A Baby In The House

The door flew open and there she stood wearing a pale blue nightgown

“Were you asleep?” Garret asked.

“Of course! It’s two o’clock in the morning.” Panic replaced the sleepy look in Krystal’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to come in.”

“If you came here to check on me, it’s not necessary. I’m not sick.”

“I know. You’re pregnant.” That stunned her into silence. He waited for her to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he said.

She moistened her lips, then said, “Yes. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t practically begged you to take me to bed, we wouldn’t be in this—”

Garret cut her off. “Wait a minute! Are you saying I’m the father?”

Dear Reader,

As a child I spent many hours with a length of clothesline in my hand. My friend Susie would be on the other end and our friend Joanie would be in the middle, jumping as we twirled the rope and sang one of the many ditties created especially for skipping rope. Our favorite was the one that ended with “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Joanie pushing a baby carriage.”

It’s a refrain that echoed often in my head while I wrote this book because my heroine, Krystal—like a lot of women—believes she’s going to fall in love, get married and have a baby—in that order. Then she does a favor for a friend and discovers that her plan has suddenly been thrown out the window. Now she finds herself wondering if it’s possible to have a baby first, then get married and then fall in love.

As you read this story you’ll find the answer. You’ll also meet the women who live at 14 Valentine Place, a wonderful old Victorian house where love has a way of sneaking up on its tenants when they least expect it. I hope you’ll enjoy your visit with them.

If you’d like to write to me, I love to hear from readers. Send your letters to Pamela Bauer, c/o MFW, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424, or you can visit me via the Internet at www.pamelabauer.com.

Warmly,

Pamela Bauer

A Baby in the House
Pamela Bauer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the baby in our house,

Aedan Paul.

What a joy you are!

And a special thank-you to

Michelle Rudolph for sharing her

professional insights with me.

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

KRYSTAL GRAHAM SPOTTED Garret Donovan across the ballroom, briefly locked her eyes with his, then glanced away. She waited only a moment before allowing her gaze to slowly wander back to his, giving him a smile that said, You know what I’m thinking and it’s a bit naughty.

The flirtatious move hinted at an intimacy that didn’t exist and was part of a plan to make Samantha Penrose jealous. It worked. Samantha couldn’t keep her eyes—or her hands—off Garret.

As Krystal stared at Garret, she could see why. He was cute. Not exactly her type, but still cute. And sexy. That realization rocked her for a moment. She hadn’t thought of him in that way before. He’d always been her landlady’s son. A friend. But tonight he looked good enough to send a little jolt of pleasure all the way down to her toes.

She shook her head. There was no point in thinking of Garret in that way, because she was making a new start with Roy.

She glanced at her watch, wishing she were with him now. As if Garret could read her mind, he came toward her and suggested they leave.

She slipped her arm through his as they said goodbye to his colleagues. Seeing Samantha across the room watching their movements, she whispered to Garret, “If you kiss me now you can make your old girlfriend very jealous.”

He looked her in the eye and said, “As tempting as that offer is, when I kiss a woman it’s not for someone else’s benefit. It’s because she wants me. Do you want me to kiss you, Krystal?”

She did, only she wasn’t about to admit that to him. It was a startling discovery and one that kept her quiet as they walked through the hotel corridors to the front entrance. When they were waiting for the parking lot attendant to bring his car around, she knew she needed to say something about the sexual tension that seemed to have come out of nowhere between them.

“Garret, the reason I came with you tonight…” she began.

“I know why you’re with me, Krystal. My mother asked you to be my date, but contrary to what you—or my mother—may think, I don’t need help when it comes to my relationship with Samantha Penrose.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words. When his mother had suggested they go to the hospital ball together, Garret had objected to the idea, but it had been a good-natured objection. Now he sounded angry.

“Look, it’s still early. Why don’t you go back inside and I’ll take a cab home,” she suggested.

“You aren’t taking a cab anywhere. I brought you here and I will take you home.”

His tone made her sound like an obligation. “I wasn’t planning to go home. I thought I’d go to Roy’s place.”

“Old unfaithful, huh?” He slowly shook his head.

As her friend, he knew about her on-again, off-again relationship with Roy Stanton. Until tonight, however, he’d kept his opinions of the other man to himself.

“He’s changed.” She felt the need to defend her decision to give Roy another chance.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he stated. She wished she knew if he truly meant those words, but as usual, his face revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

The parking lot attendant had brought the car around, and he held the door open for her. Reluctantly, she climbed inside. Garret didn’t speak as he drove except to ask for directions. She should have been used to it by now—his penchant for silence. It had been that way since the first day she met him. She’d never known a man who could get so lost in his own thoughts.

When they reached Roy’s apartment complex, he said, “Wait. I’ll walk you to the door.”

He was the dutiful escort, making sure she arrived safely inside the dimly lit lobby. “Thanks. It’s right here.” She motioned to the lower level apartment. “Someone’s home. I can hear music.”

“So can half the neighborhood,” he said dryly.

“You can leave. I’m fine.”

He surveyed their surroundings with a critical eye, then said, “I’ll go back to the car, but I’d appreciate you signaling when you’ve made it inside.”

She nodded and watched him walk away before pounding on Roy’s door. She knew it wasn’t likely he’d hear her. The music was too loud. She figured he was probably stretched out on the sofa, watching videos on MTV and missing her.

Krystal dug deep into her purse for a key she’d never returned after one of their earlier breakups. She inserted it in the lock and pushed open the door.

“Surprise! Party was over sooner than I expected,” she announced as she stepped into the room.

Only the party wasn’t over in Roy’s apartment. He was indeed on the sofa with music videos playing on his big-screen TV, but he was definitely not missing her. Next to him was a woman. A naked woman whose limbs were entwined with his.

The blood rushed to Krystal’s face and pounded in her temples. For a moment she was too stunned to speak, but then her anger erupted.

“You scumbag! How could you do this to me?” She screamed at him. “You told me being in the military had made you realize how important I was to you, that you were never going to look at another woman again. You…you…” she stammered, struggling to get her breath, so great was her fury. “You are a disgusting pig, Roy Stanton, and I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe you could ever change!”

“Wait, I can explain,” he began, but she wasn’t going to listen to one more word he had to say.

She threw the key at him, bouncing it off his bare chest. She turned and ran out of his apartment, sickened by what she’d seen. To her surprise, there were no tears flooding her eyes.

As she stepped outside she saw that Garret’s car was still at the curb. He saw her coming toward him and got out to open the door for her. She slid inside.

He didn’t say a word to her until he was behind the wheel. Then he said, “Change of plans?”

“Yes, change of plans,” she managed in a voice that was surprisingly calm.

“Where to now?”

When she looked at him she didn’t see her landlady’s son. She saw the man who’d looked at her with desire in his eyes. “Did you mean what you said earlier this evening?”

“You ought to know by now that I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he answered in a voice that sent a shiver of awareness through her.

“Then take me to your place.”

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M SORRY YOU HAD TO WAIT, Angie,” Krystal said as she escorted her eleven-o’clock appointment to her workstation.

It was an apology she issued often in a typical workday. No matter how hard she tried to stay on time, she usually failed. Not because she was slow, but because she regarded styling hair as an art form and one that shouldn’t be hurried. Creating the right look for a client was more important than staying on schedule.

Angie brushed away her apology with a flap of her hand. “No problem. I needed the downtime and your reception area provided a very nice distraction. That construction site across the street is crawling with men in tight, dusty jeans. Have you seen the size of the arms on some of those guys?”

“I try not to look,” Krystal told her, shaking out the black plastic cape before draping it over Angie’s shoulders. “A guy I used to date works there. A real zero. Cute with a great body but—” she pointed to her head “—nothing up here.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. A good personality can make a guy look attractive, and you can always drag him to the gym and work out together to get his body in shape, but if he’s dumb as dirt, what’s the point?”

“There isn’t one. So what are we doing today? The usual?”

“Uh-uh. I need a change. Chop it off.”

“Oh-oh. If you want me to cut it, you must be having guy trouble.”

She grinned. “You know me well, don’t you?”

Krystal knew most of her regular clients very well. She regarded them as friends and she often found herself privy to information some of them hadn’t even shared with their closest family members. She knew that before this woman left, she’d know all about her breakup with her boyfriend.

“Any ideas as to what you want me to do?” she asked, running her fingers through the blond tresses.

“Take it up to about here.” She used her hand as a measure, raising it to just below her ear. “I’ll let you decide how you want to style it.”

Krystal studied the hair from all angles, lifting and rearranging strands as she mentally sculpted a new style. She loved it when a client gave her carte blanche. Creating the right look for someone was a challenge and she took great satisfaction in knowing that if she did her job well, she would make a woman feel better about herself.

While Krystal shampooed and rinsed the woman’s hair at the sink, the client filled her in on her troubled love life. Krystal didn’t mind. She was a people person and enjoyed hearing what was happening in their lives—the good and the bad. It was one of the aspects she loved most about her job—interacting with others.

“So how are things with you?” the young woman finally asked Krystal when she was once more sitting facing the mirror.

It was a question Krystal expected to hear from all of her regular clients at some point during their visits. And usually her life was an open book, with many of her customers knowing as much about her personal life as her friends did, but not today. A page had been written she wasn’t ready for anyone else to read. At least not yet.

“Things could be better,” she said, tossing the wet towel into the bin behind her.

“Does that mean you and Roy have split up again? The last time I was in you told me you were giving him one more last chance to make things work.”

“I did and that was a mistake.”

“It didn’t work out?”

She chuckled sardonically as she reached for a comb. “It lasted all of three days. I wanted to believe that serving in the military had changed him. I was wrong.”

“You don’t sound brokenhearted over it,” Angie observed.

“Because I’m not.” It was the truth. Looking back now she could see how foolish she’d been when it came to her relationship with Roy, seeing only what she wanted to see. She’d wasted her time trying to recycle an old love—only it hadn’t even been love, just a misplaced devotion. She wished it hadn’t taken her so long to realize that.

“I suppose you’ve already found one…or two…or three guys to take his place,” she said with a sly grin.

“Uh-uh. My juggling days are in the past. Gone for good,” Krystal said on a note of finality.

“You’re kidding!” Wide eyes met hers in the mirror. “You are like the queen of the dating scene.”

“Not anymore I’m not. I need a break from dating.”

“You and me both,” she seconded, then went on to lament the lack of decent men in their age group, concluding with the statement that life would be less complicated without men.

Krystal knew that her life certainly would be if she hadn’t let one particular man into it. When she’d finished styling her client’s hair, she handed her a mirror. “What do you think?”

“It looks fabulous.” As she climbed out of the chair, she pulled a folded ten-dollar bill from her pocket and gave it to Krystal. “Thank you so much for the great cut.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Oh, I do. And I appreciate you letting me whine about guys,” she said as she straightened her skirt.

“Hey—we all need to do it now and then,” Krystal told her.

“Yes, we do, and especially with someone who understands what it’s like out there in the dating world. You, Krystal, are one smart lady when it comes to men,” she told her, then, with a grateful wave goodbye, headed for the front desk.

A few minutes later one of Krystal’s co-workers approached her with her lunch—an order of take-out barbecue ribs. “Want some? I’ll share.” She held up the package invitingly.

The aroma hit Krystal the way heat blasted her face when she stepped outside from cool air-conditioning, causing her stomach to revolt. She uttered, “No, thanks,” then bolted for the bathroom. She barely managed to get there before she was sick.

As she washed up at the sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and thought, Oh yeah, I’m real smart when it comes to men. She clicked her tongue in disgust, dried her hands and went back to work.

GARRET WAS TIRED. He’d spent most of the night at the hospital with a patient and after only a few hours of sleep on a cot in the doctors’ lounge, he’d had to make his morning rounds, fill out a mountain of paperwork and attend a staff meeting. Now he’d promised one of the nurses at the clinic that he’d stop in and check on her mother who was a patient in a nursing home.

Garret knew that if Dolly Anderson still lived in her house on the east side of St. Paul, she’d be outside in her large floppy hat tending her vegetables. But at eighty-nine, a broken hip had marked the end of her days as a home owner and landed her in the nursing home not far from her old neighborhood. Although her bones had healed, she’d never regained the strength and agility to return home. That hadn’t stopped her from gardening, however.

When Garret arrived at the nursing home, he found her outdoors tending to the plants on the tiny patio outside her room. One hand rested on a cane helping her stand, the other clutched a plastic watering can.

“Got any pumpkins in that patch?” he called out as he made his way across the lawn toward her.

She looked up at him. “It’s a good thing you’re a brilliant doctor. You’d stink as a farmer. Pumpkins need room to spread.” As he drew closer she added, “You look tired. You’d better go easy on the women for a while and catch up on your sleep.” She gave him a crooked grin.

“Oh, Dolly, you ought to know you’re the only one for me.” He’d never been much for flirting with women, but with her he couldn’t resist. “How come you’re not wearing your sun hat?”

“Don’t want to mess up my hair.” She turned back to watering her plants. “Just had it styled. I always get it done on Tuesdays.”

He didn’t correct her and tell her it was Wednesday.

“What brings you here?” she wanted to know.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop and see how you’re doing.”

She slanted a look at him. “Liar. I know Mavis called you.”

He didn’t deny the accusation. “She’s worried you might have a cold.”

She harrumphed. “Can you believe it? My daughter is fifty-nine years old and she still doesn’t know the difference between a cold and allergies. If I cough, it’s because the pollen count is high. It tickles my throat. It’s been that way ever since I was a child.”

“That’s why I told you to stay inside in air-conditioning this time of the year,” he said with a gentle wag of his finger.

“Can’t. Have to take care of my garden.”

The garden to which she referred was comprised of large pots holding a variety of vegetable plants on her patio. To his amazement, she had cherry tomatoes, radishes, green peppers and even a bean plant, which she’d staked with a yardstick.

“Don’t they feed you here?” he asked.

“Of course they do. That isn’t why I have my vegetables and you know it,” she scolded him.

Yes, he did. On more than one occasion she’d told him that she’d planted her first garden during World War II when Americans were encouraged to grow their own vegetables as a sign of support for the troops. When her husband had been killed in the war, she’d decided to continue the tradition in honor of his memory. She’d been planting her victory garden for over sixty years.

“I brought you something,” he told her.

“Not more pills to swallow, I hope.”

“No, something sweet.”

That had her setting her watering can down and giving her attention to him. “Ooh. Gingersnaps,” she cooed, when he pulled a box of cookies from his bag and handed them to her. “What do I have to do for them? Take off my clothes?”

He saw the twinkle in her eye and smiled. “You know me well, Dolly.” Not many of his patients did, but he had a soft spot for this octogenarian with her sharp mind and keen wit.

“You’re not going to take my word for it that it’s only the pollen, are you, Dr. G.?”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid if I don’t give you a clean bill of health, Mavis won’t get any sleep tonight. How about it? Should we put her mind at rest?”

She hesitated momentarily, then said, “All right. To please Mavis.” She moved slowly but with a gracefulness few women her age possessed. He slid open the patio door for her and followed her inside.

“You’re not going to make me get back into bed, are you? Once I’m up and dressed, I don’t like to even look at that thing,” she told him with a wave of her hand in the direction of her bed. “Someone around here is always trying to get me to nap. I’m not a nap person. Never was, never will be.”

He patted the leather chair. “How about sitting right here.”

Sitting had never been easy for someone as active as Dolly and today was no different than any other time he’d visited her. She squirmed and fidgeted, but he managed to complete the exam and was relieved when he found there was no cause for alarm.

“Okay, that’ll do it,”’ he said, stuffing his stethoscope back into his bag.

“I’m as right as rain, aren’t I?”

“You are. How’s the hip?”

“The only thing wrong with my hip is that it kept me from getting my hair done yesterday because I had to go to physical therapy,” she grumbled.

He looked at her white curls. “I thought you said you had your hair done today?”

“I did. My gal came back this morning. Made a special trip for me. Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?” She didn’t wait for an answer but continued on. “I think you’d like her. She’s pretty. Really pretty.”

“Now don’t go getting any ideas, Dolly,” he warned.

“I know better than to do that,” she said with a flap of her wrinkled hand. “Kryssie’s got too many boyfriends the way it is. She gets flowers all the time from this one or that one. They usually end up here…the flowers, that is. She doesn’t want reminders of a bad date.”

Garret didn’t comment and she continued on, “You wouldn’t be interested in her anyway being you’re not looking to settle down just yet. You have too many things to accomplish.”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed.

“Are you still thinking about the Doctors Without Borders program?”

Because Dolly’s husband had been in the Red Cross, Garret had told her about his interest in doing relief work. She’d shown him journals her husband had kept during his tour of duty overseas and shared stories of what it had been like to be a doctor’s wife during the 1940s. Besides being a very interesting woman, she was easy to talk to and encouraged Garret to use his medical training in whatever way he felt was best.

“I don’t think I’ll be leaving until after the first of the year,” he told her.

“I’ll miss seeing you, but I’m happy to share you with the rest of the world,” she said with a gracious smile. “You remind me so much of my husband. Dedicated. Passionate about helping people. A true gentleman.”

“Thank you. I wish I had known him.”

“You would have liked him. He was a good man.” A wistful expression came over her face as she talked about him. “We only had a few years together, but they were wonderful years. It’s too bad everyone can’t have a love like ours. There’d be a lot fewer divorces.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yes, we were. No amount of time can erase what we had together. True love is like that. It’ll go on forever…” She trailed off, her eyes glassy with a distant expression in them. “Even after all these years I still have so many clear memories. And of course I have Mavis. There is no greater reminder of a love shared than a child. Don’t you agree?”

“I certainly do. And your daughter should sleep well tonight. Your lungs sound fine, Dolly.”

“I told you it was only my allergies causing me to cough.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, snapping his bag shut. “Do you have any questions before I go?”

“Oh, you’re leaving so soon?” she said, suddenly sounding very childlike. “I was hoping you could stay and talk.”

“I wish I could, but I have appointments this afternoon. I’m sorry.” His apology couldn’t have been more sincere. It was one of the aspects of his job he wished he could change—there were never enough hours in a day. He regretted not being able to spend more time with his patients and it frustrated him that he had to spend so much of his workday doing paperwork. He wanted to be helping people, which was why he was interested in doing humanitarian work.

She nodded her head in understanding. “Mavis said you’re the hardest-working doctor at the clinic.”

“I don’t know about that. All doctors work hard, Dolly.”

She sighed. “You don’t need to tell me. When you do finally settle down, you’d better make sure it’s with someone who understands that.”

“Of one thing you can be sure, Dolly, and that’s when I do finally get around to doing just that, you’ll be the first to know.” With that statement, he left her with a smile.

THE FIRST TIME KRYSTAL HAD walked into 14 Valentine Place she’d felt at home. If houses had personalities—which Krystal believed they did—this one’s was warm and inviting and definitely female, just like its owner, Leonie Donovan.

Contentment resonated in the polished wood floors and mahogany-trimmed walls. Krystal noticed it every time she stepped through the front door. Her landlady said it was because it had been home to a happy family. Three generations of Donovans had lived in the house and there’d been no divorce, no bitter battles over who owned what, no kids coming and going in split-custody arrangements.

It was only after Leonie’s husband had died unexpectedly that the big old Victorian structure had been converted into a boardinghouse. Everyone understood why Leonie had decided to rent the rooms to women. She’d raised four sons and had reached a point in her life where she wanted to connect with the feminine side of life.

Krystal had been one of the first women to rent a room and, like everyone else who would live at 14 Valentine Place, was treated like a member of a family. It was an extended family that included Leonie’s sons, her daughters-in-law and her grandson. It was a family rich in history, just like the house, and hearing the Donovan brothers talk about their childhoods reminded her how very different their lives had been from hers.

That’s because home to her had been a series of house trailers, none of them double-wide. What little furniture they’d had was either rented or purchased at a garage sale or flea market. There had been no family heirlooms handed down from generation to generation. While Leonie’s home often smelled of lemon-scented furniture polish, the mobile homes where Krystal had lived had reeked of stale cigarette smoke.

Not that Krystal had been unhappy with her childhood—she hadn’t. It was just very different from the one the Donovan boys had experienced, and not just because they lived in a house with a concrete foundation and plaster walls.

She’d grown up in a house of women. She’d never known her father, she didn’t have a brother and she seldom saw her grandfather. If her mother had men friends, she and her sister Carly never saw them.

Krystal knew it was because she was trying to be a good role model for her daughters. To Linda Graham, the most important lesson she could teach her daughters was not to make the same mistakes she had. She’d had not one but two teen pregnancies, and she’d made it clear that she wanted her daughters to have a different life than she’d had. It was why she had imposed such strict rules when it came to dating.

No matter how hard Krystal and Carly had tried to convince her they were teenagers who could be trusted, their mother had refused to allow them to date until they were seniors in high school. Both had thought their mother was unfair, but only Krystal had rebelled against her authority, willing to risk punishment for a chance at romance.

The strict rules may have been a good parenting tactic in Linda Graham’s eyes, but to Krystal they had only created distance in their mother-daughter relationship. Her love life became a frequent source of conflict between them that continued into her late teens and early twenties.

It was one of the reasons Krystal had been eager to move out of Fergus Falls. Besides the limited employment opportunities, the town was small enough that it was difficult to keep her personal relationships private. And as long as she lived there, she felt as if her mother was looking over her shoulder into her love life.

Until she moved into 14 Valentine Place, she’d thought most mothers were probably like hers—critical of whomever their children dated. Then she met Leonie. Even though her landlady was a romance coach, she seldom interfered in her sons’ love lives.

Leonie rarely gave anyone unsolicited advice, yet she was always there for moral support when it was needed. Not only did she encourage the young women who rented rooms from her to feel free to come to her if they wanted to talk about relationships, she designated the living room in the house as the great room where discussions of men and romance became a regular occurrence. It wasn’t long before Krystal came to regard Leonie as a second mother, only with this mother she could talk about everything and anything.

At least she had been able to until a few weeks ago. Now that aspect of their relationship had changed. Krystal had made a mistake. A big mistake. And it was one she was reluctant to admit to anyone, and especially to her mother and Leonie.

Instead she would keep it secret. Not easy for someone who usually blurted out whatever was on her mind. Worried that Leonie would be able to detect that she was keeping something from her, Krystal did her best to avoid seeing her landlady.

Today, however, was Tuesday, which meant Leonie wouldn’t be at home. She’d be teaching a class on the dos and don’ts of dating at the community center and that meant the only other person in the boardinghouse would be Dena Bailey, since the third-floor apartment was still vacant.

As she expected, Dena was in the kitchen. When she saw Krystal she said, “Oh good! You’re home. I was hoping I’d see you.” She motioned for Krystal to come sit beside her. “Come join me for a glass of lemonade.”

Krystal shook her head. “I’ll pass on the lemonade, thanks.” She did go over to the refrigerator, however, to get a bottle of water. When she opened the door, the aroma of the leftover parmesan chicken she’d had the night before nearly caused her to bolt toward the bathroom. She didn’t understand how something could taste so good warm yet smell so bad cold that it made her wish she’d never gone near it.

But then so many things made her stomach queasy. Like when she was in an elevator and someone stepped in wearing perfume. Or the pungent smell of gasoline at the service station. Or the tiny bit of oatmeal left in Leonie’s bowl each morning.

Krystal shuddered and willed her stomach to settle itself. When she sat down at the table, she saw Dena had a bridal magazine spread open in front of her.

“What’s up with that? I thought you and Quinn were going to elope.”

“I thought we were, too, but then we sat down to make plans and before I knew it, we’d reserved the church and booked the reception hall. It’s amazing what that guy can talk me into.”