I'm Having Your Baby?! Read online

  “You okay? What’s going on?”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Linda Turner

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “You okay? What’s going on?”

  Joe asked.

  Annie laughed. “I’m fine. I was just getting dressed.”

  When she stopped and pressed a hand to the smile that kept turning up the corners of her mouth, he arched a brow. “And?”

  “And I can’t snap my jeans,” she admitted, grinning broadly. “Look.”

  She held up her blouse, revealing her slim hips and barely zipped, unsnapped jeans. His gaze drawn like a magnet, all Joe could think about was wrapping her close in his arms so that nothing and no one could ever hurt her or the baby again. She was his. They were his—

  Even as he tried to convince himself, his mind taunted him with images of Annie in the arms of another man. No! he wanted to roar. She wouldn’t have done that to him, to them. She couldn’t have.

  But then again, he’d never thought she’d leave, either.

  Dear Reader,

  It’s summer. The days are long…hot…just right for romance. And we’ve got six great romances right here, just waiting for you to settle back and enjoy them. Linda Turner has long been one of your favorite authors. Now, in I’m Having Your Baby?! she begins a great new miniseries, THE LONE STAR SOCIAL CLUB. Seems you may rent an apartment in this building single, but you’ll be part of a couple before too long. It certainly works that way for Annie and Joe, anyway!

  Actually, this is a really great month for miniseries. Ruth Wind continues THE LAST ROUNDUP with Her Ideal Man, all about a ranching single dad who’s not looking for love but somehow ends up with a pregnant bride. In the next installment of THE WEDDING RING, Marrying Jake, Beverly Bird matches a tough cop with a gentle rural woman—and four irresistible kids.

  Then there’s multi-award-winning Kathleen Creighton’s newest, Never Trust a Lady. Who would have thought small-town mom Jane Carlysle would end up involved in high-level intrigue—and in love with one very sexy Interpol agent? Maura Seger’s back with Heaven in His Arms, about how one of life’s unluckiest moments—a car crash—somehow got turned into one of life’s best, and all because of the gorgeous guy driving the other car. Finally, welcome debut author Raina Lynn. In A Marriage To Fight For, she creates a wonderful second-chance story that will leave you hungry for more of this fine new writer’s work.

  Enjoy them all, and come back next month for more terrific romance—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  *

  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

  *

  Linda Turner

  I’m Having Your Baby?!

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  Books by Linda Turner

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

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  Silhouette Special Edition

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  Silhouette Christmas Kisses 1996

  “A Wild West Christmas”

  *The Wild West

  †The Lone Star Social Club

  LINDA TURNER

  began reading romances in high school and began writing them one night when she had nothing else to read. She’s been writing ever since. Single and living in Texas, she travels every chance she gets, scouting locales for her books.

  Prologue

  Gasping, her lungs straining, she ran through the dark, deserted alleys of downtown like a wild thing, her face as colorless as the pale moon that played hide-and-seek with the clouds overhead. The night was chilly, the black asphalt of the streets damp from the recent rain, but she never noticed the cold or the still-dripping eaves and dirty puddles that had collected in potholes. Blindly, she ran on, granting herself no mercy despite the stitch that burned like a fire in her side. Only one thought hammered in her brain. Home. She had to get home. She would be safe there.

  Somewhere in the stygian darkness behind her, the terror she couldn’t put a name to hunted her. She’d lost him for now, but she knew he was back there somewhere in the maze of shadowy streets and alleys, cursing her, damning her, chasing her. She could feel him, smell him on her skin. If he got his hands on her again, he wouldn’t make the mistake of letting her fight free a second time. Sobbing, she cut through another dark passageway, her long hair streaming out behind her.

  Suddenly, a large Victorian house loomed before her, looking as out of place among the towering buildings of downtown as a well-preserved but shrunken old woman among giants. Frantic, she tried to punch in the security code that opened the front door, but her fingers were trembling so badly she couldn’t manage it. Her blue eyes wide with fright, she dared to look over her shoulder. It was three in the morning and the street behind her was empty and still. Too still. Whimpering, she whirled back to the keypad and wildly stabbed in numbers. When she finally hit the right combination three tries later, she was through the door in a flash.

  She didn’t remember running through the deserted foyer or darting up the central staircase that looked like it had come straight out of Gone with the Wind. Suddenly, she was stumbling to a stop in front of her own apartment, and somewhere deep inside, the control that had gotten her this far started to crack.

  Shaking with reaction, she fumbled for the spare key on the ledge above the door and practically fell inside. The second the door shut behind her, darkness engulfed her. Then the tears started. Hot, endless, racking tears that slid soundlessly down her cheeks. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wanted to collapse boneless to the floor, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she could still smell the monster’s sweat on her, still feel his hands on her, hurting her, marking her skin. Bile rising in her throat, she tore at her clothes and stumbled to the bathroom without bothering to turn on a light.

  Dazed, aching, desperate to be clean again, she stood under the shower lathering herself with hands that felt like they would never be steady again. Her arms grew heavy, her movements stiff and jerky. The hot water turned lukewarm, then finally cold. Roused from the numbness that engulfed her like a fog, she blindly shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. Tired. God, she was so tired! Exhaustion pulling at her, she made her way down the dark hall to the bedroom and slipped into bed. Before her head
hit the pillow, her mind shut down and she was spiraling down into the black, protective folds of sleep.

  Chapter 1

  It rained again just after dawn, the slow, soaking, drizzly kind of rain that made it impossible to crawl out of bed in the morning. Snuggling deeper under the covers, she buried her face in her pillow and fought wakefulness with everything she had in her. It was early yet, she thought drowsily, refusing to open her eyes to check the clock. And she was still so tired—she felt like she’d just gone to bed. Just two more hours. That was all she needed. Maybe then she’d wake up with enough energy to get her through the day.

  But even as her mind drifted and sleep beckoned, the murmur of the rain called softly, insistently, to her. Outside the bedroom window, the city was beginning to wake up. Traffic was already starting to pick up, and somewhere nearby, the steady warning beep of a delivery truck backing up shattered the peace of the morning. Groaning, she gave up in defeat and pushed up on her elbows to check the clock on the nightstand. Her eyes never made it past the dark head on the pillow next to her.

  A man. There was a man in bed with her.

  Horrified, she stared at him in confusion. She was hallucinating. She had to be. Who was he? What did he want? The answers her dazed mind supplied sent sick panic skittering through her. Dear God, what had he done to her? With bile rising in her throat, she searched her blurred memory for answers, but before she could come up with any, he stirred, and her heart stopped in midbeat. Scrambling backward on the bed, her only thought to get away, she screamed.

  Sound asleep, Joe Taylor jerked awake. “What the hell!”

  Bolting up and still groggy, he instinctively grabbed for the gun he kept in the nightstand drawer. It wasn’t until his fingers closed around the cold, hard butt of the revolver that he recognized the sharp, feminine cry and realized that the only threat was the unexpected visitor in his bed.

  And just as quickly, he was furious. What the hell was she doing here? Did she think she could leave him for two months without a word, then crawl back into his bed whenever the mood struck her? Like hell!

  Shoving the gun back in the drawer, he turned toward her, angry words already rising to his tongue, only to freeze, shocked, at the sight of her. With her stubborn chin, wide mouth, and too large eyes, she’d never fit the traditional definition of beauty, but there had always been something about her that had stolen the breath right out of his lungs. This time was no different, but not for the usual reasons. Looking thinner, more petite than he remembered, she was pale as a ghost, her oval face scratched and bruised, her sapphire eyes wide and terrified.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he demanded. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  When she cringed like a trapped animal, Joe scowled. What the devil was wrong with her? Why was she looking at him like that? He started to ask her, but she never gave him a chance. Her eyes darting around the room, she felt blindly behind her for the edge of the mattress. When she found it, she whirled and flew from the bed…only to take two steps and suddenly seem to realize she was naked.

  “Oh, God!” she gasped.

  Blushing scarlet, she swallowed a sob and looked frantically around for something to cover herself with. All she found was a towel on the floor. In the time it took to blink, she had it wrapped around her and was running for the door.

  There’d been a time when Joe would have laughed at her modesty, snatched the towel from her, and dragged her back into bed for some serious loving. But not now. Not after she’d completely cut herself off from him for two months. And not after he’d caught sight of the bruises covering her. Spitting out a curse, he rolled from the bed and moved, lightning-quick, to cut her off.

  “Dammit, quit running from me!” he snapped, uncaring that he was standing stark naked before her. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

  “No!” Her eyes wide and desperate and dark with terror, she backed away from him as if he was a rapist. “Stay a-away from m-me!” she stuttered in rising hysteria. “You even think about hurting me, and I swear I’ll claw your eyes out! If you don’t believe me, you just try it!”

  Shocked, Joe stopped in his tracks. “Hurt you?” he repeated incredulously. “You think I would hurt you?”

  “I don’t know!” she cried, looking anywhere but at him. “How am I supposed to know what you’re capable of? I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

  Unable to believe he’d heard her correctly, Joe blinked in confusion. Was this some kind of joke, or what? She had to be pulling his leg. But Annie had never been much of an actress—her feelings were always right there on her face for the whole world to read. And right now, there was nothing but terror there. And a total lack of recognition in her eyes.

  Dear God, she wasn’t faking. She really didn’t know who he was!

  Staggered, he frowned at her in bewilderment. What the hell was going on here? How could she not know him? He was her husband, for God’s sake!

  Not thinking—needing some answers, dammit!—he started to reach for her, only to have her shrink back in horror. He stiffened, a muscle clenching in his jaw. He’d thought she no longer had the power to hurt him. He was wrong. His expression grim, he carefully reached past her for the robe hanging on the hook on the back of the bedroom door.

  Any hope that she would feel less threatened when he was decently covered died the second he belted the robe and lifted his eyes to hers. Her arms crossed protectively across her breasts to hold the thick bath sheet in place, she bumped up against the door, wariness etched in every line of her slender body.

  “I’m Joe Taylor,” he said quietly. “Your husband.”

  Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it wasn’t the sudden flash of temper in her sapphire eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you were my husband, don’t you think I’d remember you?”

  For an answer, he strode over to the dresser, snatched up a silver-framed photo, and thrust it into her hands. “Then how do you explain this?”

  The smiling man and woman who stared up at her from the picture were decked out in their wedding finery and obviously very much in love. And while there was no doubt that the groom had the same square-jawed, rugged good looks, brown eyes, and coal-black hair as the man standing before her wearing nothing but a robe, the woman was a total stranger to her.

  Puzzled, she tried to shove the picture back into his hand, but he wouldn’t take it. “If this is supposed to prove something, I missed the point. That’s not me.”

  “The hell it isn’t! If you don’t believe me, look in the mirror.”

  She should have, but something held her back. Something that gripped at her heart with cold fingers. “No.”

  “Why?” he asked softly. “Because you’re afraid I’m right? Then tell me what you look like.”

  Goaded, she opened her mouth to do just that, but no words came out. Nothing. She didn’t have a clue if she was a redhead or a bleached blonde, pretty or plain. Fear, like a snake slithering through high grass, slipped through her blood, and the only way she could fight it was to look in the mirror. Without a word, she jerked around to face the dresser.

  And came face-to-face with the woman in the picture.

  “No!”

  She thought she screamed, but her cry was hardly more than a hoarse, strangled whisper. The reflected image was bruised and scratched, but there was no question that the woman in the mirror and the one in the wedding picture were one and the same. They were both her, and she didn’t recognize either one of them.

  “No!” she cried again, her voice strong with fear as she shoved the picture back into the hands of the tall, lean man who watched her like a hawk. Her husband. Oh, God! “This is some kind of a trick,” she said desperately. “I don’t know who you are or how you managed to make that picture, but I want you out of here. Do you hear me? Get out!”

  Joe had no intention of going anywhere, but he knew if he made one wrong move, she was going to shatter. “Calm down,” he said soothingly, taking a
step back and giving her room. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, especially me. Just take it easy. There’s nothing to worry about—people have trouble with their memories all the time. Just relax and it’ll probably all come back to you. Do you remember your name?”

  She automatically opened her mouth to answer, only to hesitate, the arrested look of surprise that washed over her face changing abruptly to horror. Stricken, she stared up at him helplessly.

  She couldn’t remember her own name.

  Something twisted in Joe’s heart. “It’s Annie,” he told her gruffly. “Annie Taylor. Sit down, honey, and let’s talk about this. Tell me what you do remember. What’d you do yesterday?”

  Hot tears slowly gathering in her eyes, she just looked at him blankly. “I don’t know. I—I don’t remember.”

  “Then how about last night?” he tried. “You weren’t here when I went to bed, so you must have come in sometime after that. How did you get in? Did you have your key with you? Where’s your purse?”

  He kept the questions simple, but she didn’t have any answers. She couldn’t even tell him what day it was, and she was scared out of her mind. He couldn’t say he blamed her. More worried than he dared let her see, he said, “Maybe you left it in the living room. Let’s check it out.”

  With her trailing behind him, he strode out of the bedroom and looked around for her purse. But there was no purse, no luggage, nothing but a single key lying on the table in the entrance hall. “Well, this explains how you got in,” he said, holding up the key. “You used the spare that’s usually kept over the doorjamb. Now, what about your clothes?”

  They found them in a heap on the bathroom floor, torn, dirty and bloody. Joe swore at the sight of them and turned to find her staring at them without the slightest sign of recognition. Her face was expressionless, as if the bloody clothes themselves had nothing to do with her, and it was that, more than anything, that told him something was very, very wrong.