Sun-Kissed Baby

“That’s my boy,” Nick cried, holding out his arms to the child and hugging him tight.

Carlee winced. She did not want that. Heaven help her, she did not want Scotty crazy about Nick, and that was wrong. She had no right to feel that way.

“Carlee, listen to me….”

She had turned her back on him and stood wooden and silent.

“I want to be your friend. I want to spend time with you and your son, because I’m crazy about him. And I promise that what happened the other night will never happen again unless you want it, too. But the way you’ve hardened your heart to romance…to love…it won’t.”

Tell him now, a voice within commanded. Tell him and get it over with.

It was what she should do. But what she could not do.

Dear Reader,

Do I have a sweet lineup for you—just in time for Valentine’s Day! What’s more enticing than a box of chocolates? The answer lies in the next story, Cordina’s Crown Jewel, from New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts’s CORDINA’S ROYAL FAMILY series. This gem features a princess who runs away from royal responsibility and straight into the arms of the most unlikely man of her dreams!

Another Valentine treat is Jackie Merritt’s Marked for Marriage, which is part of the popular MONTANA MAVERICKS series. Here, a feisty bronco-busting beauty must sit still so that a handsome doctor can give her a healthy dose of love. And if it’s heart-thumping emotion you want, Peggy Webb continues THE WESTMORELAND DIARIES series with Bittersweet Passion, a heavenly opposites-attract romance between a singing sensation and a very handsome minister hero.

In With Family in Mind, Sharon De Vita launches her gripping SADDLE FALLS miniseries. One Valentine’s Day, this newlywed author admits, she wrote a heartwarming love poem to her husband about their first year together! Our next family tale is Sun-Kissed Baby, by Patricia Hagan—a darling tale of a new single mom who falls for the man she thinks is her little boy’s father. This talented author shares her Valentine’s Day dinner tradition with us—making “a heart-shaped meatloaf” and at the end of the pink meal, “a heart-shaped ice cream cake, frosted with strawberry whipped cream.” The icing on the cake this month is Leigh Greenwood’s Undercover Honeymoon, a passionate tale of two reunited lovers who join forces to stay ahead of a deadly enemy and care for an orphaned little girl.

Make sure that you sample every Special Edition delight this month has to offer. I wish you and your loved ones a warm and rose-filled Valentine’s Day (and that box of chocolates, too)!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

Sun-Kissed Baby

Patricia Hagan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Barb Ralph, one of my favorite Floridians.

PATRICIA HAGAN

New York Times bestselling author Patricia Hagan had written and published over 2,500 short stories before selling her first book in 1971. With a background in English and Journalism from the University of Alabama, Pat has won awards for radio, television, newspaper and magazine writing. Her hobbies include reading, painting and cooking. The author and her Norwegian husband, Erik, divide their time between their Florida retreat in Boca Raton and their home in Bergen, Norway.

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 One

Carlee held Alicia’s thirteen-month-old baby in her arms as she stared through her tears at the grave.

She still found it hard to believe that Alicia was gone. It had happened so fast. One minute they were having their Sunday-morning treat of Danish pastry with their coffee and looking forward to taking Scotty to the beach that afternoon, and the next Alicia gasped, clutched her chest and collapsed. Carlee had instantly dialed 911. After a frantic ambulance ride, Alicia was whisked into the trauma unit, and a little while later a doctor came out to say she had died.

He said it was her heart. Probably a congenital condition she’d had since birth. He asked Carlee if she knew about any heart problems in Alicia’s family. She told him that Alicia had experienced a difficult labor and delivery when Scotty was born and afterward was told a heart murmur had been detected. Alicia had been advised to undergo cardiac evaluation, but she had no insurance and couldn’t afford it. She didn’t think the murmur was anything to worry about, anyway. She’d always been healthy. Besides, she was too excited about Scotty and wasn’t thinking of anything else.

Too bad, the ER doctor had said. Had she been tested, there was a good chance the problem would have been diagnosed and corrected.

Alicia was dead, and Carlee suddenly found herself a mom, because after the paramedics had revived Alicia before loading her into the ambulance, she had asked Carlee to promise she would take care of Scotty if anything happened. Carlee hadn’t hesitated and told Alicia not to worry. Then, while she was standing in the hallway of the emergency room, clutching little Scotty in a daze, the doctor had handed her a slip of paper. Alicia had asked a nurse to write a note declaring Carlee to be Scotty’s guardian and managed to sign it before she slipped away.

The doctor had asked if they were sisters. “Best friends,” she had whispered, not about to confide how their friendship had been forged by the worthless, cheating men in their lives, or how they’d clung together and vowed never again to be so foolish.

Carlee’s parents had divorced when she was only ten. The court had awarded her mother custody, but her father had never paid the court-ordered child-support, and she’d refused to make him. She’d said that was begging and vowed she’d rather die. So times had been hard, and Carlee blamed her mother for her spinelessness and her father for shirking his responsibilities. The year she graduated from high school, her mother remarried and moved to the West Coast, leaving Carlee on her own in Florida. Carlee fell in love, married before she was twenty, and five years later her husband had driven them into bankruptcy and left her for an older woman who could support his extravagant lifestyle.

It was at the time of her divorce that she had met Alicia. They lived in the same apartment complex. Alicia was going to school during the day to study computers while working as a waitress at the Blue Moon Lounge on Cocoa Beach at night. She was also pregnant but didn’t want to talk about the father, and Carlee didn’t pry.

Carlee had been working in the gift shop at Jupiter Orange Groves since high school, but the work was seasonal. Still, she enjoyed it so much that during the rest of the year she took what jobs she could find so she’d be free to return. After her divorce, however, she needed more financial security, and Ben Burns, owner of the groves, had said he would give her a raise and put her to work year-round in the office if she would take a bookkeeping course and learn some computer programs. So when the season ended, she had enrolled in night school and worked at the cosmetics counter of a department store at a local mall.

Times were tough, and Carlee and Alicia decided to share an apartment to cut expenses. They became closer than sisters. Carlee went to Lamaze classes as Alicia’s coach, and she was there for Scotty’s birth. Later she helped with his care and came to love him as though he were her own. Alicia traded baby-sitting with another working mom in the complex, and life seemed to be going according to plan.

Now Carlee was left grief-stricken, wondering how on earth she was going to manage. She had to work and finish school in order to get a promotion, but she could not trade baby-sitting as Alicia had done. That meant she would have to pay for Scotty to go to a day-care center, and she just didn’t have the money. Plus, she had taken on the added responsibility of the funeral, because there was no one else to take care of it, and she had not wanted Alicia buried like a pauper.

Though she hadn’t had time to really think about it, Carlee had already tossed aside the idea of trying to find another roommate. The apartment was small, and the only reason she and Alicia had shared it was that they got along so well. She didn’t want to take a chance on someone else not being so congenial.

“But don’t you worry, little guy,” she whispered in Scotty’s ear as the funeral service ended. “We’ll be okay.” She pulled his blanket more tightly around him. It was spring, but the day was damp and cold, even for the central coast of Florida. They were near the Indian River, and a chilly wind was blowing in from the water.

Scotty awoke and started crying. She popped his pacifier into his mouth, promising to feed him as soon as they got home. Her own stomach gave a hungry rumble, and she couldn’t remember the last time she herself had eaten. Coffee had been her only nourishment in the despair that had wrapped about her since that fateful Sunday only three days ago.

The hospital chaplain, James Barnhill, had offered to conduct the graveside services after learning Alicia did not have a minister of her own. He had been so kind that day in the ER, helping Carlee to fill out the forms, then driving her and Scotty back to the apartment. He and his wife had even come by later with food. He had also suggested that she see a lawyer as soon as possible about the necessary paperwork to have her officially named Scotty’s guardian. The note Alicia had written would start the ball rolling, of course, but there were legal procedures that had to be followed.

As she turned to leave the gravesite, Mr. Barnhill said, “Miss Denton, the other ladies have told me earlier that they had worked with Miss Malden and would like to meet you. Do you have a moment?”

Carlee murmured, “Of course,” and he motioned to the four women standing nearby.

They oohed and ahhed over Scotty, talking about how Alicia was always bringing pictures to show them. Carlee thanked them for sending the floral blanket to drape over the casket. They said they were glad to, for they’d thought the world of her.

Then, as people are prone to do at funerals, they did not linger.

Except for one, Marcy Jemison. “Alicia’s baby is so cute,” she said, gently patting his cheek, then holding her arms out invitingly.

Scotty promptly jerked away, growing crankier by the minute.

Carlee apologized. “Sorry. He would normally go to you, but he’s not feeling well today for some reason.”

“Well, who can blame him? It’s his mother’s funeral. Maybe babies sense things. Who knows? And this was such a shock. I mean, Alicia seemed tired at work lately, but heck, I’ve got a baby, and it’s tough taking care of a kid when there’s no man around. We heard that Alicia gave him to you right before she died. What are you going to do with him?”

It was a blunt question, but Carlee knew the girl meant no harm. “Take care of him the best I can and love him like he was mine. I already feel like he is. I was there when he was born and lived with him ever since.”

“Well, I think you should make his father help. Everybody knows the creep was married, and how he dumped Alicia. I hate men like that. They have their fun and then take off, and to hell with what happens to the woman.”

“He didn’t know she was pregnant when he went back to his wife,” Carlee said stiffly, not wanting to discuss Alicia’s personal life but feeling the need to clarify the situation. “When they met, he told her he was getting a divorce, and when he quit coming around the lounge, she figured he and his wife had probably worked things out. She never told him about the baby, because she didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

Marcy frowned. “That’s what she told you?”

“Yes, and if you’ll excuse me, I need to get Scotty out of this raw weather.”

“Sure. But think about what I said. If he can be found, you ought to make him pay. I wasn’t working with her then, but she never would tell anybody his name.” Her brows rose in question. “Did she ever tell you?”

“Just his first name—Nick. She didn’t like talking about him.”

“Well, that’s a shame, but you know, he might not have been from around here. We get a lot of tourists at Cocoa Beach. Plus technicians from all over the country are always coming in to work at the Cape on temporary assignment, so who knows? But if it had been me, I’d sure as heck have put his feet to the fire for child support.”

Carlee agreed with Marcy but understood Alicia’s reluctance. Her friend had also suffered a painful childhood. Her father had abandoned her mother and gone to live with another woman. But unlike Carlee’s mother, Alicia’s had been so determined to collect child support that she would go to the woman’s door when payment was late and demand it. She dragged Alicia with her, and the older Alicia got, the more humiliated she felt. Then one day the woman opened the door and threw the money in her mother’s face. Alicia had told Carlee, tears streaming down her face, that she would never forget the sight of her mother down on her hands and knees picking up the money from the ground.

Carlee had assured her things were different now. The father could be ordered to pay directly to the court, and if he failed to do so, the court would take care of tracking him down. But Alicia still felt that was demeaning. If a man had to be made to do something, she didn’t want him.

Scotty cried all the way home, and Carlee felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She’d hardly slept a wink since Alicia’s death, worrying how she was going to manage. She hadn’t been to work in three days, and her manager had said she had to report tomorrow because her cosmetics counter was having a promotion and they would be extremely busy. In addition, she had used up all the absences from class that she was allowed. One more and she would be dropped from the course.

Scotty was still fretting when Carlee tried to give him his supper, but she was so exhausted it was all she could do to keep from falling asleep. Finally she gave up and put him in his crib, then phoned Fran Bremmer, the woman Alicia had swapped baby-sitting with and asked who was keeping her little girl.

“My neighbor. For twenty-five bucks a day. I can’t afford that much longer. Do you want to work out a deal like I had with Alicia?” she asked hopefully.

Carlee told her she wished she could, but she had to go to work. “Do you think your neighbor could keep Scotty tomorrow? If I don’t go in, I’m afraid I’ll lose my job.”

“I’ll give you her number. You can call her and see.”

Carlee was relieved when she called and the woman said she would—but only for that day. She really didn’t have room for another child. Carlee was grateful but knew she would have to find time at work to call around for a baby-sitter.

Seeing Alicia’s things scattered around the apartment was more than she could bear, so after moving Scotty’s crib into her room, she gathered all the reminders and put them in Alicia’s room, then closed the door. Later she would clean everything out, but there were too many other things to be done first.

Going over the bills spread out on the kitchen table made her sick with worry. The funeral home had said she could make payments, but there was also the pediatrician’s bill. Alicia had fallen behind paying it, and Carlee wanted to take care of it in case Scotty got sick. So far he’d been a healthy baby, but there had been routine checkups and vaccinations to pay for.

Alicia hadn’t left any money behind when she died. Her car, several years old, was financed and would be repossessed. A couple of credit cards were maxed out. The rent was due in a few days, and Alicia had spent her share on two recapped tires for the car and promised to make it up with her next paycheck. Carlee was pretty strapped, as well, having had to buy a battery for her old ’93 Jeep. The apartment complex office would work with them but would charge a hefty late fee.

Carlee wanted to cry but knew it would only give her a headache. And that she didn’t need, because it didn’t look as though she was going to get any sleep tonight, either. Scotty had more or less drifted off, but every so often she could hear him fretting, making little thin, whimpering sounds. He was probably coming down with a cold—he seemed to have a stuffy nose. That could mean a trip to the doctor and a prescription. Plus, she’d be stretched thin till payday in order to pay the sitter. And what if a day-care center wanted some kind of deposit or registration fee? How could she take time off work to get Scotty to the doctor, anyway? It all seemed so hopeless.

Drowning in a pit of despair, she couldn’t help but think of Scotty’s father—whoever and wherever he was. If he had worked at Cape Canaveral, he undoubtedly made a good salary and could afford to help. But Alicia had been so stubborn she never once gave a hint about his identity, saying only that he was drop-dead gorgeous, and during the short time they’d been together, she’d fallen deeply in love.

“So he went back to his wifey-poo,” Carlee said aloud in a voice thick with disgust. “Probably to a cozy house with a minivan and an SUV in the driveway, without a care in the world. A real selfish bastard—like all men.”

Then she chided herself for being so judgmental. After all, he didn’t know about Scotty. If he did, he might be willing to help with his support.

Carlee’s eyes started burning, so she pushed the bills aside and went to bed. She was going to have to get up early to feed and dress Scotty. She would take him to the doctor if necessary even if it meant being late to work. As for class tomorrow night, well, maybe she could take him with her, and the instructor would understand. Finally Carlee drifted off to sleep.

The sound came from far, far away, and Carlee fought against it, wanting to sleep on and dream of happier times, like the trips to Indialantic Beach she and Alicia used to take; they’d been planning one the day Alicia died. There, seawater pooled among the coquina rock, making ideal spots for Scotty to sit and splash. They loved it there and…

It was a frightening sound, a thin, pitiful crowing. She sat up in bed and looked about wildly, trying to gather her wits. Turning on the bedside lamp, she was jolted by terror to see it was Scotty making the noises, his little arms flailing in the air as he fought for air. He was choking!

She grabbed him up, pounded on his back and then realized there was nothing stuck in his throat, and still he struggled to breathe.

Frantic, she raced to the phone and dialed 911, then paced about, fighting hysteria as she held Scotty and waited for the blessed sound of the ambulance’s siren. It seemed like hours, but finally the paramedics arrived.

Never had she felt so helpless. They started him on oxygen, then loaded him into the ambulance, telling her to climb in with them. An IV line was started in his wrist, and she listened fearfully as she heard one of the paramedics radio into the emergency room that Scotty was in severe respiratory distress with a heart rate of 160.

“Please, tell me,” she begged. “What’s wrong with him?”

The man answered, “We won’t know till we get him to the ER, ma’am. We’re doing everything we can.”

She watched as medications were injected into the IV line, and she wept to see how tiny and helpless Scotty looked, plastic tubes in his arms, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. When the paramedics had arrived at her apartment, Scotty’s face had been turning blue, but now a little color was returning, and her fear subsided, slightly.

At last they reached the hospital where a team was waiting to wheel Scotty into the trauma room. Carlee tried to follow, but she was told she had to remain outside. When she realized he was being taken into the same room his mother had died in only three days earlier, her knees buckled. Someone helped her to a chair, and when she was able, they took her to fill out the requisite admission forms.

When she was asked to give Scotty’s last name, she felt a rush of panic. She didn’t know what to write. How had Alicia listed him on his birth certificate? Had she named the father or used her own name—Malden? Carlee had never asked—never had reason to. Then she decided it didn’t matter. Not right now, anyway. So she used her own surname and wrote Scotty Denton, and, on the line for parents, listed herself as mother and unknown for father.

The woman in the admissions office didn’t bat an eye over that, but when she learned Carlee did not have insurance, she told her she would have to make a deposit.

Carlee only had the twenty-five dollars in her purse that she had planned on paying the baby-sitter.

The woman shook her head. “We need at least five hundred.”

Carlee wrote a check and tried not to think about using most of the money she had left in the bank. The rest would barely cover the bank’s service charge, and payday was not for another week.

Hurrying back to the ER, she took up her vigil once more. Finally a man wearing green scrubs, paper slippers over his shoes and a stethoscope looped around his neck came out of the trauma room. “I’m Dr. Vance. Your son is going to be fine.”

Carlee bolted to her feet and burst into tears of relief. “Oh, thank God. Thank God…”

“He has croup, but we’ve got it under control. His heart rate is down to 120 and respiration to forty-eight. Those are good vital signs. He’s also awake and alert and taking a bottle without wheezing.”

“Croup.” She mouthed the word. It was familiar, but she could not recall what it meant.

“It’s a viral infection of the upper and lower breathing tract. It can come on suddenly, without warning, most often at night, and sometimes it’s triggered by exposure to cold air.”

Carlee blanched. Cold air. It had been damp and cold at the cemetery. She had not wanted to take him, but wanted to be able to tell him one day that he had gone to his mother’s funeral. “It’s my fault,” she whispered, overcome with guilt. “I had him outside today. I shouldn’t have.”

Dr. Vance was quick to assure her, “Now, now. I said triggered, not caused. He already had the virus, only you didn’t know it. There was no way you could have. So don’t blame yourself. I deal with croup several times a night. It’s one of the few diseases I can think of that can give the impression a child is going to die. Unfortunately some do, but you acted quickly and did the right thing in calling an ambulance, and now the danger is over. We’re going to admit him overnight for observation, though, and keep giving him humidified oxygen and epinephrine every four hours as needed. By morning, I expect all the symptoms to be completely gone. We’ll send him home with a prescription for prednisone and keep him on that for the next four days.

“You’ll have a copy of his records,” he continued, “so you can take them to his regular pediatrician. He’s going to need a follow-up in about a week to make sure he’s doing okay. I suggest you keep him inside, in bed if you can, till he’s completely over this. Being weak, he doesn’t need to be exposed to other children who might have another kind of infection. Just keep a close eye on him.”

“I’ll watch him every minute, believe me,” she promised.

The door to the trauma room opened, and a nurse came out pushing Scotty in a rolling cradle. Carlee thanked the doctor and fell into step beside the nurse.