Her Hired Husband

“Oh—wait! Please!”

Noah’s plan to make a swift exit was thwarted by his hostess’s entreaty. When he turned, she was lumbering down the stairs, a protective hand on her stomach. Her descent was precariously rapid and he automatically headed in her direction.

“Don’t—you’ll fall.” He jogged up several steps and took her arm. “What’s so important?”

“You—can’t go!” Sally said, short of breath. “What do I tell them?”

Noah was confused. “About what?”

“About us—being deliriously happy!”

“I don’t care what you tell them.” He separated her desperate, clutching fingers from his shirtfront and took off the wedding ring she’d given him. “Tell your grandparents whatever you want. Have a good life.”

She made a pained face. “I’ll pay you!”

“I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want? I’ll do anything!” she cried.

What happens when you suddenly discover your happy twosome is about to be turned into a…family?

Do you panic?

Do you laugh?

Do you cry?

Or…do you get married?

The answer is all of the above—and plenty more!

Share the laughter and the tears as these unsuspecting couples are plunged into parenthood!

When parenthood takes you by surprise!

Her Hired Husband

Renee Roszel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sons, Doug and Randy.

Little did I know the eighteen months I spent pregnant with you guys would turn out to be the hardest, yet most rewarding research I’ve ever done!

Love, Mom

CONTENTS

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 ONE

SALLY forced a smile as she stared at the two people she disliked most in the world. What a shame they were nearly all the family she had. In her head, she knew she didn’t owe them any explanations, but her heart told her to lie.

The sound of a car crunching over the gravel driveway alerted her to the fact that her fake husband had arrived. Exhaling with relief, she blessed her brother for coming through for her. “Excuse me—grandmother, grandfather.” She rushed out of the parlor to her front door.

Well, “rushed” might not be the best word, since she was eight months pregnant, and at the moment rushing wasn’t something she did with great skill. Her heart thudded as she flung open the door and tramped down the plank stairs, clutching the worn wood rail with one hand. The other was unconsciously spread across her belly, a protective gesture. “Thank goodness,” she mumbled, a little winded. She checked her watch. “Perfect timing.”

The man who emerged from the pickup truck was better looking than she’d hoped for. Several inches over six feet tall, he made a striking presence in a beige polo shirt, khaki trousers and Roper boots. Wide shoulders didn’t hurt the tall-dark-and-handsome look one bit. Black, neatly trimmed hair glistened like Texas crude oil in the mild, early March sunshine. Her gaze was drawn to his eyes—amazing, mirror-bright blue, of the heavy-lidded, bedroom variety. With lashes that swept out like summertime awnings. Gazing into those eyes struck a long-dormant chord and she experienced a twinge of desire. Fine timing, she admonished inwardly. To him you look like the Goodyear Blimp!

Leave it to Sam to recruit the best-looking orderly at the hospital. She’d worried about what pitiful specimen of mankind would agree to her ploy and actually show up. She was pleasantly shocked by this guy. Of course, considering Sam’s renowned bedside manner, her doctor-brother could talk a duck into an oven if he put his mind to it.

She hadn’t realized she’d smiled at that thought until the man smiled back. The pleasant expression was a slight, one-sided job. Even so, with those great male lips, that lopsided grin did more to her than most full-fledged grins. She actually tingled with appreciation. Stop it, ninny, she scolded herself mentally. Don’t get giddy and feminine. Time’s wasting! He’s doing you a favor, now get on with it!

Her boldly handsome orderly rounded the truck and held out a hand. “Hi, Sam sent me to—”

“I know.” She grabbed his outstretched fingers and tugged him up the wooden steps. “Follow my lead.” She hauled him through the door. “Oh—and you’re a doctor.” Her whisper held an urgent, life-or-death edge.

Just before entering the parlor, she remembered the ring. “Darn!” Skidding to a halt, she fished around in her smock pocket, grabbed it and shoved it onto his finger. By some miracle, it fit. “That was close.” She cast him a quick, conspiratorial look.

His eyes had narrowed slightly and he stared at her curiously. She made a sheepish face. “It’s more traditional.” She grasped the hand she’d slipped the wedding band on and slung it over her shoulder. “Now, please, smile!” she commanded under her breath. “We’re deliriously happy!”

She skimmed an arm around his waist. This whole farce with her grandparents was traumatic, and awkward in the extreme, but it didn’t diminish her ability to detect how solid he felt, how nice he smelled. Determinedly she drew him into the parlor, a homey disorder of over-stuffed and slightly frayed furniture in a kaleidoscope of bright patterns. Until she witnessed the undisguised repulsion in her grandparents’ eyes the place had never seemed shabby or garish. Now, she looked around, unnerved.

She felt a tightening in her belly and knew it wasn’t her baby daughter kicking, but regret and hostility. How dare they make her feel inferior without even a word! That was why they were here, wasn’t it—to look down their Boston blue-blooded noses on their inadequate and tainted granddaughter?

With a quick shake of her head, she stuffed her anger and got herself on track. “Honey, I want you to meet my grandparents. Abigail and Hubert Vanderkellen, from Boston.” She slanted the best grin she could manage toward her fake-devoted-husband, not quite able to look him in those gorgeous blue eyes. “Remember? I told you they’d drop by for a quick visit before leaving on their cruise later today?”

The orderly glanced at her when she spoke. His inspection shifted to the older couple, sitting stiffly on the red-and-yellow floral sofa. Several heartbeats went by as he stared at them. Sally wondered what was going through his mind. He almost looked as if he was seeing a ghost. Weird.

A second later he returned his gaze to her face, his brows knitting. She experienced a rush of panic and pinched him above his belt. Those stunning eyes sharpened. She didn’t blame him for being annoyed by the nip of her fingers, but hadn’t Sam explained this was important? She wouldn’t lie about being married if it weren’t absolutely necessary.

She faked a giggle and focused on her grandparents. “My—sweetie is a wonderful doctor, but he’s a little forgetful.” She glanced back at the tall man beside her. She smiled, but shot a desperate plea with her eyes, begging him to get into the script and now. “Grandmother and grandfather, I’d like you to officially meet my husband—Dr. Thomas…Step.”

Step? She flinched. That name came out of nowhere. How lame! Couldn’t she have thought of something more substantial? Even if she stuck to the ridiculous staircase theme, at least Banister? She tried to squelch her annoyance. It was simply bad luck she’d been looking at the stairs in the mirror over the fireplace. What difference did it make what name she made up, anyway? In an hour her grandparents would be gone.

“How do you do?” Abigail Vanderkellen said, her hands remaining clasped in her lap. “I suppose I can understand why neither Sam nor Sally told us of her marriage.” She flicked a reproving glance at her granddaughter. “There has been a bit of a strain in our relationship.”

A bit? Sally scoffed behind her forced smile. Like the sinking of the Titanic was a bit of bad luck!

Abigail Vanderkellen shifted to present her stern look at the orderly. “Of course, you know all about that. Tom, is it?”

He cleared his throat, and Sally had a bad feeling. She shot him a terrified glance, but too late. She only caught the snap of his eyes as he looked away. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

“Actually, no.”

He lifted his hand from her shoulder, and Sally could only watch helplessly as he walked around the rough-hewn pine coffee table. Her heart leaped up to lodge in her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe. Actually, no? What did he think he was he doing?

“I can say with all honesty she’s told me nothing about your relationship.” He extended a hand toward Abigail. “And my friends call me Noah.” He continued to hold his position until the older woman unclenched her fists and belatedly accepted his hand. After their brief contact, he turned to Hubert. “Thomas Noah Step,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand.

Sally’s heart hammered so deafeningly in her ears, she wasn’t sure she heard right. Thomas Noah Step? Then—then he was going along with it, after all. Thank goodness!

Hubert gave Noah a look. “You look somewhat familiar, young man.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I have one of those faces.” The orderly said, wearing an odd half grin. “Had we ever met, Mr. Vanderkellen, I’m sure I would remember you.” His gaze shifted to Mrs. Vanderkellen. “Both.”

Harboring enough misgiving to choke a horse, Sally watched her fake husband retrace his steps. This guy may have agreed to be a part of her scheme, but he didn’t follow orders well. What was that unnecessary insistence on being Noah? Why couldn’t he have gone with Tom and saved her a near heart attack?

To her astonishment, he replaced his arm across her shoulder, even giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’d forgotten you two were dropping by.” He turned to Sally. “Darling, how long did you say they’d be here?”

“Uh—an hour.”

He glanced at his watch. “Ah.”

Ah? What did that mean? Didn’t Sam give this guy any of the details? Why the frown at his watch? Did he have a train to catch? From looking at him, it was more likely a hot date.

“Is there a problem, Dr. Step?” Hubert asked.

Noah faced the older man and smiled. “Noah. And no. No problem.” He looked down at Sally. “Why don’t you sit, sweetheart?” He aimed her toward an over-stuffed chair and ottoman, liberally splashed with daffodils. “Elevate your feet. You know how your ankles swell when you stand.”

Reflexively she checked her ankles. They weren’t swollen. They’d never been swollen a day in her pregnancy. She gave him a look that wasn’t totally loving. “My ankles are fine—honey.”

He grinned, this time the act involved his whole mouth and some dazzling teeth. She sat down heavily, more out of a mysterious weakness in the knees than an excess of water on her ankles. She had to give this My-Friends-Call-Me-Noah credit. He had a way with smiling.

She watched him in a state of agitated awe as he moved to take a seat on the sofa with her priggish grandparents. Don’t say anything that’ll blow it for me! she silently threw out, hoping he was better at telepathy than blind obedience. He was acting like the lord of the manor!

“So…” Noah extended an arm along the back of the couch, looking relaxed and in charge. “You’re Sally’s grandparents. On her mother’s side?”

Both Hubert and Abigail shifted in unison and stared, looking shocked. “Well, of course!” Abigail said, affront edging her tone. “Surely you knew that!”

“Not necessarily.” He turned on that whopping big, sexy grin again. “Look at her. Does it look like we did much talking?”

Sally could not believe that lewd remark. Her cheeks sizzled and maintaining her smile became the hardest work she’d ever done. Her baby kicked and she placed her hands over her belly. Apparently she wasn’t the only female in the room affected by his smile.

“H-honey,” she said, trying to pretend amusement. “Please.”

His wink was alarmingly wicked. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you know how you affect me.” He turned back to the open-mouthed Vanderkellens. “So, you’re from Boston,” he went on, conversationally.

With his direct observation, Abigail and Hubert recaptured their poise and even seemed to swell a bit. Being Vanderkellens from Boston was no small thing. Everybody who was anybody in Boston knew Abigail and Hubert Vanderkellen.

“Why, yes, we are,” Hubert said, though he didn’t smile.

Sally watched them preen.

“Have you ever been there?” Abigail asked, toying theatrically with a diamond earring, her knobby fingers heavy with all manner of pretentious stones.

“I don’t mean to brag, but the Vanderkellens are an old, old family,” Hubert added, making a production of fluffing a loosely folded maroon pocket square.

“I don’t get up north much,” Noah said.

“What a shame.” Abigail looked truly sorry for him. “Boston is one of America’s great, historical cities.”

“Houston’s got a little history, too,” he said.

“I’m sure.” Abigail’s tone was so haughty, she might as well have said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sally ran a hand through her hair, wishing the time would pass more quickly. The clock on the brick mantel had only traveled fifteen minutes since her handsome partner in crime had arrived. She scanned her grandparents, willing them to disappear.

Her antagonism bubbled to the surface. Stuffy and snobbish and narrow-minded, they sat, looking as though they feared the old farmhouse that had been her family’s home, teemed with rats and roaches and all manner of vermin that might thrive in such an uncouth wilderness.

Abigail touched as little of the sofa as possible, obviously trying not to contaminate her precious, cream-colored cashmere suit. Hubert didn’t appear much more comfortable about the safety of his brass-buttoned, navy Prince of Wales blazer and gray slacks. He crossed his legs and bumped the coffee table with a foot, drawing Sally’s attention to hand-sewn leather wing tips.

When he pulled a white handkerchief from an inside pocket and wiped the leather as though contact with her table had streaked it with grime, she had to struggle to keep from screaming. So what if his darn shoes cost more than all the furniture in her parlor? Her home might be a little cluttered, but it was not dirty!

Both Abigail and Hubert patted their hair at the same time, a bizarre mutuality, as though they shared one brain. Both had perfectly coiffed silver locks—Abigail’s caplike hairdo not quite as long or thick or bouffant as Hubert’s. Since they hadn’t been part of Sally’s life, she didn’t know if they’d looked so much alike some fifty-odd years ago when they were married.

Right now, they were equally hawk-nosed and pinch-eyed. Only their mouths were noticeably different. Hubert had a little slice of a mouth and no discernible lips. Abigail’s lips were wide, and eternally turned down disapprovingly at the corners. They would have been like her mother’s, except for the arrogance they broadcast.

They were dressed for Boston’s chilly March weather, not Houston’s balmy warmth. They had to be dying of the heat, but were too cultured to show it. Besides, they would never allow themselves to acknowledge Texas existed—except in the bad dream where their headstrong daughter ran off to marry beneath her.

“Sometime when you’re here longer, we’ll give you a tour.”

Sally flicked her glance to her lounging fake-mate. What did he think he was doing?

“Excuse me?” Hubert asked.

“A tour—of Houston,” Noah repeated, with a casual host-of-the-manor smile. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, sweetheart?”

Their eyes met. His twinkled. Twinkled! He seemed to be having fun playing the part of her deliriously happy husband. But to make such sweeping statements about taking her grandparents on a tour of Houston? That was going way over the line. She might be paying him fifty bucks for this performance, but she didn’t intend to put him on the payroll forever.

The last thing on earth she wanted was to spend more than an hour with these insufferable people. She aimed a hard-fought smile at him and nodded, unable to trust her voice.

“You know what?” Noah said, sitting forward.

Sally had no idea, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She swallowed.

“What we need is something cool to drink.” He stood. “Honey?”

“Oh—there’s tea in the fridge.” She started to get up, but he moved to her side, pressing down on her shoulder. “Don’t trouble yourself, sweetheart.” He bent and kissed her, his lips warm and lazily seductive. The contact was brief, but the effect was dizzying. Light-headed and short of breath, she could feel a slow, tingling sensation spread outward along her limbs.

“Your ankles, remember?” His lips quirked with mild amusement. Luckily his head blocked her face from her grandparents’ view, since her expression was probably shell-shocked. Her cheeks burned, a distinct sign she was blushing. “Point me toward the kitchen,” he whispered.

The request sounded like so much static at first, but belatedly his meaning sank in and she canted her head slightly to her left. He straightened, calling over his shoulder. “Who takes sugar?”

“I do,” Sally said, then bit her tongue. A husband would know that, dummy!

His chuckle echoed around the room. “As if I could forget.”

“I don’t think we have time for tea,” Hubert called.

“Sure you do,” Noah said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Sally hadn’t realized until after he’d left that simply having him there, master-of-the-house persona or no, was a big help. So far, he’d commanded most of the conversation. She cleared her throat and knotted her hands on her belly. “So—where are you going on your cruise?”

“The first week will include a walking tour of the pyramids of Cozumel, after that, the usual Caribbean stops.”

“Oh…” Sally didn’t know what to say. She knew about as much about Cozumel pyramids as she did about Mars. Once again, she felt like the inadequate Johnson sibling. Her big brother, Sam, was a doctor. She’d dropped out of college after one semester, to concentrate on her metal sculpture.

Sam had visited Boston once, last year. He’d laughingly told her their grandparents referred to her as “a welder,” and in a whisper, on the rare occasions they mentioned her mortifying status at all. Good old Sam thought their stuffy Victorianism was hilarious, and cast it off as unimportant. But she hadn’t. Every time she thought about it, the mental picture pecked new holes in her self-esteem. She could just see them grasping at their hearts and gasping, “A Vanderkellen—welding!” It was unthinkable.

“I understand Sam is leaving this afternoon on vacation, too,” Abigail said, drawing Sally from her morose thoughts. She nodded. “Scuba diving in—Bon—Bon—” She couldn’t remember.

“Bonaire,” came a deep, male voice.

She turned in time to see Noah stroll in, four tall glasses on a wicker tray.

“H-how did you know?” she asked, then cringed. If she wasn’t careful she’d blow this herself. After all, he did know Sam. Evidently he’d heard her brother discussing it. She blew out a breath. There was his explanation. Simple and not even a lie.

“Don’t you remember, darling?” He glanced at her as he lay the tray on the coffee table. “You told me about Bonaire this morning while we were in the shower.”

She realized her lips had dropped open in a shocked “oh” and clamped her jaws. In the shower? Had he actually said in the shower?

She cast a worried glance at her grandparents. Abigail’s eyes were a fraction wider and Hubert tugged at his collar.

Her gaze zapped back to Noah, bending over the tray. If she stretched, she could just about kick that taut backside. He probably thought he was the funniest orderly at the hospital.

Opting not to get physical, she cleared her throat meaningfully, but he didn’t seem to notice as he handed two glasses to her grandparents. A flash of orange and black told her he’d found some paper napkins. Unfortunately they were covered with Halloween witches and pumpkins. Well, they’d been cheap at the day-after-Halloween sale, and they worked just fine. She must not let herself feel like an inferior hostess for being frugal.

When Noah handed her a glass, he said, “Six teaspoons of sugar, right, honey?”

She smiled thinly. “Perfect.” She was going to die of sugar toxicity, but the show must go on. As he ambled around to seat himself on the couch, he winked at her, blatantly flaunting their illicit collaboration. She sucked in a startled breath. What if her grandparents had seen him?

Though she was highly annoyed at his audacity, and promised herself she’d strangle him the first chance she had, she couldn’t stifle a wry giggle. Not only had his wink been unsubtle, but it had been sexy and appealing. Trying to adjust her attitude, she decided she’d better pretend she loved six spoonfuls of sugar, and sipped her tea. As the taste registered on her tongue, she paused in surprise. It was perfect. He hadn’t put in more than one teaspoonful, the bum. She cast him a secret look but he was focused on her grandparents as they stared at their glasses and squirmed. What did they expect to see, dirt?

Abigail lifted her glass almost to her lips, paused, then replaced it on the wicker tray. “Actually, we should be going.” She checked her diamond-studded watch. “Didn’t you tell the cabdriver to be back at three-thirty, Hubert? We ought to check in at the ship.”

Her husband scanned his own watch, and once again Sally had the oddest feeling she was looking at little blue-blooded bookends. “The time does fly,” Hubert murmured, pushing up to stand.

Noah set his glass on the tray and stood, too. “I think I hear the cab.” He held out a hand and assisted Abigail to stand. “Now, don’t be strangers.”

“I—well…” Abigail smiled briefly then averted her gaze to settle her full attention on smoothing her skirt. As Sally labored to stand, Abigail’s glance shot to her. “Oh, don’t bother.” She made a brisk, dismissing wave as though shooing a flea. “Your husband can see us to the door.”

Sally sank back without argument. That was fine with her. Lately, getting out of chairs was hard enough when she really wanted to. “Have a nice cruise,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. Thank heavens! The ordeal was almost over. Relaxing back, she closed her eyes.

A shriek and a thundering crash made them pop back open. The anguished howl that followed blasted her out of her chair.

CHAPTER TWO

NOAH felt an impact in his gut and looked down to see Abigail Vanderkellen sagging into him. Instinctively he scooped up the limp woman while he watched in shock as Hubert, who Abigail had apparently shoved in her initial panic, skidded across the entry tiles.

In a bizarre slow motion the elderly man toppled sideways into a metal sculpture that depicted what appeared to be a leafy, vining plant. With Mr. Vanderkellen’s impact, the sculpture pitched over, causing a thunderous crash. Hubert quickly followed the sculpture to earth, his landing accompanied by a dull thud. After all motion ceased, Mr. Vanderkellen lay sprawled, faceup, arched awkwardly across the spiky metal.