Suzanne McMinn - The Billionaire And The Bassinet

What Garrett was after was proof. Hard, scientific evidence, one way or another, to show that Lanie had been telling the truth in the letter she’d sent. Ben’s father, Walter Blakemore, needed the truth—and Garrett owed it to the uncle who’d raised him to help find it.

And he owed it to Ben.

Garrett crossed from the foyer to the parlor of the old house, worried about the woman’s state of unconsciousness. Fainting couldn’t be good for anyone, and she was pregnant—that was obvious enough. At least that part of her letter hadn’t been a lie.

Garrett registered surprise at the contrast between the home’s faded exterior and its bright interior as he gently placed the woman on one of the long couches and sat beside her on the edge. The cozy parlor wasn’t what he’d expected.

Outside, a crumbling sidewalk led to a narrow front porch nearly consumed by unruly bushes. A worn sign stuck up from the midst of the scraggly lawn, its flowing pink letters announcing the home to be the Sweet Dreams Bed and Breakfast. The home itself looked to be about a hundred years old, with pink gingerbread trim decorating the flaking white wooden siding.

The inside presented a shining contrast. Soft peach walls and plump contemporary-style couches were set among gently aged antiques. Handwoven rugs decorated the polished oak floor. A vase of fresh-picked flowers cheered one corner. It was comfortable and warm and very, very feminine.

Awkwardly Garret patted Lanie’s hand, hoping for a response. She was young, he noticed as he sat beside her. Probably about the same age Ben had been. He’d seen her only once before, at Ben’s funeral. She’d arrived as the service had begun and had left the instant it ended. But he remembered her—remembered the soft blond waves, the delicately featured face, the mysterious eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

He remembered that she’d been the cause of so much misery in his family for so many months.

She looked small and vulnerable now. Her body, except for her swollen middle, seemed slender beneath the flowing T-shirt. And despite everything, he couldn’t help feeling a surge of some sort of primal, protective instinct. The sensation was unfamiliar. And unwelcome.

Focusing deliberately on the problem at hand, Garrett patted Lanie’s hand again and called her by name. She didn’t move. He thought back to his first aid training in college. He noted she wasn’t wearing anything constricting. The pink cotton shirt, with its soft, scooped neck, flowed loosely to her hips, with white, clingy leggings following the slender line of her thighs and calves below.

Very shapely thighs and calves, narrowing down to slim ankles and small feet encased in white tennis shoes.

Garrett swallowed, his gaze traveling back up her legs. Pregnant women weren’t supposed to be sexy, were they?

He was tired. That had to be it. He’d sworn off women after his marriage—a short-lived debacle that had finished off whatever naive delusions about love and trust he might have once had.

Apparently, however, his libido was in rebellion, reacting to anything female that came within fifty yards, no matter how inappropriate. Garrett took a deep breath and forced his gaze from Lanie’s shapely legs. He reached for one of the fat peach pillows tossed into a side chair and propped it beneath her ankles.

“Lanie?” he called again, softly. “Lanie?”

He ran a finger along her cheekbone, gently trying to rouse her. He wondered what color her eyes where, what had been hidden behind those dark glasses at the funeral. Minutes ago, when she’d opened the door, he’d barely had time to register anything at all. He hadn’t noticed if her eyes were brown or blue—

Suddenly, as he dropped his hand from her jaw, her lashes fluttered, and he had his answer. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen, bugger than the Texas Hill Country sky and at least as mysterious. Slowly, cautiously, she focused her gaze on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you all right?”

Lanie blinked, remembering where she was, remembering the man in front of her. The man that looked like Ben—but wasn’t Ben.

She forced back tears. She’d thought, for just that one second—

“I’m fine,” she managed, her mouth cottony. She struggled to sit up, but fell back again as black spots filled her vision and nausea choked her. She felt weak, boneless.

“Careful. Not so fast.”

She noticed his voice. So like Ben’s, yet different. It was deeper, harder, darker—like so many other aspects of the man, she realized, as her vision once again cleared.

The likeness to Ben was only superficial, she could see now. This man’s hair was blacker and thicker than Ben’s, his shoulders broader, his jaw more square, his lips more sensual, his eyes more penetrating.

Swallowing dryly, she felt uncharacteristically vulnerable. And very much alone.

He was a Blakemore. He had to be. No one could look this much like Ben and not be a Blakemore.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his gaze unrelenting. He’d been sitting beside her, but now he stood, towering over her. He was tall, solidly built, larger than Ben.

“I’m fine,” Lanie said again, sounding feeble even to herself. She pushed herself up again, this time gingerly, until she came to a sitting position. Her body was starting to cooperate, thank goodness.

“I don’t—I’ve never fainted before,” she added self-consciously.

The episode embarrassed her. How long had she been out? How had she gotten from the back door to the couch? Of course he must have carried her. The thought of being held in the arms of this stranger made her incredibly uncomfortable.

She thought she remembered something, just as she came to—had that been his hand she’d felt on her cheek? All she remembered was the touch. The gentleness.

She frowned, bewildered by the clouded memory. Could this man with his hard mouth and cold eyes have touched her so tenderly? The skin of her cheek tingled with lingering awareness, confusing her further.

“Do you need to me to call a doctor for you?” he asked. His words were solicitous, but his demeanor remained impassive.

Lanie shook her head.

“I’m Garrett Blakemore.” His serious, hard eyes never left hers. “And you’re Lanie McCall, I take it?”

“Lanie Blakemore,” Lanie said automatically, not surprised. Since when had the Blakemores ever accepted her as one of their own? She’d only faced Walter Blakemore once, at Ben’s funeral. And the old man had coldly turned his back at her approach. A slap couldn’t have been plainer.

She worked to place Garrett’s name. Ben’s cousin, she remembered quickly. She recalled that he and Ben had been close as children, but not so much as they’d grown older. The two had been raised like brothers after Garrett’s parents had died in a plane crash. Garrett had fitted right into his uncle’s empire of wealth, real estate and business holdings. He loved the power, the pressure, the hours and the travel. All the wheeling and dealing that Ben had detested had come naturally to Garrett.

“I’m here on behalf of Walter Blakemore,” Garrett went on without acknowledging that she’d even spoken. “In regard to the letter you sent him.”

Lanie froze, instantly alert. Months of inner turmoil had preceded the letter. Ben had described his father as controlling, domineering, powerful. But this baby was a Blakemore, and her conscience had left her no choice. Walter Blakemore had the right to know his grandchild. And her baby, already robbed of one parent, had the right to know his grandfather.

“The baby isn’t due for another month,” she pointed out. What could Walter Blakemore want with her now, before the baby was even born?

“Right. Well, there are several things that need to be settled, if you feel well enough to talk.” Garrett arched a brow and waited.

“Settled?” Lanie’s nerves went on red alert. “What do you mean, settled?” An unfamiliar bunching sensation moved across her lower abdomen. Instinctively she slid her hand over her stomach. Then the pain receded, and she refocused on the man before her.

He moved to sit down in one of the chairs across from the couch. “Do you mind?” he asked politely, and Lanie shook her head again.

He chose a hard-backed chair. It was Friday afternoon—a business day. He’d probably spent the morning in an Austin boardroom before making the hour’s drive to Deer Creek, yet his shirt wasn’t even wrinkled. Somehow, his ultrameticulous appearance only added to the daunting aura that surrounded him. He was a man accustomed to wielding power, to efficiently dictating to the world around him—and having it obey him.

“Walter is concerned about the baby’s welfare,” Garrett said abruptly. “He’s worried about the baby being born in a rural area, where the medical care may be inadequate. He’d like to bring you to Austin—”

Lanie’s eyes popped. Shock drummed through her bloodstream. “What?” She had no intention of going anywhere!

“He’s prepared to provide you with a place to live, and the finest medical care until the baby is born. As you know, Ben was his only child, and if this is Ben’s baby, it will be his only grandchild and heir—”

“If this is Ben’s baby?”

“Of course,” Garrett went on, not responding to Lanie’s interruption, “paternity—and the child’s rightful inheritance—can only be established by the appropriate blood and DNA testing which we will arrange to have performed at the time of the child’s birth—”

“No!” Hurt, more than she’d thought possible, considering she barely knew Walter Blakemore, washed over Lanie. Just knowing anyone would even think she might lie about the baby being Ben’s—for money, no less!—felt like a stab to the heart.

“According to your letter,” Garrett carried on calmly, “you’re now eight months pregnant—which is approximately the same amount of time that has passed since Ben’s death.” His cold eyes raked her. “I’m sure you can understand Walter’s concerns.”

“No. No, I can’t.”

Lanie pushed herself up from the couch heavily, her hips aching from the baby’s weight. As she stood, another painful sensation, this time sharper and harder, spun out over her belly, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

Garrett stood as well. “I understand you’re upset—” He stopped short. “Are you all right?” He stared at her, and for the first time he didn’t look quite so sure of himself.

“I’m fine,” Lanie bit out. “I want you to leave. You can go back to Austin and tell Walter Blakemore—oh!” She couldn’t speak as another agonizing sensation rolled over her abdomen.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He sounded downright panicky now. Lame felt the hysterical urge to laugh, but she was in too much pain.

“I don’t know.” She sank back down to the couch, shaky, wrapping her arms over her belly as the pain ebbed again. “I think—I think I might be in labor.”

Chapter Two

“What did you say?” Garrett wanted Lanie to tell him he’d heard wrong.

She didn’t.

“I think I might be in labor,” she said again. Her voice shook and her pupils grew enormous.

Apprehension fingered up Garrett’s spine. He wished he was back in Austin. He wished he was anywhere but where he was. He wasn’t used to being around pregnant women. Especially pregnant women who said they were in labor. “I thought you said that you were only eight months along,” he insisted.

“I am only eight months along,” Lanie said quickly, her big eyes filled with anxiety. “It’s too early! And Patty’s out of town. I can’t have the baby when Patty’s out of town.” She sounded really scared now.