You’re pregnant, Claudia.
You have a baby due in a month.
The last thing you need is to feel like this.
About your landlord.
Your sexy, manly, capable, laid-back landlord.
She made a frustrated sound, and it seemed to make him stir. She was just about to whisper something to him about getting to bed—he could stay on the couch till morning, if he wanted, but she needed her room—when he reached out.
Was he still asleep?
His hand curved around the back of her head and pulled her closer. His eyes were still closed. His nose nudged forward. Where was the mouth he was looking for? Ahh …
His lips were so warm. She had to drag herself away. She had to! Or push him, or tell him, “Wake up, Andy. I’m not whoever you think I am.”
But none of that happened. She let him kiss her, her own mouth motionless while his lips coaxed her. He mumbled, “Mm,” the sound coming from deep in his chest. He wanted a response. His dream self was growing frustrated that these soft lips beneath his weren’t answering the kiss.
How could she answer it?
How could she not?
Dear Reader,
I’m lucky enough to be part of a wonderful group of writers who go away together once a year for an intensive week of writing, brainstorming and craft discussion. Okay, I admit there is a small and responsible amount of eating, laughing and drinking as well.
During a brainstorming session, one of our group was looking for inspiration for her next series and I came up with a great idea for a trilogy featuring a family of successful doctors. There was the high-achieving older brother, the laid-back middle child, the burned-out younger sister. I threw in a beautiful rural setting, a baby or two, and a couple of characters—a gold-digging blonde and a blue-collar cop—whom you wouldn’t necessarily expect to be the best match for the hero or heroine concerned. I was so inspired about it … and my friend wasn’t interested.
Writing is funny that way. What sets off fireworks of inspiration for one writer will leave another writer totally cold. “Would you mind if I kept the idea, then?” I asked her. Trust me, she wasn’t planning to fight me for it. Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, I rushed back to my room with the whole thing fizzing and singing in my head, and started writing until my hand hurt.
Two hours later, I had the basic outline for the three stories that would become the McKINLEY MEDICS trilogy, and now here’s the first book. Daddy on Her Doorstep is Andy’s story, and who better to pair with a laid-back rural doctor than an uptight city woman with endearingly rigid ideas about having a baby on her own? I hope you enjoy Andy and Claudia’s journey, and that you’ll look out for A Doctor in His House coming soon.
Lilian Darcy
About the Author
LILIAN DARCY has written nearly eighty books. Happily married, with four active children and a very patient cat, she enjoys keeping busy and could probably fill several more lifetimes with the things she likes to do—including cooking, gardening, quilting, drawing and traveling. She currently lives in Australia but travels to the United States as often as possible to visit family. Lilian loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at: PO Box 532, Jamison PO, Macquarie, ACT 2614, Australia, or e-mail her at: [email protected].
Daddy on Her Doorstep
Lilian Darcy
Chapter One
Pregnant.
Andy’s new tenant hadn’t mentioned that little detail over the phone. He sat at the wheel of his pickup and watched her unloading her things onto the porch, with a vague sense that he was spying, while he gave about thirty percent of his attention to his sister Scarlett’s voice in his ear. “… so there was nothing we could do, and it was so fast …”
A very nice wheeled designer suitcase thumped up the wooden steps. The new tenant paused to stretch her lower back, placing a hand there for support.
The bump of her pregnancy was unmistakable in this pose, neat and round and firm, but as soon as she straightened again it almost disappeared. She had the kind of long, lean, gym-honed body that made a pregnancy look like this season’s hot fashion accessory, and she was probably a little chilly in those three-quarter-length sleeves, since it was only the beginning of April and the clear air had a definite bite.
“… so I’ve been thinking I might take a week off, just some quiet time, but not here in the city …” Scarlett had called Andy on his cell just as he was about to drive past his own house on his way from his office to the store, so he’d pulled over in front of his neighbor’s place to take her call, only a few yards from his own driveway. He hadn’t intended to watch his new tenant unloading her car, it had just happened that way.
“… and if it wouldn’t create problems for you and Laura …” he heard Scarlett say into his ear.
He put his reply in fast. “Laura and I have split up.”
“Oh, Andy! When?” His sister sounded distressed.
“February. It’s okay. It’s not a problem.”
There was a beat of silence as Scarlett absorbed the news. “She tried too hard, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she did,” he admitted, glad that Scarlett understood, so he didn’t have to explain.
“Was she upset?”
“She was the one who made the move. I came home from work and there was a note and a whole lot less stuff.” The extent of Laura’s stuff had been part of the problem. “But we both knew it was coming. She’s found someone who appreciates her for who she truly is, the note said.”
“Ouch!”
“And she was right. I really didn’t do that.”
Speaking of ouch …
The tenant heaved a second suitcase out of the trunk of her car and paused once again to arch and rub away the ache in her back. Her outfit looked brand-new and designer label, the soft sage-green stretch fabric gathered at the side seams so that it made her bump into a graceful curve instead of an inconvenient bulge.
Her dark brown hair shone with rich chestnut lights, and the artfully casual topknot looked as if it had been twisted and pinned in place at a Manhattan salon not more than half an hour ago, just as the fringed and patterned scarf around her neck could have been draped by a Hollywood stylist. Her sunglasses said expensive loud and clear.
But it was the bump that had him thinking.
“Definitely pregnant,” Andy muttered. “Wonder when she’s due …”
“Sorry?” said Scarlett.
“My new tenant seems to be pregnant.”
“Oh, you have a new tenant? Ohh …”
He couldn’t miss the disappointment. “Is that a problem?”
Seemed to be the tenant that was the problem for his sister, not the pregnancy. He didn’t have a problem with either the tenant or her fashionable bump, but he was a little curious about why a woman like this—all big-city sophistication and style—was here in a small, scenic town in Vermont,