The Baby Notion

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Meet The Soon-To-Be Moms of New Hope, Texas!

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Preview

Copyright

Cowboy Jake Spencer’s Surefire

Plan For Staying Single:

1) Avoid all women who want babies! This pretty much includes every female in New Hope, Texas.

2) Don’t allow yourself to be turned by a pretty face and a pair of tight jeans, especially if the long-legged beauty is one baby-wanting Miss Priscilla Barrington.

3) No matter how desperate her situation may seem, don’t invite the lady to stay at your ranch. She’ll just try to win you over by cooking dinner and ironing your socks.

4) Whatever happens, don’t believe for a minute that she’s really going to visit the sperm bank. It’s your baby she wants—and it’s your hand in marriage she’ll take!

Dear Reader,

Cowboys and cops…sexy men with a swagger…just the kind of guys to make your head turn. That’s what we’ve got for you this month in Silhouette Desire.

The romance begins when Taggart Jones meets his match in Anne McAllister’s wonderful MAN OF THE MONTH, The Cowboy and the Kid. This is the latest in her captivating CODE OF THE WEST miniseries. And the fun continues with Mitch Harper in A Gift for Baby, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series.

Cindy Gerard has created a dynamic hero in the very masculine form of J. D. Hazzard in The Bride Wore Blue, book #1 in the NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series. And if rugged rascals are your favorite, don’t miss Jake Spencer in Dixie Browning’s The Baby Notion, which is book #1 of DADDY KNOWS LAST, Silhouette’s new cross-line continuity. (Next month, look for Helen R. Myers’s Baby in a Basket as DADDY KNOWS LAST continues in Silhouette Romance!)

Gavin Cantrell is sure to weaken your knees in Gavin’s Child by Caroline Cross, part of the delightful BACHELORS AND BABIES promotion. And Jackie Merritt—along with hero Duke Sheridan—kicks off her MADE IN MONTANA series with Montana Fever.

Heroes to fall in love with—and love scenes that will make your toes curl. That’s what Silhouette Desire is all about. Until next month—enjoy!

All the best,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Baby Notion

Dixie Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for Curtiss Ann Matlock,

my cowboy connection.

DIXIE BROWNING

has written over fifty books for Silhouette since 1980. She is a charter member of the Romance Writers of America and an award-winning author who has toured extensively for Silhouette Books. She also writes historical romances with her sister under the name Bronwyn Williams.

Meet The Soon-To-Be Moms

of New Hope, Texas!

“I’ll do anything to have a baby—even if it meansgoing to the sperm bank. Unless sexy cowboyJake Spencer is willing to be a daddy…the natural way.”—Priscilla Barrington, hopeful mom-to-be.

THE BABY NOTIONby Dixie Browning (Desire 7/96)

“I’m more than willing to help Mitch McCord take care

of the baby he found on his doorstep. After all, I’ve been

in love with that confirmed bachelor for years.”

—Jenny Stevens, maternal girl-next-door.

BABY IN A BASKETby Helen R. Myers (Romance 8/96)

“My soon-to-be ex-husband and I are soon-to-be

parents! Can our new arrivals also bless us with a

second chance at marriage?”

—Valerie Kincaid, married new mom.

MARRIED…WITH TWINS!by Jennifer Mikels (Special Edition 9/96)

“I have vowed to be married by the time I turn thirty.

But the only man that interests me is single dad

Travis Donovan—and he doesn’t know I’m alive…yet!”

—Wendy Wilcox.biological-clock-counting bachelorette.

HOW TO HOOK A HUSBAND (AND A BABY)by Carolyn Zane (Yours Truly 10/96)

“Everybody wants me to name the father of my baby.

But I can’t tell anyone—even the expectant daddy!”

—Faith Harper, prim, proper—and very pregnant.

DISCOVERED: DADDYby Marilyn Pappano (Intimate Moments 11/96)

One

Jake stepped out of the barbershop feeling naked after his long overdue haircut. Pausing on the dusty sidewalk, he pulled a list from his shirt pocket, squinted down at it and then checked off one more item. That made…let’s see, florist? Check. Shady Grove Cemetery? Check. Bank? Yep. Barber? Yep. Which left the hardware store, the grocery store and—

“Hey there, Jake.”

He glanced up and smiled. “Hey there, Trilla Dean.”

“You going to the dance Sunday night?”

“Honey, you know me and dancing. I’d cripple half the women in New Hope if I was to show up at a dance.”

“You’re not all that bad.”

“I’m worse, and we both know it.”

She giggled. “I’ll save you a dance, anyway, just in case you decide to come.”

“You do that.” Jake grinned and shook his head. Trilla Dean Moyers was his age. She’d put on about fifty pounds since they used to make out in the back of his truck, but with her big blue eyes and her slow, sweet smile, she didn’t look a day over twenty.

Jake took out another list—Pete’s grocery list, this time. Squinting some more, he muttered, “Two dove’s eyes,” and translated it to two dozen eggs. He didn’t know which was worse—Pete’s writing, or his own reading. Jake figured either his eyes were going or his arms had gotten shorter.

“Hey, Jakey.”

He glanced up again and grinned at the frayed-looking redhead with two kids hanging on to her skirttails. Poor Connie. She was pregnant again. “Hey, Connie. How’s Mick?”

“He’s doin’ better, but he’s still real tore up about the Harley. I guess you heard it was totaled. Come see us sometime, y’hear?”

“I’ll do that,” Jake said, and meant it. Connie was another of his old classmates. They’d had a thing or two going way back in junior high school.

Jake was just about to shove the two lists back in his pocket and head over to the hardware store to see if the truck was loaded when he saw a peach-colored Cadillac convertible slide into a parking space across the street. Leaning his back against the sun-warmed brick wall, he lingered to watch the driver open the door, swing both legs out and follow them with a body that was designed to raise the noonday temperature about ten degrees.

The haystack blonde. He’d been hoping for a glimpse of her before he headed back out to the ranch. When she leaned inside the car to retrieve her purse, Jake lifted his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Somebody ought to tell her, he mused, that women built the way she was built weren’t cut out to wear tight jeans. Especially not when they were also wearing pink plastic sandals with fourinch heels.

Fortunately, no one ever had.

Jake flexed his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of heat on aching muscles. He didn’t particularly like towns. He especially didn’t like the town of New Hope, Texas. But then, he’d never been one to cut off his nose to spite his face, and catching a glimpse of his favorite fantasy always made the trip worthwhile. One of these days he was going to screw up his nerve and—

Whoa. She was fixing to go into that shop across the street.

Well, hell, as long as he was in the neighborhood…

Shrugging away from the hot brick wall, Jake rammed his lists into his pocket, carefully resettled his Stetson, and sauntered across the street, never once taking his eyes off that sweetly rounded backside.

Jake had been known to forget a name. He might even forget a face. Hell, he’d even been known to forget his own when he’d been on one of his infrequent benders. One thing he never forgot, however, was a well-turned rear end, on either a horse or a woman. He’d been seeing this particular example around town for too long now without ever getting a close look at her face.

Or maybe he just wasn’t a face man.

The first time he recalled seeing her had been the day they’d auctioned off that godawful palace of old man Barringer’s, along with everything in it, right down to the last solid-gold toothpick holder. Folks had come from five states to pick over the leavings.

Normally Jake wouldn’t have been caught dead at a gig like that, but the old man had had a mare that Jake had wanted right bad, so he’d figured he may as well give it a shot.

And there she’d been, standing off to one side with her arms crossed and her nose in the air, like she was too good for the rest of the vultures flocking around to pick over the old bastard’s carcass.

He’d got the mare, but by the time he’d wound up the paperwork, the woman had been gone. Since then he’d seen her half a dozen times, always from a distance. Sometimes she’d be walking, but mostly she’d be wheeling by in that flashy vintage Cadillac convertible. He figured she’d bought it off H. T. Barrington’s estate. He’d heard the old man collected the things.

Jake didn’t begrudge her the car. Right this minute he wouldn’t have begrudged her every horse on his spread, and they weren’t even his.

But he’d rather watch her walk than drive any day, because she had the kind of walk that would rattle every seismograph west of the Mississippi.

Jake had always liked his women a little on the wild side, slightly tacky, and strictly temporary. He figured this one might just qualify on the first two counts, what with the hair, the makeup, the tight jeans and half ton of clanking silver jewelry.

As for temporary, that could mean anything from twenty minutes to a year. Hell, even his marriage hadn’t lasted a year—although the effects had lasted considerably longer.

She was talking to the store owner when he let himself inside the shop. A bell jingled softly, announcing his entrance. The sign over the door said Baby Boutique. Racks and stacks of pastel junk cluttered the place, making him feel like a bull in a china shop.

On the other hand, the sun outside was hot enough to blister paint, and the air conditioner in the china shop was going full-blast, so this bull figured he could just about handle the stress.

Feeling distinctly out of his element, Jake stepped into one of several small alcoves, this one cluttered with baby carriages and strings of plastic junk dangling from the ceiling. From where he stood, he could see the blonde’s backside and the frontside of old man Harper’s daughter, Faith, who owned the place. He’d met Faith once or twice—she seemed like a nice girl.

Not that Jake was interested in nice girls.

The two women were deep in conversation and Jake didn’t want to barge in right off without getting a feel for the situation, so he waited for an opening. He didn’t feel quite right about hanging around a female-type store, but one thing he’d learned from his rodeo days—timing was all-important.

Another thing he’d learned was that his wasn’t all that great.

“…last year, or was it the year before when you spread all that money all over Shacktown?” Faith was asking as Jake quietly listened in. He thought about strolling casually over to the counter and entering into the conversation. All he needed was an opening. He could take it from there.

“How did you know about that? That was supposed to be a secret!” the blonde exclaimed.

“Honey, it was all over town before the bank even closed that day. They said you sent old Joe Sakett down to Shacktown and had him put envelopes full of money in every single mailbox.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Faith, they weren’t full of money. That was the year I turned twenty-seven, and I couldn’t very well just hand out twenty-seven dollars to every family—I mean, that’s such a piddly bunch of money. Why, I spend more than that on a pedicure.”

Pretty nice hoof-dressing, Jake mused.

“So what did you do, put in twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents? Oh, only you.”

The blonde shrugged. She had great shoulders. Funny thing—Jake had never even noticed her shoulders before.

“I added a zero, okay? Now, can we forget that so I can tell you about—”

“Oh, my God, Priss, you didn’t. Two hundred and seventy dollars in every single mailbox in Shacktown? And by the way—putting things in people’s mailboxes—isn’t that a federal offense?”

“How do I know? Anyhow, nobody complained.”

Priss. Her name was Priss. Funny—she didn’t look like a Priss. She looked more like a Dolly or a Wynona.

“But, Faith, what I wanted to tell you was—oh, by the way, I need a dozen teddy bears and some of those dangly things that hang over a crib. It’s for my birthday celebration. And I’m not putting them in any mailboxes, so you don’t have to look at me like that.”

A dozen teddy bears?

So she was celebrating a birthday. Jake could think of several ways he’d like to help her celebrate, none of which involved teddy bears.

“Anyhow,” she continued, “I’m not sure they’ll let me put up those crib toys. They have so many gadgets and things hooked up to cribs in the hospital.”

Hospital?

Faith planted her hands on her hips. She was wearing one of those short and loose-flowing dresses. It took Jake a few minutes to realize Faith Harper was one quite pregnant nice girl. “Priss,” Faith said, “your papa endowed the entire west wing. If anyone can talk them into it, you can.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve never been much good at throwing my weight around.”

Jake sincerely begged to differ. If she got any better at it, they might both find themselves in serious trouble.

Jake cleared his throat, wanting to make his presence known but at the same time feeling like a creep for even being there. Before he could cut and run, the Harper woman spotted him, put on her professional smile and started across the room.

Jake grabbed a book off a rack, held it at arm’s length and pretended to read.

“Mr. Spencer, do you need any help?”

“Who, me? Oh, um…no, thanks. Just looking. That is, one of my hands is having a baby, and—that is, his woman’s having it, but—” He shrugged, giving her his best Hey, I’m only a man, I can’t help being stupid smile and began to edge toward the door. On the way he knocked over a display of stuffed rabbits, caught three before they hit the floor and with shaking hands, began restacking the lot. The Harper woman turned back toward the counter at the back of the store, calling over her shoulder, “You just let me know when you decide, okay?”

“Yes’m, I surely will.”

Jake was halfway to the door, his face on fire, when he heard the haystack blonde whisper loudly, “Who in the world is that?”

“Who, Jake? Goodness, I thought every woman in Collins County knew Jake Spencer.”

So did I, Jake thought, a bit surprised. There’d been a time when he’d been downright notorious. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been living in Shacktown with his mama, working odd jobs, hustling pool and getting into trouble with the truancy officer. He’d been way ahead of Faith, and obviously the blonde, in school, but that didn’t mean even they hadn’t heard all the rumors about the boy who’d been every high school girl’s secret dream lover and every parents’ worst nightmare. If the blonde didn’t remember him, she must not be a local. Either that, or she’d been off hiding under a rock when his mama died and he left town to follow the rodeo circuit—much to the pleasure of all those parents. He had ended up marrying, but the little woman had taken him for every cent he’d had and then left him laid up in a hospital in Tulsa with both legs in a cast. Guess there’s no way she’d know about that, though, Jake told himself.

Jake had just about made it to the door when he made the mistake of taking one last look at the blonde. She was lifting stuffed toys down off a shelf. The first time he’d ever heard the phrase “poetry in motion” he’d thought it meant a well-trained quarter horse.

Now he knew better. She was wearing a high-necked, pink knit top that hugged her breasts and fit snugly over her body, all the way down to her concho belt. Dammit, why couldn’t he just march right up there and ask her out? What the devil—she might even say yes.

It occurred to him that if he’d put in a special order, she couldn’t have fit his specifications any better. A little bit wild, slightly on the tacky side, and so damned delectable he was having trouble keeping his enthusiasm down.

Right then and there Jake made up his mind that one way or another, before the summer was out, he was going to get her out of those tight jeans and into his bed. What’s more, being the generous guy that he was, he’d make sure she enjoyed every minute of it just as much as he did. It wasn’t like he wanted to marry her, or anything like that. God forbid!

“So anyhow,” she was saying in an uppercrust Texas drawl that kind of set Jake’s teeth on edge, but nowhere near enough to turn him off, “I decided that what I wanted for my birthday this year is a baby.”

A baby! She was talking right out here in public about having a baby? Jake thought, What am I, invisible or something?

Faith opened her mouth to speak, but Priss beat her to the draw. “Oh, I know what you’re going to say—it takes nine months, but, Faith, just think—your baby is due in November, and if I hurry, I could have mine by next April. Our babies can grow up together. Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

“Priss, have you…who—”

“Nobody, silly, and no, I haven’t, but I’ve been thinking about going down to the sperm bank.”

With one hand on the doorknob, Jake turned back to stare. The what bank?

“Pricilla Joan, you wouldn’t!”

Her name was Jones. Pricilla Jones. Jake decided it went with the accent.

“What in the world would you go there for?” Faith Harper demanded.

Which was exactly what Jake was wondering. He knew about New Hope’s sperm bank. The day he’d first heard about it nearly five years ago—heard who had donated it to the town for the good of New Hope’s future generations—he’d gone on a bender that had lasted nearly a week.

“…all alone in that big old apartment out on Willow Creek,” the blonde was saying. “So I thought, why not? Everybody in town seems to be getting pregnant—mercy, I’ve never seen so many hatching jackets in my life. So I thought, why not me? Why can’t I have a baby, too, if I want one?”

Faith took Pricilla Jones by the arm with more force than Jake would have credited her with possessing, and led the blonde over to a white wicker settee. “Sit! Now, you listen to me, Prissy. Don’t you dare go and do something stupid just because Eddie ran off and married Grace Hudgins.”

Priss-Prissy-Pricilla shrugged again. It occurred to Jake, who was becoming almost as fascinated with the woman’s mind as he was with her body, that she could’ve given lessons in body motion to a belly dancer. “Oh, him. I didn’t like him all that much anyway.”

Jake thought Faith’s expression looked sort of dubious and sympathetic all at the same time, which made him wonder who this Eddie guy was.

Whoever he was, he was evidently out of the picture now.

With studied casualness, Jake turned to examine a display of miniature quilts near the door. From there he had a perfect view of the blonde’s profile. Go ahead, you jerk—make the lady’s acquaintance and ask her out!

She had a high forehead under that heap of streaky blond hair that reminded him so much of the haystack he’d like to lay her down in. Her big brown eyes were set off with a thicket of lashes that looked too dark for a natural blonde, but what the hell? Her nose was a little on the short side, and even from here he could see a few freckles, but it was a real nice nose, and Jake had never even thought much about noses.

As for the rest of her…

His gaze followed the hilly route south. He hitched up his jeans, which seemed to have suddenly shrunk a couple of sizes.

It struck him that he was behaving more like a fifteenyear-old kid high on hormones than a thirty-five-year-old horse broker who ought to know better.

“I made the mistake of stopping by this morning to pick up some literature, but I forgot that Miss Agnes works there on Thursdays. Honestly, Faith, that woman has a tongue like you wouldn’t believe. She looks so sweet, with her purple hair and her lace-collared dresses, but do you know what she said to me? She told me right to my face that I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.”

Jake knew breeding stock. With those hips, the lady was cut out, all right, although doing the job with a turkey baster was a crime against nature, if you asked him.

Which nobody had, he admitted wryly, giving his jeans another twitch.

“Pnss, you must have misunderstood her. Miss Agnes means well, she just—”

“I did not! My ears are working just fine. Her exact words were that I’d do better to order me one of those great big fancy dolls from that fancy toy store because then, when I got tired of it, I could just give it away. Have you ever?”

Faith glanced his way again, and Jake, his face reddening under a perennial weathered tan, pretended an intense interest in a handkerchief-size quilt covered in calico butterflies. He couldn’t have left now if the store was on fire.

Barely missing a beat, the two women picked up where they’d left off. “Oh, Priss, you know Miss Agnes. Her bark’s a lot worse than her bite.”

“It is not, either. Anyhow, I told her right flat-out that it was my money and my decision, and what’s more, it’s my birthday, and if I decide to have myself a baby, no busybody, who only works at the sperm bank so she’ll have a basketful of gossip to spread all over town, is going to keep me from it.”

“Priss, you didn’t!”

“Well, I didn’t actually tell her that last part, but I wanted to.”

“I have to admit, Miss Agnes is right about one thing,” said Faith softly. “Having a child without a husband is no laughing matter. I should know.”

Suddenly some of the fun seemed to go out of the chase. Jake had a few memories of his own along those lines. The day he’d heard about that damned sperm bank, he’d decided that Tex Baker, the rich son-of-a-bitch who’d founded it, had to be the world’s biggest hypocrite.

“Oh, I know that,” said Priss, and the accent that had irritated Jake before didn’t seem quite so irritating. “Look, I know you probably didn’t go to the sperm bank, Faith—at least, that’s what everybody’s saying.”

Faith made a strangled sound in her throat. Honey, you’ve got all the tact of a cactus, Jake thought, amused, while Priss blundered on. “But if you ever want to tell somebody who the father is, you know I won’t tell a soul, because I never gossip.” Jake rolled his eyes. “And if you need some help in the shop when your time comes, you know you can count on me.”