“I may not be an obstetrician, but I can count nine months!”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
FIRST BABY OF BISON CITY 2000
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Copyright
“I may not be an obstetrician, but I can count nine months!”
Alex lassoed her with his steady gaze. “Why can’t you just admit the baby’s mine?”
If she could’ve gotten up from the rocking chair, she’d have stormed off in a graceful huff, but she left “graceful” behind months ago. “It’s just like you to show up and wheedle your way into my good graces,” she said instead. “What surprises me is how eager you are to take on a responsibility that belongs to someone else.”
“Nice try.” He looked confident, sure of himself, altogether too handsome for his own good. Or hers. “I know you wouldn’t have come from another man’s arms to mine, Annie. And you wouldn’t have left me for someone else. We made this baby and I’m trying to do right by it.” His expression sobered, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d’ve thought he looked a bit stunned. “There’s only one thing to do,” he said. “We’ll need to get married.”
Dear Reader,
When our editors asked us to write stories about three brothers who wind up in the delivery room near midnight, December 31, 1999, we sat down to think. Good-looking men, pregnant ladies with brains and beauty, and a first baby of the millennium contest—how could we resist?
The friendship we formed as we created DELIVERY ROOM DADS was an added bonus. E-mails flew fast and furious, and when the dust settled, we had a town, a family, a contest and happily-ever-after for everyone involved.
Welcome to Bison City, Wyoming, home of the devastating McIntyre brothers. The baby race begins in Karen Toller Whittenburg’s Baby by Midnight?, complications arise in Muriel Jensen’s Countdown to Baby and the winner is revealed at the stroke of midnight in Judy Christenberry’s Baby 2000. Our characters remind us of the love and strength of family. We hope they do the same for you, too. Thank you for joining us in the delivery room as these special dads ring in the new millennium!
Karen Toller Whittenburg
Muriel Jensen
Judy Christenberry
Baby by Midnight?
KAREN TOLLER WHITTENBURG
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
FIRST BABY OF BISON CITY 2000
IT’S A BABY BOOM IN BISON CITY, WYOMING-BUT WHICH WILL BE THE FIRST BABY BORN IN THE NEW MILLENNIUM?
ALL YOU PREGNANT WOMEN: ENTER TO WIN!
FABULOUS PRIZES!! YOUR PHOTO IN THE BISON CITY BUGLE!! A TOWN PARTY IN YOUR HONOR!!
PICK UP YOUR APPLICATION AT ALL LOCAL BUSINESSES-AND MAY THE FIRST BABY WIN!
To Judy and Muriel, my series partners, for making the
journey to Bison City so enjoyable.
And to Natashya, Debra, Denise, Angela and Erica—
sometimes editors have the best ideas!
Prologue
The wedding reception had turned plain sappy as far as Alex McIntyre was concerned. Anyone would think his little sister had married a monkey and the whole town of Bison City, Wyoming, was too damn polite to point it out to her. So far, congratulatory toasts to the happy couple had ranged from Reverend Whitehead’s heartfelt, “God Bless,” to oldest brother, Matt’s, story about the time he caught Josie sneaking out of the house after hours. Alex had caught her a few times, too—and let her go. He’d even driven her into town once or twice. But to say so now, even after all the intervening years, would only serve to confirm the general consensus that he wasn’t much like his two older brothers. It wouldn’t do much to liven up this party, either. Even Jeff, the middle McIntyre brother, had offered little more than the lackluster toast of “May you be blessed with happiness and long life.” All that was needed to put the last schmaltzy touch on the evening would be for Sheriff Hitchcock to lead the guests in a resounding chorus of “Happy Trails to You.”
For a family as basically rowdy as theirs, Alex thought this whole three-forked, two-spooned, crystal-gobleted dinner was downright embarrassing. He didn’t think the formal reception had been Josie’s idea. Probably not Justin’s, either. Alex suspected his mother was the driving force behind this elaborate wedding and ill-conceived sit-down dinner. A barbecue out at the ranch would have been better suited to this crowd and a hell of a lot more fun, no question about it. But ever since Ken and Debra had turned the ranch over to Matt eight years ago and retired to Florida, they’d picked up some bewildering ideas about ceremonies and civilization.
So, here they all were in the dining room of Jeff’s hotel, The Way Station, all duded up in fancy clothes, starched linens in their respective laps, drinking champagne out of glasses so light it was a wonder the bubbles didn’t shatter them, and talking in cordial platitudes instead of having a ripsnortin’ good time. Matt looked decidedly uncomfortable in his black tie and tails and Alex sure as hell couldn’t wait to get out of his. Jeff had more savoir faire, having lived in New York and now being a respectable hotel owner and all. But there was no getting past the fact that McIntyre men were born to be cowboys, more comfortable in their Wrangler jeans and in the company of horses than spiffied up for a wedding.
Yep. No doubt about it. Up near Silver Horn Lake, in the family cemetery plot, Old Samuel and Jocasta, the great-grandparents of this whole McIntyre clan, had to be yawning in their graves, probably wondering why there was no fiddle music and not a single toe a tappin’ on their great-granddaughter’s big day.
Something had to be done...and quickly. Alex looked around, figuring that, as usual, the responsibility for shaking up the status quo was his. Pushing back his chair, he gave his best cowboy whoop as he rolled to his feet and raised his beer bottle—he’d never much cottoned to champagne—high above his head. “My baby sister just got married and I’m gonna make a toast!” Heads turned in his direction, frowns descended on a few faces, but Josie and Justin looked up with hopeful smiles. They must have been as bored as he was.
Alex winked at Jo, a little melancholy at the thought of her living clear across town, at the idea that she’d no longer fly down the porch steps to hug his neck on the rare occasions when he came back to the ranch for a visit, loving her mightily despite the fact that she’d agreed to this formal-schmormal reception. “When Josie told me she was going into politics some day, it certainly didn’t occur to me she was going to wind up sleeping with the mayor.” There was a general chuckle, one outright grin from Justin, and continued interest from most everybody else. “Now, I could be wrong about this,” Alex continued, “but I’m figurin’ that somewhere along the way Dad must’ve made a whoppin’ contribution to Justin’s reelection campaign.” This brought good-natured laughter all around, as it was well known that until Justin Moore followed Josie McIntyre home from the University of Wyoming, Bison City hadn’t even had a mayor, much less a contested election for the post. “My brothers and I have talked about this and, while it’s a mystery to us why any man would willingly share a bathroom with Josie, we want you to know, Justin, that you get our vote for bravery. Plus you’re gonna have to keep her, ’cause we’re not taking her back.”
“That’s for sure.” Matt raised his glass and cli
nked it against Jeff’s. “Besides, it took her long enough to decide to marry you. Good thing the men in this family don’t have that much trouble making up their minds.”
“As if any woman in her right mind would have one of you big bullies.” Josie stuck out her tongue at their teasing, and dimpled becomingly at her husband of a few hours.
Justin leaned over and kissed his bride, then raised his glass. “I’m just happy I came along before she followed Alex’s example and went off to ‘find’ herself.”
Alex drank to that. It was true he’d spent most of his twenty-nine years doing his damnedest to locate his niche in the world. Or maybe he’d just been trying to escape the responsibilities of being born a McIntyre. Either way, he’d done some wild and stupid things in pursuit of the goal. In fact, if he announced right now that he was planning to move back, set up as a horse trainer and start a pedigreed breeding program at the ranch, well, not one person in the room would believe he meant it.
Least of all Annie.
In the back of the room, he saw her drink to the haphazard toast, her hair glinting red in the soft light. He actually thought about walking across the tops of the tables to reach her, thought about how weak in the knees he got every time he caught that first breath-snatching glimpse of her smile. He’d like nothing better than to sweep her into his arms and demonstrate that he was one McIntyre who didn’t have any trouble making up his mind.
But then what?
Goodbye, that’s what. That was the deal he’d made with the devil. Alex was always leaving, and Annie was always staying behind. It was the way it had always been for them. The way it still had to be.
“Despite all evidence to the contrary,” Alex said, returning his attention to the head table, to Josie and her bridegroom. “I’m plum tickled to be here today to wish my favorite sister—”
“Your only sister,” someone called out in wellmeaning good humor.
“My only sister,” Alex agreed with a grin. “As most everyone here is aware, tradition isn’t exactly my cup of coffee, but today I’m awed by the courage of Josie and Justin to say those marriage vows ... and mean them.”
“They’d better mean ‘em,” Ken McIntyre grumbled cheerfully. “This wedding darn sure cost too much for anybody to be wishy-washy about it lasting till death do ’em part.”
“As I was sayin’,” Alex continued, pointedly. “I’m inspired by my sister and her fella and I hope, someday, that you’ll all dance at my... brothers’ weddings.” Laughter echoed about the room, everyone in on the joke that Alex wasn’t the marrying kind. When the ripples of sound ebbed, he lifted his beer one more time. “So, Josie and Justin, here’s to you. Long life, long nights, and don’t be in any big hurry to make me an uncle. I’m too set in my ways for that kind of responsibility. Now will you please get up and start the dancin’ before everybody’s feet fall asleep?”
Arnid laughter and applause, the bride and groom got up from the table and made their way to the open space reserved as a dance floor. Jasper’s No-Name Band struck the first notes of “The Wild West Waltz,” and the party took an immediate right turn for the better. Alex’s toe had just started tapping when a hand grabbed his arm and he turned to see Wilhemina Brown, minus her usual ‘Cause I’m the Cook! That’s Why! apron, her pink cheeks rosy with celebration. “Hold on there, mister,” she said. “Don’t you even think about grabbin’ some frisky little filly when I’m standin’ not two feet away.”
“Willie! I was looking all over for you.” Alex smiled broadly at the Mclntyres’ housekeeper and all-around care giver. “You know I always save the first dance for you.”
“Humph. I know you always dance the first dance with the cutest thing you can get your hands on,” she said in her best fist-of-iron, heart-of-jelly voice. “But I used to change your diapers, and if I say we’re gonna dance, then don’t you give me no sass.” Her blue eyes twinkled with long familiarity and genuine adoration. The McIntyre children were her kids, even if they weren’t blood relations, and she’d fight anyone who claimed any different. “Now, you gonna lead or you want me to?”
“I’ll lead. Otherwise you’ll be twirling me all over the place and making me plum dizzy.” Alex swept her into the dance, corralling her plump waist with one arm and holding on for dear life with the other as she loped into a brisk one-two-three waltz step. She then proceeded to bombard him with advice about what he ate, how much sleep he got, and her worry that he wasn’t taking good care of himself. It felt good to be fussed over, and at times like this Alex wondered why he’d ever left the S-J Ranch and the familiar relationships of home. Then Matt tapped him on the shoulder, danced Willie right out of his arms, and he remembered. Here in Bison City, he was just the youngest of three brothers. All tall, all dark and blue-eyed, all sharing the same upbringing and values. All alike in so many fundamental ways. All different in so many others. Here he was Alex, the wild one. Alex, the irresponsible. Alex, the prodigal son.
He glanced back at the table where Annie had been sitting and saw an empty chair. His heart beat faster, afraid she’d left early, taking with her his hope that there might—just might—be an opportunity to dance with her. Providing, of course, that she was still speaking to him after their last, acrimonious goodbye. He wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t bear to be in the same building with him, but a fast visual sweep of the room found her dancing with Jeff, her head tipped back as she talked to him, her coppery hair curling in springy tendrils about her shoulders, the sway of her hips defined by the fit of a slim, green dress.
Relief caught him like a summer shower and revived the hope. Not that he had any business going near her and starting something he couldn’t finish. He was leaving again—in the morning, right after he sat down with Matt and Jeff and laid out his plans. If his brothers backed him up on the idea, he’d be coming home for good in the fall. If everything worked out the way he hoped, he’d be back in Annie’s good graces by New Year’s Day. Christmas, if he was lucky. If he told her that now, though, she’d never believe him. Heaven knew, she always assumed the worst with him...not that there wasn’t plenty of worst to assume. He’d spent most of his life not living up to expectations, thinking that was the way to keep from disappointing. Maybe he’d been wrong to be so careless with Annie. On the other hand, maybe he’d spared them both a lot of heartache.
Not that she’d ever let him get within breaking distance of her heart.
Nor was she likely to, either. It’d be better all around if he just stayed away from her until he had something more than another goodbye to offer. It’d be harder, sure, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever taken the easy way, no matter what the circumstances. Straightening his shoulders, Alex turned around and asked the first woman he saw to dance. She was one of the bridesmaids, Bailey Dutton, and her diminutive, softly curved body fit warmly into his embrace. She was smart, cute, witty, and laughed at his jokes, and Alex settled in to enjoy a second dance. But Jasper Owens, lead singer of Jasper’s No-Name Band, had other ideas. Grabbing the microphone, which squawked like a mule at feeding time, Jasper pulled it up too close to his lips. Alex half expected the man to yell out, “Live from Bison City ... it’s Saturday Night!”
“Okay, you party animals.” Jasper popped the consonants into the mike and sent reverberations booming across the room. “Mix it up out there. Change partners for this next one. It’s a little song me and the boys wrote. We call it the ‘Goodbye-Baby Two-Step!’” The music changed, picked up tempo. Couples swapped partners, and before he even saw it coming, Alex was handing Bailey over to Jeff and taking Annie’s hand in exchange.
Good intentions fled like a coyote from a fight. Noble as the gesture might be, he couldn’t just walk away and leave her standing alone on the dance floor. She could have slapped his face for past offenses, told him she’d rather dance with Fred Astaire’s evil twin and walked away from him, without a soul in the room thinking it was any less than he deserved. But she wouldn’t do that. Alex knew she wouldn’t. And h
e couldn’t leave her there. So he drew her into the dance and, although he was almost positive he’d live to regret this moment, he was one happy cowboy just to be holding Annie in his arms.
“Hello, Annie,” he said.
“Hello, cowboy,” she answered, as if he were nobody special.
“Ah, you recognized me.” He matched her tone for tone. “And I thought this was such a great disguise, too.”
Her smile was brief. “You forget, I’ve seen you in a tux before.”
And there it was. Plop. Like a bad penny. Past crimes and misdemeanors. “I could do the grovel,” he suggested, “but we’d be out of step with the music.”
She lifted her lashes and nailed him with her green-eyed gaze. “I thought that’s the way you preferred to dance, Alex.”
Okay. So maybe it would be next Easter before he talked her around. “I prefer to enjoy the moment and the melody,” he said diplomatically, just as Jasper and his No-Name Band launched into an ill-timed chorus, consisting mainly of the lyrics, “Goodbye, baby, goodbye.”
Annie smiled. “Well, what do you know? They’re playing your song.”
Alex clinched his jaw, took a deep breath and unclinched it. “How ’bout we go back and start this conversation over? I’ll go first. Hi, Annie. You look beautiful.”
“Do you think so?” She cocked her pretty head and whapped him with a smile. “You should see me when I go to a lot of trouble to fix myself up.”
Oh, no, he thought. Is the Statute of Limitations ever going to run out on this one? “You always look terrific,” he said, hoping to head her off at the pass.
Baby by Midnight? Page 1