A Baby on the Way Read online

  “What are you doing here?”

  Casey motioned Nathan to keep up, and continued talking. “I tried the house and your cell phone, but when you didn’t answer I figured you were at the office.”

  “That’s where I should be, but something’s come up and we need to discuss it face-to-face.”

  Casey stopped abruptly. “What?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until you’re out of those muddy clothes.”

  She made a face, but didn’t argue. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” She started for the barn, but came back. “I don’t suppose you brought clothes? I can’t put these on again.”

  “I did pack a bag. Just in case…” He let the words trail off. He’d come with no real purpose other than breaking the news that Gwyneth was in town and that his company was on the opposite side of her father’s legal battle. But Nathan had also hoped they might spend some quality time together. Now that idea seemed not only advantageous but imperative.

  He’d been at Willow Creek less than fifteen minutes and he felt like a defendant arriving in court without the slightest hope of clearing his name. Hell, he didn’t even know for certain what the charges against him were. Only that he was probably guilty.

  Dear Reader,

  They say you can’t go home again. I think “they” are wrong. Sometimes the only way to reclaim your dreams is by going back to your roots. This might mean rebuilding a few bridges with the people you left behind, but for some, the effort can lead to amazing insights.

  You probably know people like Casey and Nathan. They fell in love, got married, then got so caught up in the business of life they lost track of each other. The love is still there, but there’s so much junk in the way—turkeys, a best friend’s imminent delivery, a barracuda in stilettos, fairy shrimp and endangered salamanders—that they feel like strangers living in the same house.

  For Casey, moving back to California means dealing with her father—the first man to break her heart. But time and distance have blurred the edges of her hurt, and for the first time in her life, her father needs her. For Nathan, the fresh start on the West Coast means his goals are within reach—if he’s willing to put business over family.

  Researching a book is sometimes a tough job–unless it includes touring San Francisco Bay on a “three-hour” cruise with good friends, good food and good wine. My heartiest thanks to Eric and Roz Johnson of the Point San Pablo Harbor and Marina for the up-close and personal look at the underside of the Golden Gate. You’ll also see mention of the East Brother Light Station B and B in this book. Talk about “escape”—you can reach this gorgeous Victorian only by boat. My thanks to Fred and Colleen Slagter for introducing us to this amazingly romantic retreat. To see photos from these adventures, drop by my Web site at www.debrasalonen.com and check out my blog.

  Happy reading,

  Debra (who is happy to be home again—with Superromance)

  A BABY ON THE WAY

  Debra Salonen

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  As a child, Debra wanted to be an artist. She saved her allowance to send away for a “Learn To Draw” kit, but when her mother mistook Deb’s artful rendition of a horse for a cow, Deb turned to her second love—writing. She credits her success as an author to her parents for giving her the chance to realize those dreams. She and her high school sweetheart, who have been married for over thirty years, live in California surrounded by a great deal of family, quite a few dogs and views that appeal to the artist still trapped in her soul.

  Books by Debra Salonen

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  910—THAT COWBOY’S KIDS

  934—HIS DADDY’S EYES

  986—BACK IN KANSAS

  1003—SOMETHING ABOUT EVE

  1061—WONDERS NEVER CEASE

  1098—MY HUSBAND, MY BABIES

  1104—WITHOUT A PAST

  1110—THE COMEBACK GIRL

  1196—A COWBOY SUMMER

  1238—CALEB’S CHRISTMAS WISH

  1279—HIS REAL FATHER

  SIGNATURE SELECT SAGA

  BETTING ON GRACE

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  1114—ONE DADDY TOO MANY

  1126—BRINGING BABY HOME

  1139—THE QUIET CHILD

  For Fred & Colleen—the coolest friends by far

  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 THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I NEED YOU, Casey T.”

  Casey Kent knew of only one person in the world who called her by that nickname. Her father. A man who’d always gone out of his way to make it abundantly clear he didn’t need anyone. Especially not a daughter, who should have been a son. A son worthy of taking over the Willow Creek ranch.

  Casey took a calming breath and maneuvered her chair closer to her desk. She nudged aside the brief she’d been studying and rested her elbow on the smooth surface. A neat desk was part of her trademark as an organizational wizard. “Hello, Red, what’s up?”

  “We’re under attack,” he answered. His voice was the same gruff bass she’d heard her whole life. But something was different.

  Was that a twang of fear? No, couldn’t be. Roderick James Buchanan or, Red as he was called, wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody. Her Aunt Meg used to say the only person her father feared was Casey’s mother, but since Abigail had died when Casey was six, she had no real memory of her parents’ relationship. She only knew her father. A man she’d worshipped and adored until he’d washed his hands of her.

  “What kind of attack?” she asked to be polite. Her father’s troubles really didn’t concern her. He’d sent her away when she was fifteen. Banished her from the world she knew and loved and shipped her off to Boston to live with her maternal aunt.

  Margaret Dawson-Merryweather had been quick to admit that she wasn’t the motherly type. Smart, savvy and socially ambitious, Meg’s life had revolved around her politician husband, their A-list friends and her charitable foundations. But when Senator Merryweather, who was nearly twenty years Meg’s senior, had passed away after a brief illness, Red had been all too happy to send his daughter back east to fill the empty spot in Meg’s life.

  After a few months of thinking she might die of homesickness, Casey had accepted her fate and grudgingly allowed Meg, who had never been around teenagers in her life, to turn her tomboy niece into a refined woman of the world.

  Did Casey still miss the fifteen-hundred-acre ranch in the Central Valley of California where she’d spent her formative years? On occasion. Like whenever she heard her father’s voice.

  “You’re still running cattle, right?” she asked before he could reply. “It’s not Mad Cow, is it?” As an environmental lawyer working with one of the largest nonprofit land protection consortiums in the country, anything that affected the herd population in California would have repercussions.

  “No, nothing like that,” Red said impatiently. “It’s those goldang turkeys. We’re gonna be overrun with ’em, if you don’t git your behind out here and do something about it.”

  Turkeys? Casey frowned. Was it possible her father’s mind was slipping? This was only April—half a year away from Thanksgiving.

  “You’ve lost me. What
about turkeys?”

  He made a huffing sound that seemed to imply she was the slowest thinker on the planet. A surge of acid in her belly made her reach for the roll of antacids tucked unobtrusively in her paper-clip tray. Rocking back in her chair, she peeled away the wrapper and worked one free. Good for my calcium, she told herself. Another voice worried about the possibility of an ulcer. That practical Boston twang sounded a lot like Meg, who had been gone almost three years now. Casey still missed her.

  “Some big turkey outfit bought the Booth Ranch. Word has it they’re going to build the biggest turkey holding pen in the state right across the road from me. Can you picture the smell?”

  How does one picture smell?

  She shook her head to focus on what he meant. Lately, she’d developed a bad habit of making light of serious subjects—or so her husband claimed. “Is everything a joke with you, Casey?” Nathan had griped last night. “This is our life we’re trying to plan.”

  Ours? Or yours? she’d been tempted to ask. Nathan Kent was on a professional roll. His latest win in court, which had made national news and posted Nathan’s young-Richard-Gere-in-glasses photo all over the place, was well deserved. She could firmly attest to the number of hours he’d logged on his client’s behalf. And the payoff, it appeared, was a golden ticket west.

  Despite the fact Casey had made it abundantly clear from the day they’d started dating that she didn’t want to return to California to live, Nathan had accepted his law firm’s offer to run their San Francisco branch. “It’s the only way I’ll make partner, Casey. We’ll be closer to Oregon and Washington. Didn’t you say you were interested in looking there to live if we left the east coast? And the salary increase means you’ll be able to stay home and nest for as long as you want,” he’d argued. Nathan was a masterful debater.

  Returning to the conversation at hand, she asked, “How do you know this?”

  “How does anybody know anything around here? Someone blabbed. But in this case, it’s not just a rumor. I saw the paperwork myself. They have an application in with the county. Somebody showed me a picture of one of their operations down south. The hatcheries are big enough to be seen from space. They process something like half a million birds per cycle.”

  He said the last as if they were talking nuclear weapon production. “That does sound like a lot of turkeys, but turkeys are a legitimate agricultural product. People have a right to build on land that’s zoned agricultural. Sometimes, that stinks.”

  “That’s the best you can do, Miss Fancypants College Educated Lawyer?” her father shouted. “Ag stinks. Live with it? I don’t think so. I was here first. I just planted a quarter section of nut trees. I’m not going to watch my investment get ruined by the smell created from half a million turkeys. I’ll fight them with my dying breath.”

  His impassioned speech forced Casey to hold the receiver a good six inches away from her ear. When she thought it was safe, she tried again. “I can tell you’re upset about this and I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you expect me to do about it. I’m in the middle of a move. Life is chaotic around here.”

  “You’re headed back to California, aren’t you?”

  An uneasy feeling crept through her bones. “San Francisco. Is that still considered part of the state?”

  “Close enough. And last I heard your husband is going to be the breadwinner while you sit twiddling your thumbs.”

  “I’ve never twiddled in my life,” Casey said indignantly.

  She hadn’t told her father about hers and Nathan’s ongoing efforts to get pregnant. For several reasons. One, she and Red weren’t close, and even if they were she would have held off sharing the news for as long as possible so he wouldn’t worry.

  But after a year and a half of working with a prominent group of fertility specialists, their efforts had been a bust—sperm and eggwise. “You’re both operating under too much tension,” one counselor had suggested.

  Nathan was right. His promotion meant Casey didn’t have to work. Unfortunately, the downside could well offset that small gain. Although closer to his quest of making partner, Nathan’s job came with no guarantees. He’d need to put in long hours—hours that might further impede his sluggish sperm’s swimming abilities.

  Plus, there was the whole question of family. His and hers.

  Nathan’s mother, a widow since shortly before Nathan had graduated from high school, lived in Granite Bay, an affluent suburb of Sacramento. His younger brother, Kirby, was a graduate student at UC-Davis and sister, Christine, was married and lived close by. All three relied on Nathan for free legal advice, monetary support and emotional comfort. Casey shuddered to think how much more dependent his family would become once Nathan was within driving distance.

  Casey had felt rather smug that her father was self-sufficient enough never to ask for advice—legal or otherwise. But that was before the turkeys came to roost.

  When Casey had argued that returning to California meant she and Nathan would be in their family’s respective backyards, her husband had tried to point out the positives. “You and Mother have never been able to build a real relationship, and it’s time you healed the rift between you and Red. They’re going to be our baby’s grandparents, you know.”

  Casey put a hand to her much-too-flat belly as her father complained about her unenthusiastic response to his call to arms. “I tried you first, since you’re my daughter, and this is your heritage we’re talking about. But if that’s the best you can give me, I’ll call your husband instead.”

  Casey sat up sharply. “Don’t do that. Nathan is swamped with last-minute details. His company is throwing him a going-away party tonight and the movers come in the morning. We’re staying at a hotel this weekend then fly out Tuesday.”

  “The planning department hearing isn’t until the twenty-fourth of May. That’ll give you plenty of time to unpack and read up on it. Where should I send the paperwork?”

  To your real lawyer, she almost said, but she knew the joke would be lost on him. Casey was a girl. She might have graduated at the top of her class and passed the bar the first time out, but girls didn’t have the same stuff guys did. Her father was a misogynistic old fool, and she knew better than to let his bias get to her.

  “I doubt if there’s anything Nathan or I can do, but I’ll look it over for you. Fax whatever you have to this number. Mark it to my attention.”

  “Okay. I gotta run. Mother’s giving birth.”

  “Mother?” Casey squawked. “Mother the Pig?”

  “Yup.”

  It took her a few seconds to realize this couldn’t be the same sow she remembered from her youth. “I thought you gave up raising pigs years ago.”

  Red made a snuffling sound that told her she’d called him on a subject he didn’t want to talk about. “Man’s gotta have a hobby, right? I started a breeding program a few years back. Get ’em through the wean-to-feed stage then give ’em to local 4-H and FFA kids to show. I think we’re up to Mother number ten. Jimmy would know for sure. She’s a Yorkshire-Hampshire-Duroc cross. The Hamp makes her a good mother, but I got nine students hoping for a fair project this year, and you know how tricky birthin’ is. I can’t afford to lose a single little weaner.”

  You know how tricky birthing is. Just the kind of reminder a woman who was trying to get pregnant didn’t need to hear. But since her father wasn’t privy to hers and Nathan’s baby-making efforts, she really couldn’t hold the reference against him.

  Her beloved mother had died in her seventh month of pregnancy. A blood clot in her leg had traveled to her lungs and wreaked havoc before Red could get her to a hospital. The family had been in the mountains checking on Red’s small herd of cattle when Abigail had become stricken. A leisurely spring picnic that had turned awful. Both Abigail and the baby boy she’d been carrying died.

  Casey glanced out the window at the buds that were just starting to unfurl on her tree. Mother’s Day was coming up. This year Casey wouldn’t have an
y excuse not to visit the grave where her mother and infant brother were buried.

  Clearing her throat, she forced her mind back to the present. “Okay, then, I’ll let you go. Fax that information when you can and I promise to take a look at it. I’ll give you a call when we get into the new apartment. Good luck with the pigs.”

  She stared at the phone a minute after hanging up. Red was a good man, and he’d tried to be a good father after Casey’s mother had died. He and Casey had been a team. They’d done everything together—the way a father and son would have. Over time, they’d healed from their staggering loss and had gotten on with life, but in the process, Casey had focused all her love on her dad. Which meant, when he sent her away, her heart had broken into too many pieces to ever put back together.

  NATHAN KENT LOOKED at the stack of legal briefs on his desk and sighed wearily. Too much work and not enough time. The story of his life, lately.

  The red hatch marks on his calendar stopped today—his last day in the office—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have to lug at least half of these files home with him tonight. After the party.

  While the movers were filling boxes and carefully wrapping up Casey’s antiques, the majority of which would be headed into storage, Nathan would be down the street at Starbucks e-mailing notes to his secretary and colleagues about what needed to be done next week.

  He didn’t know why he cared. After today, what happened in the Boston office of Silver, Reisbecht and Lane was not his concern. He would still be closely associated with the firm, of course, but he had to transfer his focus and energy to the satellite office that would soon become his private domain.