoked here a long time ago. Her lungs squeezed tight. She had rules and Rizzo had broken them.

  But her rent was way past overdue.

  “Nothing. Forget it.” Her arrival time of ten o’clock didn’t seem too crazy when Rizzo gave her the details. She’d worked a sleepover birthday party two weeks earlier for a bunch of cute second graders. She handed Baby Blues the CD Rizzo had given her. “My music.”

  “Good, because you’re late.”

  “You said that already.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line. Anxiety chattered in her stomach.

  “Cameron, ole buddy! Now, don’t keep that sweet thang all to yourself,” called out a guy who looked like a former lineman. He made a feeble attempt to stand before collapsing back in the leather club chair. They all roared. Felt like she’d stumbled into a locker room.

  “Doesn’t look like a sweet thing to me,” said a guy with a pencil moustache. Her stomach flopped over.

  “Gentleman—and we are gentlemen, in case some of you may have forgotten—y’all be on your best behavior now.” Baby Blues pushed her forward.

  Show time. Harper stretched a smile across dry teeth.

  The guys began to clap in a steady rhythm —like this was a rock concert and the main act was late. Holding the black whip tight against her chest, Harper shimmied through the closely packed tables. A hip here, a hip there. Open bottles sporting expensive gold labels gleamed on the tables. Definitely not a beer crowd and they weren’t on their first drink. A banner hung over the long bar. “Congratulations, Beau! Another Man Down!”

  A blasted bachelor party. Her steps faltered. Grabby lap dances and straying hands. She needed chain mail, not spandex. Harper tightened her hold on the whip. She’d like to wind it around Rizzo’s neck. Beau must be the one grinning at the end of the bar, a ball and chain cuffing one ankle and a mourning band on his arm. Head down, he looked close to passed out. Still, he shot her a sweet, wobbly smile.

  She threw back her head. No going back now. Not unless she wanted to be out on the street. Swinging her hips, she smiled her way to the bar. When one heel caught in the berber carpet, she caught herself and glanced back. Leaning against the wall, Baby Blues raised his eyebrows.

  Fine. She’d show him.

  How? This wasn’t exactly a hokey pokey group. That much she knew.

  Breathe. Breathe. Just one foot in front of the other.

  When she reached the bar, two men hoisted her up. Planting her feet wide, she nodded to Baby Blues. Sweat tickled along her hairline under the spandex hood. He pressed a button on the sound system.

  “What's New Pussycat” blasted, and she shrank. Really, Rizzo?

  The guys loved it.

  “Come on, Sugga!”

  “Dance for us, you pretty thang.”

  Her chin came up. What would McKenna do? Time to channel her older sister back in Chicago. This was just a group of southern boys goofy with booze. Drunk, but harmless. Harper began to strut. Keeping her balance was tricky. Wings, pretzels, and pork ribs sat in bowls along the bar.

  “Dance for us, darlin’.”

  “Yeah, give us a show!”

  Her stomach plummeted into her boots. Maybe a few kicks. Bright smile. Hands on hips. Toes to the ceiling, as Mrs. VanderPool, their cheerleading coach used to say.

  The bouncing sure didn’t help her breathing. So hard to keep her eye on everything. She froze when her right foot connected with a bowl of pretzels that sailed through the air like a missile. Baby Blues jerked when the snacks took out some shiny statues on a shelf. Pretzels flew and awards crashed to the floor.

  A roar went up. Baby Blues closed his eyes. Harper kept kicking.

  “That’s okay, sugga.” Propping his head up, Beau threw her a goofy grin.


  She smiled back. Piece of cake.

  But man, it was hot in here. With every bump and grind, the spandex tugged on her skin. Were the black whiskers melting off her face?

  When Baby Blues turned down the lights, it threw her off. Then he hit her with a spotlight. Holy cripes. This was getting serious.

  A pleased rumble rolled through the room.

  “Whatcha got on under there?” A meaty hand slapped onto her calf.

  “Play nice, now.” She tapped his head with the fluffy end of her tail. The guy looked like he could play for the Chicago Black Hawks but he pulled back with an embarrassed smile. Harper’s confidence grew. Mother of mercy, maybe this would be better than waitressing. At least she wouldn’t get carpal tunnel. Maybe she’d be able to keep a roof over her head after all.

  With renewed confidence, she threw herself into the rhythm. The guys clapped. Yeah, this was more like it. She kicked. She strutted. She smiled.

  Then they started to chant, “Take it off! Take it off!”

  Holy moly. Really?

  Just… bump … shoot … bump … me … bump … now. She pictured the horrified look on Sister Gabrielle’s face. Her sweet fifth grade teacher often sent her to the office with messages for the principal.

  “You’re so dependable, Harper,” Sister Gabrielle had told her. “Such potential.”

  Yikes. If Sister Gabrielle could see her now.

  The room closed in around her.

  But she wasn’t going down. Not like this.

  Her airway felt like two thumbs were jammed against it. Harper just couldn’t do the fainting thing again. Cripes, she could hurt herself falling from up here but these boys wanted something. With a quick jerk, she yanked back the hood. Her hair fell to her shoulders. Chin up, she threw her head up and sucked in a deep breath. What a relief.

  Applause ruptured the close, warm air. Baby Blues was fooling around with the thermostat. Wheeling around, he saw her and settled back against the dark paneling. Cool air blasted her from a vent right above. She drank it in.

  “More! Give us more!”

  “We want more, Pussycat!”

  Pussycat? Didn’t ... bump … they … bump … recognize … bump … Catwoman?

  Now, if this were a children’s birthday party, they’d know. Kids loved all the super heroes—Catwoman, Batman, the Hulk, and Iron Man. She’d worn those costumes for recent gigs, and the children loved it. The parties had been fun and she’d made good money.

  Six year olds never expected her to take off anything.

  The chubby guy with bleary eyes staggered to his feet and began to jiggle his hips. Not a pretty sight but he was having fun. She smiled at him and his friends wrestled him back into the chair. “Bubba, no. You’re going to break something again.”

  Bubba sank back into the chair. The men cheered. Bubba smiled. And Tom Jones wouldn’t quit. Up on the bar, breathing became a marathon event.

  She never had to dance for the kids, just sing and clap. This group had definitely come for a show. Prancing along the bar, she tossed the whip lightly from one side to the other. Hands reached for the leather strips.

  “More! We want more, Pussycat!”

  What was she wearing under this suit?

  Underwear hadn’t been a consideration when she got dressed.

  Slowly she unzipped her left sleeve. Angry pink tracks throbbed from when she’d snagged herself getting dressed. With every click of the zipper, the applause grew louder. Chest heaving, she stopped under an air vent. Cool air rushing over her, she closed her eyes. Big mistake.

  “Gotcha.” Fingers tightened around one booted ankle and she glanced down at Pencil Moustache Man.

  “Stop that!” Harper jerked and the whip hit his cheek. Her heart stopped when an angry red line zipped across his face.

  “Bitch.” He reared back.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…” When she bent over, she got dizzy.

  His buddies found the whole thing hilarious.

  “Randy, way to go!”

  “Got what you deserve, buddy!” They thumped on the tabletops.

  “Hands off, Randy. Let her dance.” The host’s voice sliced the darkness.

  Randy fell back.

  Blue Blues caught her eyes and tilted his head, like he was just waiting for the next mistake.

  Fine, she’d show him. Forget the sleeve teasing. Her hands moved to the front of her costume. Wrestling with the zipper, she didn’t see the wet patch on the bar. Before she could even think “white cotton,” she was sprawled on her behind. Hurt like heck.

  Baby Blues was there in a heartbeat. His nostrils flared and she could hear him breathing.

  “I'm all right.” She struggled to stand.

  “Well, I'm not.”

  “You okay, darlin’?” Beau lifted his head from the bar. “Cameron, ya tryin’ to kill my party?”

  A muscle twitched in Cameron’s jaw. “Sorry, Beau, but it appears our entertainment for the evening is a little under the weather.”

  “I am not,” she hissed, heaving herself upright.

  “You damn well are.”

  Beau’s eyes flagged. “You did great, Pussy…cat.”

  “Catwoman,” she squeaked.

  “No! She can’t go.” Bubba tried to stand again.

  “We haven’t seen anything yet!” The others joined the rowdy protest.

  Ignoring them, Cameron helped Harper down and steered her through the disappointed men. His grip would probably leave a bruise on her arm. She fought back tears.

  My rent. She wrenched her arm away. “I can…finish.”

  “The hell you can. You can barely breathe.” He marched her along.

  “I’m okay.” Twisting, she saw Bubba trying to climb onto the bar while Beau gave him a shove. She couldn’t help her giggle.

  But when she turned, Cameron’s steely blue eyes lanced her. “If you're an exotic dancer, then I'm a….”

  They’d reached the stairs. He pushed a button, grabbed the ejected CD and jabbed it in her direction. Anger flamed in her cheeks. The night was not going to end like this. Not one more man rejecting her. Harper grabbed his belt and pulled. “You have to give me another chance.”

  His eyebrows rose and he glanced down. “No second chances.”

  “Geez.” She shoved him away and snatched the CD.

  How long would it take for Charlie Roden, her landlord, to evict her?

  Wails followed her up the stairs, Baby Blues right behind her, eyes about butt level. She was furious and heartsick. Rizzo had been asking if she wanted to earn better money. Maybe she misunderstood him. She thought he meant more gigs. Didn’t matter. She was finished.

  Upstairs, Cameron led Harper to the front door and yanked it open. “Thank you for your time but I asked Rizzo for a professional.”

  “I am a professional.” She got a glimpse of herself in a huge gilded hall mirror. Melting makeup, crooked mask and tangled curls. Harper swallowed hard.

  Cameron nudged her outside. The night air clung like cotton candy.

  “You could've let me finish.”

  “Trust me. You were finished.”

  Her lips quivered. “Well, aren’t you so… lah dee dah.”

  That was all she could manage? Harper clamped her lips shut. On the street, gaslights glowed. Leaves whispered overhead and she breathed deep. Felt so good when her chest loosened.

  Baby Blues’ lips tweaked up. “Lah dee dah, huh? Good thing the guys were too tanked to complain. Much.”

  “They weren’t complaining.” Leering but not complaining. “I wasn't that bad.”

  “Yes, you were.” The ghost of a smile softened his frown. Baby Blues was really handsome when he smiled. Handsome and hot. Jamming one hand into a pocket, he sighed and dug out a roll of cash she wished she could refuse. “Here, take this.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.”

  A wail came from deep inside the house. “Good night,” he said, nodding
politely—the perfect southern gentleman.

  “Okay, fine. Good night.” Turning on her heel, she limped down the stone steps. A cool shower waited for her at home unless Charlie had turned off the water.

  Her footsteps echoed on the pavement as Harper walked toward the car at the end of the side street. She hoped to heck it started. When her ex-boyfriend Billy had taken off for California, he’d left her with this heap of junk. Two years out of college and all her friends were pairing up like fruit flies.

  All except Harper.

  The beige sedan with the bumper held on with duct tape looked ridiculous on the elegant street. She slid inside. Even though the sun had set hours ago, the front seat heated her back and thighs. Thank God she'd never see any of those men again. Savannah was small, but she sure didn't travel in their circles.

  The smell of money hit her when she fanned out the bills Baby Blues had given her. Generous but not generous enough. Reaching under the seat, she pulled out her beat up Coach bag and dug around for her inhaler. The first breaths were almost painfully blissful. Lungs expanding, she slumped back and tucked the money into her purse. What was she going to do? She’d think about that later. Right now she needed a shower and some sleep.

  But first one quick call. She whipped out her phone.

  “How’d it go?” Rizzo answered right away, like he’d been waiting.

  “You’re a rat, you know that?”

  She could hear him take a drag on his cigarette. “You were lucky to get a shot at this group. Elite customer and I hope you didn’t screw up with Mr. Bennett. Stop by on your way home with the cash.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not a stripper, Rizzo.”

  “Hey, Chicago girl, don’t get all uppity on me. Didn’t you say you were interested in career development?”

  He really was a trip. “What happened to the kids’ birthday parties? This was a bachelor party, for Pete’s sake. I am not a stripper.”

  His laugh was more of a bark. “They all say that. You dames are all alike.”

  The words hit her like darts. Harper blinked back tears, glad he couldn’t see her. “I quit.”

  “No, you’re fired. And you better get that money to me or you’re toast, little lady.”