Prince Charming in Dress Blues

“Congratulations, Annie, It’s A Girl!”

She looked at John, and he held her baby up like a prize won at a county fair.

“She’s gorgeous,” he said. “Just like her mother.”

“A girl,” Annie crooned. She’d given birth, and now she’d never be alone again. She had a family. A daughter.

It all felt so wonderful. So…right. Yesterday she hadn’t even known this man existed. And now…oh, she couldn’t imagine not knowing him.

“You’re amazing,” he said, and she saw admiration and wonder in his eyes. “She’s amazing.”

Annie reached up and caught his hand with hers and said quietly, “Thank you.” She wanted to tell him so much. To let him know what it had meant to her that he was there. “Thank you.”

He shook his head, bent down, kissed her forehead, then kissed the baby. Smiling at Annie, he said, “Annie, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Thank you for letting me witness a miracle.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

The always fabulous Elizabeth Bevarly offers you May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, so get ready for The Temptation of Rory Monahan. Enjoy reading about a gorgeous professor who falls for a librarian busy reading up on how to catch a man!

The tantalizing Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS concludes with Tycoon Warrior by Sheri WhiteFeather. A Native American ex-military man reunites with his estranged wife on a secret mission that renews their love.

Popular Peggy Moreland returns to Desire with a romance about a plain-Jane secretary who is in love with her Millionaire Boss. The hero-focused miniseries BACHELOR BATTALION by Maureen Child continues with Prince Charming in Dress Blues, who’s snowbound in a cabin with an unmarried woman about to give birth! Baby at His Door by Katherine Garbera features a small-town sheriff, a beautiful stranger and the bundle of love who unites them. And Sara Orwig writes a lovely tale about a couple entering a marriage of convenience in Cowboy’s Secret Child.

This month, Silhouette is proud to announce we’ve joined the national campaign “Get Caught Reading” in order to promote reading in the United States. So set a good example, and get caught reading all six of these exhilarating Desire titles!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Prince Charming in Dress Blues

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAUREEN CHILD

was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.

An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names of Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.

To My Own Prince Charming, my husband Mark.

Thanks for nearly thirty wonderful years.

I love you more today than I did in ’71.

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

Epilogue

One

“Okay,” Annie Foster said aloud, “maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

The wind snatched her words and threw them off into the surrounding forest. Snow flurries fluttered in that same wind and pelted her face with icy fingers. She blinked and tipped her head back to look at the sky. But there were no stars. Just a wide canvas of black from which more and more snow was falling.

A curl of anxiety unwound in the pit of her stomach and, as if in reaction, the baby in her womb gave her a hard kick.

“Hey,” she said, stopping long enough to pat her tummy. “I’m on your side, remember?”

A gust of frigid air shot past her, shoving her toward the cabin, and Annie stumbled along with it, trying to keep her footing. All she’d need would be to fall in the snow. With her center of gravity so far off, she’d lie there like an overturned turtle, unable to right herself. Come springtime, some unsuspecting hiker would find her frozen body and she’d make headlines. Hugely Pregnant Woman Fell and Couldn’t Get Up.

She laughed shortly at the thought, then continued on toward the cabin. All she could think about now was the warmth inside. Escape from the cold wind and the snow flurries that had been getting steadily thicker for the past hour. Who would have guessed that it would snow so hard in southern California? Well, all right, the mountains of southern California. But still. Who worries about snowstorms in a state where a sweatshirt is considered a winter coat?

At the foot of the steps leading to the porch she stopped and cocked her head, listening. A steady, rhythmic pounding carried just under the howl of the wind. Like the heartbeat of some giant snow monster, it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. It surrounded her, and Annie turned in a slow circle, letting her gaze sweep the edge of the treeline, searching. But there was nothing. Just the swirling snow and the shadowy forest beyond.

She shivered and hunched deeper into her down jacket as she grabbed hold of the banister with one hand and her suitcase with the other. A twinge of discomfort rippled along her back as she climbed the steps slowly, and she hardly winced. After all, she’d been pregnant for eight months now. She was an old hand at this. Used to the occasional spasm or stitch in her side. The infrequent jolt of pain that shot down from her hips all the way to the soles of her feet.

“Pregnancy’s not for sissies,” she muttered.

Plus, the baby seemed so much bigger in the last few days. Her belly had taken on a life of its own. Heck, it felt as if she was lugging around a small planet. Annie paused halfway up the stairs to take a breath and arch her back, stretching out whatever muscle was kinking. Then, before she could chicken out and just set up camp on the steps, she plodded on, unconsciously keeping time with the eerie pounding still reverberating in the air.

She crossed the porch, opened the door and stepped into a welcoming warmth that almost had her weeping with pleasure.

“Thanks, Lisa,” she said in a whispered prayer of gratitude to the friend who had loaned her the cabin for the weekend. Lisa must have called someone and had them turn on the heat so the place would be warm for Annie’s arrival. “A true friend,” she said as she trudged across the room, still carrying her suitcase.

She could have dropped it in the living room, but Annie was a firm believer in “a place for everything and everything in its place.” Besides, she’d only have to move it again later. Might as well get it over with.

When she was halfway down the hall, that twinge in her back came again, only this time it was just a bit stronger. Annie winced, stretched and as she stepped into the bedroom, glanced longingly at the quilt covered king-size bed. A veritable ocean of mattress called to her, silently offering a comfy spot for a nap. Dozens of plump pillows in varied shapes and colors were strewn against the headboard, and suddenly all Annie could think of was sinking down into them.

She’d wanted this weekend to be a quiet time. Two days all to herself. To think. To work. To mentally prepare for the coming birth.

Every muscle in her body screamed with fatigue. She’d spent the past six months working herself into a frenzy, trying to prepare for her coming baby. Trying to get ready to be a single mom. Trying to, she told herself tiredly, put the baby’s father behind her and think of him only as a kindly sperm donor.

For that’s all he really was, anyway. Mike Sinclair. A man of a million promises and a million and a half excuses for breaking them. But she hadn’t seen him for what he was. She’d had stars in her eyes that had blinded her to reality. She’d thought he was The One. The love of her life. The man she would marry. So she’d turned in her membership card to Virgins Anonymous and slept with him. A few weeks later she’d discovered she was pregnant. When she told Mike…she’d discovered just how fast a human male could really run.

“So he was a mistake,” she said, pushing thoughts of the handsome charmer out of her mind as she talked to the mound that was her baby. “At least he gave me you,” she said, “and for that I’ll always be grateful.

“However,” she continued with a sigh, “you do make Mommy tired.” Annie set her suitcase down beside the old, hand-carved mahogany dresser, then moved to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she clumsily leaned forward and tried to take her shoes off. She managed the right one but gave up on the left. Leaning back, she lifted her feet onto the bed and promised herself she’d wash Lisa’s quilt before leaving. Then she eased into those pillows, closed her eyes and drifted off, despite the nagging pain in her back. Twenty-seven years old and she felt like ninety.

Gunnery Sergeant John Paretti swung the ax high and brought it down with a thud into the log standing upright on an old tree stump. The ax blade bit deeply into the wood, and he pried the two halves apart with gloved hands. Then he split the halves again and again, before gathering up the kindling and tossing it onto the pile he’d already chopped.

By the look of the coming storm, he was going to need all the firewood he could get his hands on. Tipping his head back, he stared up into the wash of white that was now blanketing the sky and the surrounding trees. It had blown up fast, this storm. Rushing across the mountaintop on a freight train of frigid air that stole his breath then turned it into fog in front of his face.

He should have known better, he told himself in disgust as he reached for another log and set it into place on the stump. Should have gone to a beach house to do his thinking. Somewhere down the mountain the February sun was shining, and tourists and locals alike were strolling along the beach walk wearing shorts and sandals. Instead he was dressed like Nanook of the North and frantically chopping firewood to stave off a surprise blizzard.

“Only in California,” he muttered and slammed the ax down again.

He’d been working on the woodpile for the last hour, though to be fair, he probably wouldn’t need all of the extra wood. First Sergeant Pete Jackson had promised him when he’d loaned John the cabin that there was a pyramid of firewood ready and waiting. And there was. But between the coming storm and John’s own need to work off some of the frustration nearly choking him, he’d decided to chop more.

It was the most recent phone call from his father that had sent him looking for a retreat. As he splintered the wood with sure, strong strokes, he replayed that conversation in his mind.

“Your brothers are married,” Dominick Paretti said flatly. “They’re settled. They’re not going to be leaving the Corps, so it’s up to you.”

John shook his head and tightened his grip on the receiver. They’d been through this dozens of times. Ever since the old man had resigned from the Corps to start up a small business that had grown into Paretti Computer Corporation, he’d been after his sons to join him. But unlike the old man, his sons were Marines to the bone. And not one of them wanted to give up the Corps to ride a desk and attend board—or as they thought of them, bored—meetings.

“Dad,” John started, but his father interrupted him quickly.

“Look, John, I’m not getting any younger, you know?” The old man’s voice roughened up like sandpaper across a stone. “I want my family to run this business. It’s Paretti Computers and a Paretti should be in charge when I die.”

“You’re not gonna die tomorrow, Dad, and—”

“Think about it,” his father said, cutting off a possible refusal. “That’s all I ask.”

But, John thought now as he gathered up the firewood and carried it to the porch that ran along the back of the cabin, that wasn’t all his dad asked. It never was. He wanted at least one of his three sons to leave the Marines and take over the family business. And he wasn’t above using guilt to get his way. The old man, despite his words to the contrary, would go on forever. This had nothing to do with his age or infirm health—the man was healthy as two mules and just as stubborn—this came down to one thing.

Family Comes First.

The Paretti family motto. He and his brothers had been raised to believe that nothing was more important than family. And now Dominick Paretti was counting on his youngest son to live up to what he’d been taught.

Which was why John had borrowed the cabin from Pete for the weekend. He’d needed a place to think. Some quiet time to himself to decide which direction his life should take. Did he go with his heart and stay with the Corps? Or did he go with his head and be the son his father needed?

Wind shrieked across the clearing and shoved him into the log wall behind him. Ducking his head to avoid most of the flying snow, John stared out at the still-whitening world and wondered how the weathermen had missed predicting this storm. He’d been in blizzards before and he recognized the signs. In the last hour, enough snow had fallen to block the driveway and probably the road down the mountain, as well. And it was only going to get worse. Trees bent nearly in half as they surrendered to the wind. Windowpanes rattled behind him, and the lamplight flickered uncertainly. Power lines would be going down next, he told himself and grabbed up an armful of wood before turning for the door.

He stomped into the mudroom, shaking most of the snow off his boots before entering the tiny room off the kitchen. Then, walking straight through the cabin to the living room, he went down on one knee and dropped the load of wood onto the river stone hearth.

“Who’s there?” A distinctly female voice called out.

John swiveled on the ball of his foot and shot a glance at the darkened hall and the bedroom beyond. Who the heck? He stood up and crossed the room, tugging at the zipper of his jacket as he went. The heater in the small cabin was still on high, and he felt as if he’d parachuted out of the North Pole into the mouth of hell.

“Who is it?” she yelled again, and this time he heard a thread of panic in her voice.

Well, she had a right to be worried. Setting up camp in someone else’s cabin. What? Did she think he was running a motel?

Of course, a cynical voice within warned, it could be a trap. Some woman sounding scared to lure him in so her boyfriend could beat him to a pulp and rob him. As that thought settled in, he told himself he’d watched too many movies. Still, it paid to be careful.

Stalking down the short hall, he stopped outside the open bedroom door and carefully poked his head around the corner. He had just enough time to duck as one of the bedside lamps sailed across the room at him.

“Hey!” he shouted above the crash of breaking glass as it hit the wall.

“Stay back!” she ordered. “I have a gun!”

“Then why’d you throw a lamp?”

“I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

Real comforting, he thought, with a glance at the shards of broken glass on the floor behind him. Keeping his voice low, calm, he said, “Lady, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’d better go now.”

“I should go?” she echoed, astonishment evident in her tone. “You’re the intruder here and—”

Her voice broke off on a gasp and John risked sticking his head back into the danger zone to see what the trouble was. One look was all it took.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered grimly.

Two

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“I was,” she said, then winced. Stupid. She never should have told him that. Should have said her big, burly, football-playing husband and eight of his biggest friends were in the next room. Too late now.

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

“You’re a genius,” she muttered, and reached toward the table. Keeping one eye on him, she fumbled for something else to throw at him.

She’d come out of a fretful sleep to the sounds of someone crashing around in the living room. Fear had shot through her but was quickly swamped by an almost overpowering sense of protectiveness. She would defend herself—and her baby—with everything she had. Even if that was only—she spared a glance at her arsenal—a paperback novel, a pad of paper and a cordless phone.

Oh, God.

Pitiful.

Annie snatched up the phone, reared her arm back to throw it and stopped when he held up both hands, palms out, toward her.

“Cease fire,” he told her.

“Why should I?”

“Because you might hit me.”

“That’s the point.” Really, she’d never expected a burglar to be so chatty. Or so handsome. She mentally erased that thought. His looks had nothing to do with his personality. Weren’t there mobsters once known as Pretty Boy Floyd and Baby Face Nelson?

“Look, lady,” he said, slowly dropping his arms.

She lifted the phone higher, and his arms shot right back up.

“Okay, okay.” He shook his head. “Relax, all right? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“If you were going to hurt me, would you admit it?” she asked.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t change the truth.”

She hoped he was telling the truth, because frankly, she just couldn’t see herself holding him off much longer. The pains in her back were quickening, and she was fast running out of ammunition, anyway. But how to know whether to trust him or not? How could she be sure that he wouldn’t hurt her and her baby?

His eyes, she thought, studying those pale-blue depths that held neither threat nor shadows. She’d always prided herself on being a good judge of character. And those were good eyes. Not necessarily kind, but definitely good.

But even as she thought about lowering her weapon, she reminded herself that she’d once looked into Mike Sinclair’s eyes and hadn’t seen him for the rat he was.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he was saying, “but the guy who owns this place is a friend of mine and—”

Aha! she thought, ignoring the flash of pain down low in her back. Now she had him. “What’s his name?” she asked, her gaze narrowing in suspicion.

“Whose name?”

“The owner.” Annie scooted back farther against the headboard, knocking a tumble of pillows to the floor. “You see, I happen to know the owner, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Slowly, carefully, John lowered his hands to his sides, and when she didn’t threaten him, he drew a deep breath. Tilting his head to one side, he looked at her and asked, “And how do I know that? If I tell you his name, you’ll just say you knew it, anyway.”

“Unless you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” he said, and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.

A Boy Scout intruder. Though he looked incredibly relaxed and calm for a burglar. And that fact irritated Annie more than she could say. Frowning, she said, “Fine. We’ll each say the owner’s name at the same time.”

A short laugh shot from his throat. “What is this? Second grade?”

She ignored that. “On the count of three. One…two…three.”

“Peter.”

“Lisa.”

They stared at each other. As the reality of what must have happened sunk in, Annie asked, “Peter loaned you the cabin?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “And Lisa did the same for you?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Another, sharper pain poked at her spine, and Annie winced as she sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Shooting him a long look, she said, “Well, Peter obviously made a mistake, and you should go.”

“I was here first.”

“Now who’s in second grade?” she demanded.

“Lady…”

“And stop calling me lady in that tone.”

“What tone?”

One blond eyebrow lifted into a high arch. “That tone that says, ‘calm down crazy person.’”

He frowned and straightened away from the door. “That’s not what I meant.”

She winced as another ripple of pain unwound inside her, this time rolling from the base of her spine all the way around her immense belly and back again. Not now, she silently pleaded with the baby. For pity’s sake, give Mommy a break.

John took half a step forward and stopped dead. She still didn’t trust him, he knew, so she wouldn’t want him offering to catch her when she fainted.

And she was going to faint, he thought. Or worse. His mouth dried up and his throat tightened. He’d watched a wave of pain overtake her. Could actually see it grabbing her, tensing her body. Her small, oval-shaped face went so white her pale-blond eyebrows actually stood out in sharp relief against their colorless background.

His gaze dropped briefly to her swollen belly, and John frantically wished himself into the middle of a firefight somewhere. Hell, he’d take flying bullets, exploding mortars and hand grenades anyday…anything had to be better than being stuck in a tiny cabin with a woman about to go into labor.

Just thinking the word labor sent his stomach on a sharp plunge to his feet. At last he understood the expression a sinking feeling. It was kind of like stepping unknowingly into the La Brea Tar Pits. Every move you made only sucked you in deeper. There was no escape. Just the inevitable. The only question was, how long would it take you to go down?

“Are you all right?” he asked, hoping to God she’d say, Sure. Just a little toothache.

“Do I look all right?” she asked, lifting her head long enough to slide him a glare that should have toasted him on the spot.

“Actually,” he said, with an inward sigh, “no.”

Her lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Gee, thanks.”

Then she groaned and clapped one hand to her middle.

All the air left John’s lungs.

“C’mon, sweetie,” she murmured, smoothing one hand up and down over her stomach, “not now, okay?”

“It’s labor, isn’t it?” he asked when he’d managed to suck more air into his body.

She laughed shortly. “Well, I’ve never done this before, so I can’t be sure, but yeah. That’s my guess. I’ve been having a backache all day but the pain seems to be coming every few minutes now.”

“Swell.”

The little blonde shot him a bland look. “Gee, I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”

Shame swamped him. Here he was thinking about himself, when this woman was about to make a new human being. Well, hell, you couldn’t blame a guy, could you? He’d come to this cabin for a little peace and quiet. Not to be the first Marine midwife in history.

“I think you should take me to the closest hospital,” she said, scooting carefully off the bed.

If only he could. “There’s a problem.”

“Problem?” she echoed as she tried to slip her right foot back into a sadly misshapen loafer.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he said and watched realization dawn on her face with each of his words. Damn, it cost him to break this to her, but better she know straight-out that he was as close to a doctor as she’d be seeing tonight. God help her.